Tuesday, November 01, 2016

We Who Are About To Die : hiromi suzuki

hiromi suzuki is an illustrator, poet, artist living in Tokyo, Japan. A contributor to the Japanese poetry magazine gui (run by members of the Japanese "VOU" group of poets, founded by the late Kitasono Katue). Author of Ms. cried, 77 poems by hiromi suzuki (kisaragi publishing, 2013 ISBN978-4-901850-42-1). Her works are published internationally in Otoliths, BlazeVOX, Empty Mirror, M58, DATABLEED, Black Market Re-View, Burning House Press, h& and NationalPoetryMonth.ca 2015 amongst other places.

web site: http://hiromisuzukimicrojournal.tumblr.com/

Where are you now?
At Italian restaurant in Tokyo. Everyday I'm writing something with a cup of coffee after the lunch.
What are you reading?
There is always Aram Saroyan's Complete Minimal Poems on my desk. There is always E. E. Cummings' 95 poems in my bag. And I'm always longing for sleeping beside all books of Richard Brautigan in my coffin if I die.

Now I have begun to read Richard Dawkins' The Blind Watchmaker. Translated in Japanese and edited by Toshitaka Hidaka. Dr. Hidaka was the marvelous ethologist and essayist, unfortunately he passed away several years ago.
What have you discovered lately?
I often discover still waters run deep under the pavement in Tokyo. My writing begins from the headstream, the place where nobody knows.
Where do you write?
My room, coffee shops and launderette.
What are you working on?
As Karen Blixen said,
“Write a little every day, without hope, without despair.”

And I'm drifting on the nameless river and the endress sea through my life, without hope, without despair.
Have you anything forthcoming?
I'd like contribute my poetry to various media as much as possible. The stop of swimming means the death to a tuna. And as a member of Japanese poetry magazine gui, I want to be concerned with editing a little more positively.
What would you rather be doing?
Dancing and singing without orchestra.

september song

a storm in september
I'm searching for
the missing cassette
I can't hear you
I was overjoyed
at your smile


blew my teeth
my mouth is full of
our silly stories
How far apart are
the chestnuts?
while I sleep under
the mosquito net
i've heard the music
from a distance
my forefinger
zips your lips
keep our voices down


( from Ms. cried 77 poems by hiromi suzuki )

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