An Interview With Leah Stenson
“Circles on the rain-dimpled pond expand, intersect, like kimono patterns.” -“Inokashira Park”, Leah Stenson
Leah Stenson is a published poet, Board Member of Tavern Books, and coordinator and host of the long-standing Studio Series Poetry Reading and Open Mic in Portland. She is the author of two chapbooks, The Turquoise Bee and Heavenly Body, and the editor of two anthologies, Reverberations from Fukushima: 50 Japanese Poets Speak Out and Alive at the Center: Contemporary Poetry from Portland, Oregon. Stenson’s work is featured in Sunset Liminal vol. 3, and her full-length manuscript, “Everywhere I Find Myself,” will be published by WordTech Communications’ Turning Point imprint in December of 2017.
What brought you to Japan? When did your interest in Japanese culture and art begin?
I went to Japan in 1977 because I was interested in Buddhism and ended up staying in the country for 16 years. My first connection with Japan was with a Japanese sculptress named Momoko who lived in my neighborhood when I was twelve. My father, who was studying for his M.A., was tutoring Momoko in English. She and my father were both attending Columbia University. When Momoko heard that I played the violin, she invited me to her home to play for her. She played violin as well. In appreciation, she sewed satin kimonos for my brother and I and hosted a sukiyaki party for our neighborhood friends. I think that was the beginning of my affinity for Japan.
The setting obviously influenced your content, did it influence your style? If so, how so?
When I lived in Japan, I was too busy to write. I was teaching English at a university and raising a family. I think I wrote a total of one poem during the 16 years I lived in Japan, something about strawberries. After I moved to Portland in 1993, I had more time to write. I think I’ve always been drawn to compression, an economy of words. I may have developed this style as a result of living in Japan where many art forms tend towards austere elegance, eschewing over-the-top emotional expression—i.e., haiku, ikebana, chado, butoh, etc. Even in daily conversation, the Japanese are apt to be measured and restrained as opposed to wordy and effusive. There is always an undercurrent of self-control in Japanese society which stems from the samurai code; and I imagine that my admiration for that sense of self-control manifests itself in my writing style. Many of my poems and lyric essays are tightly constructed with attention to every word. A friend of mine who has lived in Japan for many years says that, although my poems don’t adhere to the definition of haiku, they are very much of that genre. I think you can feel that in “Inokashira Park.”
Your use of alliteration is subtle, but clearly present. Is it an integral part of the poem to you? How does it serve the poem beyond an aural quality?
I am always conscious of the sounds of words when I write. In “Inokashira Park” sound was particularly important to evoke the rain—i.e., rain-dimpled, patterns, pitter-patter; a sense of quietude—i.e., nursery song, mothers, soothe, housebound; and a slide into dreamscape—i.e, flow, footbridge, white swan, ukiyoe, floating. The sounds are intended to soothe and draw the reader into the quiescence of my fleeting vision.
You do an excellent job of engaging our senses as readers. It is difficult to determine whether sound or imagery dominate in the piece. Was this balance carefully crafted? Do things seen and things heard evoke different poetic themes for you?
In “Inokashira Park” I worked harder than usual on sound imagery. The reader needed to hear the rain, the mother singing and the boats paddling on the lake. Generally, visual imagery serves as the primary impetus for my poetry and sound is secondary. In this poem, visual and auditory imagery were considered simultaneously. I think this accounts, in large part, for the poem’s success.
Tell me about the nursery song - what it's about, when you first encountered it, and what it means to you.
I had a good Japanese friend, a woman quite a bit older than I, who was kind of a surrogate mother figure. One day when she came to my house, she held my two-year-old daughter on her lap and sang “Amefuri (It’s Raining)” to her. This song (written by Kitahara Hakusyu in 1925) is sung by Japanese mothers to their children on rainy days. It’s comparable to “Rain, Rain Go Away, Come Again another Day” that American mothers recite to their children. In Amefuri, a child is delighted that her mother comes to meet her on a rainy day and that she gets to walk with her under the shelter of an umbrella while listening to the patter of the rain and splashing in puddles. I was touched by the image of my friend singing to my daughter, as if she were her own granddaughter. Somehow, this lovely scene rose up from memory and found its way into my poem.
The closing lines "I could dwell forever in this ukiyoe / moment, fragment of a floating world" are breathtakingly beautiful. Could you provide a brief take on the ukiyoe art style in your own words to provide our readers with some context? And if it's not to damaging to dissect, I'd love to hear what a "floating world" means to you.
Ukiyo-e was an art form that flourished from the 17th to 19th century in Japan. With the rise of the merchant class, participation in the arts flourished, and aspects of daily life—landscapes, beautiful women, Kabuki actors, erotica, etc.—were featured in woodblock prints. Utagawa, Hiroshige and Hokkusai are some masters of the genre. The word ukiyo means “floating” and “e” means painting. Ukiyo-e prints often depict “the floating world,” a world of pleasure, hedonism and beauty which is fleeting, like life itself. The term also suggests a world that is illusory, a kind of samsara. For me, the floating world is the dream-like state which takes us away from the cares of daily life. It is unsustainable because, while we are swept away in the joyful flow of the moment, we know we can’t hold onto it and that to try to do so will lead us away from spiritual growth. In that realization lies pathos. I wrote Inokashira Park after meeting with a Japanese poet who was helping me with some translation work. After our conversation in a lovely tea house by in the park, I stopped by the edge of the lake to savor the moment which suggested Japan of a by-gone era.
Are there more poems from your journeys in Japan? Or from travels elsewhere? Is there somewhere you haven't been that you'd like to visit for inspiration?
I have written many poems about Japan. Some are haiku-esque and others are critiques of Japanese society. I co-edited and published a book of Japanese poetry in 2014: Reverberations from Fukushima: 50 Japanese Poets Speak Out. I frequently write poems that have been inspired by cross-cultural encounters. Some of this work will appear in my forthcoming book: “Everywhere I Find Myself” which is scheduled to be published by WordTech Communications in 2017. I love to travel and look forward to visiting Budapest and Prague and Italy, hopefully, in the not-too-distant future. I have ethnic origins in Hungary and Italy so trips to these countries should be especially significant for me.
Tell us about your beginnings as a writer, as a poet, and as an editor.
As a young girl, I was an avid reader, and I think I experienced the full impact of the written word after I read Charlotte’s Web in grade school and Heart of Darkness in high school. I wrote poems of teenage angst, and in college I majored in English Literature and Philosophy. After getting an M.A. in English Literature, I worked as an editorial assistant in NYC. During my twenties, when I was working in publishing, I published some book reviews and a few magazine articles; however, I didn’t feel ready to write creatively. I knew that, although I had some facility with language, I really didn’t have anything profound to say. Then I moved to Japan to learn about Buddhism. A short stay turned into 16 years; and by the time I left that country, I had many things to write about. In Japan, I was too busy to even think of writing (although I did some editorial work there), but a few years after I moved to Portland, OR I joined a writing group and began to embrace my identity as a writer. I began writing creatively in my mid-40s, about two decades ago. I especially enjoy the editorial process and find it soothing after the initial burst of creative energy it takes to get something down on the page.
Your bio is chock full of literary projects. Give us the rundown on one which means a lot to you right now and why you're passionate about it.
At present, I am working on a collection of lyric essays. I have found that when I begin writing, I often feel compelled to say something that reveals my personal viewpoint. Poetry isn’t the best genre in which to express one’s opinion so I thought I should explore the lyric essay. This literary form will give me more leeway to examine issues but still be creative with language and format. In the future, I hope to collaborate more with other poets as well as with musicians and artists. I look forward to the day my older daughter (a painter), husband (a photographer) and I do a joint presentation on Japan.
Interview conducted by Stephen Krzyzanowski, September 2016.
