Save the Date: July 9

Haiku Not Bombs Book Release Party
Wednesday, July 9, 8 p.m.
Think Coffee
248 mercer street (between 3rd & 4th st)
New York, NY
sponsored by The Cup & Pen Reading Series and Booklyn

Featuring readings by Tom Gilroy, Jim McKay, Shin Yu Pai, Patrick So, Rick Roth and Alison Roth.

Anthro class this quarter is focusing on "modernity" as a keyword and looking at human rights, the notion of property, torture and the making of subjects, alongside the making of nations. I've been reading this week an essay on torture by Talal Asad and how new forms of torture and intolerable cruelty and suffering have emerged. The definition of torture as set out by the Article 5 of the Universal Declaration of Human Rights leaves a lot of room for interpretation, contradiction and slippage. In thinking thru the issue, I was reminded of the "Ashley Treatment" which happened here in Seattle to a 6-year-old disabled girl who's parents opted to have her undergo surgery to stunt her growth - a double masectomy, the removal of her uterus, so that she should always stay miniature and child-like, a "pillow angel." Stories like Ashley's and the story of You Guoying, who's family abandoned her at a crematorium following a paralyzing stroke, have stuck in my imagination for a long time, and I feel like I am beginning to understand why these moments trouble me - how issues of "property" and the body, "torture" and human rights arise - I don't know how to suspend judgment in the way that Asad advocates for cross-cultural understanding, or rather, I see the contradiction but don't know how to make sense of it on the ground.

Revival

UTD has got its AIR program up and running again.

It was a busy weekend of poetry-related events. On Saturday, I read a poem for the Shoreline/Lake Forest National Poetry Month event and got to hear Peter Pereira, Anna Maria Hong and Sam Green read their work. Peter shared some of his anagram poems and some of his pieces about working as a medical doctor with Cambodian survivors of the Pol Pot regime. His anagram poems have a lot of playfulness and seem like a great exercise/experiment for school-aged poets. Both Peter and Anna Maria had poems constructed from the found titles of books in small library collections. Sam Green is the best poet I've heard read or present their work in ages. I could have listened to him read for hours. I'd heard of Sam's work with his wife in the context of their publishing imprint and letterpress work, for which they are known at Naropa. But Sam's poetry is quite unique - grounded in the local and highly attuned to human emotion and relationship. He read long-ish poems, the one which stayed with me most being a piece about his father being brutally beaten by his own father. As an advocate of poetry, Sam also read Ed Harkness' poem on a man stranded in snow who died of starvation and frostbite - apparently, the victim kept a journal of his slow death. It was an amazing piece.

Sunday at the Rem Koolhas library downtown, heard Cody Walker and friends. Cody is moving to Western MA for a residency in the fall. His community here appears to have largely been centered around UW - Jason Whitmarsh, Eric McHenry (who published one of my first poems in Bostonia), Catherine Wing, and another writer who's name escapes me right now. Cody is Seattle Poet Populist - sort of a local version of Poet Laureate, selected thru popular vote. He read a lot of humorous poems, limericks and occasional poems written in honor of his friends. I liked Eric's work quite a bit, and some of Jason Whitmarsh's work, but didn't really get into most of the readers. Weird thing about the Microsoft Auditorium at the Main Library - the main door to the space slides shut thru an electric mechanism which seals people inside the room. On the far side of the room opposite the podium, there is a small exit door, but very conspicuous to escape.

Thanks to the UW Women's Center for hosting the Seattle WOMPO reading last night. Left to right in picture: Susan Rich, Julene Weaver, Martha Silano, Kelli Agodon, Carol Levin, Shin Yu Pai, Lana Ayers

Completion

Far-off deer cry
a whistling October ideogram
not found in the sutras

a script for simple living
the balm that wakens the world

he gestures angrily
at Dakshina Kali
creek crescent moon creek

knotting the tsutsumi cloth
before arriving at her home

he follows the black
throated jay with sad eyes
vague clouds icy ravines

painting in the pupil of daruma
wish for a smooth migration

on the hill-god masks
spooky silver eyes --
we bathe them in June

the freshly washed corpse with
flowers braided in his beard

lit with a blue sheen
where two granite rocks narrow
the rough creek

ruptures of earth, the shift
of fault lines, cleaving of loam

Kalidasa saw
sub-aquatic fires erupt from the
gods' love-making

the closing of roadways, sharp
rubber melt of goodyear tires

what year was it
under the coke-smudged moon
oil on the mallard's wings

stranded in the Oregon wild
a family rations its food

what glints off the snowdrift—
caribou dreams?
Kamchatka coal ash?

plane crash on the Crimean
Front, a legacy of felt & fat

while native
languages go extinct
all that plant life lost

the master gardener
seeds viburnum shrub

in his dream a pink
metate found at timberline
flecks of bistort root

tonic to stay the bleeding
dust dissolved into a wound

Last Friday, I became a vegetarian again for the first time since living in Chicago eight years ago.

UW had its convocation for HH on Monday, which was followed by a talk by HH speaking on compassion and internal disarmament and dialogue. The event was protested by the Chinese-American student association on campus which attracted hundreds of flag-waving, sign-toting protestors proclaiming that Tibet has always been a part of China. "Stop the violence." The dialogue that HH requested with students was heavily moderated by university bureaucracy - 20 students were pre-selected out of a large pool of questions that were submitted online. The group met last week to lay out the ground rules for the dialogue - no questions on religion and no questions on the Tibet-China issue. As a result, all of the questions basically asked the same thing. How do we fix the world's problems in 5 seconds? How do we practice compassion towards those who have harmed us or committed violence towards us? How can awareness about the AIDS/HIV epidemic be awakened to inspire compassion to conquer this disease? etc. HH was honest in saying "I don't know" and "I'm not an expert" as he did on Friday, which was in effect, the best and most honest answer that could be given. Many of my classmates that attended events have complained that "the Dalai Lama made no sense" that "there was no wisdom in anything he said" that "it's a cult of personality worship." It's clear to me that there are some unreasonable expectations out there for a man who proclaims that he is a simple Buddhist monk. The whole Q&A format is also not the best structure for genuine dialogue.

So after HH was finished answering questions, the ceremony went off the rails - HH was supposed to exit the arena, but instead he went into the audience where the students who asked him questions were sitting. He had teased the medical student about having a bald head (like the HH) and wanted to give him a hug. So despite the secret service flocking him and trying to control the situation, he went into the audience for what became a moment of chaos that the cameras were unable to track. One of my anthro classmates had been pre-selected to ask her question and reported feeling absolute terror and fear, projected on to the crowd by the secret service people - and that this cocoon of fear followed around HH, the embodiment of love and compassion as he traveled thru the crowd. HH embraced the medical student and my classmate attempted to offer HH the silk kata, but there was no room for her to raise her arms and make the offering, or for HH to return it. So instead he held it and handed it back to her. Then my classmate was abruptly shoved aside by the men in suits.

Renga verse 17-18

Far-off deer cry
a whistling October ideogram
not found in the sutras

a script for simple living
the balm that wakens the world

he gestures angrily
at Dakshina Kali
creek crescent moon creek

knotting the tsutsumi cloth
before arriving at her home

he follows the black
throated jay with sad eyes
vague clouds icy ravines

painting in the pupil of daruma
wish for a smooth migration

on the hill-god masks
spooky silver eyes --
we bathe them in June

the freshly washed corpse with
flowers braided in his beard

lit with a blue sheen
where two granite rocks narrow
the rough creek

ruptures of earth, the shift
of fault lines, cleaving of loam

Kalidasa saw
sub-aquatic fires erupt from the
gods' love-making

the closing of roadways, sharp
rubber melt of goodyear tires

what year was it
under the coke-smudged moon
oil on the mallard's wings

stranded in the Oregon wild
a family rations its food

what glints off the snowdrift—
caribou dreams?
Kamchatka coal ash?

plane crash on the Crimean
Front, a legacy of felt & fat

while native
languages go extinct
all that plant life lost

the master gardener
seeds viburnum shrub

AAWW Lit Awards

Ahoy readers, Sightings was solicited by the Asian American Writers Workshop for its annual Asian American Literary Awards competition. If you are a member of AAWW, please vote for Sightings for the Members' Choice Award when the ballot goes live later this spring.

Monday

Post-Vancouver

I had a great time at the Vancouver reading on Thursday night. Thank you to my old classmate Christopher Luna for hosting at Cover to Cover, and to my co-readers and friends Marcus Mennes and John Chinworth. Above is the collage flyer that Christopher put together for our Naropa alumni reunion. We were apparently the last generation of students to be educated at the Institute, before it became a 4-year university and eliminated the SWP tent. Many friends and memories were invoked. I read my "Instant Karma" poem about a dream of Chogyam Trungpa and my days working fundraising parties for the development team. In his introduction of my work, Chris referred to me as a "lifer." I'm proud of Chris for building a community of poets, readers and listeners - Vancouver is lucky to have him. Godspeed to little Angelo.


Christopher opening the reading.


John reading from Wrongevity. The poems were a much bigger hit then when he read them for a Redmond audience at SoulFood Books.


Marcus being aware of the camera.


Before Marcus' reading.

Renga verse 15-16

Far-off deer cry
a whistling October ideogram
not found in the sutras

a script for simple living
the balm that wakens the world

he gestures angrily
at Dakshina Kali
creek crescent moon creek

knotting the tsutsumi cloth
before arriving at her home

he follows the black
throated jay with sad eyes
vague clouds icy ravines

painting in the pupil of daruma
wish for a smooth migration

on the hill-god masks
spooky silver eyes --
we bathe them in June

the freshly washed corpse with
flowers braided in his beard

lit with a blue sheen
where two granite rocks narrow
the rough creek

ruptures of earth, the shift
of fault lines, cleaving of loam

Kalidasa saw
sub-aquatic fires erupt from the
gods' love-making

the closing of roadways, sharp
rubber melt of goodyear tires

what year was it
under the coke-smudged moon
oil on the mallard's wings

stranded in the Oregon wild
a family rations its food

what glints off the snowdrift—
caribou dreams?
Kamchatka coal ash?

plane crash on the Crimean
Front, a legacy of felt & fat

His Holiness the Fourteenth Dalai Lama is in Seattle for the next few days giving a series of talks for the general public. I was lucky enough to score an extra ticket through a friend to see HH speak on a panel on early childhood development, parenting and education at the Seattle Center. It's always good to see HH - when he walked into the stadium-sized arena, I felt a rush of energy and chi rush upwards through my body. HH wore a red visor to shade his eyes from the arena lights which matched his monastic robes. He appeared to be in good spirits. The individuals on his panel represented various NGOs dedicated to orphanages, parenting, and early childhood education and they projected a number of marketing videos about their work which seemed out of place. The woman representing orphanages made a convoluted statement about orphans being at a higher risk for drug use and crime due to the deprivation of love and parental care from their parents of origin. HH gently and skillfully asked a question which brought the attention back to the fact that whether these orphaned infants receive that nurturing from their birth parents is not the issue, so much that they receive this attention and care from caregivers who are able to connect with these infants.

Cover to Cover reading tonight for anybody within the Portland metroplex. Chinworth, Mennes, and I will all read poems and share Naropa stories.

The Haiku Not Bombs group is organizing a NYC book release party - tentative date Thursday, July 10, at Think Coffee as part of the Cup & Pen series run by the people at Booklyn. With any luck, the event will include video projection, music and poetry. More details to come.

Prairie Home Companion is running a Bed of Roses Love Sonnet Contest. Submit your best 14 lines by Friday, April 12, at www.prairiehomecompanion.org.

This museum is brilliant.

Tour de Highgrove

I grew up in Highgrove, a small town between the Riverside/San Bernardino County borders. When we moved to the area, it was still very undeveloped, with a lot of open land. Our house was originally at the end of a block of residences that bordered on open fields. When I was in high school, the land was developed for housing, but it used to look something like this plot of land that overlooks Main Street:



This second plot of land is adjacent to the Elementary School and used to be a small orange grove. The trees have been cut down and empty lots stand waiting for development.



I went to school at Highgrove Elementary. The campus is the same size as it was, with a lot more trailer-style classrooms to accommodate the increased number of students. I didn't stop a single Asian kid on campus on the day that I visited.



Highgrove was a very underprivileged school, compared to schools in town like Emerson, where the "smart kids" (mostly children of local professors) were sent. Though I was never given a choice by my parents as to whether or not I would attend Emerson, my older brother was given the option. He visited the Emerson campus when he was in the lower grades and decided against leaving behind his best friends Frank Becerra and Brian Dolan.

Sometimes when I give readings and read the poem "It does a body good," and talk about David L's milkcap paintings for a computer, I talk about the fundraising projects that my elementary school would initiate to try and raise money for more resources. This sign reminded me of these projects.



One big change in Highgrove is the presence of a new firehouse a few blocks from my dad's house, and next to it, a community center which appears to have been built from the donations of residents in the community. One of the Latino churches in the area seems to have played a large role in helping to fundraise money for this space. It includes a modest baseball park with a running trail laid out along its perimeter.



Finally, sometime ago I had blogged about Taiwanese wedding portraits and a book I had been reading on visual anth. My parents did not have a wedding portrait done and this is what hangs above my parents' bed - a self-portrait of my mother in a European-style baroque tapestry made of simple cotton yarn.



Yarn was my mother's medium for much of my childhood. This image was appropriated from the cover of one of my dad's favorite classical music albums - Beethoven I think.



My dad is old-fashioned in his artistic tastes - we're talking birds and flowers. So my mother made a lot of bird tapestries.

The Diamond Path

the stone of my
engagement ring
escapes from

its designer setting
somewhere between
deboarding the plane

at midnight
in the Inland Empire &
arriving in Highgrove

at my girlhood home
when I wake on
the first day of

my stopover, a yawning
loss where light
once winked,

I slide on
my wedding band
remembering ritual

a circle of gold
engraved with
Avalokitesvara’s mantra,

promise of recovery
& the real wish-
fulfilling jewel

What Yuki tells me about the rain

Like soft and steady rain, gentleness deeply penetrates.

Renga verse 13-14

Far-off deer cry
a whistling October ideogram
not found in the sutras

a script for simple living
the balm that wakens the world

he gestures angrily
at Dakshina Kali
creek crescent moon creek

knotting the tsutsumi cloth
before arriving at her home

he follows the black
throated jay with sad eyes
vague clouds icy ravines

painting in the pupil of daruma
wish for a smooth migration

on the hill-god masks
spooky silver eyes --
we bathe them in June

the freshly washed corpse with
flowers braided in his beard

lit with a blue sheen
where two granite rocks narrow
the rough creek

ruptures of earth, the shift
of fault lines, cleaving of loam

Kalidasa saw
sub-aquatic fires erupt from the
gods' love-making

the closing of roadways, sharp
rubber melt of goodyear tires

what year was it
under the coke-smudged moon
oil on the mallard's wings

stranded in the Oregon wild
a family rations its food