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This Is How the Bone Sings
This Is How the Bone Sings is a book about silence. These poems are about Minidoka, the concentration camp built in Idaho for Japanese Americans during World War II, drawing from myth and folk tale to talk about the legacy of trauma across multiple generations in America.
- GenresPoetry
94 pages, Paperback
First published August 15, 2020
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About the author
W. Todd Kaneko
14 books37 followersW. Todd Kaneko is the author of
The Dead Wrestler Elegies
(Curbside Splendor, 2014). His poems, essays and stories can be seen in Bellingham Review, Los Angeles Review, Barrelhouse, The Collagist, The Normal School, Song of the Owashtanong: Grand Rapids Poetry in the 21st Century,
99 Poems for the 99 Percent
,
Bring the Noise The Best Pop Culture Essays from Barrelhouse Magazine
and many other journals and anthologies.
He holds degrees from Arizona State University (MFA, Creative Writing) and the University of Washington (BA, English). A recipient of fellowships from Kundiman and the Kenyon Review Writers Workshop, his work has been nominated for Best of the Net and the Pushcart Prize. He is currently an Assistant Professor in the Department of Writing at Grand Valley State University in Grand Rapids, Michigan.
He holds degrees from Arizona State University (MFA, Creative Writing) and the University of Washington (BA, English). A recipient of fellowships from Kundiman and the Kenyon Review Writers Workshop, his work has been nominated for Best of the Net and the Pushcart Prize. He is currently an Assistant Professor in the Department of Writing at Grand Valley State University in Grand Rapids, Michigan.
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Displaying 1 - 9 of 9 reviews
November 30, 2021
Japanese internment camps were established during World War II by President Franklin D. Roosevelt through his Executive Order 9066. From 1942 to 1945, this policy made possible the relocation and incarceration of approximately 112,000 people of Japanese ancestry.
Minidoka Internment camp, Idaho
There is a place along the border
where children sleep in the dark
like there was once a prairie in Idaho
where my father learned what Minidoka means---
a concentration camp under that scar
spangled sky, all our ancestors bound
in razor wire and splintered wood,
the moon's careless gaze over us all.
The author's grandparents, and his father were among the American citizens unfairly imprisoned at Minidoka.
I was not at Minidoka, but I was bequeathed a piece at birth.
The scars still linger . . .
My grandparents are not ghosts---
but that place where they were broken
still lives inside me. There are no ghosts,
only Minidoka, land of woe, a blight
in my body, hereditary decay.
And the tragic memories trickle down through the generations.
In my dream, my son is learning to talk
but all he says is Minidoka. He is learning
to walk but he just walks in circles.
These poems are filled with tremendous sadness, many dowsed in fairy tale imagery.
Minidoka. I never say your name aloud
except when measuring my family's ghosts
against the razor wire still wrapped
around all our tongues.
A sorrowful commentary on a shameful past deed.
I say your name but it doesn't mean anything
to people whose families were not left wrecked
out on the prairie. So I call you America
and let that name sit on my tongue like dust.
Minidoka Internment camp, Idaho
There is a place along the border
where children sleep in the dark
like there was once a prairie in Idaho
where my father learned what Minidoka means---
a concentration camp under that scar
spangled sky, all our ancestors bound
in razor wire and splintered wood,
the moon's careless gaze over us all.
The author's grandparents, and his father were among the American citizens unfairly imprisoned at Minidoka.
I was not at Minidoka, but I was bequeathed a piece at birth.
The scars still linger . . .
My grandparents are not ghosts---
but that place where they were broken
still lives inside me. There are no ghosts,
only Minidoka, land of woe, a blight
in my body, hereditary decay.
And the tragic memories trickle down through the generations.
In my dream, my son is learning to talk
but all he says is Minidoka. He is learning
to walk but he just walks in circles.
These poems are filled with tremendous sadness, many dowsed in fairy tale imagery.
Minidoka. I never say your name aloud
except when measuring my family's ghosts
against the razor wire still wrapped
around all our tongues.
A sorrowful commentary on a shameful past deed.
I say your name but it doesn't mean anything
to people whose families were not left wrecked
out on the prairie. So I call you America
and let that name sit on my tongue like dust.
January 3, 2024
Todd Kaneko is the son and grandson of Japanese Americans interred in the Minidoka Concentration camp in Minidoka, Idaho. Each poem in this collection reads like a haunting, a ghostly presence of the past bleeding into the future. These poems teach history. They teach historical truths. They’re personal and tragic and hopeful. Some favorite lines:
from “all of this will be yours one day”:
“My son: I wonder what you will think about
where we come from—that barbed wire
stretching over your head for decades,
those guard towers standing between us”
There’s more, of course. So much more.
from “all of this will be yours one day”:
“My son: I wonder what you will think about
where we come from—that barbed wire
stretching over your head for decades,
those guard towers standing between us”
There’s more, of course. So much more.
June 19, 2022
In rich, sweeping language, poet W. Todd Kaneko explores the psychological effects over generations of American internment camps during World War II. These poems use place to express both beauty and horror, pulling the reader into the mind of the narrator, the narrator's interned parents, and the narrator's child who knew of the camps only by stories, as in these lines from "all the things that make heaven and earth":
" There are no such things
as ghosts--I tell my son this every evening
as he gazes up the dark stairwell towards his room.
What will be waiting for us when my boy
is old enough to ask where he comes from?
What will we find when our memories of camp
finally molder back into the ground?"
Every word is concise and every sentence compelling. This is a profound book that will leave the reader meditating on the possible meanings of history. The collection strikes hard like a fist, but leaves room for tenderness.
A wonderful book. Highly recommended.
" There are no such things
as ghosts--I tell my son this every evening
as he gazes up the dark stairwell towards his room.
What will be waiting for us when my boy
is old enough to ask where he comes from?
What will we find when our memories of camp
finally molder back into the ground?"
Every word is concise and every sentence compelling. This is a profound book that will leave the reader meditating on the possible meanings of history. The collection strikes hard like a fist, but leaves room for tenderness.
A wonderful book. Highly recommended.
May 2, 2022
This is a stunning collection of poems, blending history with myth and folklore to explore how the scars of the past carry through generations — from grandparents through to their grandchildren. The wounds caused by racism and hate are continue on through memory and story. These poems are evocative and beautiful, providing an important memorial for an aspect of American history that should never be forgotten.
November 28, 2020
Todd is my friend, colleague, and collaborator, and I adore this book of tender, careful, brilliant poems.
December 18, 2020
Kaneko’s blending of poetic artistry and astonishing family legacy is inimitable. He plays with form, with language and imagery, all while paying homage to the generations who came before him, imprisoned at the internment camp Minidoka, and looking forward too, to the future and the birthright that will be left to his own son. A gorgeous collection - definitely will be reread and hopefully I’ll get to teach this in the future!
February 9, 2022
a beautiful, much needed collection full of generational trauma and the question of telling a story that isn’t necessarily one’s own. these poems explore the implications of silence through kaneko’s japanese-american identity, threading folklore and cultural references throughout while using visceral and sometimes violent images. themes of loss, parenthood, and truth seeking are very present and thoroughly explored.
December 3, 2020
This is a beautiful book that traces the generational effects of a shameful chapter of American history. The past survives as ghost and bone and dirt and love and care and connection. My favorites are the reading comprehension poems, a form that Kaneko has repurposed to an effect that makes use of both the familiar and the surprising.
June 10, 2021
Kaneko's first collection, The Dead Wrestler Elegies, is my husband's favorite poetry book, and he revisits it often. Kaneko's second, This Is How the Bone Sings, proves how insane his range is. Whether he's writing about pro wrestling or concentration camps, he's exploring history, our roots, the deepest questions about where we come from and who we are.
Displaying 1 - 9 of 9 reviews