i, oni
It is very cold this morning. I woke up and thought, "hmmm … is that my breath hanging above the bed or ectoplasm? that's not good!" It turns out the pilot light on the furnace is out. Last week we had warm days where it was almost in the 50s and everyone was happy. This morning I have piled all the sweaters I can find on and strapped a cat to each foot for warmth and am drinking hot tea like I just can't get enough of the yummy Early Morning Thunder brand … I might not be warm but I am well caffeinated.
So, the Oni I mention here is a character from Japanese folklore. The Oni plays the role of the West's bogeyman or ogre or hobgoblin. The basic requirements for an Oni, as I understand them, are a pair of horns, oddly shaded hair and tiger skin apparel of some sort, usually a loin cloth but also presented as a two piece bikini. This brings us to a curious double-standard when it comes to Japanese popular culture (well, not just Japanese popular culture but that is what I am looking at right now). The male Oni is always big, dumb and violent whereas the female Oni, when shown at all, is little more than a sex object, playing out some adolescent boy's fantasy of his own private sexy guardian angel. Just look at Lum and Ryoko, both losesly based on the Oni-myth, as cases in point.
However, for anyone interested in seeing an excellent use of the myth should check out Kaneto Shindo's erotic masterpiece, Onibaba; a story of a mother and daughter in medieval Japan who survive by murdering soldiers passing through their swampland and the terrible fortune they finally bring upon themselves. This movie is worth more than one viewing. Finally, anyone familiar with Amy Gerstler's poem The Ogre's Turbulent Adolescence might make superficial references here but I think it is safe to say it is OK to write about the love lives of Onis without being charged with plagiarism.
This is how I won't
come for you suddenly
like a siege-engine of
love battering down your
jade gate besiegingly
and always at war
once I was the concubine
of the mountain goblin but
things changed and I lost
my ax maybe not
lost — but I am tired
of besieging washing
blood out of my long
white mane of hair.Let's build a kingdom
palaces humor me low
walls and palms and
apricots at bloom all
round I'll even try this
worship engineers at work
building whatever it is
they do pushing forward
and all the world asleep
under lovely warbler-
gray mosques and sooty
minarets calling the faithful
to whatever it is they do
and my horns will finally
get polished and
my nails trimmed.I think I'd like to study
science I've heard about
stars and sofas to lounge
on we can light incense
sticks and wear royal robes
there are palace hallways
to walk through and pleasure
gardens to manage with
elephants and mountain
pumas and llamas and you
can read me poetry in
our garden I've heard it's
good with elephants and
talk about stars and long
geometry and watch our
llamas in our pleasure garden
with little cups of tea.It's not often I am helpless with
such shaming words not often
I think of this as the age of
the gazelle and rainy season
rice and not the age of conquest
stacking the villagers' skulls
in neat little piles and
letting my horns go all
scuzzy green from neglect
it's not often I've lain awake
at night ravenous and
flushed, feeling a different
fire strain in my chest,
feeling my very own heart
burst suddenly into flames,
embarrassingly, continually,
bedazzlingly.