Maybe if your life had been a long hostile trek through foreign lands, pushing forward despite all the obstacles to get to some distant promised land, you’d understand. Imagine you’re a Christian who wants to get to heaven. It’s like that. – Barker Ajax
You might or might not be surprised to learn Barker Ajax studied Oriental philosophy.
Part of the reason he is such an Occidental mess.
Studied a little Japanese poetry. Tried to write some, too.
Open up your eyes
maybe try to use your sight.
Take the time to hear
and be patient to listen.
Only then begin to speak.
The Japanese tanka is a thirty-one-syllable poem, traditionally written in a single unbroken line. A form of waka, Japanese song or verse, tanka translates as “short song,” and is better known in its five-line, 5/7/5/7/7 syllable count form.
One of the oldest Japanese forms, tanka originated in the seventh century, and quickly became the preferred verse form not only in the Japanese Imperial Court, where nobles competed in tanka contests, but for women and men engaged in courtship. Tanka’s economy and suitability for emotional expression made it ideal for intimate communication; lovers would often, after an evening spent together (often clandestinely), dash off a tanka to give to the other the next morning as a gift of gratitude. [Got that from poets.org.]
Edward Hirsch writes about the tanka in his book A Poet’s Glossary (Harcourt, 2014):
tanka: Also called uta or waka. The character for ka means “poem.” Wa means “Japanese.” Therefore, a waka is a Japanese poem. Tan means “short,” and so a tanka is a short poem, thirty-one syllables long. It is unrhymed and has units of five, seven, five, seven, and seven syllables, which were traditionally printed as one unbroken line. In English translation, the tanka is customarily divided into a five-line form. The tanka is sometimes separated by the three “upper lines” (kami no ku) and the two “lower ones” (shimo no ku). The upper unit is the origin of the haiku.
Buddha still smiles, and
some Christians yet fight lions.
Mohammed sings loud.
The Sun continues to rise.
You say you do not believe?
Barker wrote a quartet of tanka. I have the original copy. Words carved with a sharp Number Two pencil on a yellow legal pad. His favorite medium. Guessing he was going crazy and no amount of running would save him. So, he turned to poetry. Figure 1974. Married and faithful, bashing a hundred miles a week, maintaining a four-point-oh. Who was that guy?
Here’s another question for you. Does the poetry come with the crazy or does it arrive as a result and does it even matter?
He called himself Sunvata, a salute to Sunyata. Sunyata, in Buddhist philosophy, the voidness that constitutes ultimate reality; sunyata is seen not as a negation of existence but rather as the undifferentiation out of which all apparent entities, distinctions, and dualities arise.
Barker felt like his entities were battling his dualities. And losing. Outnumbered by himself somehow.
When he developed Ninja Poet. Imagine Bruce Lee + Charles Bukowski with a little Thoreau for sensitivity.
Open up the Vedas
or an existentialist.
Water a desert.
Take a dive beneath the sea.
Never be afraid to learn.
Barker could never quite decide if he was always afraid or never afraid. Might be a test.
Felt like he was always both at the same time which made for some unusual behavior. And I apologize.
Cherry blossoms grow
only where the Gods have been.
But the peacock lives
in the hearts and eyes of all.
The day must surely be good.
No wonder his shit never rhymed.