PLEASE DON'T BUNDLE ME BY KAZUE ARAI
please don’t bundle me
like flowers we call stock
like white leeks
please don’t bundle me I am an ear of rice
in autumn the earth longs for
the ever stretching golden field of rice ears
please don’t pin me down
like the insect in a specimen box
like the post card sent from a summer retreat
please don’t pin me down I spread my wings and fly
non-stop gauging the vastness of this sky
the sound of wings invisible
please don’t pour me like the milk diluted with the everyday
like the lukewarm sake
please don’t pour me I am the ocean
I am night endlessly whelming
bitter seawater boundless water
please don’t name me
name called Daughter name called Wife
on a chair made of a name called Mother
please don’t leave me sitting I am wind
knows where an apple tree and a fountain are
please don’t punctuate me
a comma, a period, some paragraphs
end like the letter that ends with “good bye”
please don’t summarize me I am an endless sentence
like a river
endlessly flowing expanding sentence of a poem
--Kazue Arai
translated by Kyoko Ikeda
Begin a poem with the phrase, please don’t bundle me…. and see where it leads.
When you aren’t bundled, named, contained, who are you? The poet is wind, and flowing sentences, and boundless water. Who are you? Explore in your journal.
In what ways have you been suppressed and contained? Write an unsent letter to those who have tried to keep you tame. Let the words flow, unedited. Remember, this is for you.
