Showing posts with label kyoka. Show all posts
Showing posts with label kyoka. Show all posts

Monday, July 27, 2026

Reading More and Writing Better: Cockroaches Kyoka

Realm of Contagious Stupidity, II
In response to India's "cockroach" movement

what if 
all cockroaches come together?
punch after punch
stamp upon stamp
across The Metamorphosis

Chen-ou Liu


FYI: Ls 1&2, "what if all cockroaches come together?," refer to the viral, youth-led Cockroach Janta Party (CJP) movement in India.

The structure of this politically satirical kyōka is built around a reversal of the premise of Kafka's The Metamorphosis.

Politically allusive, Ls 1–2—"what if / all cockroaches come together?"—invite the reader to suspend Kafka's world of isolation and imagine an alternative. Structurally, these opening lines establish possibility.

The poem then shifts from collective imagination to kinetic action. The question immediately becomes movement:

punch after punch
stamp upon stamp

The repetition gives the kyōka momentum. Notice that neither line has an explicit subject; instead, the actions themselves accumulate. This omission makes the movement feel collective and anonymous, fitting the Cockroach Janta Party (CJP) premise that no single individual matters as much as the mass.

Syntactically, the parallelism of Ls 3–4 mimics waves or marching rhythms. It also echoes the cadence of protest chants, where repetition itself becomes force.

L5 changes the scale:

across The Metamorphosis

Up to this point, the kyōka exists within a contemporary political moment. The final line suddenly relocates everything into literature.

This is the poem's real structural surprise. It imagines the protest unfolding across the pages of Kafka's novella.

The direction is significant.

Not inside the book.
Not against the book.
But across it.

That preposition suggests movement over, through, and beyond the literary text.

The kyōka thus reverses Kafka's narrative trajectory.

Kafka's salesman Gregor Samsa is

isolated,
immobilized,
increasingly silent,
ultimately erased.

The kyōka proceeds in precisely the opposite direction.

Instead of
one insect → death
we have
many insects → motion.

The poem begins with a topical, even humorous premise—"cockroaches" organizing politically. It develops that premise through rhythmic repetition before culminating in an unexpected literary reframing that transforms the joke into a critique.

The kyōka's deepest move is not simply its satire of a particular political moment; it is its reversal of The Metamorphosis. Kafka's insect is tragic because he is alone. The "cockroaches" in the kyōka become politically potent precisely because they are together. That inversion gives the poem its structural coherence and its strongest literary resonance.

Wednesday, July 1, 2020

Hot News: Prune Juice Book of Senryu and TOP 5 Prune Juice Contributors of ALL TIME (2009-2019)

My Dear Friends:

Great news! The Prune Juice Book of Senryu: Celebrating 10 Years (2009 - 2019) is now available as a FREE eBook PDF And I'm honored  to be number one contributor on the list of  the TOP 5 Prune Juice Contributors of ALL TIME (2009-2019):

#1  Chen-ou Liu,  27 issues since PJ, #3 2010 (FYI: I started writing haiku and senryu in mid 2009)

#2  Bob Lucky, 22 issues since PJ, #01 2009

#3. Helen Buckingham, 21 issues since PJ, #01 2009

#4.  Julie Warther, 20 issues since PJ, #11 2013

#5.  Sondra J. Byrnes, 19 issues since PJ #07 2012

Here are my senryu selected by Prune Juice editors:

PJ, 29:

humid heat
a drunk drones on
about bad luck

PJ, 28:

chain-link fences
on both sides of the road . . .
post election

PJ, 27

first homecoming
I refashion myself
between flights

PJ,26

divorce talk
the burden of who
will take the dog

PJ,17

between street lamps
a sex worker
and my shadow

PJ,12

my muse blinking
in Morse Code . . .
one more glass of wine

PJ,9

street preacher
wisps of breath hang
around his mouth

PJ, 8

Mona Lisa smiles
at the woman in a burka . . .
art gallery

PJ, 5

arguing over costs . . .
a man of few words
in the coffin

PJ, 3

drinking at a bar —
the old man he swore
he’d never be

PJ, 7

eating a Big Mac . . .
alone in the attic
I ponder
the Chinese word for home:
a pig under the roof

PJ, 30

Victoria’s Secret
in the window
my wife’s wrinkles

black and white
photos of my school days
new patch of gray hair

behind the hearse
carrying the former mayor
a few people
. . . and the garbage truck
keeps its safe distance


Enjoy all of these authors plus 80 more top contributors in this free Prune Juice Book of Senryu: Celebrating 10 Years (2009 - 2019) ebook.

Chen-ou

Friday, September 29, 2017

To the Lighthouse: Kyoka, Madcap Verse

Kyoka (狂歌, "madcap verse") is a popular, parodic  subgenre of waka (ancient name for tanka),  as a form of amusement and diversion, and it characteristically uses puns for language play and humor, and mixes high and low language to express freedom and radically redefines traditional waka. For example, a kyoka might start off sounding like a typical courtly verse, with elevated diction and evocative imagery, only to crash to earth in the final lines, in a witty or ironic utterance of  the commoner's practical/worldly concerns, expressed in the language of everyday life

As a genre of entertainment, kyoka has an ancient lineage; the 14th century collection, Hyakushu Kyoka (One Hundred Madcap Verses on Alcohol), was the first to bear the genre's name. Kyoka flourished in the Edo period (1600-1868) and reached its peak in the Temmei era (1781-89), when two women poets, Fushimatsu no Kaka and Chie no Naishi, were prominent (Understanding Humor in Japan edited by Jessica Milner Davis p.111).

The following is a set of selected kyoka, which I hope  it will bring a big smile on your face:

everybody's
heading in
the same direction --
I watch
from the sidelines

Ishikawa Takuboku

wrote GREAT
in the sand
a hundred times
forgot about dying
and went on home

Ishikawa Takuboku

writing a poem
of longing for her
I'm irritated
by the interruption
of her phone call

George Swede

criticizing
my husband
for criticizing me
I miss the exit
from the traffic circle

Angela Leuck

a couple fussing
over which tea is which ...
I tell myself,
I made a God choice
not to get married

Chen-ou Liu

thirty years
on the job
I've become
something of an expert
on what's unimportant

John Stevenson

Fox news
with the weight of "isms"
my eyelids sink
into a dream world
of plain talk

Guy Simser

repeatedly
talking, talking
over each other ...
a Trump fan
and the parrot

Chen-ou Liu

If I sit here
listening to your poetry
very much longer
I will be wrinkled
like an old woman!

M. Kei