Hiromi Itō's first book to be translated into English, Killing Kanoko, takes its title from a poem in which the author, having recently given birth to a daughter, imagines killing the child numerous times. The poem is violent and striking for its unusual take on a new mother's relationship with her child. "Congratulations on your destruction," the poem repeats regularly, amid descriptions of contemplating abortion, aching nipples, and hordes of ants. It's a chilling work, one with a complex array of emotions and taboo ideas, altogether delivered in Hiromi Itō's trademark stream-of-consciousness gone hell-bent.Hiromi Itō is one of the most famous and best-selling poets of modern Japan. Her synthesis of common voices, natural imagery, and uncanny thinking plainly set and reset the bar for a new wave of women's writing in a country where—perhaps even more than others—women have been traditionally held up to a quiet daily decorum. Hiromi Itō shatters that in nearly every line. Reading her work, one gets the sense that anything can happen: shifts in diction, time, location; absorption of science writing into slang; emotional honesty to the point of sublime terror; dreamscapes mashed into the everyday.Her second translated work, Wild Grass on the Riverbank, translated by Jeffrey Angles, was recently published by Action Books. The 96-page tract demonstrates the author's shift from verse to a more continuous, genre-bent experience, knitting a full narrative across its many still-fragmented parts. The work follows the travel of a family of many children, their mother, and a father who is both alive and dead, through fields of insane fauna, dystopian wasteland landscape, eerie haunted temporary homes, refrains of song fragments, skin plagues, and breakouts.Reminiscent of the plunging-network narratives of Alice Notley's Descent of Alette and Amos Tutuola's My Life in the Bush of Ghosts, the book goes into both the multivalent psyches of the human landscape and the ground we walk on, forging between them a trek that is by turns spiritual, spasmodic, romantic, furious, contemplative, and insane.Here's an excerpt:MichiyukiBy late summer, everyone on the riverbank was deadNot just the creatures, but the summer grass, the rusted bicycles, the summer grassCars without doors or windows, the warped porn magazines, the summer grassEmpty cans with food stuck inside and empty bottles full of muddy waterGirl's panties and condoms, father's corpse, and so much summer grassThe riverbank only meant to control youThe summer grass touched our bodiesThe seeds fell down onto our bodiesOn the bank, I noticed a kind of grass that multiplied conspicuouslyIt was about one meter high and looks like some kind of riceIt had spikes full of seedIt was everywhereIt glimmered white in the dim evening lightSticky liquid oozed from the spikes full of seedThe dogs got stickyThe dogs smelled terribleThe dogs agonized and rubbed their bodies onto the groundThe man from the riverbank appeared in the eveningEvery evening he appeared and sat under an arborCompletely aloneOlder, grimy, shabby, pale as a corpseWhen his penis rose upA smell rose up like the one from the rice-like grass on the bankThe penis in his hand glistened and glistenedThe flowers of the kudzu also rose up, I noticed the kudzu flowers rising up here and there, one day, we became tangled in the tendrils of the kudzu plants, I heard something slithering along abruptly, no sooner had I heard this than a tendril trapped my heel, it hit me, and knocked me on my back into a bush, there Sorghum halepense rattled in the wind, the unfamiliar grass from before started shaking, releasing its scent, then the tendril stretched all the further, crawling onto my body, getting into my panties, and creeping into my vagina, I inhaled and exhaled, I exhaled and the tendril slid in, I inhaled and the tendril slid out, I exhaled again and it slid further in, my body was turned this way and that like the leaves of the kudzu, my body opened and closed over and over, and Alexa watched all of this, Alexa was watching, watching and laughing, I became angry, so angry, I got up and shoved Alexa away, she fell down on her back, the tendrils clung to Alexa too, Alexa also turned this way and that, the tendril also went inside her vagina, deep inside, and she started to cryEveryone was deadFatherLittle brotherMother and meAhh… think I'll, I'll think to myselfPack it inAnd buy a pick-upTake it down to L.A.Find a placeTo call my ownMaybe that place would be a hot springOne that heals eczema, dermatitis, neuralgiaMenopausal disorders, diabetes, infectious diseasesA hot spring among hot springs, one that would fix you up right awayA place where you could soak yourself, open your pores, scrub your body, swell upA place where you will want to live again and start a brand new dayLittle brother cried, hey, I'm itchy, so itchy, I told him not to scratch, but he did it anyway, the place he scratched soon turned into a blister, little brother cried, I didn't scratch it that much, only a little, but even so, the place he scratched turned into a blister, there were blisters all over his body, after they ruptured, they got inflamed and full of pusLittle brother no longer seemed like himself, he was horribly swollen, he rolled all over the house, mouth open, wheezing, cryingAnd cryingMother said, I want to take him to a hot spring, I've heard of a hot spring that's good for your skin, why don't we take your dead father and dead dog along too to soak in the water, so we decided to go, we just left everything as it was, we left the leftover food, dirty clothes, and wet towels just as they were, then we carefully laid my wheezing brother on the rear seat, and we stuffed some other things in the car, my little sister, spare clothes, the corpses, the dogs, plastic bags, pillows, food and drink (even some flowerpots), so much stuff, then we took off, I stared at the road from the passenger seat and asked, how do we get there? from the driver's seat, mother answered, it's over that mountainMother said, that hot springWill fix you up right away,Soak yourself, open your pores, scrub your body, swell up,It'll heal your eczema, your blisters,Your skin infections, your ringworm,Your dermatitis, your infectious diseases,Your atopy, your allergies,Your corpses, your impending death, your having died, and even death in generalA hot spring that will fix you up you right up right away,A place where you will want to live again and start a brand new day,Anyway, mother said,Let's go over that mountainThe back seat was full, no space left for your feetThe car was old and rickety, and there hadn't been much foot room from the startBut still we stuffed it fullWith things, with garbage, with foodWith people, with dogs, and with corpsesUntil there was no space leftIt stunk of dogsIt stunk of deathLittle brother was wheezing in the back seatLittle sister sometimes cried out as if she'd just remembered somethingShe said, I left something back at home,She said, please go back, I forgot somethingBut we can't go backSomeone asked, if we just keep goingThrough the fork in the road,Won't that be Toroku?,Won't that be Kurokami?,Won't that be Kokai?,The Jōgyōji crossing,Through Uchi-tsuboi,Up Setozaka slope,Shouldn't we goAll the way over there?She knew the way to the big camphor tree where that samurai-monk was buriedAt the samurai-monk's big tree, we turned right at a three-way intersectionWe could see the huge treetop of the samurai-monk's big camphor treeFrom where we were, it looked so hugeThat I bet it'd block out the whole universe if you were standing underneathThere was a path for tractors and pick-ups right thereWe turned right at the three-way intersectionThere was a small stone bridge, we crossed itThen came out at another three-way intersectionWe went straightWe went straightWe went up the roadWe went through tangerine orchards on both sides, and when we came outWe were on mountainous roadsWhere it was dark even in the middle of the dayThe road meandered through a forest with shining leavesThe road meanderedThe road drew close to a cliffThen moved awayAhh… I think to myselfThink I'll pack it in, and buy a pick-up, take it down to L.A.Mother started to sing in a key way too high for her,Ahh… Think I'll…A tangle of karasuuri flowers and fruitsAhh, Think I'll…A thick bunch of worm-eaten leavesA scarlet flower was blooming, probably a garden species that escaped somebody's yardIn the shade of the other plants, a large white flower was bloomingA flower pale and whiteIt couldn't have been a garden species, it was pale because it was in the shadeAnother car cameWe passed each otherWe guessed the car was going home from the hot springAll fixed up, the driver had fixed his skin trouble and was going homeI tried to get a good lookBut the car sped by us in a flashMuch further and we'd be at the seashoreThe seashore facing westMother said, doesn't look like there is a hot spring, beyond this is the Pure LandThe dog noticed the smell of the seaIt stuck its nose out the window, howling for the seaMother said, we should've crossed a large bridge,I forgot the name, but it's a large bridge,There were big floods here in the late nineteenth and the mid-twentieth centuries,Lots of earth, sand, and drowned bodies got caught on the bridge,But the floods downstream were even worse,We screwed up when we missed the bridge,The only water we've seen has been those small streams,Mother said, we've definitely gone the wrong way,Mother said, we'll never get there if we keep going this wayThe dog that was howling for the sea rose up in the back seatAnd walked across little brotherAlexa shouted in angerMother said, we'd better start all over,I give upLittle brother cried out in a high voice,You can't give up,Is that all you know how to do?Alexa shouted, shut upLittle sister wept, I told you, I told youThe dog barkedLots of dogs barkedAlexa shouted, I can't take it anymore, I can't, I can'tShe said, no one ever listens to meShe sunk her face into her thighs, curled up, and started to sobHer voice grew louder, more childish than little brother'sMore infantile than little sister'sShe cried on and on, on and onOnly sobbingOn and onOn and onMother said, we should've turned around,But if we did, we'd just get more lost,Let's keep going down the hill to the sea, then go home round the capeSo that's how we got back homeNothing fixedNothing foundNothingWe failedIt was no goodIt was all overFollow Blake Butler on TwitterBuy Killing Kanokohere.
Advertisement
Advertisement
Advertisement
Advertisement
Advertisement
Advertisement
Advertisement