Here’s a preview of this week’s ArtSunday feature, with some comments from the editor at the end.
King Subway (Tokyo Station)—October, 1988▲
Walk. Walk amongst the people. Make no sound as you walk.
Walk light, step bright and ghostly kiss the passers-by. Here. Hear the sounds of their step. Pound their hearts with the aura of your love. Watch the waves of ochre sound.
They love you and they need you and they don’t know you exist.
You walk through them. Your blood cells and theirs shake hands. You kiss every forehead. You own ever fiber of their suits and their jewelry. You own every crowd. You are a harvester of chaste souls, of buttery blood vessels.
You are what you need them to think you to be. You are something I see without you seeing me.
When you run a creative writing journal, you publish things you like. And things you really like. And things you love, even. Every once in awhile, though, something comes along that absolutely de-cleats you, if I might borrow a sports term.
Not long back I got a submission from Dan Ryan. At a glance it didn’t look like poetry, it looked like a photoessay. So I forwarded it on to our Nonfiction editor, Jim Booth. A few days later Jim kicked it back to me, saying something to the effect of “look at this again.” He was right. It looks like a photoessay, but is in fact something entirely else. I don’t really know what to call it. Maybe Photographic Poet-Journalism?
Whatever. The great thing about being S&R is that we don’t have to care about labels. Tokyo in the Underbrush is brilliant, and we’re honored at the opportunity to present it to our readers.
It will go live Sunday morning. See you then.