Every age has its own poetry, in every age the circumstances of history choose a nation, a race, a class to take up the torch by creating situations that can be expressed or transcended only through poetry.
-- Jean- Paul Sartre
My Dear Friends and Readers:
Today marks the one-year anniversary of the World Health Organization declaring COVID-19 a global pandemic. And Canadian Prime Minister Justin Trudeau designates March 11 a national day of observance to commemorate those who have died of Covid19.
On the day of the WHO pandemic announcement, I started a coronavirus poetry journal, and have published 188 diary entries on NeverEnding Story and more than half a hundred poems in journals, anthologies, and poetry contests, three of which received international recognition.
Pandemic: A Worldwide Community Poem, of which I am one of co-authors, was selected by Muse-Pie Press for the Pushcart Prize.
shelter in place ...
seen from the attic window
this view
of snow-capped Mt. Fuji,
the fifth corner of my world
Honorable Mention, Fifth Mt. Fuji Tanka Awards, 2020
we'reallinthistogether
snow
on
snow
onhomelessshelter
(included in a Bulgarian language tanka handbook written by Dimitar Anakiev, along with four other tanka and one interview about my view of Japanese short form poetry)
Quiet, all alone
on the edge of this quarantined world, 120 square feet of attic space
yet again, I try
to wipe my drunken shadow
off the wall
but can't erase this shadow
of an infected mind
When I [couldn't] "erase this shadow/of an infected mind," I was reminded of Ishikawa Takuboku's following remark on "poems to eat:"
My mind, which was yearning after some indescribable thing from morning to night, could find an outlet to some extent only by making poems. And I had absolutely nothing except that mind… I want to say this: a very complicated process was needed to turn actual feelings into poetry… Poetry must not be what is usually called poetry. It must be an exact report, an honest diary, of the changes in a man’s emotional life. Accordingly, it must be fragmentary; it must not have organization… Each second is one which never comes back in our life. I hold it dear. I don’t want to let it pass without doing anything for it. To express that moment, tanka, which is short and takes not much time to compose, is most convenient…
I was encouraged and kept writing ...
quarantining
this world of masked faces
into five lines ...
I throw a stone of words
across the river of no return
Hopefully next year we'll will be living a "normal life," and the sixty-seventh entry will be the concluding poem of my new collection of tanka about two (?) years of living dangerously.
Selected Poems:
dark emptiness
of tree-lined Wuhan streets
my life and dreams
shrink to the size
of a laptop screen
NeverEnding Story, February 26, 2020
coronavirus alert
this urge to touch the face
of my shadow
First Entry, March 11, 2020
social distancing
the darkness
between winter stars
Haiku Page, 10, 2020
the world smaller
but more distant and colder ...
my gondola glides
through the Grand Canal
in a virus-free dream
Fourth Entry, March 11, 2020
It is what it is
"When you believe in God, he will not give you more than you can handle; when infected with doubt during a time of crisis, you should respond by seeking the right answer to your question," the pastor said in a firm, yet affectionate tone as he accompanied me to the parking lot. In the corner of my mind, God's words lingered, "Therefore do not worry about tomorrow, for tomorrow will worry about itself. Each day has enough trouble of its own."
The following day, in the shadow of this one-hundred-year-old church, I pause to wonder, “Am I as strong in the eyes of God and his mighty power as a true believer?" The path to the church entrance seems long ... and narrow. The pastor starts preaching at this much-anticipated Sunday Service.
spiritual nearing
versus social distancing ...
sitting alone
on a long wooden bench
further away from myself
Fifth Entry, March 15, 2020
Relax, it all will pass ...
this infectious silence
of the American Dream Mall
Seventh Entry, March 16, 2020
(Note: American Dream is a retail and entertainment complex in the Meadowlands Sports Complex in East Rutherford, New Jersey, United States, that has over 450 stores and 33ooo parking spaces)
Chinese virus ...
long wait at the iron door
of a gun store
an Asian-looking man sighs,
I just want some peace of mind
Sixteenth Entry, March 31 2020
a war of words
between the US and China ...
quarantined for weeks
my old dog and I
apart ... together
Ribbons, 16:2, Spring/Summer 2020
a tired nurse
opens the bedside window
my friend's voice
flows in with the night breeze
as his mother's eyes close
Forty-Fourth Entry, May 2 2020
None of us want to be martyrs
hospital window
the Maple Leaf flying
at half-mast
I'm starving. Thirsty. Tired. I wore my N95 mask for ten hours straight. Careful to conserve my #PPE ..., her last tweet has gone viral. Now, this dedicated nurse, a mother of two girls, becomes a dot added to the heat map of covid-19 confirmed cases and deaths.
Haiku Canada Review, 14:2, 2020
at the briefing
the photogenic PM's mouth
opens and closes ...
a nursing home silhouetted
against the sunset sky
Fifty-Eighth Entry, May 15 2020
a food bank lineup
curls around the street corner
the silence
of my friend looking at the ground
and me staring at the sky
Sixty-Fourth Entry, May 19 2020
Despite Covid-19
No one could stop 90-year-old Sam from seeing his dying wife, Jo, one final time. His eyes were fixed on her pale face for hours, their fingers interlocked. The virus claimed her life one day after his visit. And a week later, Sam followed her into everlasting rest.
Surrounded by jostling reporters and photographers, Sam's eldest son tried hard to answer a reporter's question in a steady voice, Your mother is my love. I don't regret it for one second. I say . . . I say goodbye and hold her hands for one more time. These ... these are my father's last words.
another dot
added to the heat map
of covid-19 . . .
I remember last summer
the blue expanse in her eyes
I've been acquainted with this Walmart cashier for months, but I've never had a chance (or dared ) to tell her, I like you, or ask her out for coffee. The last time I saw her, she wore a face mask behind the checkout counter. After she gave me the receipt, I said to her in a loud voice, which astonished even me, many thanks for your service to our community during this difficult time.
This hard-working cashier with a sunny disposition might be my Jo, to whom I never said goodbye. Her masked smile, her eyes, and her have a nice day keep my heart from closing in this infectious world.
Ribbons, 16:3, Fall 2020
No one could stop 90-year-old Sam from seeing his dying wife, Jo, one final time. His eyes were fixed on her pale face for hours, their fingers interlocked. The virus claimed her life one day after his visit. And a week later, Sam followed her into everlasting rest.
Surrounded by jostling reporters and photographers, Sam's eldest son tried hard to answer a reporter's question in a steady voice, Your mother is my love. I don't regret it for one second. I say . . . I say goodbye and hold her hands for one more time. These ... these are my father's last words.
another dot
added to the heat map
of covid-19 . . .
I remember last summer
the blue expanse in her eyes
I've been acquainted with this Walmart cashier for months, but I've never had a chance (or dared ) to tell her, I like you, or ask her out for coffee. The last time I saw her, she wore a face mask behind the checkout counter. After she gave me the receipt, I said to her in a loud voice, which astonished even me, many thanks for your service to our community during this difficult time.
This hard-working cashier with a sunny disposition might be my Jo, to whom I never said goodbye. Her masked smile, her eyes, and her have a nice day keep my heart from closing in this infectious world.
Ribbons, 16:3, Fall 2020
lemonade stand
the play of light and shadow
on her masked face
tinywords, 20:2, 2020
breezy sunshine
on baseball’s opening day
cutout fans
tinywords, 20:2, 2020
We're Human, All Too Human
house party
a drunk man stumbles over
his words, just a flu
"I know many are tired of hearing me say that covid19 is not over. Sometimes I'm tired of saying it," the chief medical officer responds to a reporter's question about a possible outbreak. "The truth is though that covid19 is still here." The graying and silver strands in his hair are more visible at today's briefing.
TV off and lights out ...
what's left of quarantine life
this skylight
Cattails, October, 2020
to be continued ...
Stay safe and well
Happy Reading
Chen-ou
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