Improvised Poem: 'How to Make a Star'

~Words born in the moment, accompanying an improvised performance~

Kaori Hanamaki

Stars scatter, swaying and wobbling, and flowers bloom.
When I stroke the cold crystal, a fox cub is sleeping.
The collaboration between the giggling stars and the monkeys attracts a speck of dust.

Eyes open, eyes fly away, shoes float up, walking around pitter-patter, pitter-patter, eyes spin, and the sky spins around.

Someone is watching from the darkness.
They approach slowly and gradually; I thought I was the one watching, but they were the ones peering in. Ah, that's nice.

I can become a fragment of a story that dreams. You and I become one.
To call it strange is a silly word. Let's just live here.

Star children carrying many cradles came to play.
The Earth, the egg of the land, the erudition of roots, if you listen closely,
you will sink deep into the earth, and eventually, you will ask the red guy in the middle about his way of life.
Yes, that hot guy. You know, don't you? Everyone just pretends to know, even though they actually know many more stories, but no one wants to talk about them.

But that deep, hot guy keeps talking and talking, grumbling and bubbling. He doesn't stop, his way of speaking is bouncy; talking is the same as breathing for him. And it becomes a sensible, proper understanding that convinces me. Spit it out, everyone, spit out more, more, more and more. With an unceasing flow, he keeps spitting it out, forgetting even to sleep.

Where is the guy with the big eyes? Look at me. My rugged friend who comes from the depths of the earth's veins, take the blue scenery from him and throw it into the sky. Then, the blue will tell the truth much more. Next, the King of Green comes; he is large and sharp-tongued. But he brings a vast green landscape. Throw it onto the ground, spread it out like paint, and write the world.

Did you notice the fox running around there for a while now? The fox brings a small yellow ball. It is hard and doesn't break easily, but once it bursts on the ground, the flowers begin to dance. Spinning around and around, the flowers chatter, and they are so noisy that I don't know what they are talking about. The fox flies around the flowers, listening. Yes, yes, I understand, I understand, you must understand too. But it's too prickly, too stimulating, and I can't make it out.

A cloud, no, a spider, spins a web. Try visiting there. Something important is caught in it. Look at it, look at it closely, because there is all sorts of commotion—clattering, wobbling, creaking. If you want to know the secrets of the Earth, get caught in that spider's thread, get tangled, spin around, and stare at the visible world.

Scattered fragments, real things that look like junk—yes, junk is sometimes real. Barely, a small honeybee comes there, moving its wings delicately, flapping, no, flapping even more, more, more, more, finely, showing delicate wingbeats as if they might tear, talking to the spider's thread. Murmuring, quietly sharing the secrets of the Earth.

A sweet scent has arrived, hasn't it? To the extent that anyone can tell, relying on that scent, we must quietly, while hiding, without letting it escape, have the secrets shared with us. That will become one of the big jobs of our work from now on. Never underestimate that. Blue, green, and yellow lumps are scattered, keeping us alive. That is an undeniable fact.

The fox is the spider's friend, the spider is our teacher. Teacher, teacher. You know, a teacher is someone who naturally entangles everything like this and tells us about it.

The precious balls are all used up. So, from now on, we must process them well, heat them, knead them, and bury them in the ground. The flowers' commotion cannot continue either. Between the visible world and the invisible world, the darkness is not a waste either. We must involve them too and complete this grand project. They know it. From the beginning, the darkness has been much more familiar with the deep bottom than the light.

Mix the darkness and the light, and boil it all up with a little bit of the spider's wisdom, the honeybee's whispers, and the blue, red, and yellow souls, and when it's done, call the big guy. The big guy will jump in from far away, from beyond the stars. Put the finished source of resources into his mouth. Then, he will move his mouth around and spit out a large, new, never-before-seen colored lump. Aiming at the sky, aiming far into the sky, he spits it out.
That will become another hope that illuminates the earth.

(End)

2024.9.16

☆This work was created by weaving words born in the moment, accompanying the improvised performance of contemporary artist and musician Katsutoshi Shirasuna.

☆Katsutoshi Shirasuna Official HP
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※Copyright belongs to Kaori Hanamaki.
※Unauthorized reproduction or reprinting is prohibited.