Showing posts with label January. Show all posts
Showing posts with label January. Show all posts

Sunday, September 29, 2013

Keibooks Announces January, A Tanka Diary, by M. Kei

Keibooks Announces January, A Tanka Diary, by M. Kei

Press Release – For Immediate Release – Please post to all appropriate venues

28 September 2013– Perryville, Maryland, USA


"Step inside this book and meet a magician—a man who knows the secrets of the sea and the land and the sky; a man who can catch the vastness of oceans and the smallness of sparrows in the same few words in five lines."—Joy McCall

Opening with the cold days of January and following the poet through a year of his life, January, A Tanka Diary, is the latest collection from the internationally respected tanka poet and editor, M. Kei. Melancholy, hopeful, or satiric, these are poems alive to the beauty of the world. He has the ability to capture subjects as small as a single snowflake or as big as history, all told with an intimate honesty. In Kei's hands, the ancient five line tanka poem breathes with contemporary life. 

Each tanka appears in the order in which it was written with a date attached. We can see the poet sitting down to write on New Year’s Day, and the multitude of poems and subjects that flow from his pen. We can follow him as he hikes and writes tanka over the bones of a dead deer, and as he explores the mysteries of the natural world. Of course, we follow him to sea in the company of sailboats and pelicans. 

A large collection, January, A Tanka Diary, contains 640 poems of which more than 220 have never been seen before. The rest are collected from the scores of venues in which he has published around the world. Fans of his work will no doubt recognize some of their favorite tanka, but will see them as they were written in the company of other poems from the same date. The author of Slow Motion : The Log of a Chesapeake Bay Skipjack, shows us that he is as sensitive to life ashore as at sea.

somewhere 
in the darkness
inside my heart
the lights of a distant city
are burning

empty
but still attached, 
two clamshells
something like
a husband and wife

my hand on the tiller
like Water Rat and Mole,
with no particular place to go
and no particular desire
to get there any time soon


Comments from Sanford Goldstein, author of Journeys Far and Near:

“In the past sixty-five years I cannot remember a tanka collection as long as M. Kei’s January, A Tanka Diary. The collection contains 640 tanka, 420 published not in his previous collections, but in journals and other places, and 220 new poems. It is a fascinating voyage of discovery of a Kei we have not known this well. The book starts from January 1, 2007, to the next January 1. It surprised me that Kei is so interested in flowers, birds, grass, clouds, sky—of course with his duty aboard floating vessels he is intimate with the ocean. The subjects vary of course, but what I found particularly fascinating is that the two final lines of the tanka bring a surprise and hold up the entire poem. 

“I have no room to cite individual poems, but one that appeals to me is a laundry day in which Kei’s larger underwear is drying outside with his son’s much smaller underwear. Another poem is about his daughter—Kei has come home, opens the refrigerator door to find the chicken inside had been plucked, so he knows his daughter had visited him. Poems of a sexual nature occur, one of which I once criticized as not being in the right order for a sequence. 

“Such an enormous undertaking cannot be read at a sitting. Take your time in reading it. On a second reading I discovered elements I had not thought of. Yes, do read it and experience a new tanka view of Kei’s world.”


Comments from Joy McCall, author of circling smoke, scattered bones:

“Step inside this book and meet a magician—a man who knows the secrets of the sea and the land and the sky; a man who can catch the vastness of oceans and the smallness of sparrows in the same few words in five lines. M. Kei blazes a trail. This is a big beautiful gathering, to keep forever.

“There is great sadness in these poems. There is deep longing. There is humour, too. He makes me smile. There are insights which surprise. There are poems of great beauty that catch the breath. There are everyday poems which remind us we are all human.

“This book will be going with me everywhere I go. I love every poem in it.  But if I have to pick a favourite, it's this one: 

it's a day like any other,
full of melancholy
pessimism,
and yet—somewhere
there are herons

“Some things are beyond my words. If you buy nothing else this year, not even food, buy this book.”


January, A Tanka Diary
ISBN 978-0615871561 (Print) 275 pp
also available for Kindle
$18.00 USD (print) or $5.00 USD (Kindle)

Purchase in print at: https://www.createspace.com/4407330

Also available in print and ebook at Amazon.com and other online retailers.

Keibooks
P O Box 516
Perryville, MD 21903 USA

<AtlasPoetica.org>

Tuesday, August 20, 2013

More Recent Twitter Tanka

two eyes staring
out from the glass coffin
of my skull,
Snow White, I wish I could sleep
as peacefully as you


waking from a nap 
to sunshine and 
Frank Sinatra singing, 
“The Sunny Side 
of the Street” 


dreams
stuck to the pavement
like melted ice cream
     your words 
     a gathering of flies


astrologer-poets 
argue about stars, 
Orion and his hounds 
continue across 
the winter sky 


ladled out of
mother’s womb,
I continue to 
splatter and spill
this life of mine


the motorcycle riders
didn’t stay long,
a cigarette or two
and they were 
gone again


it was 
the kind of moon 
that called for
train whistles, 
but gave only memories


so many windows 
on yesterday,
but none 
that see into
tomorrow

Recent Twitter Tanka

I enjoy Twitter. It's so much simpler, but so ephemeral. Here then are some of my recently tweeted tanka. Some of them will appear in my forthcoming collection, January, A Tanka Diary, due out this fall.

I don’t seem
to have anything
profound to say,
limp leaves on the tree are
just another juxtaposition


graveyard of insects
every morning
the heap of the dead
who flung themselves in vain
at the light


the Prince
with butterfly wings
and tinfoil sword—
when I was ten,
what was my quest?


empty
but still attached
these two clamshells
something like
a husband and wife


I am not Basho,
I am that peasant
he found
digging potatoes
along the road


the trees 
begin to talk,
tossing their green heads
and whispering 
about the weather


cargo shorts,
what dreams 
will I stuff
into these pockets
today?


three dollars 
to live on 
until Friday
slips in 
through the keyhole