Ai: Little Notice for Passing of Powerful Voice

Even with all the news excitement about health care reform and March Madness, I'm really surprised to see the media silence about the death of Ai. Fully four days after the news emerged, the local papers--Tulsa World and the Daily O'Collegian--have just today gotten around to remembering her. Everywhere else? Silence.

In the wake of the passing of such a powerful voice, this silence is all the more deafening.

My god, people.

It wasn't as if this poet had been little known or working primarily in a private sphere; for more than 35 years, she has been a prominent, award-winning, influential literary voice in the U.S. and beyond.

And her poems are good.

The Tulsa World does bring forth some new information to me: A viewing is scheduled from 9 a.m. to 8 p.m. Wednesday at the Palmer Marler Carberry Funeral Home in Stillwater, Oklahoma. A memorial service will be organized later.

As well, Ai's last book is still ahead of her: No Surrender, a new collection of poems, is scheduled for publication in September. It seems that she was also working on a book about her Native American heritage, supported by a United States Artists Ford Fellowship in literature that she was awarded in December.

Oklahoma State University's English Department plans to establish a creative writing scholarship in Ai's memory; the poet has taught there since 1999. Memorial contributions may be sent to:

Ai Scholarship
Department of English
205 Morrill Hall
Stillwater OK 74078

UPDATE 3/24/10: Acknowledgment of Ai's death begins to trickle in. The Los Angeles Times has a piece about her on its Jacket Copy blog (thanks to Dan W. for the link). Mediabistro, too, made note today, as well as The Oklahoman. And that ... that is all.

Nothing But Color
By Ai

for Yukio Mishima

I didn’t write Etsuko,   

I sliced her open.

She was carmine inside   

like a sea bass

and empty.

No viscera, nothing but color.

I love you like that, boy.

I pull the kimono down around your shoulders

and kiss you.

Then you let it fall open.   

Each time, I cut you a little

and when you leave, I take the piece,

broil it, dip it in ginger sauce   

and eat it. It burns my mouth so.

You laugh, holding me belly-down

with your body.

So much hurting to get to this moment,

when I’m beneath you,   

wanting it to go on and to end.

At midnight, you say see you tonight

and I answer there won’t be any tonight,

but you just smile, swing your sweater

over your head and tie the sleeves around your neck.   

I hear you whistling long after you disappear   

down the subway steps,

as I walk back home, my whole body tingling.

I undress

and put the bronze sword on my desk   

beside the crumpled sheet of rice paper.   

I smooth it open

and read its single sentence:

I meant to do it.

No. It should be common and feminine   

like I can’t go on sharing him,

or something to imply that.

Or the truth:

that I saw in myself

the five signs of the decay of the angel

and you were holding on, watching and free,   

that I decided to go out

with the pungent odor

of this cold and consuming passion in my nose: death.   

Now, I’ve said it. That vulgar word

that drags us down to the worms, sightless, predestined.   

Goddamn you, boy.

Nothing I said mattered to you;

that bullshit about Etsuko or about killing myself.   

I tear the note, then burn it.

The alarm clock goes off. 5:45 A.M.

I take the sword and walk into the garden.   

I look up. The sun, the moon,

two round teeth rock together

and the light of one chews up the other.   

I stab myself in the belly,

wait, then stab myself again. Again.   

It’s snowing. I’ll turn to ice,

but I’ll burn anyone who touches me.   

I start pulling my guts out,

those red silk cords,   

spiraling skyward,

and I’m climbing them   

past the moon and the sun,   

past darkness

into white.

I mean to live.

Comments

[Charlotte Hutson-Wrenn]

Wow, thank you for writing about this poet. My mouth is agape over this poem. I will read more. Wow. http://www.charlottehutson.wordpress.com

[Ben]

The Tulsa World is a struggling beast, it seems lately to report the "pop" news of the day. In defense of the Daily O'Collegian, it's the student paper of OSU, so Monday was the first day back to the presses (after spring break.

Still the lack of coverage is a shame, especially considering that poem. I will check the local paper today to see if they at least reported the viewing, but considering the front page headline yesterday was "4 thing you can plant in your garden now," it wouldn't seem likely.

Although, I have a feeling she was a customer of mine actually, my first reaction when I saw her pictures were that I had seen her before, and that would be the only logical explanation.

[Ben]

Ok update: the only thing the Stillwater Newspress has sadly published is her obituary. http://www.legacy.com/stwnewspress/Obituaries.asp?Page=Lifestory&PersonId=141063090

[Anna Clark]

Thanks for the on-the-ground update from Stillwater, Oklahoma, Ben! Good to get some context, and AMAZING to think that you got a chance to serve her ...

Also, I don't mean to harp on the Oklahoma papers. They at least wrote SOMETHING about Ai's death. I've been totally bewildered why there hasn't been any acknolwdgement at all, let alone full coverage, in national media, now nearly a week after her death. I'm perplexed.