his third book in her Poetry Trilogy-10 years in the making, is a complex personal journey about love and friendship through which the reader gains insight into the rapidly changing socio-political attitudes, policies, and economic climate of the People’s Republic of China.
Pacific Raven Press, LLC is proud to introduce Shadow Dancing: $elling $urvival in China. This third book in her Poetry Trilogy-10 years in the making, is a complex personal journey about love and friendship through which the reader gains insight into the rapidly changing socio-political attitudes, policies, and economic climate of the People’s Republic of China. Through her poetic lens, Dr. Kathryn Waddell Takara, an African American scholar of eight books, provides a traveling stage to witness the waking of China, referred to as the “sleeping dragon,” which she viscerally captures.
Over the course of seven summers in Northeast China as a Fulbright scholar and visiting professor, Takara broke stereotypes about African and African American people in her lectures for Chinese students and business people in route to Africa about black history and culture, ethnic women’s literature, and politics in America. Takara’s guanxi (influential connections) through universities, the government, and friends opened doors and hearts, offering her rare and timely opportunities to study and write about the subtle intimacies of daily life, beyond the lacquered façade of tourism. In addition to the diverse levels of institutional power, Takara observed the spiritual qualities revealed in ritualized reverence for ancestors, poets, an appreciation of Nature, and the legacy of mythology about the supernatural by the Chinese people. During her travels, Takara also witnessed the apparent absence of blacks in China.
In this timely collection of poems, Dr. Takara delves into startling successes and disquieting corruption. She acknowledges issues as wide ranging as labor exploitation, human rights, environmental abuse, urban and military expansion, the illegal drug trade, counterfeit products, and China’s push for global dominance fortified by a 5,000 year background of tradition, philosophy, culture, and politics in what is The New China.
About The Author:
American Book Award winning author, Kathryn Waddell Takara, PhD, was also the recipient of the 2016 lifetime Achievement Award presented by the Honolulu NAACP as an “Agent of Change”. Takara is widely respected and admired as a public scholar, lecturer, and performer of her poetry. She coordinated several seminal national conferences on African Americans during her tenure at the University of Hawaii, and she has been a 7 summer lecturer in China. After retiring from her 30-year position as professor of Black and Cultural Studies at the University of Hawaii, she has pursued her career as a writer and publisher. Now widely published, she has authored 8 books and many scholarly articles. In 2008, she began her second career as a publisher and editor in her company Pacific Raven Press, LLC.
Dr. Takara has dedicated her life to education, justice, peace, knowledge, history, culture, family, and the environment. www.kathrynwadelltakara.com
For orders, interviews, readings and book signings, lectures, or any other appearances, contact Pacific Raven Press, LLC at the following: kathryn.takara.gmail.com or 808-228-1630 (Pacific Hawaii Time)
Excerpt
BLUE MOON IN RISING CHINA
Chrysanthemum emotions hide
complicated secrets in clever corners.
Lights towering above empty skyscrapers
advertise rationalizations of rapid growth.
Hazy full moon struggles to shine through
eerily lit sky tangled with dust and smog.
Fear of specters births inertia
to explore shades of difference.
Bold explorations are trapped
by self-conscious racial difference.
My color stands out
like a ruby persimmon in winter.
The chimerical moon says break free
let go inner considerations.
I welcome smiles and taste new foods
notice flickers and glimmers of familiarity.
Blue moon brews bright confidence
tenders a second chance in this crisp time.
HOME (WO DE JIA)
Mornings I sit in my space on the 3rd floor of the penthouse
inhaling a soporific breeze of incense bought at the temple
where I offered a sweet bundle for the ancestors
and gratitude for pluperfect moments.
Oh Grandma Tai Tai calls to me from downstairs, “Nihao!”
I pretend to be sleeping and not hear her summons.
I rejoice to be inspired to write a poem for old friends
who recently escorted me to the seashore
to recover from travel and renew memories
where they hosted me to long, luxurious yin-yang banquets
sharing endless dishes of Shandong delicacies
jiaoze, noodles, and les fruits de mer
shrimp, crayfish, clams, oysters, jellyfish, and mullet
unknown bugs and insects
and endless varieties of seaweed
Tsingtao beers by the dozen
between toasts, cheers, eating, and storytelling
topped off at the end by assorted melons, other fresh fruits
lychee dessert reminding me of the words of Su Dongpo.
I feel cared for in this faraway land.
The people are warm and welcoming
willing, patient, and hardworking.
In my solitude, I am grateful for the gift of friendship.
While I write in the mornings, I drink tea, ritually brewed.
Predictably I am interrupted.
Grandma Tai Tai calls to me yet again.
“Nihao. Chi guo fan le ma? Nihao!”
I reluctantly descend the too-steep stairs from my 3rd-floor flat
repeat that I am not hungry, bu yao chi fan.
But she pretends to not understand my Chinese
does not accept my impolite response.
“Jiali,” she says, be at home.
She has cooked again and wants me to taste
Chinese fried crullers
jiaoze dumplings
and her special congee with pickled turnips, salt eggs, and dried dates.
She does not want me to cook my grits
carried all the way from Hawai`i.
She does not want to eat them either.
She waits patiently for me at the bottom of the stairs, bent in half but mobile.
Her back is parallel to the ceiling, a toothless smile lighting her face and eyes.
No longer surprised by my foreignness she does not judge me by my color.
I am not yang quizi: a white devil, rich, spoiled, decadent.
I am not a CEO or investor, but a respectable jiaoshi
a professor to be served and honored for my education.
I am an esteemed Other.
Grandma Tai Tai persuasively offers me other leftovers
spicy shrimp and tangy cooked cucumbers
warmed-over liver and steamed ginger fish
greens and mushrooms
brought home last night
from a banquet at a nearby fandian
and of course her delicious jiaoze.
How can I refuse such tasty delights?
Nonetheless, I also fry 3 eggs
get a roll of mianbao
and try to taste everything! Her foods and mine.
Grandma Tai Tai sits with me
breaks the silence and says something I do not understand.
“Jiali,” she repeats.
I remember the meaning: home, beauty, a girl’s name.
She has given me a name, “Good and beautiful.”
Later, I shower.
She says, “xixi,” wash up, wash up.
I ponder our out-of-pattern morning together
and slowly recognize
she is teaching me. Family. Jiating.
Mornings I sit in my space on the 3rd floor of the penthouse
inhaling a soporific breeze of incense bought at the temple
where I offered a sweet bundle for the ancestors
and gratitude for pluperfect moments.
Oh Grandma Tai Tai calls to me from downstairs, “Nihao!”
I pretend to be sleeping and not hear her summons.
I rejoice to be inspired to write a poem for old friends
who recently escorted me to the seashore
to recover from travel and renew memories
where they hosted me to long, luxurious yin-yang banquets
sharing endless dishes of Shandong delicacies
jiaoze, noodles, and les fruits de mer
shrimp, crayfish, clams, oysters, jellyfish, and mullet
unknown bugs and insects
and endless varieties of seaweed
Tsingtao beers by the dozen
between toasts, cheers, eating, and storytelling
topped off at the end by assorted melons, other fresh fruits
lychee dessert reminding me of the words of Su Dongpo.
I feel cared for in this faraway land.
The people are warm and welcoming
willing, patient, and hardworking.
In my solitude, I am grateful for the gift of friendship.
While I write in the mornings, I drink tea, ritually brewed.
Predictably I am interrupted.
Grandma Tai Tai calls to me yet again.
“Nihao. Chi guo fan le ma? Nihao!”
I reluctantly descend the too-steep stairs from my 3rd-floor flat
repeat that I am not hungry, bu yao chi fan.
But she pretends to not understand my Chinese
does not accept my impolite response.
“Jiali,” she says, be at home.
She has cooked again and wants me to taste
Chinese fried crullers
jiaoze dumplings
and her special congee with pickled turnips, salt eggs, and dried dates.
She does not want me to cook my grits
carried all the way from Hawai`i.
She does not want to eat them either.
She waits patiently for me at the bottom of the stairs, bent in half but mobile.
Her back is parallel to the ceiling, a toothless smile lighting her face and eyes.
No longer surprised by my foreignness she does not judge me by my color.
I am not yang quizi: a white devil, rich, spoiled, decadent.
I am not a CEO or investor, but a respectable jiaoshi
a professor to be served and honored for my education.
I am an esteemed Other.
Grandma Tai Tai persuasively offers me other leftovers
spicy shrimp and tangy cooked cucumbers
warmed-over liver and steamed ginger fish
greens and mushrooms
brought home last night
from a banquet at a nearby fandian
and of course her delicious jiaoze.
How can I refuse such tasty delights?
Nonetheless, I also fry 3 eggs
get a roll of mianbao
and try to taste everything! Her foods and mine.
Grandma Tai Tai sits with me
breaks the silence and says something I do not understand.
“Jiali,” she repeats.
I remember the meaning: home, beauty, a girl’s name.
She has given me a name, “Good and beautiful.”
Later, I shower.
She says, “xixi,” wash up, wash up.
I ponder our out-of-pattern morning together
and slowly recognize
she is teaching me. Family. Jiating.
PHOENIX IN FLIGHT
A day in and out, motion and stillness
visiting the Buddhist temple and parks
a peace is discovered in the courtyard
under the leaning, wandering pines
symbolizing longevity and venerability.
3 small cones brought home
reminded me of Tao Yuanming.
Exploring and shopping
new spaces and emotions
sensing different textures
in on-shore breezes, this was
a phoenix day full of promises
intimations of discovery and
unspoken dreams.
We built a monument of friendship
a new dance to the ebb and flow
of modernization and mutable moods observed growing unemployment visible
mammoth new buildings with
empty windows looking out to the sea
waiting for future inhabitants
worried bankers facing
international competition
and looming Asian economic crisis.
We feigned indifference
to the unseen forces
tried to communicate
across cultures, beyond tongues
in a silence of togetherness
discerning the smallest gestures
to better understand
the patterns of attraction
moments shared.
We searched for a link
to make a deeper connection
to ask the right questions
to listen to the answers
in music and brassy green noise
in awkward forbidden steps
not daring to whisper
our red dreams
trying to understand the emotions.
The rains came and went
like thunder, like lives, like we did
from place to place
wanting to play freely
like children
trying to act responsibly
like adults
eating clams and shrimp
drinking tea, beer, and wine
somehow incomplete.
Finally before moonrise
tired but happy as the sun-filled day
I left you to return home and eat jiaozi
burn sandalwood incense
in the shiny brass burner
engraved with a dragon and phoenix
bought at the temple
along with the prayer beads
ever grateful
for the breath of Nature
the 4 directions
the sacred smoke
beautiful Guan Yin moments
in a context of compassion in flight.
APRICOT PICKING
That day, Laoshan was a holy place
the district fertile with sparkling water
fruits copious and mountains green as jade.
A rocky ride in 2 old battered cars
over uncompleted new thoroughfares
our boisterous caravan twisted and lurched
past the rocky hazards
and women who sat calmly
on the side of the unpredictable road
selling piles of apricots, large as nectarines.
Our group gathered at the farmer’s house
across the bridge and up a narrow lane.
The village was small
the inhabitants and neighbors curious
strolling back and forth past our unfamiliar group.
We were invited to pass through the kitchen
to the back house for sleeping and living.
The farmer’s handsome son was cooking.
His father talked with visitors in Chinese
passed around baskets of apricots
served endless refills of Laoshan green tea
white-lightning whiskey jiu and 12 quarts of pijiou beer in between
to be slowly consumed
while 8 of us waited hungry for the long meal to come.
From the chicken pen up the terraced hillside
we feasted on hard-boiled eggs and preserved black eggs
fresh chicken wings and the zesty delicacy of chicken feet.
The pretty, delicate daughter-in-law who served us
had just returned from Sichuan that morning
with spicy pork kebab delights.
Next came the preserved meat rolls
the fat bee grubs, fried to perfection
dishes of spinach, tomatoes, fresh ginseng, and cucumbers
all from the garden near the apricot orchard above.
There was baozi made with sweet-potato dough
small fried fish, gala clams, cornbread, and more.
After the eating and drinking
laden with baskets, we
climbed the hot mountainside
in the metal heat of the summer day
past the 40 or so chickens.
We took pictures then trudged up to the apricot orchard
where 12 large baskets were quickly filled with
orange apricots and brown eggs to take back to the city.
The urban children were afraid to walk past the chickens
and the big, mean-looking dog
so the grownups held their hands and shooed the animals away.
All were delighted to pick vegetables and apricots
and help gather eggs.
After an hour or so, we began to descend
stopping to rest at the cool house which we had passed going up.
Later, we sat on the family kang
drinking bottled water from the springs in Laoshan.
After that, we arrived back at the narrow lane
where small tables and stools were brought out
to rest again from the heat and have bottomless cups of tea.
We sat under the capacious trees, near the almost-dry riverbed
where the little ones and parents soon went to cool off.
Finally, at the end of the day
bidding fond farewells, we piled into the old cars with baskets brimming
crossed the bridge and retraced our route over the sometimes treacherous roads.
We sang or dozed, hot, dusty, and happy as the summer days are bright and long.
VISITING HANGZHOU
The wind sweeps the shores of West Lake
conjures rhythmic sounds of lapping water.
From the oars of the dragon boats
magical mandala appear and disappear.
Bamboo leaves rustle at the Shimmering Splendor Pavilion
As thought-shadows create a silken sacred dance.
On the nearby tea plantation
patient workers labor in sizzling summer heat.
Enchanting Hangzhou offers surprises in quiet moments.
STANDING OUT WHILE IN CHINA
My Black skin is conspicuous.
In China, individualism is embargoed, yet influenced by
media, visitors, foreign factories, and studies abroad
curious and clever youths push to expand, experiment, explore.
Sharing the mountains and oceans, everyone seeks acceptable boundaries.
Youths recognize freedom, bypass bans to sites like Facebook
view bootlegged movies and read banned Western books
watch world soccer, and American basketball and football.
Youths distinguish Blacks as creative agents of vanguard influences
imagine possibilities for sepia collaboration and ebony partnerships.
China’s stark and promising diversity births allurement in my soul.
I feel like a grain of black sand
a diminutive carbonado diamond
a welcomed prize trusting an unknown path of throbbing humanity.
RED FLAGS After Jinan, before Tianjin, and toward Beijing
miles and miles of flatland agriculture has been put into intensive production.
The 1,000s of hectares of low greenhouses sit covered with white translucent plastic and topped with illimitable red flags. Unimaginable amounts of fruits and vegetables fed with sprinklers and pesticides provide sustenance for millions. Camouflaged gardens stretch as far as the eye can see on both sides of the speeding train interrupted only by small clusters of trees and a few houses with red-tiled roofs.
Fertilizer factories abound all in the name of the efficient production of the food supply. Where does the irrigation water come from? Where are the bees sipping crimson peonies?
The 5 Celebrated Fruits
plums, apricot, peaches, chestnuts, dates
grow high on the hillsides.
The 4 Gentlemen of Flowers
plum blossoms, chrysanthemums, bamboo, cymbidium
are far away.
The 5 Blessings
long life, wealth, health, virtue, and a peaceful natural death lie buried in pollution and the powerful push to get wealthy.
Technology and chemical factories trump temples, gardens, and pagodas.
Loyalty, excellence, and cultivation of refinement and the arts are devalued
abandoned like hutong, forgotten like virtues, unobserved like precious rituals.
Priceless pilgrimages, disciplined courtesies, and guanxi are lost to progress.
WHERE WERE YOU LAST NIGHT?
Where were you last night
when the moon was almost full
a gold lantern in the tall summer sky?
Where were you
when the aureate night shimmered
like a dreamtime on the intimate ocean of self?
I missed you when I stood alone at the window.
Smells and touches lingered, gathering sustenance
the begonia memory of our fine day and evening.
We had walked together
shadows in the moonlight, shifting shapes like dancers
stepping lightly, feeling complete
in an uncertain performance of diplomacy and order.
I had been happy as a bird soaring toward the illusive sky
treasuring each moment we shared.
I had imagined balance and harmony
before the wind under my phoenix wings disappeared.
Where were you last night?
Suddenly, dangerous times
10 p.m. curfews imposed by the government
180 murders in 3 months
such violence unheard of
in the sleepy sanatorium city and vacation retreat.
Where were you, just before the imminent visit
of the powerful American president?
Who was killing whom, the protesters or the police?
Or maybe it was gangs of thugs and illegal drugs?
Negative opinions cloaked in secrecy, newspapers silent
the rumor mill and monitors kept fear alive
maintaining control, putting a heavy leash on freedom.
The next few days, there was even an occasional loud thumping
a black stealth helicopter, never seen before, an enormous police presence.
Warning! Gossip on the tea vines:
escaped prison gang from the northeast promising to kill 1 person a day
unless their leader is released from prison
or a renegade seeking to make officials and government look bad
unable to control dissidents
or another theory, frustrated unemployed workers on a rampage committed the slaughter.
It is a fact that a foreign woman was among those attacked
stabbed in broad daylight on the main street in the sleepy city
(speculation: smuggling national treasures, or a love triangle)
such international violence unheard of for decades.
Hooray for heroes!
Old men playing Chinese checkers near the scene
saw the violence, and feeling a moral duty
picked up their portable folding stools as weapons
and beat the assailant until his left eye fell out.
The woman was detained in the hospital
several weeks after healing
the government aiming to avoid bad publicity
on the eve of Bill Clinton’s visit
tensions running tight as a high wire.
So where were you last night?
Not walking with me, not sitting or lounging close by
but in another place
perhaps near the Temple of the Eastern Peak
perhaps looking out from your hotel window
perhaps sleeping, dreaming
remembering precious time shared
foundations laid, links established.
There is no certainty
especially in the time of the full moon
changing tides, planting and growth
floods and factory fires, earthquakes and chemical spills
when summer passes into soft and intimate autumn.
Where were you late last night in a time of danger before my imminent departure?
ANOTHER LANGUAGE
Peach blossoms speak in fragrance
the trees’ wood a charm against evil
in the fertile land of the Middle Country, Zhongguo.
They share freely like their sister and brother apricots and almonds
their mysterious ghostly beauty and the gift of longevity
bringing stunning whirls of delicate colors and inspirational meaning
to the pages of the perennial poets: Du Mu, Du Fu, Li Bai.
Everyone longs to travel to the jade mountain
to seek the calming hums of tall pines and sycamores
to wait for the solitary song of the mythical phoenix
to enjoy the lofty cool whisper of elevated meditation
out of ordinary time, a vibrant language, Nature, and a vital people, Zhongguoren.
A DAY
Cool morning fog invites the early riser
to visit the spirit of plum blossoms
at the Precious Moon Pavilion
before shadow dancing.
In the afternoons, birds sing
thrill the listener with tiny songs, cheery chirps, caws, and squawks.
They rustle the gingko trees
move the tea bushes and camellia air
happy currents in the sun.
Alone with the chill of the evening
waiting for the stars to shine
the night breeze announces itself
caresses the sweet magnolias
releases perfume to the nose of heaven.
Fragrant dreams beckon
in the embrace of the full moon.
Stars struggle to shine in the hazy China night.
The poet contemplates a wilted black rose, practices mudra, imitating Guan Yin.
CLOSE QUARTERS
We squabbled.
You came home too late from the land of officials
Sometimes, I empathized with your daughter’s needs
your lack of demonstrated love, time, and attention
her silent pain at your inattention.
When I asked, she told me:
“It does not matter. It is my pleasure.”
This time you came home from the bureau
did not look at me
but invited me out to a late supper.
Feeling slighted and used
I rejected your invitation with an excuse.
The following evening
I invited you to share dinner with me
my style—eating at home.
Your mother had taught me some Chinese cooking.
I offered eggplant with beef, peanut chicken, poached fish.
You declined, “I don’t eat meat”
which we both knew was not true
“but maybe a good salad.”
I walked away for a while.
The evening after that, I spent 2 hours preparing a meal
even making a special lychee dessert.
I ate with your daughter. You did not show up.
The next morning, you said you had been with “important people”
government dignitaries and business leaders flown in from afar.
Angry and frustrated
I went out alone to the public square activities.
When you finally came back late that night
I was still gone.
Mixed messages and missed meals, disruptions and hurt feelings in close quarters.
AT THE PEARL MOON PAVILION
A woman ponders the lotus flowers in a small pond
at the Water Moon veranda of the Pearl Moon Pavilion.
The resplendent opal moon
makes her nightly lucent tour
over the woman in the great garden of Glorious Felicity.
Floating cloud-gauze dances above
changing shadows with the whims of the summer breeze.
The palace of the Moon Queen reigns high over the earth’s night.
Her radiant beauty reflects in milky moonbeams
casting a spell over the temple of the earth.
Her glow adorns the woman’s sepia skin.
The magic of the evening
belies the chaos in the city and feelings of unrequited love
evoking the memory of lost pleasures in the lyrical poems of Li Yu.
Restless, the woman walks on in the huge garden.
She pauses on the glowing white bridge
full of celestial longing
on the moonlit hillside.
Shadows shift.
Fueled by the mirth of starlight, clouds, and moon
the woman’s pewter passion of dissatisfaction dissolves.
Her small smile complements the ghostly pearl moonlight
dancing impersonally over the troubled world.
KNOWLEDGE FOR MILLENNIA
Listen to the flow of a long stream from Qufu
tumbling over and around the rocks of time.
Toast an abundant philosophical and material harvest.
Tip the cup of teaching. Sip the breeze of inspiration.
In the waters of the earth, wisdom is revered
respected with stele and ancestral graves
recorded in the I Ching Book of Changes.
The teacher promulgated dreams of education
with a vision of growth and change.
Cherished by generations, nurtured by wise ones
survival reproduced for millennia, silvery Master Kong beguiles the future.
Modern scholars converse, diverse in origins, friends in philosophy
gathering near the scholars’ rocks and remembering opal moon shadows
in orchards of plum trees, a celebration of the traditions of art, teaching, and creativity.
Knowledge rises, transcends habits, fads, and mechanical life.
Redemptive bargain for the souls of the people, the words of Confucius still resound.
Professional Reviews
National Pen Women review of Shadow Dancing: $elling $urvival in China
"Kathryn Waddell Takara's free-verse poetry collection, 'Shadow Dancing: $elling $urvival in China,' is an intriguing look at China's awakening.
Poetically is how Takara sees the world, so, when she chronicled her 1995-2011 travels to China, she wrote lyrically and included a prose introduction and glossary.
This award-winning African-American poet was raised in Tuskegee, Alabama, educated at a Quaker boarding school and recently retired as a University of Hawaii at Manoa associate professor.
She traveled to China to find an African connection, but her fascination grew beyond that. Full-color photos and verse in 'Shadow Dancing' depict her intimate friendships with Chinese citizens and African students.
Takara-scholarly, professional, friendly-immersed herself in the culture and was welcomed enthusiastically. Chinese people invited her into their homes, allowing her an inside look at their daily lives. She researched and referenced their cultural traditions, politics, and historical poets throughout her book.
'The Party voice preempts tranquility,' said one political poem. 'Deafeningly loud news broadcasts awaken city dwellers/The leaders dare the public to ignore the governmental transmissions.'
A poem about modernization before the 2008 Olympics alluded to a tradition of cranes (birds)bringing prosperity, saying, '1,000 cranes in Beijing today/Perched precariously/Turning slowly/Deliberately lifting and placing/Heavy loads/24 hours a day/7 days a week/On 1,000 buildings...'
In another poem, an airport trip became a high-speed chase when police noticed Takara's driver was smoking. People may not smoke while driving on Chinese toll roads. After recklessly weaking around cars and swerving into oncoming traffic, her driver eluded the police and insisted she take a taxi. Otherwise, the corrupt police would recognize his car and take her 'belongings and passport for a bribe... Was doubting Chinese police like Blacks fearing white cops in Alabama?' she wondered.
'Shadow Dancing' takes the reader on an unforgettable and timely journey of cultural differences and similarities, answers and questions."
Reviewed by Barbara Routen, Tampa Branch, National Association of American Pen Women
A Collection of Voices from Around the World is more than just a poetry compilation. It is a partnership of poets from around the globe brought together by an internet poetry forum. That forum, poetrypages.com, has been the home of many a fine poet s
