Excerpt from absence on water
i listen
for you
in the silence
that begs
for a sound
i see you
in the water
that ripples
in the distance
made present
by the
great
absence
that lingers
above
Copyright 2026 Michael Grodesky
In my collection Absence On Water, one of the sources of inspiration came from the work of the Japanese composer of contemporary and classical music, Toru Takemitsu. I was introduced to Takemitsu’s work and his book, Confronting Silence by my teacher Ronald Bucknam who often professed one of the composer’s fundamental dialectics: that absence creates presence. Read more about Toru Takemitsu at the link below:
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Tōru_Takemitsu
Another source of inspiration came from the images of Busan-based photographer Jungwon Park. He is globally recognized for his minimalist, black-and-white long-exposure seascapes and landscapes. I find that his minimalist scapes invoke an interesting tension between what is present and what is absent. I was inspired to create that same experience in the poems of this collection. I imagined the poems looking visually similar to the linear forms in his photographs. See Park’s photographs at his website below:
http://jungwonpark.net/?ckattempt=1
The cover photo for Absence On Water was one I took myself with morning fog overlooking Mutiny Bay on Whidbey Island in Washington state, near Seattle.
Dissimilation
Manzanar, 1942
Forget
the way they brought you here
on trains and buses shrouded
in silks of euphemism. The way
you were unhomed
and taken from what you thought
had been the dream.
Maybe you forget the
barbed wire
fences that sharpen into focus
and the skeletons of lifeless apple
trees that black and white
the distance. And maybe you
don’t feel
your eyes sting with smoke
from bombs that settled
on the winds of the Pacific.
The desert sand each day is clumped
with sweat and tears.
Children grow up. Men transform
the desert into gardens and waterfalls
and women wash the ashes
from their shirts.
Tarpaper barracks
become the ghosts of home.
And maybe you wonder
when the inside
became the outside
and when
the last traces of astonishment
faded from your eyes. When
you stopped looking forward
to the horizon and began to speak
in whispers.
Copyright 2021 by Michael Grodesky
Link to view complete Dissimilation text
Excerpt from
At Chief Seattle’s Grave
And the gods float by
hiding their faces
behind the clouds leaving
the dead
to grieve silently
for those still living.