Two
Poems
Camellias
Five flat-headed stones lying along a mountain path;
a signpost telling there used to be a temple here. I
wonder
how long ago it was. The clearing is only about fifteen
meters
long, eight meters wide (certainly not enough for a
temple
in a full size). Another signpost: worn out,
unintelligible.
This might’ve been just a graveyard a little away from
the
main buildings. I’ve noticed the plot was surrounded by
camellia trees with half their flowers already fallen. I
suddenly feel afraid to hear a flower fall in the color
of
lips that have blood clotted. Camellias are ominous,
they said, dropping flowers in their prime (like a
beheading).
I see hundreds of them round and believe
this certainly used to be a temple,
not knowing how long ago it was.
--Shizuhara, Kyoto.
Essay on Lotus Roots
My mother cooked lotus roots
with vinegar or soy sauce. (I hated them either way.)
My family’s Buddhist altar had lotus-
shaped ornaments. (They didn’t seem to have any roots.)
The ornaments are golden; real flowers
red or white. (They certainly have heavenly looks.)
In the winter, the lotuses are all dried up save
for their roots. (So grim haiku writers love them.)
Lotus farmers harvest roots
waist-deep in mud. (Amateurs sink even more.)
Slicing a lotus root you’ll see
several holes through it (We sang of it in a nursery
rhyme.)
Many of the Buddha or bodhisattva statues
sit on lotus-leaf pedestals. (They should know about
roots.)
The Buddha’s disciple, Moku-ren, had eyes
that saw through everything. (His name means eye-lotus).
Below, he saw his mother
in Starving Hell. (For feeding him more than others,
said the Buddha).
My mother still cooks lotus roots
with vinegar or soy sauce. (I hate them a little less.)
Copyright © 2005 Keiji Minato