I’m going to be honest here: I read this book in around ten minutes, tops, but I didn’t know how to slow down. The poems themselves seemed fairly elementary, and not worth dwelling on. Even when I flipped to the back of the book for their explanations, the paragraphs outlined the simplest of ideas in an overuse of words.
The poems all seemed to repeat the same thoughts over and over again, but maybe there is some appeal in that, maybe there is some genius in being able to reword those feelings.
Spring; wisteria, iris, peony.
Priest, lover, sin.
Kyoto, Osaka.
Pink, white, purple.
Morning, evening.
Sutras, kimonos, hair.
I guess that’s a list of the buzz words. Each poem had an undertone of infidelity and shame, but placed in some flowery landscape. I didn’t really feel moved, or even sad really.
I was rather indifferent to this book. I just feel like it could have been more.