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poetry is clay-work
Title: poetry is clay-work
Fandom: Bungou Stray Dogs
Character(s): Atsushi, Dazai, Fitzgerald, Kunikida, Mori, Kouyou, Chuuya, Yosano, Poe, Lovecraft, Melville, Alcott, Kenji, Tachihara
Pairing(s): None
Genre: Fluff
Word Count: 2,675
Rating: G
Warnings: None
Summary: Atsushi and Dazai attend a poetry slam.
Notes: Links to the poems mentioned:
Herman Melville's The Martyr
Nakahara Chuuya's A Bone, Song of Upbringing, One Autumn Day
Louisa May Alcott's My Doves
literally all of Tachihara Michizou's poetry I can find translated online
Edgar Allan Poe's Dream-Land, Annabel Lee
Miyazawa Kenji's Be not Defeated by the Rain
H. P. Lovecraft's Nemesis, Fact and Fancy
Yosano Akiko's Labor Pains, In Praise of May, River of Stars
Atsushi has never been to a poetry slam before. Honestly, he’s not sure what to expect as he takes his seat beside Dazai.
“It might be interesting, or it might be boring and a waste of an hour,” says Dazai with a shrug. “Depends on who the emcee picks out. Fitzgerald usually has a good eye for good poets, it’s uncanny, but even he gets duds once in a while.”
Atsushi can pick out Fitzgerald from the crowd instantly: he’s the only person wearing a suit. He scans the audience for people he knows, and finds a couple - Kunikida in the middle, and Yosano and Kenji both sitting at the front, with Kenji bouncing a little in his seat.
Fitzgerald starts almost exactly on time. “Ladies, gentlemen, and distinguished persons, allow me to welcome you to the Yokohama Poetry Slam tonight. Those who have attended previous slams, thank you for your continued patronage, and I ask you to have patience while I go over the rules for those joining us for the first time.
“I’ll be selecting three judges from the audience, and eight poets from those who have already signed up to recite their poetry in the first round. Each poet will have up to three minutes to perform, and will then be given a score by each judge from one to ten. The highest and lowest score will be dropped, and the four poets with the top scores will advance to the second round. They will then perform a second poem, and the top two will advance - and again, until we have our winner.”
Fitzgerald scans the audience, before entering one of the aisles. He pulls out three people - Atsushi only recognizes Kunikida, the other two are a beautiful woman and a distinguished-looking man - and they take their seats at the judge’s table.
“Tell the audience your names, please,” Fitzgerald says.
Kunikida clears his throat. “Kunikida Doppo.”
“Ozaki Kouyou,” says the woman, smiling sweetly.
“Mori Ougai,” says the remaining man. “It’s a pleasure to judge.”
“I’m sure it is,” says Fitzgerald, with a chuckle. “Now, to begin - a performance by Herman Melville.”
A stocky man rises from his seat and takes the stage. He adjusts the microphone, then says, “I’ll be reading ‘The Martyr’.”
“Indicative of the passion of the people
on the 15th of April, 1865
Good Friday was the day
Of the prodigy and crime…”
Atsushi listens closely. He thinks he’d get a little more out of this poem if he actually remembered that date - he should have paid better attention in history class - but it’s a good performance, or at least he thinks so. Melville’s voice is strong and he clearly has the words themselves down pat.
When he’s done, the judges take a moment to think about their scores. Fitzgerald looks to Kunikida first.
“A solid poem,” Kunikida says. “The performance could have done with a little more emotion, especially considering the subject matter, but the poem itself I don’t have any issues with. That said, it doesn’t stand out to me either. Six.”
“Lincoln’s assassination has been done nearly to death in poetry,” says Kouyou. Oh, of course that’s what it’s about, thinks Atsushi. “Like Kunikida says, it’s a solid poem, but I wish you had brought something slightly more original. Six.”
“Well, I thought it was an excellent poem even considering how common the subject is,” says Mori, brightly. “Very rhythmic, especially with the repetition of the second and fourth stanzas. Eight.”
Melville nods his head, gives a simple, “Thank you,” and leaves the stage.
“Next, we have Nakahara Chuuya,” announces Fitzgerald, from off to the side.
“Ugh, again?” Dazai makes a face when a redheaded young man takes the stage.
Atsushi turns to him, keeping his voice low. “You know each other?”
“He only submits his poetry to every single slam. It’s tiring by now, and he’s a sore loser,” says Dazai, grumbling. “I don’t know why Fitzgerald keeps picking him. Pity, maybe?”
Chuuya clears his throat. “I’ll be reading ‘A Bone’ this time.”
“Look at this, it’s my bone,
a tip of bone torn from its flesh…”
Chuuya’s poem has an excellent sense of rhythm, excellent delivery, and a subject matter Atsushi would never have thought to write about. Then again, he’s a short story writer and not a poet, so what does he know about poetry?
Kunikida gives his answer first again - it seems like they’ve settled on that as the order. “Original subject matter, good delivery, solid poem. I don’t have much to complain about here. Nine.”
“I also have no complaints,” says Kouyou, “except perhaps that it could be a touch more cohesive, thematically. Still, a very, very good performance. Eight.”
“Nine,” says Mori, “for the reasons they gave. Well done, Chuuya.”
Chuuya is smirking as he says, “Thank you,” and exits the stage.
Fitzgerald looks utterly unsurprised. “Next, we have a performance by Louisa May Alcott.”
A tiny woman looks terrified as she takes the stage. “I’ll - I’ll be reading ‘My Doves’,” she says, and takes a deep breath.
“Opposite my chamber window,
On the sunny roof, at play…”
It’s a sweet poem, and Atsushi thinks it’s well written, but Alcott’s nervousness makes her trip over some lines and rush through others. It’s really a shame.
Kunikida, at least, looks somewhat sympathetic. Atsushi was worried he wouldn’t. “Beautifully written, beautiful message. Delivery... needs work. Five.”
Kouyou tsks. “A poem can be beautiful and completely marred by its performance. Three.”
“I hope you’ll come back to us with a bit more confidence next time,” says Mori. “I have to agree with Kouyou - three.”
Alcott slinks off the stage without thanking the judges.
Fitzgerald looks like he’s holding back a sigh. “Next - Tachihara Michizou.”
A rough-looking young man appears on stage. Atsushi misses the title of his poem because he’s paying attention to Alcott returning to her seat and getting a half-armed hug from Melville and a pat on the shoulder from another contestant, but he pays attention to the poem itself.
“Murmur of a brook today
Whispers to the wind…”
It’s a plain poem, but sincere, and sincerely delivered. That’s Atsushi’s impression of it, at least.
Kunikida takes a moment longer to think. “The delivery is good, but the poem itself is lacking in…”
“Pizzazz?” Mori suggests.
“That,” says Kunikida. “Five.”
“Your earnestness shows, but the poem itself could use a little more polish,” says Kouyou. “Six.”
“Is this your first poetry slam?” Mori asks. Tachihara nods. “Then don’t be too discouraged. Everyone here did poorly their first time. Four.”
“Thanks,” Tachihara says, and hops off the stage. He sits down next to Chuuya, who leans over to say something that Atsushi can’t exactly catch from here but sounds like it’s probably reassuring.
“Next,” says Fitzgerald, “a performance by Edgar Allan Poe.”
A youngish man takes the stage. He looks like a poet - that’s the only way Atsushi can think to describe his style of dress paired with his long haircut. “I’ll be reading ‘Dream-Land’,” he announces.
“By a route obscure and lonely,
Haunted by ill angels only...”
It’s creepy, and Poe’s enthusiastic performance only serves to make it creepier. Several times Atsushi catches himself shivering, and he’s not sure if he’s glad it’s over or not.
Kunikida looks like he feels the same way as Atsushi. “A… a very good performance. Eight.”
Kouyou is giggling. “Excellent delivery, as always.” Poe looks proud of himself, as much as he can behind those bangs. “Your grasp of rhythm is perfect - no, I can’t find it in myself to complain at all. Ten.”
“Nine, I would say,” says Mori after a moment. “My only quibble is that you could stand to branch out a bit more with your subject matter - but on its own, an excellent poem.”
Poe is smiling as he leaves the stage.
Fitzgerald clears his throat. “Next, Miyazawa Kenji.”
Kenji hurries on stage, beaming ear to ear. “I’ll be reading ‘Be not Defeated by the Rain’,” he announces.”
“Be not defeated by the rain, Nor let the wind prove your better.
Succumb not to the snows of winter. Nor be bested by the heat of summer…”
It’s an earnest poem about striving to be the best person possible, and it suits Kenji. Even Kunikida is smiling a little as he listens.
“The performance was little overdone,” he says - Atsushi can’t disagree - “but the poem itself was lovely. Eight.”
Kouyou nods. “I have to agree - excellent poem, but restraint is just as important as enthusiasm in performances. Six.”
Mouri hums for a second. “Seven, I suppose, for reasons already given.”
After thanking the judges, Kenji practically bounces off stage.
“Next, Howard Phillips Lovecraft.” Lovecraft takes a bit to pick himself up and get on stage, and Fitzgerald impatiently taps his foot.
“‘Nemesis,’” Lovecraft says.
“Thro’ the ghoul-guarded gateways of slumber,
Past the wan-moon’d abysses of night…”
Another creepy one, worse than Poe’s. Atsushi finds himself reaching for Dazai’s sleeve before remembering that Dazai would make fun of him for the rest of his life if he was scared of a poetry recital.
Kunikida doesn’t look much better. He’s never been very good with creepy things. “E-excellent work, very… evocative. Eight.”
“You have a way with description,” says Kouyou. “Normally your performance could use a bit more enthusiasm, but it works for this particular poem. Seven.”
“Eight,” says Mori. “Come to my next Halloween party, won’t you?” Lovecraft stares at him for a second. “...That was a joke.”
“Thank you,” says Lovecraft, and sits back down.
Fitzgerald stifles a chuckle. “Lastly, a performance by Yosano Akiko.”
Yosano takes the stage with total confidence. “I’ll be reading ‘Labor Pains’.”
“I am sick today,
sick in my body…”
Atsushi would probably describe Yosano’s style of poetry as ‘blunt’. She doesn’t pretty up her subject matter at all, and even Atsushi, who thank God will never have to deal with this, winces in sympathy.
Kunikida takes a moment to think. “It’s a brave choice to bring to a slam,” he says. “The starkness of your writing suits your subject. Nine.”
“Ten,” says Kouyou. “Preach it.”
Mori gives her a funny look, but doesn’t say anything. It’s probably for the best that he doesn’t. “Ah… eight. I can’t empathize with the subject, of course, but that’s as close as I could possibly come to understanding it, I’m sure.”
Yosano has the satisfied smile of someone who knows she’s going to advance to the next round. “Thanks.”
Fitzgerald does some double-checking on his scoreboard, then announces, “The next round’s poets will be Nakahara Chuuya, Edgar Allan Poe, Howard Philips Lovecraft, and Yosano Akiko. Please take a few minutes to prepare.”
While they’re getting ready, Atsushi turns to Dazai. “Who did you like the best?”
Dazai shrugs. “Lovecraft’s was good, but he won’t make it to the final two. Performance is important and that man cannot perform. I’m rooting for ‘anyone but Chuuya’.”
Atsushi sighs. “You’re not biased at all…”
When the poets reconvene, Chuuya is first to take the stage. “I’ll be reading ‘Song of Upbringing’.”
“infancy
the snow which fell on me
was like floss silk…”
Atsushi feels like he understands the meaning of Chuuya’s poem, while still having to think about each line as he listens. Despite Dazai’s distaste for him, Atsushi knows Chuuya’s an excellent poet.
This time, Kouyou gives her score first. “Ten. Thematically more solid than your first, and as beautiful and thoughtful as you’re known for. Excellent work.”
Mori says, “Nine. Maybe a little too simple in parts, but I’ve no other complaints - a beautiful poem.”
“Nine,” Kunikida says. “Same reasons as Mori.”
Chuuya looks smug as he thanks the judges, and Atsushi figures that’s why Dazai roots against him more than any actual complaint about his poetry.
Poe takes the stage next. “I will be reading ‘Annabel Lee’.”
“It was many and many a year ago,
In a kingdom by the sea…”
Similar to his first poem - excellent delivery, more romantic subject matter. Atsushi thinks Kunikida looks relieved that they’re only talking about a dead lover this time.
Kouyou thinks for a bit. “Nine,” she says. “A bit more childish than your first, but overall a wonderful poem.”
“Seven,” says Mori. “As Kouyou says, it’s a bit simplistic for you. But it would make an excellent song.”
“Seven, and my eternal gratitude for not repeating subject matter,” says Kunikida.
Poe nods, says, “Thank you,” and leaves the stage.
Lovecraft is next. “‘Fact and Fancy’.”
“How dull the wretch, whose philosophic mind
Disdains the pleasures of fantastic kind…”
Atsushi isn’t sure he keeps up with this one.
Kouyou sighs. “Lovecraft, this one seems a bit… as if you’re trying to make yourself sound smart at the same time as decrying people who try to sound smart. It doesn’t work. Six.”
Mori nods. “Six. You have this terrible habit of using a thesaurus too much.”
“I do not use a thesaurus,” Lovecraft mumbles into the microphone.
“Seven,” says Kunikida. “They’re all correctly-used words, they just aren’t necessary.”
Lovecraft sulks offstage. He always looks a bit like he’s sulking, though.
Yosano is the last again. She clears her throat. “‘In Praise of May’.”
“May is a fancy month, a flower month,
The month of buds, the month of scents, the month of colors…”
A sweet poem full of imagery while still carrying Yosano’s direct style, and much easier for Atsushi to sympathize with than her first poem.
Kouyou is smiling when she gives her score. “Nine. Your style is something we don’t see at this slam very often.”
“Nine,” says Mori. “A solid poem, no complaints at all.”
“Nine,” says Kunikida. “Like they said.”
The final two poets, Chuuya and Yosano, are given another few minutes to prepare. Atsushi pats Dazai’s shoulder as he groans into his hands.
“If Yosano wins I’ll buy her lunch,” Dazai says. “He’ll be insufferable for weeks if he wins.”
Chuuya gives last performance with the utmost confidence. “This is ‘One Autumn Day’.”
”This morning, people late to rise are
drowned by sounds of wind against doors, of wheels...”
The poem has Atsushi enraptured. The imagery catches his attention and paints a picture, and what isn’t imagery is thought-provoking. He’s not exactly sure what he just listened to, but he knows it was worth listening to and will have him thinking for a few days more on it.
Mori goes first this time. “Fantastic as usual, Chuuya. A solid nine.”
“Eight,” says Kunikida. “A bit more nonsensical than I prefer, but an excellent poem.”
Chuuya scowls at him.
“Eight,” says Kouyou. “Kunikida does have a point - it’s beautiful, certainly, but in performances I don’t have the benefit of reading and rereading to determine what you mean. In print it would be a ten, but since it isn’t...”
Chuuya grits his teeth. “Thank you.”
Yosano takes the stage after him. “I’ll be reading ‘River of Stars’.”
”Left on the beach
Full of water…”
Yosano’s style is as stark as always, but she can apply it to beautiful and sad topics as easily as she can apply it to painful ones. The beauty and transience of life is always a topic worth writing about, at least in Atsushi’s eyes.
Mori thinks for a second longer than normal. “Nine. A beautiful poem, made only more beautiful by your style. Excellent work.”
“Nine,” says Kunikida, and Chuuya curses from the audience. “Well-done all around, excellent performance.”
“Ten,” says Kouyou. “No complaints at all, truly stunning.”
Fitzgerald sweeps back onto the stage. “Congratulations, Yosano! You’ve won a prize of fifty dollars as well as the respect of your peers-”
Tachihara is holding onto one of Chuuya’s arms. Atsushi starts to sweat and leans over to Dazai. “Is Chuuya going to pick a fight?”
“Probably,” says Dazai cheerily. “He’s a sore loser. But he usually waits until the winner leaves the building to start getting aggressive.”
“Should we… do something?” Atsushi asks.
“Are you kidding me?” Dazai asks, laughing. “I’d pay the cost of attendance again just to see Yosano beat him into the ground.”
Fandom: Bungou Stray Dogs
Character(s): Atsushi, Dazai, Fitzgerald, Kunikida, Mori, Kouyou, Chuuya, Yosano, Poe, Lovecraft, Melville, Alcott, Kenji, Tachihara
Pairing(s): None
Genre: Fluff
Word Count: 2,675
Rating: G
Warnings: None
Summary: Atsushi and Dazai attend a poetry slam.
Notes: Links to the poems mentioned:
Herman Melville's The Martyr
Nakahara Chuuya's A Bone, Song of Upbringing, One Autumn Day
Louisa May Alcott's My Doves
literally all of Tachihara Michizou's poetry I can find translated online
Edgar Allan Poe's Dream-Land, Annabel Lee
Miyazawa Kenji's Be not Defeated by the Rain
H. P. Lovecraft's Nemesis, Fact and Fancy
Yosano Akiko's Labor Pains, In Praise of May, River of Stars
Atsushi has never been to a poetry slam before. Honestly, he’s not sure what to expect as he takes his seat beside Dazai.
“It might be interesting, or it might be boring and a waste of an hour,” says Dazai with a shrug. “Depends on who the emcee picks out. Fitzgerald usually has a good eye for good poets, it’s uncanny, but even he gets duds once in a while.”
Atsushi can pick out Fitzgerald from the crowd instantly: he’s the only person wearing a suit. He scans the audience for people he knows, and finds a couple - Kunikida in the middle, and Yosano and Kenji both sitting at the front, with Kenji bouncing a little in his seat.
Fitzgerald starts almost exactly on time. “Ladies, gentlemen, and distinguished persons, allow me to welcome you to the Yokohama Poetry Slam tonight. Those who have attended previous slams, thank you for your continued patronage, and I ask you to have patience while I go over the rules for those joining us for the first time.
“I’ll be selecting three judges from the audience, and eight poets from those who have already signed up to recite their poetry in the first round. Each poet will have up to three minutes to perform, and will then be given a score by each judge from one to ten. The highest and lowest score will be dropped, and the four poets with the top scores will advance to the second round. They will then perform a second poem, and the top two will advance - and again, until we have our winner.”
Fitzgerald scans the audience, before entering one of the aisles. He pulls out three people - Atsushi only recognizes Kunikida, the other two are a beautiful woman and a distinguished-looking man - and they take their seats at the judge’s table.
“Tell the audience your names, please,” Fitzgerald says.
Kunikida clears his throat. “Kunikida Doppo.”
“Ozaki Kouyou,” says the woman, smiling sweetly.
“Mori Ougai,” says the remaining man. “It’s a pleasure to judge.”
“I’m sure it is,” says Fitzgerald, with a chuckle. “Now, to begin - a performance by Herman Melville.”
A stocky man rises from his seat and takes the stage. He adjusts the microphone, then says, “I’ll be reading ‘The Martyr’.”
“Indicative of the passion of the people
on the 15th of April, 1865
Good Friday was the day
Of the prodigy and crime…”
Atsushi listens closely. He thinks he’d get a little more out of this poem if he actually remembered that date - he should have paid better attention in history class - but it’s a good performance, or at least he thinks so. Melville’s voice is strong and he clearly has the words themselves down pat.
When he’s done, the judges take a moment to think about their scores. Fitzgerald looks to Kunikida first.
“A solid poem,” Kunikida says. “The performance could have done with a little more emotion, especially considering the subject matter, but the poem itself I don’t have any issues with. That said, it doesn’t stand out to me either. Six.”
“Lincoln’s assassination has been done nearly to death in poetry,” says Kouyou. Oh, of course that’s what it’s about, thinks Atsushi. “Like Kunikida says, it’s a solid poem, but I wish you had brought something slightly more original. Six.”
“Well, I thought it was an excellent poem even considering how common the subject is,” says Mori, brightly. “Very rhythmic, especially with the repetition of the second and fourth stanzas. Eight.”
Melville nods his head, gives a simple, “Thank you,” and leaves the stage.
“Next, we have Nakahara Chuuya,” announces Fitzgerald, from off to the side.
“Ugh, again?” Dazai makes a face when a redheaded young man takes the stage.
Atsushi turns to him, keeping his voice low. “You know each other?”
“He only submits his poetry to every single slam. It’s tiring by now, and he’s a sore loser,” says Dazai, grumbling. “I don’t know why Fitzgerald keeps picking him. Pity, maybe?”
Chuuya clears his throat. “I’ll be reading ‘A Bone’ this time.”
“Look at this, it’s my bone,
a tip of bone torn from its flesh…”
Chuuya’s poem has an excellent sense of rhythm, excellent delivery, and a subject matter Atsushi would never have thought to write about. Then again, he’s a short story writer and not a poet, so what does he know about poetry?
Kunikida gives his answer first again - it seems like they’ve settled on that as the order. “Original subject matter, good delivery, solid poem. I don’t have much to complain about here. Nine.”
“I also have no complaints,” says Kouyou, “except perhaps that it could be a touch more cohesive, thematically. Still, a very, very good performance. Eight.”
“Nine,” says Mori, “for the reasons they gave. Well done, Chuuya.”
Chuuya is smirking as he says, “Thank you,” and exits the stage.
Fitzgerald looks utterly unsurprised. “Next, we have a performance by Louisa May Alcott.”
A tiny woman looks terrified as she takes the stage. “I’ll - I’ll be reading ‘My Doves’,” she says, and takes a deep breath.
“Opposite my chamber window,
On the sunny roof, at play…”
It’s a sweet poem, and Atsushi thinks it’s well written, but Alcott’s nervousness makes her trip over some lines and rush through others. It’s really a shame.
Kunikida, at least, looks somewhat sympathetic. Atsushi was worried he wouldn’t. “Beautifully written, beautiful message. Delivery... needs work. Five.”
Kouyou tsks. “A poem can be beautiful and completely marred by its performance. Three.”
“I hope you’ll come back to us with a bit more confidence next time,” says Mori. “I have to agree with Kouyou - three.”
Alcott slinks off the stage without thanking the judges.
Fitzgerald looks like he’s holding back a sigh. “Next - Tachihara Michizou.”
A rough-looking young man appears on stage. Atsushi misses the title of his poem because he’s paying attention to Alcott returning to her seat and getting a half-armed hug from Melville and a pat on the shoulder from another contestant, but he pays attention to the poem itself.
“Murmur of a brook today
Whispers to the wind…”
It’s a plain poem, but sincere, and sincerely delivered. That’s Atsushi’s impression of it, at least.
Kunikida takes a moment longer to think. “The delivery is good, but the poem itself is lacking in…”
“Pizzazz?” Mori suggests.
“That,” says Kunikida. “Five.”
“Your earnestness shows, but the poem itself could use a little more polish,” says Kouyou. “Six.”
“Is this your first poetry slam?” Mori asks. Tachihara nods. “Then don’t be too discouraged. Everyone here did poorly their first time. Four.”
“Thanks,” Tachihara says, and hops off the stage. He sits down next to Chuuya, who leans over to say something that Atsushi can’t exactly catch from here but sounds like it’s probably reassuring.
“Next,” says Fitzgerald, “a performance by Edgar Allan Poe.”
A youngish man takes the stage. He looks like a poet - that’s the only way Atsushi can think to describe his style of dress paired with his long haircut. “I’ll be reading ‘Dream-Land’,” he announces.
“By a route obscure and lonely,
Haunted by ill angels only...”
It’s creepy, and Poe’s enthusiastic performance only serves to make it creepier. Several times Atsushi catches himself shivering, and he’s not sure if he’s glad it’s over or not.
Kunikida looks like he feels the same way as Atsushi. “A… a very good performance. Eight.”
Kouyou is giggling. “Excellent delivery, as always.” Poe looks proud of himself, as much as he can behind those bangs. “Your grasp of rhythm is perfect - no, I can’t find it in myself to complain at all. Ten.”
“Nine, I would say,” says Mori after a moment. “My only quibble is that you could stand to branch out a bit more with your subject matter - but on its own, an excellent poem.”
Poe is smiling as he leaves the stage.
Fitzgerald clears his throat. “Next, Miyazawa Kenji.”
Kenji hurries on stage, beaming ear to ear. “I’ll be reading ‘Be not Defeated by the Rain’,” he announces.”
“Be not defeated by the rain, Nor let the wind prove your better.
Succumb not to the snows of winter. Nor be bested by the heat of summer…”
It’s an earnest poem about striving to be the best person possible, and it suits Kenji. Even Kunikida is smiling a little as he listens.
“The performance was little overdone,” he says - Atsushi can’t disagree - “but the poem itself was lovely. Eight.”
Kouyou nods. “I have to agree - excellent poem, but restraint is just as important as enthusiasm in performances. Six.”
Mouri hums for a second. “Seven, I suppose, for reasons already given.”
After thanking the judges, Kenji practically bounces off stage.
“Next, Howard Phillips Lovecraft.” Lovecraft takes a bit to pick himself up and get on stage, and Fitzgerald impatiently taps his foot.
“‘Nemesis,’” Lovecraft says.
“Thro’ the ghoul-guarded gateways of slumber,
Past the wan-moon’d abysses of night…”
Another creepy one, worse than Poe’s. Atsushi finds himself reaching for Dazai’s sleeve before remembering that Dazai would make fun of him for the rest of his life if he was scared of a poetry recital.
Kunikida doesn’t look much better. He’s never been very good with creepy things. “E-excellent work, very… evocative. Eight.”
“You have a way with description,” says Kouyou. “Normally your performance could use a bit more enthusiasm, but it works for this particular poem. Seven.”
“Eight,” says Mori. “Come to my next Halloween party, won’t you?” Lovecraft stares at him for a second. “...That was a joke.”
“Thank you,” says Lovecraft, and sits back down.
Fitzgerald stifles a chuckle. “Lastly, a performance by Yosano Akiko.”
Yosano takes the stage with total confidence. “I’ll be reading ‘Labor Pains’.”
“I am sick today,
sick in my body…”
Atsushi would probably describe Yosano’s style of poetry as ‘blunt’. She doesn’t pretty up her subject matter at all, and even Atsushi, who thank God will never have to deal with this, winces in sympathy.
Kunikida takes a moment to think. “It’s a brave choice to bring to a slam,” he says. “The starkness of your writing suits your subject. Nine.”
“Ten,” says Kouyou. “Preach it.”
Mori gives her a funny look, but doesn’t say anything. It’s probably for the best that he doesn’t. “Ah… eight. I can’t empathize with the subject, of course, but that’s as close as I could possibly come to understanding it, I’m sure.”
Yosano has the satisfied smile of someone who knows she’s going to advance to the next round. “Thanks.”
Fitzgerald does some double-checking on his scoreboard, then announces, “The next round’s poets will be Nakahara Chuuya, Edgar Allan Poe, Howard Philips Lovecraft, and Yosano Akiko. Please take a few minutes to prepare.”
While they’re getting ready, Atsushi turns to Dazai. “Who did you like the best?”
Dazai shrugs. “Lovecraft’s was good, but he won’t make it to the final two. Performance is important and that man cannot perform. I’m rooting for ‘anyone but Chuuya’.”
Atsushi sighs. “You’re not biased at all…”
When the poets reconvene, Chuuya is first to take the stage. “I’ll be reading ‘Song of Upbringing’.”
“infancy
the snow which fell on me
was like floss silk…”
Atsushi feels like he understands the meaning of Chuuya’s poem, while still having to think about each line as he listens. Despite Dazai’s distaste for him, Atsushi knows Chuuya’s an excellent poet.
This time, Kouyou gives her score first. “Ten. Thematically more solid than your first, and as beautiful and thoughtful as you’re known for. Excellent work.”
Mori says, “Nine. Maybe a little too simple in parts, but I’ve no other complaints - a beautiful poem.”
“Nine,” Kunikida says. “Same reasons as Mori.”
Chuuya looks smug as he thanks the judges, and Atsushi figures that’s why Dazai roots against him more than any actual complaint about his poetry.
Poe takes the stage next. “I will be reading ‘Annabel Lee’.”
“It was many and many a year ago,
In a kingdom by the sea…”
Similar to his first poem - excellent delivery, more romantic subject matter. Atsushi thinks Kunikida looks relieved that they’re only talking about a dead lover this time.
Kouyou thinks for a bit. “Nine,” she says. “A bit more childish than your first, but overall a wonderful poem.”
“Seven,” says Mori. “As Kouyou says, it’s a bit simplistic for you. But it would make an excellent song.”
“Seven, and my eternal gratitude for not repeating subject matter,” says Kunikida.
Poe nods, says, “Thank you,” and leaves the stage.
Lovecraft is next. “‘Fact and Fancy’.”
“How dull the wretch, whose philosophic mind
Disdains the pleasures of fantastic kind…”
Atsushi isn’t sure he keeps up with this one.
Kouyou sighs. “Lovecraft, this one seems a bit… as if you’re trying to make yourself sound smart at the same time as decrying people who try to sound smart. It doesn’t work. Six.”
Mori nods. “Six. You have this terrible habit of using a thesaurus too much.”
“I do not use a thesaurus,” Lovecraft mumbles into the microphone.
“Seven,” says Kunikida. “They’re all correctly-used words, they just aren’t necessary.”
Lovecraft sulks offstage. He always looks a bit like he’s sulking, though.
Yosano is the last again. She clears her throat. “‘In Praise of May’.”
“May is a fancy month, a flower month,
The month of buds, the month of scents, the month of colors…”
A sweet poem full of imagery while still carrying Yosano’s direct style, and much easier for Atsushi to sympathize with than her first poem.
Kouyou is smiling when she gives her score. “Nine. Your style is something we don’t see at this slam very often.”
“Nine,” says Mori. “A solid poem, no complaints at all.”
“Nine,” says Kunikida. “Like they said.”
The final two poets, Chuuya and Yosano, are given another few minutes to prepare. Atsushi pats Dazai’s shoulder as he groans into his hands.
“If Yosano wins I’ll buy her lunch,” Dazai says. “He’ll be insufferable for weeks if he wins.”
Chuuya gives last performance with the utmost confidence. “This is ‘One Autumn Day’.”
”This morning, people late to rise are
drowned by sounds of wind against doors, of wheels...”
The poem has Atsushi enraptured. The imagery catches his attention and paints a picture, and what isn’t imagery is thought-provoking. He’s not exactly sure what he just listened to, but he knows it was worth listening to and will have him thinking for a few days more on it.
Mori goes first this time. “Fantastic as usual, Chuuya. A solid nine.”
“Eight,” says Kunikida. “A bit more nonsensical than I prefer, but an excellent poem.”
Chuuya scowls at him.
“Eight,” says Kouyou. “Kunikida does have a point - it’s beautiful, certainly, but in performances I don’t have the benefit of reading and rereading to determine what you mean. In print it would be a ten, but since it isn’t...”
Chuuya grits his teeth. “Thank you.”
Yosano takes the stage after him. “I’ll be reading ‘River of Stars’.”
”Left on the beach
Full of water…”
Yosano’s style is as stark as always, but she can apply it to beautiful and sad topics as easily as she can apply it to painful ones. The beauty and transience of life is always a topic worth writing about, at least in Atsushi’s eyes.
Mori thinks for a second longer than normal. “Nine. A beautiful poem, made only more beautiful by your style. Excellent work.”
“Nine,” says Kunikida, and Chuuya curses from the audience. “Well-done all around, excellent performance.”
“Ten,” says Kouyou. “No complaints at all, truly stunning.”
Fitzgerald sweeps back onto the stage. “Congratulations, Yosano! You’ve won a prize of fifty dollars as well as the respect of your peers-”
Tachihara is holding onto one of Chuuya’s arms. Atsushi starts to sweat and leans over to Dazai. “Is Chuuya going to pick a fight?”
“Probably,” says Dazai cheerily. “He’s a sore loser. But he usually waits until the winner leaves the building to start getting aggressive.”
“Should we… do something?” Atsushi asks.
“Are you kidding me?” Dazai asks, laughing. “I’d pay the cost of attendance again just to see Yosano beat him into the ground.”