Richard Modiano's poem "Gaijin"

© 2022 Richard Modiano

While a resident of New York City Richard Modiano became active in the literary community connected to the Poetry Project, where he came to know Gregory Corso, Allen Ginsberg, Anne Waldman, William S. Burroughs and Ted Berrigan. From 2010 to 2019, he served as Executive Director of Beyond Baroque Literary/Arts Center. The Huffington Post named him as one of 200 people doing the most to promote poetry in the United States. Richard is a rank and file member of the Industrial Workers of the World. In 2019 he was elected Vice President of the California State Poetry Society. His collection The Forbidden Lunchbox will be released by Punk Hostage Press this summer.

 Gaijin

(usually translated as foreigner, literally outside person; outsider)

Hike into western foothills of Heian Kyo Leave the path

A shortcut through the bamboo grove

And out the other side, someone's farm Stop to rest, sit on a stone not far from

thatched roof house

On the porch a young girl

dressed in T-shirt and mompe, pantaloon-like pants perches on a wooden crate of empty beer bottles

The tender points of her breasts

can be seen through the thin fabric of her T-shirt

A medallion gleams

in the hollow of her throat, A tiny disk frozen in silver –

She is perhaps twelve

It can only be her mother beside her,

a sun bronzed compact woman with braided black hair covered by a straw coolie hat

The mama is peeling daikon, big white radishes

She saves the leafy heads in a shallow basket at her feet pauses to wipe sweat from her brow with a pale pink cloth

The young girl has a can of green tea, but she hasn't drunk much of it She is worried about something:

It can be seen in the slump of her shoulders, in the sprawl of her thin legs

Several times her eyes shimmer with tears she is just able to control

When she looks up

It becomes clear that she is older than she-appeared at first thirteen or fourteen

An air of naiveté, an awkwardness of limb and gesture makes her seem younger

She fidgets, and at last says, "Kachan (Mama)?" "Nani (what)?"

The mother's voice seems a beat too slow

It drags itself reluctently out past her lips

"Kaasan--is Ichiro just smoke and ashes?"

Mama is silent, searching for an answer that will satisfy and comfort

"Chotto mite”  she says looking in my direction .  "Gaijin dakara."

Mother and daughter see me sitting on the stone in the break of the bamboo grove

I stand up, bow slightly; they bow back deeply

"Shitsurei desu ga, nagai aida aruiteite, chotto yasumu'n desu kedo"

I answer in awkward Japanese, "I beg your pardon but I've been walking for a long time, took a rest here"

Their faces are now masks, blandly and shyly friendly for the sake of the gaijin

They will offer me hospitality, a can of cold tea maybe but I won't accept

Under the blazing blue bowel of the sky the daughter's eyes are downcast

wanting me to be gone

I nod, turn and walk back into the bamboo thicket A gaijin ghost

© 2022 Richard Modiano