Naoko Fujimoto’s forthcoming books are Where I Was Born, winner of the editor’s choice by Willow Books (Spring, 2019) and Glyph: Graphic Poetry=Trans. Sensory by Tupelo Press (Winter, 2019). She is currently an associate editor at RHINO Poetry in Chicago. Her poem “Low Orbit” can be found here. It appears in the Sept/Oct 2019 issue of the Kenyon Review.
What was your original impetus for writing “Low Orbit”?
I walked a long path that I secretly called the Philosopher’s Path (Tetsugaku no michi), after a famous street in Kyoto, because it was my mother’s favorite place. Usually I am thinking of my family in Japan, and remember looking down the path, avoiding stepping on tremendous geese’s droppings (in the migration season, it is impossible to find clean asphalt).
My favorite path goes through domestic and naturistic views; however, the majority of walkers stay only inside the forest preserve. They twist their bodies and make a U-turn, which is an interesting thing to watch, especially on a beautiful, crowded Saturday afternoon.
My obsession at that time was a space experience by a former Japanese astronaut, Naoko Yamazaki. Also, my husband is a long-term NASA geek and we just came back from the Hayden Planetarium. During the space obsession era, we shared trivia with each other—one question of which was how to have a bowel movement in the microgravity. Therefore, I was thinking of human waste when not stepping on goose mounds, that is how the poem was born.
The sounds in this poem are striking: the hamster “rattling” in its wheel, the image of the accordion tube, the final white plastic bags. Can you talk about the process of choosing and incorporating these distinct sounds into your work?
I use the synonym dictionary to trigger my poetic excitement. My current dictionary is the third one I own. I bought my first paper one when I was sixteen years old, right after my first trip to the US. I started writing letters to my two American friends, and it was the moment I started thinking about storytelling in English, and how I can describe one particular moment with particular words.
When I was writing letters to them, I had a strong disagreement with the phrase “Cinderella’s slippers.” In Japan, slippers are for the toilet room. I immediately imagined a Japanese traditional bathroom with a note, “Must change into these slippers,” in the rose-scented narrow chamber. The direct translation is “glass shoes,” but I personally think that “crystal heels” sounds more romantic. I love sounds of “L” because the phonetic sound is not available in Japanese.
This process became my habit and often puzzles my brain. From my poem “Low Orbit,” the hamster makes a noise in its wheel. I wrote down possible noises in both Japanese and English. Then, I used a synonym dictionary to find the best match. Even though my native tongue was not designed for pronouncing “L”, “R”, “Th”, “d”, “si” . . . I love these English sounds.
Maybe these pronunciations remind me of my childhood in Japan. My very first English teacher was a British Indian, I think (I remember that the family practiced Sikh). My sister and I were so fascinated by their lifestyle, even though we lived in the same cookie-cutter apartments. We repeated pronouncing “/a/, /b/, /k/, /d/ . . . “ and the teacher gave us foreign candy after each class. It was small, but very chewy. My tongue changed into such a vivid pink.
Living close to others can be remarkably rich material for a writer. Are there other authors you’ve read who write well about their neighbors? Are there any you’d recommend to our readers?
Growing up in Japan, my family had unique neighbors that usual Japanese households might not experience (just like people in the “I Am a Cat” novel by Natsume Sōseki). We had airplane pilots from Russia, Japanese tea masters, a famous Korean baseball player . . . each family was so kind to my sister and me. The baseball player signed our math textbooks!
Even though we might not speak their language, my parents tried to have conversations with them. I remember my parents bringing up familiar topics like Back to the Future, The Terminator, Blade Runner, and for their kids, Doraemon.
I wish Jan Bottiglieri’s Everything Seems Significant: The Blade Runner Poems (BlazeVOX, 2019) was available back then! It must have been a great conversation piece. The book was not about the author’s neighbors; however, there is a great observation about the movie (like an attitude of crazy woman—respectfully—who obsesses over the entire neighborhood through her curtains) and she fantastically manages her pieces with modern poetic twists.
Also, I recently had a chance to read a manuscript by Angela Narciso Torres. Her book What Happens is Neither (Four Way Books, 2021) is about her parents who were facing their ends, just like a solid bar of soap gets smaller and smaller in the kitchen sink. The painful theme is exactly what I am realizing of my own parents and their neighbors. Close peoples’ deaths are unavoidable. What I liked about her book is perhaps her attitude. She embraces her stubbornness to keep surviving.
Which non-writing-related aspect of your life most influences your writing?
Piano. I wanted to be a pianist, but I failed. Occasionally, I show off my skills by playing memorable scores in a lounge or bar—often audiences are drunk enough to enjoy singing with it.
What project(s) are you working on now, or next?
I just finished curating the September issue of RHINO Poetry Review with graphic elements. Each reviewer explores their choice of books and expresses their comments with both words and images. I am so excited to see how this experimental approach will be developed from here.
I also start taking a comedy writing class at The Second City in Chicago. I wanted to remind myself why I studied English and why I wanted to be fluent in the language. I always thought if I learn new languages, I also learn their cultures and jokes. With my native cultural humor, I can laugh at situations almost twice or three times as much at situations compared to my peers. Though I often forget how to smile.