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POETRY

poems of the month

fish

vagabondage

measuring my face

ostracism

old clothes

modern iranian poems

my hero

face at the bottom of the world

perhaps (maybe)

the diogenes sequence

where to store furs

i am and am not:
      fragments of rumi

destiny and destination

the zen of no-enlightenment

the iraqi monologues

already backwards

a light in ruins

separate amputations

the sexy jihad

awaiting the barbarians

the smell of possibilities

ultimate leaves

rejoice in the dog

post-millennium maggot

the book of nothing

dispatches from the war against the world

albanian poems

french poems in honour of jean genet

the hells going on

the joy of suicide

book disease

foreground trouble

the transcendental hotel

cinema of the blind

lament of the earth mother

uranian poems

more haikai by okami

haikai on the edge

black hole of your heart

jung's motel

leda and the swan

confession from belgrade

gloss on rilke's ninth duino elegy

jewels and shit: poems by rimbaud

villon's dialogue with his heart

vasko popa:
a shepherd of wolves ?

the rubáiyát of omar khayyám

genrikh sapgir:
an ironic mystic

the love of pierre de ronsard

imagepoem

 

TRANSLATIONS

 

BETWEEN POETRY AND PROSE

400 revolutionary maxims

nice men and
  suicide of an alien

anti-fairy tales

the most terrible event in history

SHORT STORIES

godpieces

the three bears

three albanian tales

odorous underwear

a little creation story

 

ESSAYS & MEMOIRS

a curious and peculiar
kind of queer

the ivory palace

helen's tower

extortion through e-bay

schopenhauer for muthafuckas

are doctors autistic ?

single track in the snow

never a pygmy

against money

did franco die ?

'original sin' followed by
crippled consciousness

a gay man's guide to soft-willy sex

the holosensual alternative

tiger wine

the death of poetry

the absinthe drinker

with mrs dalloway in ukraine

love  and  hell

running on emptiness

a holocaust near you

a note on the cathars

happiness

londons of the mind
& dealing death to the caspian

genocide

a muezzin from the tower of darkness

kegan and kagan

being or television

satan in the groin

womb of half-fogged mirrors

tourism and terrorism

the dog from sinope

shoplifting
in britain & america

this sorry scheme of things

the bektashi dervishes

a holy dog
& a dog-headed saint

fools for nothingness

death of a bestseller

vacuum of desire: a homo-erotic correspondence

a note on beards

translation and the oulipo

the visit

 

PHOTOGRAPHS

prelude

metamorphotos

 

Nuadú, God of War

field guide to megalithic ireland

houses for the dead

french megaliths

 

a small town in france




 





 


Click to read haikai by the twentieth-century Japanese mendicant monk

SANTOKA


 

 

 



haikai

from

ILLUSIONS
IN THREE PARTS

by

Okami
Journal of a Twelvemonth, 1998



Drumlin Landscape, by Anthony Weir

 



The Northern Lights:
the old dog shakes himself.


A damson falling
brings leaves and wasps
down to earth.


 After the Sauna
night-breeze on our nipples.
The Northern Lights.


 Huge and friendless
above McDonald's:
the Harvest Moon.

 
Pond beneath a moonless sky:
Start and finish of everything.


Every year the leaves
are deported by the wind
to the camps of rot.

 
Its last blood-red leaves gone
how stiff the creeper
on the graveyard wall.

 
Hoar-frost on the hair
upon the hot chests of the
[magic] mushroom gatherers.

 

Tantric Men

 
In my autumn groin
mist and rain and river
are indistinguishable.


Dead tree slanting athwart the stream:
Ivy-stems entwine my life.

 
After the storm, apples pass
from wasps to slugs to me.

 
Another robin in my mousetrap:
few of us fail to give humanity
a bad name.


Superhuman sound:
a rat gnawing the steel grille
with snow-white teeth.

 
Wagtail on the roof:
the wise man combs his beard
with a fork.


Self-portrait as an old man 


Seeming to do little
the fossil has survived
a hundred million years.


Full midwinter moon -
a new coalescence of
an ancient coldness ?

 
A winter morning:
the soap is crenellated
by the teeth of rats.


Snowflakes dancing down
on the men who are digging
another mass grave.


December foghorn:
yet another beckoning
from beyond the grave.

 
The weather forecast.
Millennia of wind and rain
- and now people shave.


Snail-trails in frost:
'A painter should study
the stains on walls.'

 
The crotch of a winter birch:
love, like the Unicorn
is conceived here.


The skin of the wino
is a beautiful silk palace for lice.


Locked ward
and sunless winter day:
Home is where the mind is.

 
Neat path. Neat lawn.
Neat visitors.
Neat concentration-camp.

 
The moon in a veil
as if it had coldly evolved an ego.


Frost Kings were crowned
again last night: my garden
is bedecked with lace.

 
Digging: a fine red worm.
Wisdom: to see everything
as from the grave.


Thinking about my death
I enthusiastically clean out
the septic tank.  


Dogshit on pavements:
the unconscious calligraphy
of prisoners.


Rotting leaves
lie on each other lovingly
in hecatombs.

 
Morning. My erection
does not belie regret
at my father's.


The day in silence.
At night the telephone rings.
It's a wrong number.

 
Winter solitude: gorse-bush
flowering in a muddy field.


Red sky at morning:
the blood of global greed
has reached the very clouds.

 
Between life and death
I am always hoping to climb
Out of myself.


Selfportrait-metamorphoto 


Winter sunlight:
trying to pull my shadow
out of the shade...


Water on the knee…
Water on the brain…and now
Water on the moon!

 
With my dog: a cold wet day
is an oceanic experience.

 
Our lives intertwined,
Oscar and I check up on
each other's fæces.

 
Community of luxury:
I drink the wine
while Oscar chews the cork.

 
Quiet rain. My dog expresses
so much silently - why must we
make so much noise ?

 
Every night, before
we go to bed - a brief
strip-show for my dog.

 
Ice on a puddle:
the brittle transience of wisdom.

 
Richly-ploughed field:
its beauty makes me weep
for the earth's flaying. 


April in Ireland.
A field of mud. A black calf
licks a beige bull's balls.

 
Zen of orgasm:
the not-having is more
sensual than the having.


Admiration, by Anthony Weir .


'Soul'
is integrity.
Thus few humans - but all
animals - have souls.


Torn old coat-lining.
The April wind also nests
in a stained pocket.


A haiku: so what ?
So many haikai -
So what ?

 
Headless chicken:
creatures just as maimed think they're
masters of the world.

 
Fighting for comfort
in front of a screen:
The American Dream.

 
Security camera
shows me my Other
going the other way.

 
Bluebottle in confessional -
not proclaiming its sins
but dying to escape.

 
An icy puddle:
It took me fifty years to realise
how shallow people are.

 
Moon - those who walked over you
are half in darkness
half in blinding light.

 
Full moon naked
above the naked tree
O for a naked mind!


A piss before bed
while admiring the night's bright
navel in the sky.

 
The silence between wars:
The science that is false.

 
Visiting the psychiatrist:
like intimacy with a fridge.


Disliking people
I enjoy the cheerful caw-
cawing of the rooks.


Milky Way.
Stretching to infinity
the spaces between people.


A raindrop twinkles -
Betelgeuse upon a bush
for just three minutes.

 
Hunchback woman
with long wattle wistfully
appraises my long beard.

Selfportrait-metamorphoto  


Our comfort: measure
of our disrespect for many creatures,
many things.

Amphisbæna:
making love is not an act
- but an animal.


"Aggressive Begging" -
a hundred times more gentle than
aggressive wealth.

 
Pulling June nettles
it is I who am living
in the wrong context.


In my summer garden
my only feeling:
how much longer.

 
Check-out. Capitalism:
the religion to end
all religions.

 
Miru tokoro. Places to see.
Kita michi wa The road I came
Hakkiri chigairu. Is clearly different

 
The joy of breakfast.
The best Java coffee-beans
pass through a cat.

 

Summer-night party -
the vomit on the grass re-
flects the Milky Way.

Renewing themselves
in spite of all they know
they gulp down the stars.

 

A trembling poplar.
A hen shakes out her feathers.
I think of winter.


Yesterday's picnic -
only a bite away
from the grave.


Suburban evening:
the full moon in a frog's eye
squashed by a jogger.


Autumnal thicket:
shitting on fresh-fallen leaves -
'natural painting'.

 
Cobwebs in fog.
I can't tell my end from my beginning.


An old man ploughing:
the blade cuts the last furrow
and his faint shadow.


Cotoneaster
berries fall in the moonlight :
blood-drops of winter.


Full moon, December...
pale men in a sauna look like
ice-creams ovening.


December mud:
from it the old potter will
create his last pot.

 
Dying: no longer
missing the boat in the dark
night of the soul.


Click for more recent Hailai by Okami.

 
 

Non-haiku postscript:
The Internet:
the greatest triumph
of form over content ?



click for more recent haikai by Okami


 

The snow falling
tells me to stop thinking...

 


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