June 13, 2024
June 07, 2024
June 05, 2024
Bright Stars 6
In 2013-2014, M Kei launched the Bright Stars project. His aim was to capture the various styles and voices of tanka being written at the time. The seven volumes of Bright Stars were wildly successful in achieving that goal.
I have posted below the 40 tanka of mine published in Bright Stars issue 6, as well as the spot from its introduction where Kei discusses my work:
From the Introduction: “Read is particularly good at writing un-tanka, poems that at first glance look like tanka, but which turn out different than expected. This volta, or turn is widely thought to be essential to tanka, but Read is adept at turning the turn into kyoka. His poems can be variously read as humorous tanka, parodies of tanka, or simply as skewed perspectives on human nature (all volumes).”
Tanka:
the end of the day
we got back
to nature
plucking burrs off
the legs of our jeans
a police lineup
or a dating site?
in retrospect she wouldn't
have picked him
out of either
hoping the early bird
chokes on the worm
I shut the window
bury
my head under the pillow
he removed
the last
traces of their evening
shoveling her
footprints from the sidewalk
the moon shines
through a veil of clouds
I see my neighbor
peeking
through his blinds
I google
Basho's frog
and the splash
it didn't make
on the Internet
combing through
old ideas
for new poems
still unable
to untangle the knots
balanced between
my thinning hair
and thickened waist
is the same guy
you knew in high school
he wipes her
tears away
but not
the sadness
pooling inside
though she talks
about me like
I'm not even there
I respond
like I probably was
branching out
into the sky
she never imagined
the need
to come down
whatever
his parents said
the extra fiber
wasn't the prize
he wanted from his cereal
the rain spills over
the sidewalks
and yards -
I struggle to direct
my imagination
accused of
being a cheat
before rolling
the sleeve where
I'd hidden all the answers
although his net
was large enough
to land a small boy
he never took
his children fishing
how easily the children
make friends at the park
I flip on my phone
ignore
the other parents
his collection
of old keys
unlock
the doors to
his imagination
the children
serenade us
as only a choir
of off-key
angels could
he wrote poems
like speeding tickets
rushing to
get through
his daily quota
the air again clear
of industrial smog
he steps outside
for a quick
cigarette
knocking out
the power
and my alarm clock
the storm that kept me
up all night
looking up from
the computer
my son asks about
my favorite website
as a kid
after a day of
window shopping
she finally
shuts her
browser down
fishing
this stream of words
only bottom
feeding cliches
nibble at my line
cutting down the trees
planted in my childhood
my parents now accepting
me leaving
long ago
setting the chairs
further apart
helped him
expand
his audience
dinner party and
i'm already
bored
the flower starts to
droop in its vase
snowflakes
hang in
the frozen air
I refuse
to offer the first word
he held me
to account
for the values
he didn't
live by
stretching into
former farmland
the city grows like
crops
we never harvest
watching my kids
on the monkey bars
too much the gorilla
to get
across myself
only a couple
years old
the toys
we carry
to the basement
a baby bird
stranded in our yard
I sit
beside my son
watching for the mother
rocking the youngest
of 3 to sleep
we drift into
the rhythm of
our new family
lowering the rim
I dunk
on my driveway
a glimpse of the life
I believed I'd lead
looking like insects
from the high-rise
all the people
who would
bug me up close
checking
the UV index
I shield my phone
from the glare
of the sun
this mountain lake
as deep as time -
I splash
my sunburnt face
with its icy waters
following where
the bike path leads
as the days of
summer
roll off one by one
the way she carries
another man's
scent
I'm still unaccustomed
to my new deodorant
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