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- Crow, the King of Sumo by Larry Knipfing, Paperback | Barnes & Noble®
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Back in Shibuya, Bunkamura Theatre Cocoon unusually staged not just one, but two particularly rousing revivals. Among the downsides, though, was a dearth of notable new playwrights. As the title suggests, this loosely biographical piece about Kojima and Proietto explored how people encountering a different culture generally try to simulate its forms. With his attention to detail and well-balanced acting by the cast, the result was a gripping study of human nature and an absorbing piece of work.
In tandem, but freely, they shovel buckets full and heave them up to the shoulder and up into the truck beside. Slowly rock is eaten away. Slowly the men eat up the day. Slowly the day dies.
The truck pulls out. Rock remains. Beyond them clouds go on covering sky. Somewhere the sun descends. And dog sheep men rock hills collect between them night. In , Cid arrived in Japan almost by accident. He had applied for 27 teaching jobs in Asia, 26 of them outside Japan. As luck, or fate, would have it, he was offered the job in Japan. Since then, excepting a short stay in the U. He married in , and together he and his wife, Shizumi, founded C. What has Cid been doing in Japan these thirty plus years? And more.
He has worked as editor, translator, and critic.
Crow, the King of Sumo by Larry Knipfing, Paperback | Barnes & Noble®
He has published over a hundred books, and seen Origin through five series, one series comprising twenty issues. The meetings lasted 5 to 6 hours. The group grew to four, sometimes five members. Cid came to the house with a worn satchel bursting with books; the zipper broken.
He began by reading poetry, a short story, an essay, or a letter. This sparked conversations that could go anywhere. When I gave him one of my poems to look at, he screwed his eyes down and leaned into it. He warned me he would tell the truth. He told me that when it came to poetry and talking about it he had been told he had bad manners. I welcomed his seriousness. He cut into the poem with intense honesty, intense passion. The soft-spoken poet disappeared; he became the editor.
He wanted every word to function fully, with the language worked hard. On more than a few occasions, I wanted to crawl away after a session and not show another thing to him until I was sure it was as good as it could be. Cid is an editor, and he has experience.
He tells you the way he sees it, bad manners and all. No doubt, sometimes he may be wrong. For me, Cid has been a source of moral support. He has little money or fame to show for all his years, but he has the poetry and a life rich in it.
He has been the elder who has responded to every postcard, letter, or phone call. The man never too busy to listen and offer help. Typical of his generous spirit are the excerpts below, taken from his letters to me:. BUT I have had long experience with wdbe poets and have seen to my surprise and chagrin early on that talent alone accomplishes little and often — badly used — deteriorates into slick shit On the other hand, I have seen quite a few people — men and women — with very modest gift by sheer persistence find their way into poetry — quite incredibly.
You have to be painfully ruthlessly honest with yourself even more than with others — where tact has some place — tho as you will have long since noticed — I have little of it. I had been questioning whether I had enough talent to warrant a life in poetry. In this, it was characteristic of him. Another excerpt:.
Life is the music — Greg — and your life your music. No one can take it from you — or give it to you beyond those who did -but you may need time to hear it or let it come through.
It happens when you are moved beyond yourself into the open. It requires an honesty with oneself that is always rare — and often when you think your ARE being honest — you are deceiving kidding yourself most. It needs a terrible ruthlessness.
Not to get ahead of yourself but not to fall behind either. It WILL come, if you have the staying power. And even if you fail — it may still feed richly into your life. But how to share life with others and in a way that makes it even yet in the face of what we all face possible. And how can it be unless you open to others to core? This is hard to do. We hide from ourselves as well as others. The poem you want to write maybe will not come clear to you till within moments of your death. It comes with the territory.https://inasglenrentpe.gq
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There is nothing to pray for — as my poems try to make clear. If life means anything to anyone it means precisely life and living this very moment aware of it and how it is shared — generously — magnanimously — tenderly. Your a good guy — unmistakably, but you will have to suffer for it and from the suffering without looking for it you will find such depth of joy that every single moment offers. Presently, Cid is writing and putting together a large book entitled OF.
The first two volumes were published in by Lapis Press, a beautiful boxed edition with jacket art by the American painter Sam Francis. Three volumes remain to be published. I puzzled over that comment, intrigued by it. I wrote to Cid to inquire. How do you feel about being referred to in this way? Is there anything you would do to change that? Do you mind being viewed as a secret? There are plenty of people who know of my work. The work is there — over books — over a period of 40 years! And most libraries have something. Sadness is that I believe the work speaks more clearly to ALL than any other poetry of our time.
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And speaks to root matter. Most of my books have never had ANY notice. What I say above is simple truth but there is not bitterness here — only sadness. Since the work is not done for fame or money -but only for others. Not because I have anything to hide — the most shameful things in my life are openly found in my work.
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Simply: the work is my life — my life the poetry. If you turn to them you have all of me that anyone cd want -1 trust it will be of some kind use in the difficulty of being anyone -or all. How do you balance that need, desire, with writing itself? I mean, how important is it to be heard in comparison with the writing itself?