Words for the Weekend - Poet Interview

We're going to shake things up a little this weekend. I actually have three poems to share with you. Better than that - the poet, Nunoe Kappa, is here to answer a few questions about herself, her poetry and her book, 'Girl Sinkokaul'. Welcome Nunoe!

Thanks so much for being here. I really like the flow and imagery of your poetry. Can you tell me what the significance is of 'girl sinkokraul'? I see she carries through the title and poems. 


I’ve found this word in a junk e-mail message that I’ve received a couple of years ago. The fact is that almost all the verses you can read in this book came from junk e-mails, that contained a large amount of phrases, without beginning neither end, randomly drawn each other.
No sense, bigger sense, I thought. Add to this that I don’t know well English language, and that I’ve fallen in love with this girl.
Girl Sinkokraul.


You say you don't know English well, what is your first language?

I lived in different countries, and always for few years in each of them, so it's difficult to say. I'd say that Japanese is my first language, because I lived with my father for a long time. After his death (three years ago) I didn't speak Japanese any more. Then Italian, cause I lived in Italy for five years (from 5 to 10) and for two years more, before going to USA. I love this language.



Is this your first English poetry book?

Yes, it's my first English book. I publish short stories in Italian (only on web-zines and with a pen name).

How long have you been writing poetry?


When I was fourteen I went to NY and I lived for six months with an English teacher who introduced me to poetry (reading and writing). Thanks to her I discovered - as I like to say - the power of free words, the words that come from unexpected places, like junk e-mail.

How long did it take you to amass enough poems to fill a book? 

The book has only 15 poems, but it takes one year to write and refine them. I was lucky because I found a great graphic designer and illustrator (Judith Law) that laid out the book.

Poetry can be very personal. Why did you decide to publish yours?

It's difficult to say: poetry must be a language strange to itself (imho) and this goal can be achieved only with a content real and sincere. So, the only way (for me) to move closer to poetry is to talk about something that is "very personal", as you said. But it's only my opinion and, furthermore, always in evolution.

What do you hope readers take away from your poems?

I hope readers can run into some little things about them, but represented in a new way. I try also to create, with illustrations and  the graphic layout, a little world coherent and captivating.

Do you have a website or somewhere that fans can read about what you are up to?

I only have a FB page (www.facebook.com/nune.kei) and a twitter account (@NunoeKei). I'm thinking about a blog.


Great Nunoe, thanks again for being here today. It amazes me that the lines for these poems were gathered in such a fun way. I guess it is true that there is beauty and poetry all around us - all we have to do is look.


Here are three of the poems from Nunoe's book, 'Girl Sinkokaul':

The first use that

I made of my thirst

for liberty was

hard to say

but was

your mouth

girl sinkokraul

/

pure olive oil

on your meal

flying sheets

over our heads

walking on the moon

with a little scare

of frozen flowers

/

when I understood

that you please my mind

and give a cheerfulness

to my lips

now I sense your tries

girl sinkokraul

the hardest championship

where I’m only able

to love and laugh

/

cause nobody but you

has ever heard me laugh.

I’m not praying for my love

I’m fasting for her

a diet is depleting my bones

of essential nutrients

increasing my chances

of developing an identity.

 

Everybody in the couple

was very confident

and experienced,

and everybody did wrong

come prepared for the weather

girl sinkokraul

/

according to shaman

ride low to the water

slalom between rocks

and at significant

rapids pull of your life

and scout the route

prevent general

girl sinkokraul

double crossing your fingers

/

and return your water

to my sand.

 Have a great weekend everybody!!

Words for the Weekend

One of the best things about posting poetry is getting to read through a bunch of really good poems trying to find just the right one. Today's comes from "Stroll of Poets: the 1998 Anthology".

Lunch Bag
by Gordon McRae

Somebody
drove over my lunchbag
and I don't know about you
but
when somebody
drives over my lunchbag
it makes me feel
really blue

The sandwich looks
like a really thin book
with pictures
of pickles and cheese
The apple
is nothing but applesauce
and the banana
like some weird disease

I don't like it
when they
drive over my lunchbag
It makes me feel
really frail
And that's why
I pack in my lunch bag
A bunch of
tire-popping nails

I can totally relate as I have had my 'lunch bag' driven over a time or two and have also learned to pack nails. Have a great weekend!

Words for the Weekend

Recently I have rediscovered a book called "The Poem I Turn To: Actors & Directors Present Poetry that Inspires Them". It is interesting to see what types of poetry each of the different personalities like. For this week I have chosen a poem that Mary-Louise Parker (from the TV show Weeds) included.

Keeping Things Whole

by Mark Strand

In a field

I am the absence

of field.

This is

always the case.

Wherever I am

I am what is missing.

When I walk

I part the air

and always

the air moves in

to fill the spaces

where my body has been.

We all have reasons

for moving.

I move

to keep things whole.

Just a little something to keep your mind moving this weekend. Have a great one!!

Words for the Weekend

Happy Weekend everybody!! This past week, the 21st to be exact, was National Aboriginal Day here in Canada. In honor of that, today's poem was written by a Canadian aboriginal of the Inuit tribe in northern Canada. I hope you enjoy this one.

The Invisible Men
by Nakasak
translated by Edward Field

There is a tribe of invisible men
Who move around us like shadows - have you felt them?
They have bodies like ours and live just like us,
Using the same weapons and tools.
You can see their tracks in the snow sometimes
And even their igloos
But never the invisible men themselves.
They cannot be seen except when they die
For then the become visible.

It once happened that a human woman
Married one of the invisible men.
He was a good husband in every way:
He went out hunting and brought her food,
And they could talk together like any other couple.
But the wife could not bear the thought
That she did not know what the man she married looked like.
One day when they were both at home
She was so overcome with curiosity to see him
That she stabbed with a knife where she knew he was sitting.
And her desire was fulfilled:
Before her eyes a handsome young man fell to the floor.
But he was cold and dead, and too late
She realized what she had done,
And sobbed her heart out.

When the invisible men heard about the murder
They came out of their igloos to take revenge.
Their bows were seen moving through the air
And the bowstrings stretching as they aimed their arrows.
The humans stood their helplessly
For they had no idea what to do or how to fight
Because they could not see their assailants.
But the invisible men had a code of honor
That forbade them to attack opponents
Who could not defend themselves,
So they did not let their arrows fly,
And nothing happened; there was no battle after all
And everyone went back to their ordinary lives.

Words for the Weekend

Tomorrow I will be spending the day at a fundraising run/walk for the heart and stroke association. A great way to spend the day but not conducive to writing blog posts. So, here it is, a few hours early:

Father

a quiet, gentle soul, whose spirit I feel in the forest,

this man, to whom conversation does not easily come ... or

perhaps he chooses simply not to converse, for what is the

point of an idle word? inside his heart, poetry flows

music in his veins, like the symphony of breeze through a

tree ... he follows the call of this restless wind,

a secret desire to write in the shade of an oak,

this passion shared with few ... chosen am I ...

to know this facet of his soul; the man who is

my father, who planted his seed and gave me life,

whose spirit I feel in the forest,

the man who passed to me

his gift of love,

deep and

enduring,

for

trees

and

the

poetic

word.

by June Smith-Jefferies as printed in the book 'Stroll of Poets: the 1997 Anthology'

I love this poem because it reminds me so much of my own quiet, nature loving father.

Words for the Weekend

Some of you may not know this about me and I hope that knowing it won't chase you away: I am Canadian. That's right, born and bred. And whether we want to admit it or not, being Canadian entails having some part of you connected to hockey. It may be the bunion on your right big toe or it may be pretty much your whole soul, but there's something.

Why is this important today? Well there's a Canadian team in the running for the cup right now - and we're one away. (translation for the non-hockey fans out there: there's a Canadian hockey team in the playoffs and if they win one more game, the Stanley cup is theirs for the year) So, in honour of all that, today's poem is actually a song. It's the unofficial Canadian national anthem. Those of you who know it - sing along!

From the book 'Going Top Shelf: An Anthology of Canadian Hockey Poetry' (and lots of other places, too) here's Stompin' Tom Connors:

The Hockey Song

Hello out there we're on the air it's hockey night tonight

Tension grows the wistle blows and the puck goes down the ice

The goalie jumps and the players bump and the fans all go insane

Someone roars "Bobby scores!" at the good ole hockey game.

Oh the good ole hockey game is the best game you can name

And the best game you can name is the good ole hockey game

2nd period:

Where players dash with skates aflash the home team trails behind

But they grab the puck and go bursting up and they're down across the line.

They storm the crease like bumble bees they travel like a burning flame

We see them slide the puck inside - It's a "1 - 1" hockey game!

Oh the good ole hockey game is the best game you can name

And the best game you can name is the good ole hockey game

3rd period: last game in the playoffs, too ...

Oh take me where the hockey players face off down the rink - 

And the Stanley Cup is all filled up for the chaps who won the drink - 

Now the final flick of the hockey stick and a gigantic scream - 

The puck is in! The home team wins! The good ole hockey game!

Oh the good ole hockey game is the best game you can name

And the best game you can name is the good ole hockey game

Here's hoping the Canucks bring it home on Monday night!! Have a great weekend, all!

Words for the Weekend

In honor of my parents 51st wedding anniversary today, I chose this lovely love poem by Percy Bysshe Shelley (1792-1822)

Love's Philosophy

The fountains mingle with the river

And the rivers with the Ocean,

 The winds of Heaven mix for ever

With a sweet emotion;

Nothing in the world is single;

All things by a law divine

In one spirit meet and mingle.

Why not I with thine? -

See the mountains kiss high Heaven

And the waves clasp one another;

No sister-flower would be forgiven

If it disdained its brother;

And the sunlight clasps the earth

And the moonbeams kiss the sea;

What is all this sweet work worth

If thou kiss not me?

Happy Anniversary Mom and Dad!! Love you both.

Words for the Weekend

Welcome poetry people! I should be calling this post 'Words for the Week'. I will be away for most of next week and unable to post. Please don't dessert me while I'm gone. I'll be back, I promise. And as soon as I get back I will be heading over to random.com to find out the winner of the chick lit giveaway. If you haven't entered yet, check it out here.

In honor of the newly discovered, previously unheard of, poem by e e cummings (article here if you are interested) I thought we could ponder on one of his previously known poems:

i thank you god for most

this amazing

i thank you god for most this amazing

day: for the leaping greenly spirits of trees

and a blue true dream of sky; and for everything

which is natural which is infinite which is yes

(i who have died am alive again today,

and this is the sun's birthday; this is the birth

day of life and of love and wings: and of the gay

great happening illimitably earth)

how should tasting touching hearing seeing

breathing any - lifted from the no

of all nothing - human merely being

doubt unimaginable You?

(now the ears of my ears awake

now the eyes of my eyes are opened)

e e cummings (Oct 14, 1894 - Sept 3, 1962)

Enjoy your week, all!!

Words for the Weekend

I know, I know, I'm a day early - but better early than never, right? (Isn't that the way that goes?) Actually I am going away for the weekend and if I don't post now it will be late. I hate being late! So, if you are one of those people who need continuity - stop reading now and come back tomorrow.

Today's poem (OK - tomorrow's poem) comes from the book 'A Poem a Day' edited by Karen McCosker and Nicholas Albery. If you've not read much in the line of poetry, an anthology like this is a good place to start because you will be exposed to a number of different poets and a number of different styles. Ready? OK, here goes:

One Perfect Rose

dorothy parker

A single flow'r he sent me, since we met.

All tenderly his messenger he chose;

Deep-hearted, pure, with scented dew still wet - 

One perfect rose.

I knew the language of the floweret; 

'My fragile leaves,' it said, 'his heart enclose'.

Love long has taken for his amulet

One perfect rose.

Why is it no one ever sent me yet

One perfect limousine, do you suppose?

Ah no, it's always just my luck to get

One perfect rose.

A woman after my own heart. See you all next week.

Words for the Weekend

Little known personal fact: my first love of literature is poetry. I LOVE it; read it; collect it. So I've decided to start a meme (although I don't know it anyone else will pick it up - in which case it is a tradition) Words for the Weekend. A little brain food to keep you thinking through the weekend.

Today some Robert Service. My all time favorite poet. I totally want this poem on my headstone.

Just Think - by Robert Service

Just think! some night the stars will gleam

Upon a cold, grey stone,

And trace a name with with silver beam,

And lo! 'twill be your own.

That night is speeding on to greet

Your epitaphic rhyme.

Your life is but a little beat

Within the heart of Time.

A little gain, a little pain,

A laugh, lest you may moan;

A little blame, a little fame,

A star-gleam on a stone.

- 'The Best of Robert Service'

Have a great weekend, everyone!