Jane Joritz-Nakagawa
3 poems
**
SP #1
They collapse like lungs, the escaped water
On the blank stones of the landing
Nailed to the rafters yesterday
Moldering heads console me
Soon each white lady will be boarded up
Angels -- more feminine and douce
A tarred fabric, sorry and dull
Passes cloud after cloud
I know why you will not give it to me
A living doll, everywhere you look
I notice you are stark naked
That big blue head
In the waters off beautiful Nauset
In his cage of ether, his cage of stars
In a sort of cement well
Papery feeling
Black bat airs
And hands like nervous butterflies
I have hung our cave with roses
There is this one thing I want today, and only you can give it to me
A crocodile of small girls
That life was a mere monumental sham
What holes this papery day is already full of
Surely the sky is not that color
**
"all the world's a prison" (for Gail Nakada)
lives and civilizations change depending on actions across
dust, grit and probably asbestos fanged
with wings the size of a small plane
I hoped was a very innocent voice screaming
and glowing a deeper and deeper red near
dawn panting with exhaustion
short stabbing sword)
... could feel my eyebrows singing,
as hot ash rained down for several..
oozing every land in marching ...
Deep philosophical discussions are better on
adopted the same pose
red-tiled arches of our school’s ...
Every day I do that. But
I certainly wasn’t prepared to surrender any more
Unless
the house and talk is private
with no hope of comfort
heavy leathery body one
I had buried in my own neck
currents curled sinuously around and around:
I was tired, bloodied and guessed
...cannot be seen in this realm as easily;
I thought her death certainly would have made things easier.
… may have sacrificed my
huge steel pipes lashed together with metal
little I could do
to break the stalemate I had to draw ... closer
thus I stared at each other across the empty
(you are not dead you have merely created a serious rift)
“No offense but . . . is both smelly and smoldering”
. . . blaze now roaring through the forest
from a gash on his forehead and said, “Well, I think that went rather well”
as he inadvertently poisoned . . . last night.
no matter how finely dressed. Unless
before total blackout. I needed
out a high clear note. Startled I looked up
with the roof mostly finished
strength I jumped from the truck
... final host and, obviously, some great act.
spiky thing in front of me shifted
liquid burst into flame but all it ....was
I put a leash on you ... keep you by my side…
a furrow from collarbone to navel in
with much blood I pried the thing away
There was no polite way to answer the truth of the question so I
said nothing
for which so many have died…expletive, your abysmal
that will not only sterilize ... but leave a signature
squeezed out the tree house door to spread his wings
there without stepping on . . .
in lifestyles of the magically pointless
as though I was touching something
has been in this realm long who knows what is being drawn to
air blew round my face and off
I shall put together a little something explosive but
‘No more icky things’ I prayed
**
SP #2
Yet always the ridiculous nude flanks urge
such poverty assaults the ego; caught
compels a total sacrifice
dragging trees
She is used to this sort of thing
a million ignorants
How the sun polishes this shoulder!
Now I have lost myself .... am sick of baggage
The tulips are too red ... they hurt me
How in such mild air
**
return to Sawbuck 1.6
**
Jane Joritz-Nakagawa's poetry books are Skin Museum (Avant Books, Tokyo, 2006) and Aquiline (forthcoming). Email is welcome at jane@auecc.aichi-edu.ac.jp or janenakagawa@yahoo.com. "SP #1" and "SP #2" utilize lines from over a dozen Sylvia Plath poems. "all the world's a prison" utilizes language from the novel Deathgods Falling by Gail Nakada.
**
SP #1
They collapse like lungs, the escaped water
On the blank stones of the landing
Nailed to the rafters yesterday
Moldering heads console me
Soon each white lady will be boarded up
Angels -- more feminine and douce
A tarred fabric, sorry and dull
Passes cloud after cloud
I know why you will not give it to me
A living doll, everywhere you look
I notice you are stark naked
That big blue head
In the waters off beautiful Nauset
In his cage of ether, his cage of stars
In a sort of cement well
Papery feeling
Black bat airs
And hands like nervous butterflies
I have hung our cave with roses
There is this one thing I want today, and only you can give it to me
A crocodile of small girls
That life was a mere monumental sham
What holes this papery day is already full of
Surely the sky is not that color
**
"all the world's a prison" (for Gail Nakada)
lives and civilizations change depending on actions across
dust, grit and probably asbestos fanged
with wings the size of a small plane
I hoped was a very innocent voice screaming
and glowing a deeper and deeper red near
dawn panting with exhaustion
short stabbing sword)
... could feel my eyebrows singing,
as hot ash rained down for several..
oozing every land in marching ...
Deep philosophical discussions are better on
adopted the same pose
red-tiled arches of our school’s ...
Every day I do that. But
I certainly wasn’t prepared to surrender any more
Unless
the house and talk is private
with no hope of comfort
heavy leathery body one
I had buried in my own neck
currents curled sinuously around and around:
I was tired, bloodied and guessed
...cannot be seen in this realm as easily;
I thought her death certainly would have made things easier.
… may have sacrificed my
huge steel pipes lashed together with metal
little I could do
to break the stalemate I had to draw ... closer
thus I stared at each other across the empty
(you are not dead you have merely created a serious rift)
“No offense but . . . is both smelly and smoldering”
. . . blaze now roaring through the forest
from a gash on his forehead and said, “Well, I think that went rather well”
as he inadvertently poisoned . . . last night.
no matter how finely dressed. Unless
before total blackout. I needed
out a high clear note. Startled I looked up
with the roof mostly finished
strength I jumped from the truck
... final host and, obviously, some great act.
spiky thing in front of me shifted
liquid burst into flame but all it ....was
I put a leash on you ... keep you by my side…
a furrow from collarbone to navel in
with much blood I pried the thing away
There was no polite way to answer the truth of the question so I
said nothing
for which so many have died…expletive, your abysmal
that will not only sterilize ... but leave a signature
squeezed out the tree house door to spread his wings
there without stepping on . . .
in lifestyles of the magically pointless
as though I was touching something
has been in this realm long who knows what is being drawn to
air blew round my face and off
I shall put together a little something explosive but
‘No more icky things’ I prayed
**
SP #2
Yet always the ridiculous nude flanks urge
such poverty assaults the ego; caught
compels a total sacrifice
dragging trees
She is used to this sort of thing
a million ignorants
How the sun polishes this shoulder!
Now I have lost myself .... am sick of baggage
The tulips are too red ... they hurt me
How in such mild air
**
return to Sawbuck 1.6
**
Jane Joritz-Nakagawa's poetry books are Skin Museum (Avant Books, Tokyo, 2006) and Aquiline (forthcoming). Email is welcome at jane@auecc.aichi-edu.ac.jp or janenakagawa@yahoo.com. "SP #1" and "SP #2" utilize lines from over a dozen Sylvia Plath poems. "all the world's a prison" utilizes language from the novel Deathgods Falling by Gail Nakada.
