The Sake Poems

From: mjsalovaara
To: ". buddhafaction"
Date: 08, Monday January, 2001 9:09 PM
Subject: Sake Poems


Scott, Slava and Hoi,

I want to start a cycle of poems. not written for you, but written to you three.

4 bitter or 4 wurst...

I write to you 3, not so much for your response, but for the love I have for you. the poems are not for you. the poems are not of any special purpose, except that they are written for you three to read (or ignore)..

This poem is the start...


Sake Poem 1

give me a number
I'll give you a finger

light a match
find me in a corner

trump up a charge
leaky condoms revealed

needles and joints
always lead inward

repentance at midnight
remorse at sunrise

couplets
and
order.

I feel the form
and, perhaps,
the logic, but
life is

something
different
than belief
in an expectation

in you
my friends
what is the measure,

the gap
between you
and me?

I grunt
and grind
and you in kind,
and there's the rhyme.

Why?

Can a peasant's son
say "hey, me too!"
to the shadows of you
casted upon my wall

of the moment
when you
recognized me

and I walked
in disbelief

reality
and belief
dance a ballet
to an applause.

I'm confused
by the echoes
and voices
waiting

vultures
are always hungry
waiting

michael



Sake Poem 2

This morning
I stood on the delta
closed my eyes
and whispered
the alpha
and the omega

when I awoke
laid on the sand bar
of every ruin
from Adam
to Clinton
I wondered
if Buddha was
a virgin

michael


Sake Poem 3

Pretension

And there we were
Yebisu in our glasses
and on our beards
(yours had a bit more froth)
and there we were
I had asked a question
and your repartee
had all the nimbleness
of arthritis
and there we were
thankful the beer
tasted good

Michael


Sake Poem 4

Last night I went to the sakeya
bought two sake and a chu-hi
across the street you were sitting
outside Hankyu Osaka Station
with your Kirin beer and Joe
and his Kirin beer

We raised our cans
and spoke of the dead
as if they had only moved
to America
or still brewed beer
in their kitchen
next to the fridge

I felt a chill
when Joe said the dead
asked for me
not knowing
they had died

But you knew
sitting there
stone faced

On the train ride home
I thought about those
who call me brother


Michael


PS. The line "who call me brother" is borrowed from Slava's book of
poems called "Who Calls Me Brother". And Slava I am beginning to see
the shape of what you meant.




Sake Poem 5

Who is it
that calls me brother
is a lonely call
of despair
and hope

and a belief
in the stone
unmoved

Michael


Thank you my brothers.


Sake Poem 6

The belief of the Believers
can be shred to tatters
by a contradiction
dreamed up by Fools

But for the Faithless
the Law becomes
a scant fig leaf
against Fools
like me

Me?
Yeah me!
Yeah, without fame
I act out
little revolutions
lasting a minute
sometimes an hour

And then there are
the ironies (like this poem)
that read like a bad joke
from someone
who has laughed
too much

Give me a scenario
I look for a confession
and what would my father do
to the silence
making noise
late at night

Like the stars
I see tonight
destiny lies
in the kiss
between purpose
and fear

I'd pucker up,
if I saw an advantage.

Michael



Sake Poem 7

After all these years
of planning, I find this
portal on the thin line
between the sleep
and the wake

where old men
play cards
and rumble long
into the night

where long black
hairs wrap around
my penis

where jube-jube
worms wiggle down
the wall almost
to my feet

where I sweat
and the cicada
eat through
my dreams

I find the portal
just as I left it,
but a million miles
from where I thought
I left it

I thought I left it
only yesterday

Yesterday I heard
Susan exhale, "The Brontes,
The Brontes" and when the curtain
moved one almost expected
Heathcliff or Frankenstein
to enter

I walked in
to a shudder difficult
in its interpretation;
was it the wind against
the window? Was it
the supreme calm
of her in the room?
Or was it
me

With gum wrappers,
receipts, bits of paper
laying out my plans
before her?

With one short breath
she scattered them, "When
you are old and homeless
you will come into
my class", and then smiled,
satisfied walked away

I walked away
She went to Queens U

*

A million miles?
It could be more,
I'm in Osaka

A million miles
with sirens down
on the street and me
with these pieces
of paper tacked
to the wall
with destiny written
all over them
and a fat laughing
Buddha on the shelf
deconstructing itself
into an irony laughing
the castle I made

I often laugh
at the plan I made

*

When I am
with the Russian
we laugh more
and pour whiskey
upon our joy until
tears become
the only answer
for the portal
found on the thin line
we stand on

We wipe our tears
look where we stand
and laugh again
raise a glass to family,
friends, God, Buddha,
poetry

a silent glass

and we drift
remembrances

*

I drift into tobacco
another compulsion
to light up and name
that tune becomes
a metaphor for freedom
and destiny and all
the new and improved
failures that have sustained
generations before me
and then God

I shake, I shake
the plan, the plan
the planning falls
into prayer

I'm riding
in a Ford Pinto
down Boundary Road
with pieces of paper
in my pocket

Sam drives
into each moment
as if he knows
it's coming

When it comes
I am not
there

*

I am
with my whiskey
thinking of Susan
and her Phd
and my plan
and this portal

*

today's portal


"Sake poem(s) 7

*

Michael


Sake Poem 8

The other day
someone said,
"Michael how
do you do it"?

I finished my glass
and said

I do it with a belief
so bedrock
INCO has been
asking for drilling
rights

I do it with crayons
colouring over
the lines

I do it with long
slow thrusts
and one sudden
gasp

I do it with fear

I do it with whiskey
and nobility
covered with tears

I do it with you

I do it sudden
like the Hanshin
Earthquake

I do it with prayer
I do it with respect

I do it with economy
and the chaos
that follows

I do it with ideology,
wait stop!
that's a joke

I do it seriously;
I could be
a dictator

I do it naive;
I am
a flower

I do a joke
no body laughs

I do it in a fit
sirens call

I do it with desperation
a friend offers
a glass of water

I do it with rage
at the past

I laugh

I do it with love

and if I were not so shy...

I do it honestly
no condoms
no questions

And
I do it
just to do IT
without shoes!

After a few moments
he said, "Oh,
thank you."

I ordered another,
received it,
drank it

and asked,
"How I do what?"

Michael

PS. As I sang the usual goodnight song with Maria, she wanted to sing
good night to Slava. Good night Slava!


Sake Poem 8b

Death

a poetic epilogue
to a dark joke

lately I have been
laughing more
than I want to

a friend's daughter
a friend

someone I knew
hanging alone

the humour
is enough
to send one
into despair

into waking dreams
of the moment
after the last
moment

*

I rise
from my bed
wash the dishes
hang the laundry
teach the next lesson
write a new poem

*

I wait
for the next nut
to crack
hoping it is
not me

*

I am
16
bleeding
determined

I am
38
determined

I am now

I have always been
so


michael


Sake Poem 10


Woman
enter me
through the pores,
the skin, mouth, ears,
eyes, nose, anus,
penis


Gather
the evidence
of guilt, shame,
suspicion, anger
for the collection
hidden in your hope
that man will
change

Honey
why do you
moan so
when I rise
to give you
attention?

Hey Babe
I am not
the man
you thought
me to be, not
even the man
of your dreams

Sweetheart
if I said,
I am not the man
I want to be,
would you carry
further the hope
I will change
into the monster
of your desire?

Dearest
I am monster enough
without your Mary Shelley
plans for a better man

Sweet lips
though I am
moved by the drama,
I am already segmented,
reorganized, and stitched
by your ambition

And woman
that is OK
with me,
just don't ask me
to change

Now I've got to go;
it's time to take my daughter
to school, wash the dishes,
hang the laundry
before I go to work.

Michael


Sake Poem 11

Tell me
the colour
of shame

From the voices
given me
I seem to be
coloured

I look in the mirror
stand tall
chest out
back straight
I see a man

Sure
my hair lacks
my gut's gain
and the edges
look wintery

But in my time
I was a machine
taunt, precise;
3,000 meters
was a race for
efficiency
and beauty

even then
i marveled
at what i
had done

Before I had done,
I had a wealth
of encouragement

stupid
ugly
weak
come to mind

Can I not
for one
fucking day
forget?

does my desire
forever reek
of the past?

where is the comfort
my brothers?

still
childhood is a better pill
to swallow compared
to the alternative

but still
now I stand stained
with colours
I can not write off

poetry is my solace,
but it isn't my comfort

I desire more
than feel shame
for being

*

however humble,
I breath,
I am thankful

I am thankful
for you
my brothers.


Micheal

Sake Poem 11.5

joy
escapes me
and pain
invades

if life
were a joke
I'd laugh

I wish
to be
Russian

and then
beauty becomes more
than the physical
self

and pain
is a child
to laugh at
and ignore.


Michael

Sake Poem 12

In the face
of overwhelming
odds - retreat,
is what a Chinese
philosopher said
long ago

But in the face
of the overwhelming You, Icon
of the Me Generation,
I am too much
of a coward
to run

Given a choice
I'd rather shit myself
waiting for the promised land,
than build a temple
upon the sand of retreat
and fear

Everyday canons
of belief echo
with brave words
volleyed in fear
of disclosure
of some imagined
truth about greatness,
purity and righteousness

I know because I see
it in the Media, everywhere
- even in the ads for toothpaste
and soap - the fear
revealed as if
it were a virgin
about to be
no more; nervous

I know because I was
once nervous; and my lover
tightened around my nervousness
and said, "Do you feel
that?" and laughed
leaving me wondering
if all fears are
revealed the same way

They don't.

There are these temples
where ever you go
and fear is the hollow
holy feel wrapping around
your shoulders
whenever you enter into
the rule of law

Transgress
and a sanhedrin
of finger pointers
will "tut, tut" you,
toss into the streets,
and write another law,
build another temple,
and sleep well

And sleep well
they should
in their houses
built with certitude
and resolve
that there can be
order

I must admit
some envy

I don't have a house
that I can retreat to
so easily; when I do
the door is off
its hinges, the windows
broken, the bed
unmade

So I stand
a fool shaking my fist
upon this mountain of purpose
waiting for the storm

When it comes
and the judgement
thunders down
citing Book, Chapter and Verse
I'll shit myself
and then say,
"I am a man V. 1.0"
and wait for the dust
to carry me home

There I can be
the sand supporting
some monument
celebrating
my defeat.

Michael


My friends, take heart, even I feel the end of this cycle of poems. mjs


Sake Poem 13

You could be
anybody sitting here
believing

Michael


Sake Poem 14

No,
that was poorly worded...

You could be
anybody sitting here
believing

moments
like these
make the coffee
in the morning

aroma
all wordy,
subtle, blind
and sunrise

toast,
warm hearted
soft boiled eggs
and orange juice
freshly squeezed

the newspaper
unread

And you
breathing in

this moment you
become
the liar

Michael


Sake Poem 15

The shadows,
their hauntings
and intrigues
draw me
to you,
Man of Light
and All Knowing

The years at Your Feet
were a feast
so vast

Twenty years later
I am still picking
doctrine out
of my teeth

You,
Man of Light
and All Knowing
I am Your child
caught between God
and You

A child
of a bad marriage
and a worse ideology

You,
Man of Light
and All Knowing
I wait
for a new baptism

A new belief,
a deliverance
for a fool;
for a garden
without serpents
ready with advice
without saints
like you

Michael


Sake Poem 16

Tobacco was
a habit primed
in Delhi,
delivered later

First the lower leaves
picked before noon
on a good day

When the primer
failed I could hear
you playing

Name that tune
through each row;
who was
the kiln hanger?

What I didn't know
still hangs

Today I smoke.

Michael

Sake Poem 16b

Dad died
drank too much
fell down
the stairs
into destiny

Hated/Loved
His son's love
of the girls
and boys caught
in His Beaver Cleaver
paradise paranoia

The Grocer-man
who delivered
to welfare mothers
delivers
no more

To his son's
in-ambition
to grocer
or to serve

Tonight I can see
the son mourn
drinking hyssop
rolling spliffs
diving into darkness
so familiar
he is afraid
to say "Hello"
to the ghost

The freedom
calls out so loud
he mourns
to touch
once again
his father's anger/love

Tonight I see
him by the fire
stone cold
inconsolable

Relieved.


Michael


Sake Poem 17

check
che che che che check
che che che che che check
che check
check

How I love
to pull back
the layers
down
to the essentials
and find
nothing at all

check
che che che che check
che che che che che check
che check
check

When we kissed
we relented
touched
relented again
naked
relented more
as one

check
che che che che check
che che che che che check
che check
check

I wear a hat
you shoes
I throw empty sake bottles
you collect pocket watches
I shout, "I want to BE"
you say, "I AM"

check
che che che che check
che che che che che check
che check
check

You say you want to
I say when
You call me brother
I say when
You want to be cool
I say when
You say, "I Quit!"

check
che che che che check
che che che che che check
che check
check

How the essentials
love to put on
layers
to hide
nothing at all

check
che che che che check
che che che che che check
che check
check

Michael


Sake Poem 18

In God's Purse
is where I go
when I want
to be
alone

(



)

In God's Purse
is where I find
my row
to hoe

(long furrowed eyes,
lilac switches,
naughty britches,
endless summer skies)

In God's Purse
is where I built
my fortress
of solitude

(high rocky cliff,
knotty stunted pine,
red, red wine,
a tight joint)

In God's Purse
is where I wish
to find
you


Michael


Sake Poem 19

Being bleak is
is another way
of laughing
at the clowns

When I was
a clown
the pain
had no name
I only said
Amen

Michael


Sake Poem 20

Byron found
his bullet
romantic

Today
finds it
pathetic

Sacrifice
passe
almost comic

Only fools
dance
at such ruin

Michael


Sake Poem 21


man looks
deeply at self
finds an echo
voiced before
the sun rose

man listens
closely to what
he cannot hear
cries, wonders
at the silence

man remembers
a boy who knew
the answers
but has long ago
died

man runs
till he can
run no more
then turns
the cliches
hound dogging
his every thought
into trite
verse

man stands
erect and shares
the banalities
and precious moments
on high quality paper
and non-smear ink

Michael


Sake Poem 22

a man looks deeply
into his glass
finds all the angles,
advantages, and other
deceits...


speaking in voice
so broken
light could be seen,
angels heard,
a hand felt

through the cracks
a carnival freak
laughs through
the cadence

in the next breath
someone screams,
then laughs,
plays a Spanish guitar
in mono, then stereo

... a man looks
at the stars, forgets
the street beneath, friends
ring 'round the poet...

when I was
big I was
your brother

here I lie
to a bitter truth,
you are bigger
than I

... a man sees
tomorrow a locked door
and the day after
happily ever after...

I pissed myself
where am I?
Money taxi,
what fuckin luck!

Bed is cold as stone
body burns fever
dreams beyond midnight...

...a man meets
the deep sleep
reaches long, long
for the sunrise

Michael

Sake Poem 23

All I can do,
I have done
to burn
this candle

In my lonely
beautiful search
for ash
I find more wax
no wick

Yet still
I burn
Nicholson
church of someone's
Christ, but where
is mine...

.. before this age
of invention
and desperation
I was...

Yesterday I fell
twisted my knee
now I don't know
how to walk

Still I find
the places
I need to be.

Michael


Sake Poem 24

Tonight is
the last chance
for me to step
on toes, apologize
and do it again

only to receive
something more
sincere...

...it is only me
in the back yard
playing
with words
as if they didn't
mean anything
as if a dislocuted
meaning
had no pain at all



I pick up the play:
a man utters
a thousand confusions
only to find a scenario
where a man utters...

...to bleed belief
innocence and purity
is to be
lost

and it is
beautiful

the reflection
of you.

Michael


Sake Poem 25

Well, I guess this marks the end of this cycle of poems. I have been sitting here for 20 minutes writing and scrapping flaccid lines. At least four fetal forms of verse have been aborted. Sake poem(s) 24 was started a couple of weeks ago and finished tonight. I guess I have to admit that I am exhausted.

Thank you all for your willingness to receive these poems. To what great purpose they may serve I do not know, but they served me (or I them).

I chose you three because you are all more or less outside my daily life: Slava in Toyama, Hoi in Sudbury, and Scott in his new house in California. And beyond that I think you all understand without further explanation.

To respond to a few questions: autobiographical? Well... yes, though I have shifted to calm of late. The poem "Dad died/drank too much/fell down /the stairs/into destiny" was not my father, but a childhood friend's father. Yes, you can share want ever you want with whomever you want. In regards to my poetry reading I did a few Saturdays back, it was mostly these poems, it was in a voice/performance par excellence, it probably robbed me of my steam.

Slava, you will be here in 14 hours for our annual Xmas dinner and will of course read this email when you return to Toyama.

Scott and Hoi, I wish you and your families the best of this season and may the new century be better than the last.

Love & Poetry

Michael

P.S. I have been writing this email while listening to Nirvana, drinking sake, hoping to be inspired, but to no avail. I hung in there to the drunken end.