Behind this glass
you look at us.
And we look at you.
But to you
we are just
some scenery you chew.
Pass by, pass by
we are now done with you.
I come for the soju,
I stay for the pictures.
The entire fucking history of Japan,
and of Tokyo,
is in the eyes, the skins, the frosty cocktail glasses
in these pictures of the lives of the
people on these walls.
I like it here.
(Picture taken in Seoul Bar, Sanya (Nihonzutsumi), Tokyo in October, 2013. Published concurrently on Scholars and Rogues.)
I had a finished poem written about this photo, and what might be going through this man’s head. It started with the line “I am stranded in my own blood” and got weird after that. But I scrapped it because I don’t think words can entirely convey how cosmically tired this fellow looked. He looked tired in a way that didn’t suggest utter defeat, but also didn’t suggest he was on an upswing. The kind of tired where you just have to sit quietly for a bit and take the time to consider which limb to move next, which finger to flick. The kind of tired that emanates from you so perceptibly that some schmuck standing near you only long enough to snap a few pictures of you can feel it.
That kind of tired.
(Picture taken on the west side of Shinjuku Station in September, 2013)
This is the seriously-no-bullshit soup plate,
Where it all falls asunder into metal,
and I don’t mean angry white men playing guitars.
It’s peaceful, the undying here,
and I’m trying to figure out how to make some art out of this monstrous tranquility.
I throw compassionate grenades,
and perform brutally humane triage.
I’ve crushed my skull for genius
and I’ve banished my excellent demons for you.
There is no distance I would not
throw my combat liver over the Sea of Japan for you.
I will become a great ape for the sight of you,
and holler my guttural mating call
down into Tokyo’s darkest gutters to summon you.
There is dark growth here in my muddy extremes,
and the old Edo gods who once bore you you bear,
and I still think I’ll start drinking before noon today.
It is raining today in Brisbane, California.
I like to call it a fine Tokyo rain.
Because Tokyo taught me
to love the space between the drops and
to love the dirt-city vistas beyond the falling curtains and
to love the rain like it was my mother
who would never dissolve me like sugars to run down
the gutters to sweeten the trash for the sewer rats.
(Pictures taken in Shinjuku, Tokyo in October, 2013. Published concurrently on Scholars and Rogues.)
In Ueno Park on the last day of September, 2013, a friend and I were drinking Suntory Premium Malts after a heavy lunch in a nearby joint under the JR train tracks. It was a beautiful day, warm but less humid than September had been overall.
As we sat with our beers and watched people come and go, two kids who were obviously brother and sister caught my eye. I don’t have children, but sometimes in watching kids mill about and play I see glimpses of the innocent, goofy things I used to do as a child. These recollections are small treasures of happiness scattered infrequently amongst the other memories of a less-than-happy childhood.
Yes, these two youngsters made me smile. I felt bad for the boy, though, because the slow, delicious breeze blowing through the park that day rapidly scattered the bubbles he created. He really didn’t have time to enjoy them. But my friend and I did. And I’m pretty sure watching this kid made my beer taste better.
This winter is hitting Tokyo hard. Friends in the Tokyo metropolitan area and nearby Chiba prefecture have reported impassible streets, shut down highways, and commuter trains delayed for long periods or cancelled due to accumulations of ice and snow. And this has me windering how Tokyo’s homeless population is dealing with this winter nightmare.
My guess is the city’s street folk are scrambling for cover under bridges, or for warm, dry digs in Tokyo’s larger JR and Metro stations. If that is even an option. I haven’t spent a winter in Tokyo since early 1988, so I don’t really know any more how Tokyo’s homeless and destitute deal with weather like this. Realistically they can’t sprawl out and crash on the streets the way they do in warm weather, as shown in my photographs below. And if Tokyo is anything like most major American cities, there aren’t enough homeless shelters or temporary housing facilities available to accommodate everyone who needs to get off the freezing streets.
But I do know of one organization that I would bet hard cash is doing everything it can to get homeless and chronically alcoholic people into as many warm beds as possible. It’s the Sanyūkai NPO down in Tokyo’s Sanya skid row area. The non-secular NPO is run by Deacon Jean LeBeau, while Sister Rita Burdzy manages Sanyūkai’s small free medical clinic. They’re both Christian missionaries, and are pictured below.
What I urge you to do, after looking through these photos and perusing Sanyūkai’s English-language page, is make a donation to this small but very important charitable and homeless outreach organization. Tokyo’s streets are killing cold right now, and Sanyūkai NPO could use your help in helping others.
–Dan Ryan, Brisbane, California, 02/16/14
Sister Rita Burdzy
Deacon Jean LeBeau
(Pictures taken in Sanya, Tokyo in 2012 and 2013)
She passed me.
She didn’t see me.
I remained still.
I didn’t see her.
in the grotesque way
of all the crowded heavens in Tokyo,
I saw her delicate passing
non-substance downloaded on
my tengu-blue digital screen.
(Picture taken in Nakano Broadway, Tokyo in September, 2013)