Japan

husband weng and i had lunch a few days ago with mitch ong and alwin aguirre, very good friends of ours. mitch just came from a two-month stay in japan, and we were all eager to hear of her lost in translation moments there. she had many strange and fascinating stories about japan. she said she was most struck by its coldness. coldness, in all sense of the word, she said. made me change my mind about it being one of my most possible alternative asian countries, next to macau. also brought to mind a favorite billy collins poem. and a favorite taxi driver who also used to drive my niece and her friends to school, and who would threaten the kids a trip to japan when they don't behave. well, here's that billy collins poem about a japan that's not quite like mitch's version. and here's to our old driver, threatening his passengers with a trip to japan which will never happen. god bless his soul.


Japan

Today I pass the time reading
a favorite haiku,
saying the few words over and over.

It feels like eating
the same small, perfect grape

again and again.

I walk through the house reciting it
and leave its letters falling
through the air of every room.

I stand by the big silence of the piano and say it.
I say it in front of a painting of the sea.
I tap out its rhythm on an empty shelf.

I listen to myself saying it,
then I say it without listening,
then I hear it without saying it.

And when the dog looks up at me,
I kneel down on the floor
and whisper it into each of his long white ears.

It's the one about the one-ton temple bell
with the moth sleeping on its surface,

and every time I say it, I feel the excruciating
pressure of the moth
on the surface of the iron bell.

When I say it at the window,
the bell is the world
and I am the moth resting there.

When I say it at the mirror,
I am the heavy bell
and the moth is life with its papery wings.

And later, when I say it to you in the dark,
you are the bell,
and I am the tongue of the bell, ringing you,

and the moth has flown
from its line
and moves like a hinge in the air above our bed.