published in Eucalypt: Mariko Kitakubo

Mariko Kitakubo Profile

Mariko Kitakubo

Born in Tokyo.
Living in Mitaka-city, Tokyo
Membership
Japan Writers' Association,
Japan PEN Club,
Association of Contemporary Tanka Poets,
Japan Tanka Poets' Society,
Kokoro-No-Hana,
Tanka Online Project,
Tanka Society of America.

Contemprary Tanka Poet Mariko Kitakubo. Eucalypt.

My Tanka published in Eucalypt.

pure indigo
settles into my heart,
when I cross borders...
I would like to die
a wanderer of this earth

maybe
I can believe
in destiny --
spring rain reads
my outstretched palm

(ひと滴の雨にうるめる運命を信じてもみむ 春のてのひら)

this havest moon
sails beyond time and space...
there is no border
between life and death
for those I have truly loved

the days
of the end of my life
will come --
a cat is yawning
in the ruined village g

a herd
of majesty
is coming...
in the heat haze
elephants and their young

I planted
a tender sapling
in another land...
this Christmas Bush will flourish
long after I am gone

rain drops
of the constellation,
a water clock
sounding beyond
an avenue of cedars

how silent
the light rain
of radiation--
we continue searching
for his parents' bodies

Issue 10,2011

moonlit night
in the bamboo forest
child god
transforms into a badger
to summon his mother

Issue 11, 2011

after the bitterness
against my late father
a longing
comes to me--
sorrowful pendulum

over the battlefield
the moon is waning
little by little
I decay and
I lose myself too

I watch
a drop of poison
turn transparent
look to the half moon,
where my mother now lives

suddenly
the shadow of moth
growing larger--
after an embrace
difficult to resist

I balance
loneliness with
liberty--
the sky so blue
this Vernal Equinox Day

five years now
since I sat there
with mother
supping on noodles
flavered with citron

the sea canyon
is silently weeping
as I cross
concealing my sickness
within me

sometimes I wish for
shoulders to lean against--
there's a bitter wind
like the delivery of letters
after my death

maybe it's better
not to know the depth
of her wounds---
tranquilly I ask

how many sugar lumps?

how small
I really am
here between
potato field

and the wide sky

we won't know
if it's benign
till we operate---
I'm nodding as if
this isn't about me

 

 

 

even rainy days
at the beach
aren’t bad,
I whisper in the ear
of the jet-black Labrador

the sounds
of a cat grooming itself
in Tunisia
all the cobble-stones
are on fire with sunset

 

 

 

  • PrevPrev
  • NextNext