During the discussion with Mr. Shino (r) and Mr Sakai, after the speech, when they held up my book. So mch to say, so many names of people I have met, but this computer is very tiring to type on and I still want to go to Hakone today. All is well and we are having too much fun!

I have seen the sun rise over Tokyo this day. It was such a joy to have the trip behind me, to know it went well and though we were very tired, we had landed in a beautiful place. It began with the kind reception of a woman representing the PEN Club who took great care in getting us the bus tickets and getting us to the right vehicle. It was already dark when we got out of the airport so the journey into Tokyo was only a series of names we knew only on maps. As we curved over skyways with whole cities shimmering below us like pools of light, we wondered where the people were. It was only after 90 minutes of big bus noises did we approach Shibuya train station and the strees filled with entertainment and crowds of people. All too soon we were away from that and at the Keio Hotel and being royally welcomed. We were escorted to a beautiful room on the 29th floor so that the city was spread below us like a carpet of lights.
We could barely eat our rice, soup (delicious!) and tea before we fell into bed; asleep before we knew it.
At three we both woke and decided it was better to get up and get unpacked. What a joy this hotel is. I have never had a room with so many amenities and well-thought out fulfillment of every need. Once passing the huge window we saw a lurid pink in the sky and the dawn followed.

after a long trip
with clean wet hair

watching sunrise
I face the east to see

back to California

Was awakened while it was still dark, not because I was too nervous to anymore, but because a beaufitul full moon was shining derectly in the bedroom. It is rare that we on the coast have a morning that is without clouds or fog. The moon was shining down on the water creating a silver path from me to Japan. Was given several
OOPS. WROTE A BUNCH THAT DISAPPEARED AND NOW IT IS TIME TO THE AIRPORT.
Our flight leaves at 1:30, not 11:30 but still there is much to do.

The suitcase is packed, but not closed. Piles os stuff seem very hopeful that they contain something useful. How to plan my needs of the future when I am so committed to letting happen what will, I am amazed that I am as quiet as I am! and very grateful that my body is allowing this trip.
The house is cleaner than I thought it would be. Somehow packing seemed to take longer and use up more energy than I had planned for the job.
When I was able to put away the last of the laundry and fold up the vacuum cleaner, I sat down to compile a booklet of my tanka as a small gift for Harue-san. I had made the pages from old sumi drawings and some leftover banana fiber covers. I found this poem I had forgotten about, but it seemed to fit today as if it was just written.

incoming waves
all of the beach days
rolled into one

absence is no longer

erasure but fulfilling

When I posted here yesterday I did not realize that Yom Kippur began at sunset or even the significance of the Jewish holy day. Last evening, while noodling around on the new netbook, gotten to take to Japan, I did a search of Yom Kippur and found out it is in celebration of atonement. That adds a new dimension to the picture and my poem of yesterday.
I want to work on making changes in the poem but this afternoon I will be attending the Memorial Service for Brian Dillman, the husband of Kathy - a member of our beading group. I am trusting that this actual experience, added to my feelings about the drawing, will allow something good to come through me.
Did get word by email that the copies of Taking Tanka Home I sent to two other persons have arrived.
I think an indication that the trip is getting closer is the fact that I had to get larger sheets of post'ems for my longer to-do lists.

Things are shaping up for the trip. The ticket arrived yesterday which opened up a great new door of reality and nervousness. As I get things attended to, packed and done, other jobs that I have pushed aside previously are now rearing their heads from the shoved aside chaos. This is a case in point.

Some months ago Bill Elmore, the artist of this charcoal drawing, brought it to me saying he had the feeling that the work needed words with it. Either an explanation of the worman' s grief or poem to round it out. He felt his lines and shapes were not saying enough. The picture has hung on my workroom wall for months and nothing has moved within me.

The other night I was watching The Answer Man and during one of the long pauses while the video stops to download another chunk because out internet connect wobbles and fades, some words began to come to me. I am not sure any of these have lasting value, but I got what I was given.

charcoal

forming her shape

of sadness

the accident

the guilt

~*~

a line

in charcoal

the loss

of a gift

the guilt

~*~

shadows

of charcoal

shape

the loss of a gift

an endless line

~*~

charcoal

beyound the line

of loss

the gift replaced

by silent space

Is this enough or do you need the story? Just a week before this woman was scheduled to model for the figure class, she let her boyfriend park his Harley in the living room. Her two-year old child tried to pull himself up to the bike and it tipped over crushing the child and killing it.

I am trying to keep my own ghostly travel fears at bay while focusing on this harsh reality.

All my working hours are going into the speech. It seems that every time I turn off the computer (to not have to listen to the hum of the fan) I get a new idea. I fire the computer back up and insert another minute into the talk. I hope the audience has comfortable chairs!
There is so much I have to say and yet there are things that I cannot say in a public speech. I am looking forward to quiet one-on-one talks to resolve some of these issues that fly around in my mind.
One of the copies of Taking Tanka Home that I sent out last week has arrived in Japan. I got an email stating just that and nothing more. No comment, no impression. Nothing for me to hang on to as I wonder how it will be received. I try to tell myself that each person will think of the book the way they think they are thought of which has little or nothing to do with me or this book. Still, a kind word would be helpful as I stave off a lung infection and downward drag of antibiotics.

The books arrived from Lulu right on time and beautifully packaged. Found a typo in one poem:

roots

of the fallen pine

move again

a deer comes into view

with a find rack of antlers

Thank goodness I was able to fix it before ordering the books to be sent to Japan. Steve Kott of Good Day Books in Tokyo is acting as a one-stop tanka shopping center. He agreed to let me ship my books to him so I do not need to carry them in my suitcase.

Yuki, a friend of B's in Moab, used to work for a travel office in Japan and is on the search for lodging in Nikko for us after the congress. It turns out that the weekend we want to be there, many Japanese schools will be making class trips. The one place I really wanted is completely booked at the moment. I trust that wherever we land it will be the right place for us.

The man with the white beard is Morgan Lambert. I was very surprised that he took a chance on reading a play that has so much mime in it, but he pulled it off by reading the staging parts.

Last night the Readers Theater, a group that meets monthly at Gualala Arts Center, read my play "Banana Skies." It is a one act ten-scene portrayal of Basho's famous travel diary Oku no Hosomichi - Back Roads to the Far North. For me it was such a thrill to hear the words in the voices of other people. How welcomed after hearing only myself reading it!

Morgan Lambert was the director and he had a system figured out so eveyone got a chance to read; even a visitor who jumped in when a regular reader failed to show up. I got hints for formatting corrections and even some grammar goofs that needed repair. Morgan was an English teacher!

But the very nicest part of the evening was the fellowship that formed as we lent our voices to this one manuscript. Because the roles changed scene by scene I could envision various incarnations of Basho and Sora. For moments these two men came alive for me in the sound of living voices. That was so rewarding!

The way that the story of Basho and Sora, on a journey, could pull together this group of individuals four hundred years later - with laughter and questions - so far from Japan was the miracle. I was very thankful to be a part of it. Thanks to everyone who came and made the evening so special.

as poets hew
earth-bound light
we clouds
making shapes of nothing
revealing more than we know

Well, at least Lulu.com is on time! They sent the books out on Wednesday by priority mail so that package should be showing up on my doorstep soon after the holiday.
B, my daughter who is going with me to Tokyo, has a friend Yuki who used to work for a Japanese travel agency. Finally we are getting somewhere with our plans to stay in a temple! Now to see if the one we really like is available. So that feels good. Things are coming together.

lidded eyes
the stove watches
as spaghetti boils
a roiling breeze uncovers
the windchimes of pan

Got a message from Steve Kott at Good Day Books in Tokyo that the box of books sent out on Friday had already arrived on his Wednesday. Such a surprise that they got there so quickly. So you Tokyoites can now thumb through my books before buying. Do check out the home page of AHApoetry.com where there is a link to Good Day Books with excellent guides on how to get there from wherever you are.

That the books arrived so quickly comforts me with the thought that I can get Taking Tanka Home copies there (perhaps) as easily. At this point the book is still deep in the innards of Lulu being corrected - or digested - or I think I had better leave this metaphor alone now.

Finished Lynx today also. So I am able to breath more deeply now.

Saw the first Monarch butterfly of our summer autumn.

crossing
the dry stubble field
the empitness
with butterflies ringing
hay harvested and stored