Studio8 - Uniting the Arts

Long ago in b c
That is before children in my book
A woman came from japan to New York
She did not speak English
Jana and kei orihara the photographer
She asked questions like “ what is punk rock”?
I laughed a bit at the questions and the answers
I was 21 - tall skinny and wild in New York City
Given the challenge that if I could make it
Theee I could make it anywhere
U
I hear the music from the broadway play waits
I see the father of my children at a table in a restaurant with a look of dreamy apprehension
Then it moves forward to baby being born in Italy
Gino the cool and plenty of aunties and shoes
Italian shoes and Armani and the oil business
In Nigeria and then there was just me looking down from a tower that has held me for years
Secrets

But they very well
Cannot haunt me anymore
All that darkness got brought to light
Kei photographed come very intense miments in my life
I just showed my soul to her and explained things like
Rock and roll
If that be explained
I can assure you I did not give her the white mans
Version of Americans history-
At all
No conspiracy
Fucking mafia does it all anyway
So the puppet can fuck right off
I would like a trump
Mop
That means anything I do goes because he can? Nope
Anyway kei orihara is coming to visit me 35 years later” the New York girl” by kei orihara

Wow...cool poem

I looked up Kei Orihara...impressive resume....hope you have a wonderful visit !.............

It is absolutely amazing
We are both super excited

That's only 1984 or so, right?

Doesn't seem that long ago.

1981- I had my first baby. then - kei took a photo that really brought me to reality
On my way to Nigeria with my 30 day old child
In the plaza hotel looking
Pensive
: the look
Of “ what am I doing?”
A small child my responsibility
Kei photographed all that
And I : forgot I remember now feeling so very alone
I know that the father meant well
That he loved me
But I was so excited about being a woman
And he did not celebrate that sort of thing
Mom had it the book in a cage
In the building
Reston
The walk
Everything is so convenient

The tiles were in the sunlight most of the time
Today it is raining in the desert
The hillsides have a gentle green color all around
Soft to touch: some of us see color
Mesmerizing mountain range talking to father sky
Oh my oh my
Such a beautiful day
Every way I can pull that happy rabbit out
I’m going to see that rabbit everywhere I go

She had aged
As I had
We would know each other anywhere
The memories
Timelines of what happened
She got married
Or she would have stayed in Tokyo
She told someone that she felt she was going to see me
I know that kind of stuff
Too
She had a camera and a tape recorder
And a book she wrote for children
We talked about Thailand and her photography
My sister- my family- she knows all the tales
Laughing as I feel my veils if privacy disappear
I am the girl in New York again
She asks me questions
That provoke me to think
We throw the ball for the dog
We laugh
I cooked dinner
She cooked breakfast
Except for the ruben

Cultures cross the threshold
She tells me the truth
The history of Japanese Americans-
Not like her
Tokyo is inside her
Even when in Hollywood

you get it down little sister, you got that eye, hand, and brain lined up real nice,
I enjoy reading what you write. I still struggle (maybe we all do) with getting the words out of my head into my hands onto this screen and back into my brain via my eyes.

keep on writing, if I had wrote "35 years later' it would have had to be 57 years later because 1962 was going to be the last good year for me, last one for a long long time, about a decade for me to thaw out after November 22, 1963.

pardon the ramble thanks for the poem
just one more thing....I
first read this one the summer of 1962

When I was one-and-twenty
I heard him say again,
“The heart out of the bosom
Was never given in vain;
’Tis paid with sighs a plenty
And sold for endless rue.”
And I am two-and-twenty,
And oh, ’tis true, ’tis true.

That is so groovy
I admire you
Always have
True color you are
Thank you

She has a funny way of using
English
But we always understand each other
My friend from downstairs

Here is another
I had forgotten that our language
Has it’s moments

Italian does not have an H
So my Italian husband
Said” I am very angry”
And I am like “ why?”

“No no I am sorry I am hungry “
I ave a problem jana

Do you ave a reason for this jana?
I dare not speak of the laughter I have squeezed
Out of no H

In listening to the sounds of the alphabet
In Japanese
I only had the courage to ask her to write my grandson s name in the children’s book she wrote

I cannot speak Japanese