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American Tanka

Once upon a time, I submitted some tanka poetry to American Tanka and got a “these are close” comment. Now, if you know anything about submitting your work in the literary world, you know that automated rejection slips are proliferate. To even get a personal note back is rare. To get a “these are close” comment is as close to getting published as possible. I am proud:)

Now, tanka is similar to haiku in its form as a short poem that packs an entire experience into very few words. There are 5 lines and the typical syllable pattern is 5-7-5-7-7.  But American Tanka doesn’t completely adhere to these stringent rules due to the differences in the language structures between Japanese and English. My poems below don’t adhere to the syllabic rules, but they do point to very concise, precise moments. Enjoy!

Nothing we can do
but wait until they drip dry-
those icicles 
tight against
our power line.
 
 
Hand-in-hand we 
pass holes in a
winter-beaten road
beside the discomforting 
rip in your jeans.
 
 
The note he left
was stacks of collected
white paper
he never could
penetrate.
 
 
She fashions
title and border
for her pictures,
poems and letters
to surround the vacant hour.
 
 
The sparkle faded
from her eye
as she detected
a dish, dust mite
and ripped fabric.

Notebook Obsession

Hello, my name is Jessica, and I am a notebook addict. Spiral-bound, perfect-bound, lined, unlined, hidden folder pockets, glossy untouched covers, journals, portfolios, executive-style leather folios…Oh, I’m drooling. The back-to-school sections of stores and even office-supply stores themselves draw me in with magnetic force. I don’t really know what it is. Perhaps it’s the boundless potential all those crisp white pages hold. The novels, the brilliant ideas, the lists, and oh the limitless capacities those wide-ruled lines promise make them completely irresistible to me. Add a shimmering pen and a whimsical cover design and I’m completely sold!

I even wrote a poem about this that I submitted to a tanka poetry publication (the rejection letter was actually very promising):

The note he left
was stacks of collected
white paper
he never could
penetrate

This reflects my (ahem, I mean some guy’s) notebook obsession combined with the utter listlessness I feel sometimes when it comes to actually writing something of substance. I have a deep passion for writing but a debilitating apathy for actually doing it some days. So, when I die, I wonder if my only contribution to the world will be stacks of empty paper or if I really will be able to penetrate them with my creativity.