a Poem for Maromi

In 2008 my brother first showed me what I would from then on refer to as “the greatest anime series ever made.” From the mind of Satoshi Kon, who had previously frightened me with Perfect Blue and would later astound me with Paprika, came Mōsō Dairinin, or as I would lovingly know it, Paranoia Agent.

I obsessed over this show, watching it all the way through dubbed, then back again through with subtitles and Japanese audio, and then again both ways. It crams more eery brilliance into 13 episodes than most shows manage in multiple seasons. An analysis of the series would be difficult, there is so much great material to discuss and criticize that my brain shuts down at the barrage of options for such a piece. Instead I shall keep things simple and sentimental. I am still in a fanboy state of mourning  for Satoshi Kon’s recent, sudden passing, and I can offer his works nothing but praise. De mortuis nil nisi bonum.

So to the little dog who captivated Japan, and told us all to “take a rest,” these verses are for you:

Irrepressible you

east island all erupting, lovely

truth obscurer, pink

like Jackie O day of the shot, eyes

like puddles of fresh rain, there

we find something serene,  canst

thou summon up the Slugger? Do

so now, for I can’t stand, head

is rolling on my neck, shoulders

barely hold it there, come

and swing the home run hit

Fuyubachi? Zebra? Zebra! How

are you connected to yourselves?

How bouts we take the bullet train, now

tell that story once again, how

little boys did run amuck, shadows

lurking from the walls, you’re

creator, fallen, crawling forward

towards the red light, towards the train light

towards the headlight, swerving rain drive, falling pain came slicing, like the frequency

it’s buzzing

buzzing radar man will warn the world!

“He comes from nowhere,” nowhere? Here is hollowness, the catalyst

They call me Ichi, number one! The slugger comes, he glides because

his feet are wings, he means to slay

the wicked Goma, he infesting all, Maromi!

now deliver us and lead us not into temptation

for thine is the people

the eyes and the bloodbeat

thunk thunk drunk on Sake,

stumbling home

begging for

quick ignorance

whisper slow Maromi

crawl gently up and down my arms

Japan forgives itself through you

when will we see again

the beautiful mushroom cloud

the tsunami

the great black ooze that sweeps

like grasping arms

embracing arms

do us no harm

our lives belong to you

the great shadow of the bat boy

it has now become the cloud

it has now become the wave

it has now become the quaking ground

the lesson then was simple

goodbye pup, you never spoke

it was your ghost

I’ll tear the paper people up

your puddley

eyes

now

close

今 敏 Kon Satoshi 1963-2010

 




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One Response to “a Poem for Maromi”

  1. nentalives Says:

    Hi mate, read your poem with great interest and well it inspired me to have a go myself.

    have a rest ^^

    Archaic sage of rhyme and reason you flicker and flash through mushroom clouds when a murder of crows infects a sleeping purple skyline

    Swollen and dark floods on the horizon

    A pink creature that is trying to talk.
    An entity freezes in its tracks, silent behind skittering eyes and one final flail to chance out the accomplice within.
    Eyes rest and land on a pinnacle behind the retina.

    A doomed sketch in a dusty book

    Twin overcoated shadows bend and sway forth

    Staring past the strangled contortion

    Through a rippling smile

    And now they must freeze with a shining

    Fear

    And now they must slay their intrepid haze, back and fro golden scrapes, for behind those blankened eyes stood

    That grinning bat boy in his golden skates.

    The satellite warrior now follows a beating path back, into the city, laughing puddles

    Gold, pink and black

    Archaic knights set sail from his hearts core, a prophets transmission, and a theatre of oblivion encircles his vision

    Above a blossoming dream on a bridge to tomorrow

    Through the mushroom cloud

    Past the sage and his cauldron

    A rabbit in the moon

    And not a moment too soon, a young girl floats up

    Through a sinkhole of blues

    Toward a shining truth

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