Each month members of Woking Writers Circle respond to a “homework” subject set the previous month by producing a piece of work with the subject as the theme. Some more than others, it has to be said. It’s not compulsory, of course! But in April Carla Scarano D’Antonio’s offerings on haiku and the Japanese haiku master Basho inspired the homework theme of “cherry blossom”, one of Japan’s national symbols. And that in turn resulted in a remarkable amount of work read out at our May meeting. So much so, that we thought we’d like to share the results on our website.
The first poem is by Carla herself. Although she did not read it out at May’s meeting, it does mention cherry blossom. Carla says: “It is a sequence I was working on for a while and completed at a workshop with Jean Sprackland at the Poetry School a few weeks ago. She gave us a map (mine was from north Devon) and told us to choose some landmarks and write about it in a sort of journey.”
MENTAL MAPPING, LANDMARKS
by Carla Scarano D’Antonio
Locked crocuses, blade petals
Lower Slade stretching
in the frost.
Daffodil bulbs
in Homebase plastic nets
crave for the moon.
Purple and white hyacinths
in flower pots
along the rage of the pool.
Holiday Village hosts
scarlet camellia bush,
unreliable desire.
Fanciful magnolia tree
rooted at the Industrial Estate
like a scarecrow.
Wisteria grips
at the Green Park Farm walls,
starving love.
Antique hawthorn
snow flakes freezing in the sun
frogs chanting in the Moor.
Lee Hills melting in rain
cherry blossoms
fading in glory.
The violated rose bush
grew wider at Ilfracombe College,
its perfume thicker.
Higher Slade paved with
chemical blue hydrangea
rainbow colours.
Tricia Mcnamee’s ‘Cherry Blossom/Broken Hearts’ comes in two versions. Both comprise four haiku plus a final couplet. The phrase ‘mono no aware’ – a sensitivity to ephemera – features in both.
CHERRY BLOSSOMS/BROKEN HEARTS (1)
by Tricia Mcnamee
Song of young Japan
Winter Sakura, flowering
Painted on war planes
Drunk, toxicity
Blooms like life ephemeral
Kamikaze flights
Nepal to Iran
Exquisite beauty rises
As warriors fall
Karmic cherry blossom clouds
Abundant petals tinged pink
Mono no aware
As the seasons set apart
Tree that stole a nation’s heart
‘Mono no aware’ is a Japanese term for a sensitivity to ephemera, and the awareness of impermanence
CHERRY BLOSSOMS/BROKEN HEARTS (2)
by Tricia Mcnamee
Karmic cherry blossom clouds
Abundant petals tinged pink
Painted on war planes
Drink, eat like green tea
Blooms ephemeral as life
Kamikaze flights
Nepal to Iran
Exquisite beauty rises
As warriors fall
Song of young Japan
Winter Sakura, weeping
Mono no aware
As the seasons cycle starts
Women folk with broken hearts
Greg Freeman’s poem also mentions kamikaze pilots. There are also references to Cherry Blossom shoe polish in the shining boots of first world war soldiers and the rough leather of the GIs’ boots, to which the Americans attributed their lack of success at impressing Japanese girls.
CHERRY BLOSSOM
by Greg Freeman
Unknown soldier abandoned in the mud
and blood; his boots, miraculously,
still gleaming. Leather guarded
against weather. Demand
blossomed on the western front.
Boots on the ground. GIs found
that Tokyo girls they took a shine
to weren’t swept off their feet.
Blamed their lack of polish,
their rough, scuffed look.
But it was much, much more than that,
not just what it said on the tin, its
fish-plate opener, the superficial sheen.
Occupying Japanese soldiers
often planted cherry trees.
Temperate zone of the northern
hemisphere. Drinking sake under
the branches. Militaristic plotters
assumed the name. Suicidal pilots
painted them on the sides of planes.
The blossoms symbolised clouds
in a nation’s culture. O, what
a cloud. And such brightness.
Just shadows left on walls.
The ephemerality of lives.
Heather Cook has two poems relating to the cherry blossom theme. The first, ‘Cherry Blossom’, seeks to capture a fleeting memory of her mother sitting under cherry trees. The second poem, ‘The Virgin of El Panecillo’, tells of tourists visiting a huge aluminium statue above Quito and being disenchanted. The statue was upstaged by a man polishing shoes – you’ve guessed – with Cherry Blossom polish!
CHERRY BLOSSOM
by Heather Cook
I leave her sitting on the bench,
small and fragile in her floral dress.
Above her head the blossom froths,
releasing petals in confetti drifts.
She’d wanted me to go,
but as I climb the hill
I sense her worrying,
her thin hands fluttering.
I wave. For moments all I see
Is blossom, pale and shifting,
but then a doll’s hand lifts;
I cannot see her face,
but know she’s smiling.
A sense of endings overwhelms
and I return, to gather memories
while there’s time.
THE VIRGIN OF EL PANECILLO –
A WOMAN CLOTHED WITH THE SUN
by Heather Cook
Coaches click, tick and cool by dusty trees.
We have been disgorged to seek the Virgin
and be back by twelve.
Up close, the woman clothed with the sun
cannot be seen, cannot be understood.
Our guide is fraught: we must not stray;
we must stay in our groups.
She flares at rivals, waves them off:
‘Only blue stickers! You are stickered red!’
We are blue stickered. There is comfort in belonging.
Unable to see more than the snake the Virgin treads on,
attention wanders; splinter groups rebel
and shuffle off in search of plastic Virgins.
Below, in leafy shade, an old man polishes shoes,
watched by a boy and a sandy dog.
The man’s hand moves in slow circles,
massaging the leather; he spits, buffs, smiles.
He has no teeth.
‘Best Cherry Blossom!’ he calls, ‘best in the world!’
Sun strikes the dancing Virgin
and the sky flashes. It’s five to twelve.
Liz Lennie used an intriguing approach at our WWC meeting, writing individual lines of a poem, ‘Sakura for Carla’, on separate strips of paper. These were handed out and put together in different configurations by those present. Each line contained a complete thought, so each poem ‘worked’. This is Liz’s own version:
SAKURA
by Liz Lennie
for Carla
Cherry blossom time!
Bare twigs burst with bright bloom
My heart lifts – and flies
Petals fall, my thoughts rise
And I write in gratitude
For life and for love
These words, me to you
Ripple over a deep pool
To reach every shore
Alan Dale’s short story ‘Signed Off’ features cherry trees and a couple under threat from bailiffs. There is humour but also sadness in this story.
SIGNED OFF
by Alan Dale
“They look lovely at this time of year, don’t they?” Stifling a sob, Jill glanced at Matt.
“I know, love.”
They contemplated the rows of cherry trees, their trunks beckoning, like ballerinas’ legs, under a wind-teased billowing of pink.
Matt sighed, placing a hirsute, brawny arm around her shoulders. “We did our best, love. We can’t sell cherries at Stoughton’s new price and they’re the only important customer now, ‘cos of the volume they take.”
“Matt, I feel those trees are calling to us. It’s as if they know what’s going to happen to them, once we’ve gone.”
“Folk’ve got to live somewhere. I’d do anything to stop all this, but…”
Gravel scrunched, tyres squealed, a car door clumped. Rapid footfalls pounded. The kitchen door exploded open.
“Liam – we weren’t expecting you ‘till Thursday,” said Matt. Everything OK?” Liam opened his mouth to reply, saw his mother’s devastated expression and swallowed. Matt felt the silence smothering them all.
“I’m OK,” said Liam quietly, “and once you’ve heard this, both of you will be – trust me.”
“Go, on,” said Matt.
“I’ve found a company who’ll give you a loan, keep you afloat and sort the debts.”
Matt and Jill gaped at each other.
“Guy I work with, on the equities desk – turns out his uncle’s a director of Fructigro.”
“Isn’t that one of the big agribusiness outfits?” said Matt. His wife grimaced.
“No, Dad, you’re thinking of Futurecitrus. They’re massive, but Fructigro’s a relatively small company – they’re growers, like you. Anyway, we talked and I explained, without going into too much detail, if you get my drift, where you were, financially. Now, what they need is a reliable source of really class, established rootstock, for grafting. Bottom line – you let them have grafting stock, you get the loan. I mentioned the sum you’ve both been after – no problem.”
“Thanks, son. I really appreciate that.” Matt gulped. “I know we haven’t always seen eye to eye, since you chose the city rather than following me, here.”
“Forget it.” Liam shrugged.
“When can I meet their boss, to discuss details, so we could sign up to this?”
“He’s in Hawaii for three weeks. I could fix something after that.”
“Yeah, the only thing is, I really ought to…”
“Matt, the bailiffs’ll be here at eight o’clock tomorrow.” Jill’s face was becoming crimson. “For God’s sake, think. Someone must be able to deal with this, if he’s away.”
“Give me five with Rupert, Dad.” Liam was already jabbing at his phone. “Rupes – Liam – how goes it? Did she – told you, didn’t I? They always go for that. About this Fructigro thing – it’s now balls out, mega urgent, yeah?”
Gill winced. Matt gave a spluttering snigger.
“Right, email me the contract and declaration, he’ll sign and give bank details. I’ll scan and patch it straight back. No they haven’t. Don’t go there, mate, OK? And could you then get Tobes to transfer the cash, so’s they can stall these bastards off? Top man. Go.” He hung up, grinning at his parents.
“All sorted – Dad, you sign and include your bank details, you’ll have the cash in the morning. You can tell the bailiffs its coming and stall them.”
“Matt, do you think we should give these people our bank details like that – email’s not secure, is it?” Jill had calmed to a cherry red, but her brows were drawn right down, a sign Matt recognised from years of marriage.
“You said think – I think we’ve no choice.” He turned to Liam. “Thank you, son. What was that declaration I heard you mention?”
“Oh, all that says is ‘we only supply traceable British products, cultivated for Fructgro’.” Liam shrugged.
“You know what these lawyers are like – still, it looks good and covers you, I guess.”
“Oh, I see – that’s OK, isn’t it?” said Jill, looking up at Matt.
“Yes, that’s fine. It’ll be true, so no harm done, far as I can see.”
*
A week passed, in which the bailiffs were dealt with, while creditors were mollified. The following Monday, a van and lorry arrived, as arranged. Several men got out and unloaded hacksaws, gloves and various other tools. Matt greeted the florid, portly foreman, and led them all into the orchard, to take their first grafting cuttings. Matt noticed that they all wore jackets with a cherry tree logo, but no wording. He went back indoors, glad of a chance to sit down. Several hours later, their laden lorry had departed.
*
That weekend, he and Gill went away for a weekend break. “Let’s have a walk over that field – look, there’s a public footpath,” said Matt. Woods to their right led to a chain link fence.
Matt stopped in his tracks. A path led off the main track, to a set of high, barbed wire-topped gates. A huge cherry tree logo, identical to those on the visiting Fructigro staff’s jackets crowned one of the extensive, white concrete buildings that stretched away into the distance.
“What the hell?” muttered Matt.
“Oh, my God,” whispered Jill.
“What?”
“That logo…”
“Yes, I noticed that – the men wore it, the other day, didn’t they?”
“Yes, but Matt, look, this place is huge – Liam said it was only a small company – small growers, he said, that’s right – you remember.”
“Probably their offices and stores.”
“I don’t think so. Look at all those glass cabinets and all that stainless steel piping in there.” Jill was breathing heavily now. “Hang on, what’s that, over there?”
She walked over to the gate and picked up what looked to Matt like the remains of an estate agent’s ‘For Sale’ sign.
“What’ve you got there?” he called.
Silently, Jill turned the tattered, splintered sign board to face him.
Fructigro Out – NO GM Cherries! he read.
PICTURES OF CHERRY BLOSSOM TREES BY CARLA SCARANO D’ANTONIO
Copyright remains with the authors
