52 Poems: Week 17 Henry Luke

This week I'm sharing a hapa slam poet. It hits close to home with issues of racial identity. I love how he asks his audience to stand up, to take pride in being whole. Our world might want to break us down and make us invisible but we define who we are. Take a listen because poetry is meant to be heard!

52 Poems: Week 16 Billy Collins

She's cute, but why did she make me so dumb?

Jane Hancock of the UCLA Writing Project introduced me to the poetry of Billy Collins. I just came across this poem and I think I can relate, but I can't really remember. For over a year-and-a-half now, I feel my brain has left me. Baby brain, I am telling you, is a real thing. Becoming a mother has made me so stupid
I forget students' names, why I'm standing at the fridge, my phone, what street Kiara's daycare is on, all of it. My mother would say I've always been a little forgetful (lost jackets and sweaters, scarves and mittens) but now it's ridiculous. Today I lost my wallet (then found it), my keys (found them too), and my mind (maybe I just need a little more sleep).

Forgetfulness
Billy Collins

The name of the author is the first to go
followed obediently by the title, the plot,
the heartbreaking conclusion, the entire novel
which suddenly becomes one you have never read,
never even heard of,

as if, one by one, the memories you used to harbor
decided to retire to the southern hemisphere of the brain,
to a little fishing village where there are no phones.

Long ago you kissed the names of the nine Muses goodbye
and watched the quadratic equation pack its bag,
and even now as you memorize the order of the planets,

something else is slipping away, a state flower perhaps,
the address of an uncle, the capital of Paraguay.

Whatever it is you are struggling to remember,
it is not poised on the tip of your tongue,
not even lurking in some obscure corner of your spleen.

It has floated away down a dark mythological river
whose name begins with an L as far as you can recall,
well on your own way to oblivion where you will join those
who have even forgotten how to swim and how to ride a bicycle.

No wonder you rise in the middle of the night
to look up the date of a famous battle in a book on war.
No wonder the moon in the window seems to have drifted
out of a love poem that you used to know by heart.

52 Poems: Week 15 "Haircut"

So, for National Poetry Month my students are working on collections and I am working on poems about motherhood. If you read last week's poem, you will recognize a few touchstones in "Haircut" in this call of words poem about those first snips of  Kiara's hair.

Haircut

by Noriko Nakada

Inspired Pablo Neruda's “You Will Remember”

Today I cut your hair

for the first time

just after your first birthday

because of Filipino tradition.

I consider keeping

those precious wisps of hair

like tiny feathers between my fingertips

and tying them up in ribbon.

I can hardly believe you—

the girl molded like clay

in my swollen womb—

are this little person sitting here now.

But the morning is busy

so I watch your feathery wisps

wash down the kitchen sink

and float away in silent water.

52 Poems: Week 14 Pablo Neruda

Love the language of this poem... we used it for a call of words in class this week and wrote about what I will remember, what Kiara will someday remember, where nothing is waiting and everything is.

You Will Remember
By Pablo Neruda  

You will remember that leaping stream
where sweet aromas rose and trembled,
and sometimes a bird, wearing water
and slowness, its winter feathers.
You will remember those gifts from the earth:
indelible scents, gold clay,
weeds in the thicket and crazy roots,
magical thorns like swords.
You'll remember the bouquet you picked,
shadows and silent water,
bouquet like a foam-covered stone.
That time was like never, and like always.
So we go there, where nothing is waiting;
we find everything waiting there.

Thanks, Village.

I never read Hillary Rodham Clinton's It Take a Village, but after this first year of parenthood I am so appreciative of the village David and I have around us. We have our families and friends and the virtual community who has supported every moment of Kiara's well-documented first year. So, thank you.

Thanks for helping us prepare for our baby-girl before she came. Thank you for welcoming her when she arrived, and for providing parenting guidance in those early, frightening days, weeks, and months. Thanks for celebrating every little milestone along with us and for putting up with the over-exposure of KHarp on social media. We love our little girl and know she feels the love of this village. Thank you.

52 Poems: Week 13 Eloise Klein Healy

Eloise Klein Healy is Los Angeles' poet laureate and this past summer, at a house-warming/birthday party with the most delicious ceviche, we visited about her forthcoming book of poetry, A Wild Surmise. She was the founding chair of Antioch where I worked on my mfa. We are part of a community of LA writers.

This week, as I reflect on the early days of Kiara's life, I read this poem and realized I gave up a beloved animal for my child. But I also don't like to be watched while I eat.

Artemis
By Eloise Klein Healy

I am thinking about romance and its purpose.
Children and why I didn't have any.
I would have left the cave and them with it
or I would have tied them to me forever
with my own sad dreams and finicky order.
I've liked young animals better.
I could put their heads in my mouth.
I could lick and clean them like a mother,
but I could not raise a child.
The first thing a child should see
is the pink sunrise of a nipple, not the green wind
of a branch whipping in passing.
I chose to keep animals around me instead
because we are the same. We have habits
and make strange circles before we sleep.
We don't like to be watched while we eat.

TBT: Once, I Was A Party Planner

This week, D and I have been pulling together Kiara's first birthday party and it really took me back. Before Pinterest and helium shortages, we used to throw some parties and post pictures of them on Kodak Gallery. Oh, how times have changed. So, for Throwback Thursday, here are a few images from a few of the events we planned together pre-K.

"Time of My Life" Prom complete with balloon arch, photo station, and dance floor.

Those were the times of our lives, apparently. Now there's a helium shortage!

We introduced the world to pineapple vodka for David's birthday. 

This image does not capture the crazy that night got.

Italian dinner in Highland Park was a birthday celebration but today it is remembered as:

The Night Camille Joined the Family.

I made a couple of Dodger cakes for David's birthdays.

But I think all of this party business might have started with Thanksgiving desserts...

and that led to flowers...

and then there is the love for wine and cheese...

Some great times with amazing friends; good food and tasty drinks. Surely there are more celebrations to plan, they will just be of a different sort (kid birthday parties).

52 Poems: Week 12 Wang Wei

During my MFA program at Antioch we took a course on translation and these are two of the poems I remember reading. We read and translated each poem and then read our classmates' translations until each poem became a dizzying collage of words and images.

Needless to say, the images from both of these stayed with me and with NoRuz (Persian New Year), and spring break upon us, they seemed perfect to share.The images are from the trip to China David and I took when my sister and her family were living there. One lotus shot is from Summer Palace in Beijing and the other is from the Great Wall looking into North Korea.

At the Lake Pavilion
By Wang Wei

On a skiff to meet an honored guest,
Slowly, slowly, it floats across the lake.
Facing the railing, we drink wine,
And on all sides, lotus flowers are in bloom.

Deer Enclosure
By Wang Wei

The Hills are empty, no man is seen,
But the sound of people's voices
As light is cast into the deep forest,
And shines again on green moss.

52 Poems: Week 11 Nikki Giovanni

I feel so lucky to have found the man I married because besides having so much in common (teaching, baseball, sports, Hapa-ness) we also have spaces in our togetherness like what Nikki Giovanni captures in this poem. 


A Certain Peace
by Nikki Giovanni

it was very pleasant
not having you around
this afternoon
not that i don't love you
and want you and need you
and love loving and wanting and needing you

but there was a certain peace
when you walked out the door
and i knew you would do something
you wanted to do
and i could run
a tub full of water
and not worry about answering the phone
for your call
and soak in bubbles
and not worry whether you would want something
special for dinner
and rub lotion all over me
for as long as i wanted
and not worry if you had a good idea
or wanted to use the bathroom

and there was a certain excitement
when after midnight you came home
and we had coffee
and i had a day of mine
that made me as happy
as yours did you

52 Poems: Weeks 9 and 10 Dog Sonnets

I posted Sherman Alexie's "Facebook Sonnet" last week and since I've fallen behind, here are a couple of the poems it inspired to catch us up. One is my own, about the night Scout bit Kiara. The other is by a student, Skyi, with similar themes.

DOG BITE

The dog bites Kiara and we’re staring

at one another, unsure what to do.

Most nights at this time we’re online glaring

at our screens with memes, jokes, and photos too.

Tonight we’re in the ER pensive, sad.

How do you post about this in a tweet?

How can you hashtag away something bad?

We stare and wait until the words come out.

He tweets, and posts, and we’re not so alone.

The ones who can help do, or they curse Scout

for biting again, needing a new home.

  Our daughter is fine that morning at dawn.

  We’re traumatized and our poor Scout is gone.
~ Noriko Nakada

JENNY

At school waiting for sixth period to
end, until finally the bell has rang.
I rush down stairs wondering what to do.
Then I see my mom; with my friends, can't hang.

Running and running to my mother's car
opening the door I say, "Hi, Mom."
She's smiling with a grin but no so far,
not so happy but I have to stay calm.

Halfway home and my mom decides to speak.
She tells me Jenny has been put down.
I burst into tears as I take a peek
at old pics while my smiles turn into frowns.

  Posting old pics of my best dog ever;
  knowing I will always love her forever.          
~Skyi Hilliard