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    poetry


    dots Submission Name: The Hibakushadots
    --------------------------------------------------------





    Author: Santi
    Elite Ratio:    7.28 - 299/307/90
    Words: 106
    Class/Type: Poetry/Misc
    Total Views: 713
    Average Vote:    No vote yet.
    Bytes: 748



    Description:
       Japantown, San Francisco, August 2010

    The Hibakusha are the "explosion-affected people" that survived the atomic bombings of Hiroshima & Nagasaki.


    Make the font bigger!! Double Spacing Back to recent posts.

    dotsThe Hibakushadots
    -------------------------------------------



    alizarin crimson. underbelly

    of a koi fish, plastic cups
    in the gutter, rust.


    & it is as if Hiroshima in the morning
    was a bad dream, but whose?

    surely not the one who has survived
    with the darker prints

    of her kimono
    seared to flesh: her hair now,

    & mind beneath,
    like the white froth of rice

    rising like a mushroom cloud
    up the kettle-sides.

    still she carries her red round sun
    in its blank expanse of sky.




    Submitted on 2011-02-13 16:37:16     Terms of Service / Copyright Rules
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    ||| Comments |||
      yup. it's a goodin, the white froth of rice/steam rising up the kettle sides. yes, again. the ending is elegant.
    though that seems like the wrong word.
    | Posted on 2011-03-12 00:00:00 | by theludus | [ Reply to This ]
      I find writing outwardly, about topics like these, the hardest. There's a tone which needs to be struck, so it doesn't sound smug, or preachy. All that to say this: your tone is perfect.

    The opening is almost a parallel to a war scene, in a way-- a jumbled mess, and your use of the word underbelly separated from the koi gives it a double meaning-- I took it to mean underbelly as in the side of life we do not like to visit, the places and things we avoid. Just like the mess you describe, which most would turn aside from- that parallels with the scarred woman you describe. Most would turn away, too, afraid of being caught staring.

    The implication of blood, with rust, and the implication of age, dried blood, old wounds, that comes with it-- it's understated, subtle, but very there, these parallels. You've done it really well.

    I'm just going to ditto Daniel re the but whose?. It's a sad question.

    One nit: I think a poem as sparse as this could do without that repetition of like. It sort of sticks out, to me. Perhaps a simple edit like this would help without taking anything away from the piece:

    & mind beneath,
    like the white froth of rice

    rising, a mushroom cloud
    up the kettle-sides.


    ? Just a thought. Maybe something to play with.

    I like how I can read her mind being like a mushroom cloud in two ways; firstly being that the image has imprinted itself in her brain, she cannot get rid of it; and secondly that she is damaged; and the two go hand in hand, really.

    The reference to rice is so casually appropriate. It's a perfect metaphor. Fitting, too, that the froth of cooking rice is the stuff we have to rinse away once it's cooked, it's bad for us.

    Your ending is so elegant. I'm just going to leave it at that.

    This is very good, Santi.
    | Posted on 2011-02-14 00:00:00 | by AlyRose | [ Reply to This ]
      alizarin crimson. underbelly

    of a koi fish, plastic cups
    in the gutter, rust.

    this beginning is quite lovely, the disjointedness of it, how it works as the collective.

    rust yes, that was excellent.

    & it is as if Hiroshima in the morning
    was a bad dream, but whose?

    if you haven't already noticed: I love and, &, &., &:, and,

    i like it because i feel it (and) provides continuity and it's often about leverage or using it to push off, it changes, adds to momentum.

    ands are lovely.

    here you've used and wonderfully, it plants itself and the scene is the backdrop, sort of like & is the relevant state, the true place and all that is described after either the aftermath or the contributors to what has happened. in that sense, yes, & is such a pivotal thing, it sits there like the gospel.

    i like the addition of the question but whose?

    that's good housekeeping, i guess because it's a transitional tool, but it's poignant too.

    it softly makes you think about casualties of war, but since it came so early in the poem i didn't so much relate it to war, it seemed more a human question, but it rings with hurt, like it is a highly personal question, a shared thing between my eyes and you. (my, meaning just the way i took it as an outsider looking in)

    and i think that's great to strike such a chord of intimacy.

    surely not the one who has survived
    with the darker prints

    of her kimono
    seared to flesh: her hair now,

    the poem was so soft up to this point: it remains so, and again, i love that if feels like the spoiling of a rose rather than something so horrific, that the blow is the beauty and the tragedy, not that there's beauty in something like a bombing like that: but in the sense that when you look at what is lost it recalls the beauty of the thing.

    & mind beneath,
    like the white froth of rice

    rising like a mushroom cloud
    up the kettle-sides.

    so buried in soft state, this poem, like a wordless scene. the pairing of mind and white froth rice, the sonics too, just lovely.

    i thought oh nooooooooo! when i saw the mushroom cloud, but the way you handled that, with the steaming, again, that soft-other-state, the handling of that was so impressive.

    still she carries her red round sun
    in its blank expanse of sky.

    it's that quiet culture to, you really feel as if you are stood in someone's living room, the soft shuffle of slippers, the preparation of a meal, to sound of a mouth opening to take in food.

    it's fine, a fine way to explore a tough subject.

    a rate this poem very highly.

    db

    | Posted on 2011-02-13 00:00:00 | by theludus | [ Reply to This ]


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