"Eto stopped and wrote:
Hill of orange suns.
Cat leaps. Oranges tumble.
The cat licks its paw.
Kiyoshi felt puzzled. "Does
that mean poems come from
seeing things?"
They kept walking."
This is another important intergenerational story. Eto, the grandfather, is a poet. He chooses exquisite wording to compose haiku. Kiyoshi, his grandson, has great respect for Eto's writing. On this particular day, he asks:
"Where do poems come from?"
His grandfather answers with an invitation to go for a walk together. He takes pen and paper with him as they head out. Both are interested in the many scenes they encounter. Eto stops often to pen a poem. Kiyoshi continues with his questions; Eto does not provide an answer, showing rather than telling. They carry on.
Eto continues to use his notebook and pen, and Kiyoshi notices the poems reflect the many things they are seeing, hearing, and even imagining. At the river's edge, Eto sits to rest while his grandson feeds the ducks. Approaching darkness has the two sitting together on a stone bench, Kiyoshi has one final observation to make before they head home. He knows his grandfather has shown him clearly where poems come from, with actions rather than words.
"They come from here," he said, and opened
his arms wide to take in the river and the sky
and the distant buildings. "And they come
from here," he said, and pointed to his own
heart."
Nicole Wong's warm cityscapes offer varying perspectives and a cast of diverse community members. Her colors are warm and inviting, causing readers to stop and spend time taking in all of the details. An author's note about this traditional Japanese poetic form is informative and helpful for readers wanting to give it a try.
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