Summer winds on with gasps of hot oceanic air, flooding my island with humidity and heavy yawns. I translated three poems by the ethereal poet Noriko Minesawa that appeared recently in Tokyo Poetry Journal volume 12, colorful broken shards of memories that evoke fierce loneliness and nostalgia. The volume is full of tons of other translated poetry by modern and cotemporary Japanese poets, so definitely check it out.
The chill of the shoulder
I touched that day
melts away
into cicadas’ phantom cries
in the unseeable moonlight
like the final postmark
cancellation.
Noriko Minesawa, translated by Eric Margolis
Two of my original poems will also be appearing in Tokyo Poetry Journal volume 13, themed ‘maladity, calamity, and misfortunate.’ I wrote about one deeply personal calamity and one historic one, poems that mean a great deal to me personally.
I am alone on the grassy shore;
does no one else care for the beauty of dirt?
Am I alone in my urge to catalog
half-glittering, fully-broken things?
Eric Margolis
Now, here’s a poem that I can actually share in full!
My Prideful Poem – Spoken Word
I performed this spoken word poem at a poetry open mic night event in Nagoya. The theme of the night was PRIDE of any kind: of one’s identity, sexuality, accomplishments, friends and family, native or adopted hometown. I had fun writing and riffing on a few of the many qualities of my life and the world that I take pride in.
Born in the desert, raised in the wood
by my nursemaid Arroz, my nanny Frijoles
and the hymns of my tutors David and Solomon
stretched me out on piano strings while a New England flute
tooted and puffed, and I sprouted up.
Mexicana en estatura y la velocidad de hablar,
blue-blood Philadelphian in my eloquence and arguments,
Mediterranean in the wrists, nose, and mane,
Black Sea-bred in the chests, cheeks, and brain,
even my native seas do not compute my masculinity
or femininity, or sexuality, or matrix of affinities—
Transcendentalist poet, leftist citizen, curious friend—
because I can see the seas that forged me
and temper them with words, string them out in turn
and sensitize my soul to music and motherhood
while hardening my shell to survive in the wood.
I’m proud of my materials, and proud of my tools:
The pen, the gaze, the smile, the style
of my speech and all my pride comes down to two truths:
I AM PROUD TO BE THE HUMAN I AM
I AM PROUD TO BE IN THIS WORLD WITH YOU
YOU—your beaming words blasting straight from your heart into mine
YOU—your welcoming vessel lapping up the inebriate ooze of my sullied sad brine
THIS WORLD—chatter of birdsong, glint of sunbeams, sprinkle of rainshower, twinkle of starlight, haze of frost, maze of fog, dreams of tomorrow, warm mugs and meticulous mischief—Unleash them all
and my people!
I demand it!
Set free them all—my emigrant brothers!
Curious Children! The Deaf and the Neurodivergent!
Jews of Mesopotamia!
Set free the poets, sex workers, zookeepers!
Set free the artisans, hole-diggers, slaves!
The chefs of their beloved family name,
The bread bakers of their illustrious pasts!
Set free the healthcare and childcare workers and give them BIG FAT HUGE PILES OF CASH!
Why do we horde what’s not ours for our own? Set free the JAZZ MUSICIANS, stoners while they are stoned—
And they just might show us a tune.
And once we’re free under the summer sun’s glow
soaring on to our native and chosen seas
一生悔いていない、この選択を
君を選んじゃったのが素晴らしい
To touch fingers and meet gazes in the pure light of trust
puts a feather in the cap of my forever-pride
and generates, irradiates
enough joy in humanity itself
to carry me far beyond the grave.
over the offing 