The Planted Illusions of Fear

I am in the middle of reading All Quiet on The Western Front as research/inspiration for the manuscript piece I plan on handing in in May, and I have come across the passage that encapsulates the entirety of this novel and World War I.

"But you were only an idea to me before, an abstraction that lived in my mind and called forth its appropriate response. It was that abstraction I stabbed. But now, for the first time, I see you are a man like me. I thought of your hand-grenades, of your bayonet, of your rifle; now I see your wife and your face and our fellowship. Forgive me, comrade. We always see it too late."
—Erich Maria Remarque (translated by A.W. Wheen)

Tanka

Last fall I wrote some supplementary poems to go along with my 20-page short story for a class I took. I never found a good foothold on the story and therefore think little of it—but the poems on the other hand, I really like. 

I do not want to toot my own horn, but I feel that they are acceptable homages to the feudal period of Japanese history. Chaos reigned, as it did in medieval Europe, and writing about chaos helps to alleviate the pain from it. In the present, we live in our own troubled period, which I won't get into to--I'll only say that a neo-feudalism will arise if our situation does not change. 

Anyway, enjoy these tanka poems. I enjoyed writing them vehemently, and I still feel that they are quite apt for speaking on behalf of chaos.  

 

"They are manifestations of the ugliness that haunts our land. The sheer amount of blood that's been spilled in anger during this civil war brought these demons to life because when you mix blood, violence, and man, horrors are born." - Ushio Sakamoto (excerpt from my short story "Demons and Men")

一

A lifetime of prayer

floating downstream in water,

spotted by a boy.

He stumbles away panicked.

Bodies and war consume him.

二

No time to ponder—

the cicada song is mute.

Feet rush to their homes.

Sunsets cast long, lank shadows.

They grab at ankles and pull.

三

Blades are sharp and cold.

An indelible hollow

across her slim chest,

like an empty river bed—

same as the left spot in hers.