Tag: Gabriel Smy

The legacy of Chuchi-jo

The Kan’ei-ji temple is a quiet pagoda
home to a simple engraved stone.
Here supporters of the emperor
attacked the forces of the last Tokugawa shogun.

Home to a simple engraved stone,
a memorial to the souls.
Attacked the forces of the last Tokugawa shogun
(there are still bullet holes).

A memorial to the souls:
Matsuyama was plagued by guilt
(there are still bullet holes)
crickets and grasshoppers that had been killed.

Matsuyama was plagued by guilt
guilt at having caused the deaths;
crickets and grasshoppers that had been killed,
killed in the production of a scientific text.

Guilt at having caused the deaths.
To console the spirits of the flies
killed in the production of a scientific text,
few visitors stop by.

To console the spirits of the flies.
Here supporters of the emperor…
Few visitors stop by;
the Kan’ei-ji temple is a quiet pagoda.

From the listing for Mushizuka at Kan’ei-ji Temple.

Paul

From a walled garden and some shepherds’ huts,
a huge, tri-peaked white zeppelin would come
into view. Then Paul Hollywood would close in
across the lawn, his silver quiff cutting

the air like a fin. A crisp oxford shirt
meant to make his eyes pop—a velvety navy
just across the color wheel from his tan.
Mary dispensed praise prudently, as if

pressing a toffee into your palm. But
Paul Hollywood can entwine seven strands
of dough into an ornamental wreath
with the dexterity of a concert pianist.

The rest of the time, he will handle your
bread like airport security. He flips
it upside down, knocks on its bottom,
interrogates it with sausage fingers.

When he is done, he dusts his hands and sheaths
them in his denim carapace. Sometimes we
observed Paul from afar, smoking alone
near the meadows’ edge, pacing like a bull.

From Inside the world of “The Great British Bake Off”.

They looked at him falling down stairs every day

They looked at him falling down stairs every day,
every day, the guy’s falling down stairs.
It’s not our president, we can’t have it.
Like these stairs, I walk very slowly.

Nobody has to set a record. Just
try not to fall. We don’t want that.
Be cool, be cool when you walk down,
but don’t, don’t bop down the stairs.

So one thing with Obama, I had
zero respect for him as a president
but he would bop down those stairs.
Dada dada da da, bop bop bop

he’d go down the stairs, wouldn’t hold on.
Eventually bad things are going to happen.

President Trump’s speech to US military officials (54:43).

Direcciones

It depends on where you give it from
you can give it from the Church of Escazú
from the tied-up donkey, 200 metres
from the María Auxiliadora school

The poem of my childhood would begin with Super Aguimar
or the one a Nicaraguan gave to Ștefan Baciu
from Las Delicias del Volga
the old fig tree of San Pedro
there’s also a dog lying outside

There is a Welsh word hiraeth
a deep nostalgia for the landscape we were raised in
in Portuguese they say saudade, in Galician morriña
in German sehnsucht, in Romanian dor

In the Colón promenade there used to be an obelisk
people still stay, from the obelisk’s scar…
the butterflies that embark on that expedition die along the way
and it’s their great-granddaughters who finish the journey

Subtitles from Navigating a City Without Street Addresses.

Septuye

Taking something, that is burning, from the fire

Etu, sun rising from the hills
Etumu, bear warming itself in the sun
Elsu, falcon circling high in air
Putsume, bear sitting on top of big rock with soles of feet turned forward, legs spread

Yottoko, black mud at edge of water
Tulmisuye, bear walking slowly and gently
Tupi, throwing salmon on to bank
Tunna, salmon’s intestines pulling out like string

He’eluye, bow, arrows, and quiver placed against tree while warrior rests
Yelutci, bear traveling among rocks and brush without making noise
Yanapaiyak, little clouds passing by sun and making small shadows
Lilepu, bear going over a man hiding between rocks

Musonota, magpie jumping on the ground
Haiyepugu, bear becoming angry suddenly
Hotutu, round rocks hurting the feet, when one is walking
Teukululaye, bear making so much noise when walking that it frightens other creatures

Teiwu, valley quail defecating as it flies
Toketi, bear, making dust when running
Noteu, missing things when shooting with arrows
Heltu, bear barely touching people as it reaches for them

Müle, hawk seizing quail on ground
Patiwe, to break by twisting
Tokolasik, black-oak acorns getting rotten in water, having been forgotten
Molimo, bear going into shade of trees

Personal names and their meanings from Miwok Moieties, 1916, and Wild Life.

Supporting England

England is by many 
objective measures 
a terrible country 
ruled by terrible people 
with a terrible past 
and a terrifying future, 

and I support England. 
None of my forebears 
were born in England, 

and I support England. 
When I watch the news 
or follow England games abroad 
or read about politics 
I often feel utterly 
disconnected from this country, 

and I support England. 
It was an Englishman 
who snarled at me 
on the street last month 
while I was taking 
my daughter to nursery: 
Fuck off Chinaman, 
take your Covid patient with you. 

Nevertheless, I support England.

The supermarket is selling 
something called “meatless burgers”. 
There are women on Match of the Day. 
You hear vague noises about “defunding the police”. 
You suspect, on some sinister level, 
that something you love is being taken away 
And so amid this landscape 
of shifting plates and cultural norms, 
you have a choice: you can get with the programme 
or you can stand your ground and fight.

I am not one of you 
and you are not one of us. 
But for this month, 
for these 90 minutes, 
for these sunlit days in June and July, 
let’s pretend we are. 

Let’s build a house together 
and watch it fall. 
Let’s pick apart Southgate’s 3-4-3 
and debate the merits of Jack Grealish. 
Let’s elate and commiserate together. 
The past is the past 
and the future is the future. 

From My cross to bear, June 2021.