Long Rain by Lenard Moore. Berkley, California. Wet Cement Press, 2021. 140 pp. $16.00.
Review by Miho Kinnas
霖The kanji character for the title Long Rain, is pronounced na・ga・a・mé in Japanese. The Japanese poetry has been associating the word with the sound of another verb, na・ga・mé・(ru) —眺める that means to glance, look, view, stare, watch, or focus for some time. Playing with similar-sounding words for cascading effects and their meanings for counterpoints have been traditional in Japanese poetry. The state of mind when we watch the rainfall day after day is universal and timeless; reading Long Rain is to observe the passage of time, the fleeting moments, and the love of past and present. We stand behind the poet’s shoulders in a room, a square, a doorway, or a moving vehicle.
The book is divided into four sections, not by seasons as traditional tanka books, but by the four universally recognized elements: Earth, Fire, Wind, and Water. Most of the poems contain a keyword that belongs to the element; more interesting, the poems in each section as a group merge into the energy of the title element.
EARTH ・地
The Earth poems firmly ground us. The pace of the poem is andante, and we take each step steadily in this section.
country night
how many bullfrogs telling
where they are
as I walk the soggy earth
that my grandfather once plowed
Although Lenard Moore’s poems are innovative, they are never outrageous or pretentious. They are filled with subtle surprises that are created by the juxtapositions of things, deft handling of nuances, and noun choices.
on the porch
watching you
pick yellow apples
I long to eat
when you return
The poem above needs no explanation: It’s such a delicious poem. A reminiscence of William Carlos Williams’ This Is Just To Say? Or the tanka, Loved as if sucking sweet peach juice and I know I was a woman in my previous life[1] by Tawara Machi?
Two extra lines of tanka (in addition to the three lines of haiku) are not used for explaining what had started as haiku: the scenes, the people, and the actions unfold as we read, but at the end of the reading, we have everything in front of us at the same time. These five lines (legs) have their way of working (walking.)
at the beach
the two of us alone
I felt her legs
open wider and wider
in the darkening air
Here is the introduction to Long Rain in a few words: Long Rain is a book of love poems of grounded, long-lasting, erotic, familiar love.
And for such a relationship, sometimes, a night can be generously long. Simple yet rich joy expands the night.
the night is long
a tavern just off the road
with one parked car
but the man and woman hug
to the song on the jukebox
WIND・風
The section shows more movements, and the reader anticipates the next unfolding. The poems are far more suggestive and moving faster.
man with a goatee
hunkers in the onion patch—
the wind lifts,
while I descend the steps
into early light
It is mysterious. Tanka is a form both the writer and the readers understand that no more explanations will be added. The poet builds tanka carefully, paying attention to each word.
And we gulp it down with a breath —and read it again. And again.
I sniff the wind
as the scent of honeysuckle
rises from the path
Her blouse blows wide open
the shape of her full breasts
A surprise is a necessary element in poetry.
The next poem depicts a scene as if it is the beginning of a film, yet enough is said. A detailed sight and sound and “shapes on the wind” — what’s that? The sixth sense? The interpretation is up to each reader.
stranger nearing—
in an angle of sun
the hound’s bark
grows deeper
and shapes on the wind
FIRE・火
Fire: hot, bright, burning, maturing, rupturing, ripeness, and agedness. The stories thicken in this section. The word “old” appears a lot here, such as “old homestead,” “old bulldog,” “old photographer. “ An old man must be an old man, not just a man. A black woman must be a black woman: It is an extended noun, not an adjective + noun.
The items of our daily life stream in: clothesline, the shack door, hospital, wheelchair, exhaust smoke, shacking sweet corn, the sloping fence, wire fence, post office, telephone booth. And a woman is, of course, pregnant.
rising sun
the pregnant woman walks
through falling mist
with the fragrance of pine
the ancient path narrows
The following tanka is precious. It is so simple and small, yet each word, each line, forces a reader to ponder.
anniversary
a point of light flickers
on the buffed floor—
our daughter notices it
while cooking breakfast
1) anniversary – what (which) anniversary?
2) a point of light flickers – what light? how does it move?
3) on the buffed floor — the clean floor – a loving family
4) our daughter notices it – what did she say? how old was/is she?
5) while cooking breakfast – was she cooking?what did they have?
A day we take for granted is eternalized.
The signature Lenard Moore poems: They are the oil paintings with deep southern colors.
a black man bending
over the low cotton bush—
gunfire on his back;
the flap of a burlap sack
while blues hide in my throat
Music is sensed. Music, especially jazz and blues flow out of his work; his poetry readings are often framed with music; the poet lives in music.
There is no doubt there’s music in the next poem, even though it is not spelled out.
Unbearable heaviness. A poem like this one is the direct link between the spirit of blues and the essence of sabi. The merged aesthetics characterize Moore’s work.
heading home —
dozens of planes roaring
in the night sky;
no wind pushing back
the suburban heat
When the poem oversees the broader landscape, this American tanka rooted in Japanese waka (more traditional tanka) reflects further back at the Chinese classics. This poem reads like a Tang dynasty poem in the North Carolina setting.
autumn moon rises;
rot of pumpkins rides the breeze
on remnants of fog;
old cabin on a hillside
where hungry wild deer roam
WATER・水
A Japanese composer, Takemitsu Toru, wrote a series of music on the theme of water. He went to see a dam emptied for a repair and saw a freshwater stream that kept flowing separately from the main river. Water often runs unexpectedly in independent forms; the section of Long Rain also includes many different bodies of water.
twelve noon
a green tin lunchbox gleaming
behind the courthouse
goldfish swimming under
water lilies in the pond
The poem above is densely packed. It takes courage and experience to write a poem like this one. A mere pond behind the courthouse, where we meet the misery of others and our own, holds the poem together.
sleepless
I listen to your breathing
this shortest night
the warmth of thighs
all over my body
And sometimes, the night is too short even for the man living the long-lasting love. The short night, incidentally, is a kigo (season word) of summer in haiku. The effect immediately intensifies the poem to the readers aware of a great number of haiku showcasing what short night could evoke. In this poem, the restlessness shortest night exudes sensuously.
One more tanka:
rain ends—
reflection of headlights creeping
down the two-lane road
and from out the hushed woods
a black cat crossing my path
Even a very long rain eventually ends. In this poem, the speaker is driving; the rain ended because he left the raining area or it stopped; the poem shows how time is exchangeable with space. A multidimensional parallel world appears in five lines.
*
Lenard D. Moore (born in Jacksonville, North Carolina, in 1958) is an internationally acclaimed poet, especially known for his work with Japanese forms, and is the author of The Geography Of Jazz, A Temple Looming, and The Open Eye, among other books. He is the founder and executive director of the Carolina African American Writers’ Collective, and co-founder of the Washington Street Writers Group. He was the First African American President of Haiku Society of America and is the Executive Chairman of the North Carolina Haiku Society. (from Long Rain)
Moore teaches African American Literature and Advanced Poetry Writing at the University of Mount Olive, where he directs the literary festival.
[1] Translated by the reviewer. From The Chocolate Revolution, Tawara Machi