From a Three-Cornered World

(Critical Survey of Contemporary Fiction)

FROM A THREE-CORNERED WORLD: NEW AND SELECTED POEMS presents a prospect and retrospect of James Masao Mitsui’s finely crafted and deeply felt poetic output over the past three decades.

The book’s title derives from a Japanese writer’s comment that artists inhabit a triangle left after eliminating the commonsensical corner of the ordinary four-square world. And aesthetics is a recurrent subject in Mitsui’s book. Art dashes logical expectation—when, for instance, a genteel landscape artist and a violent swordsman are the one samurai. Art demands hard work (a year to learn a note on a shakuhachi flute) and a collaboration of nature with inspiration (a gardener shakes down some leaves after sweeping his grounds).

The other major theme of Mitsui is the Japanese American experience, especially the experiences of immigration and relocation. The immigration experience is developed through Mitsui’s poems about his parents who immigrated in the early twentieth century, and these poems are vividly sculpted pieces capturing that generations strength, self-sacrifice, and capacity for hard work and enduring love. The poems about the relocation of some 120,000 West Coast Japanese Americans during the 1940’s derive from the whole Mitsui family’s travails; they are movingly effective and wryly laconic criticisms of America’s mean-spirited, racist, and wrongful treatment of Japanese Americans in a moment of national hysteria.

Other poems of Mitsui celebrate love and life, grieve deaths and departures, record the discoveries in travel and the quirkiness of work. All this is accomplished with a supple cadenced verse and a lapidarian use of imagery that can summon up the breathlessness of a visceral response or the exhilaration of a luminous truth.

Sources for Further Study

International Examiner. XXIV, no. 8, May 6, 1997, p. S26.

Seattle Times. January 4, 1998, p. M2.

From a Three-Cornered World

(Literary Masterpieces, Critical Compilation)

Over three decades and in as many volumes of poetry, James Masao Mitsui has been steadily publishing his finely crafted poems of deeply honest thought and feeling. From a Three-Cornered World brings together some three dozen of Mitsui’s formerly published poems with twenty-five new ones to present a richly varied and fitting retrospect and prospect on Mitsui’s oeuvre and accomplishment.

The title of Mitsui’s book derives from a comment by Natsume Soseki that “an artist is a person who lives in the triangle which remains after the angle which we may call common sense has been removed from this four-cornered world.” It comes as no surprise, then, that a goodly number of Mitsui’s poems are insightful meditations on artworks and artists, objects and individuals eluding the logic of a foursquare world. Thus art (and humanity, eventually) contains the illogical tension of a brush painter’s finesse with a swordsman’s brute force in the poem “Samurai”:

The same hand
that pauses in the autumn sky

to paint wind

whispering through bamboo,

joins the other hand

on the embroidered hilt of a naked blade

& cuts a man in half

at the thighs,

leaving behind a pair of bloody wheels:

skin, flesh, bone & marrow.

Art can, therefore, be the product of a mental patient of whom Mitsui says, “the man who painted this/ died in his dreams”—not in his sleep; a fine distinction is thus made between the active creativity of this mental patient and the passive dullness of much of sane society. Yet art, for Mitsui, is not all inspiration and dash. It is also rigor and discipline. For instance, in “Shakuhachi,” a master flautist plays a note “till it hung/ clear as the moon” and then tells an aspiring pupil:

Practice this note.
Come back in a year
for the second.

In this poem, the trope comparing music to moonlight also points to another aspect of Mitsui’s aesthetic. It indicates a sensibility linked to much East Asian aesthetics, where art is integrally bound up with nature. Several of Mitsui’s poems suggest that human agency in producing an aesthetic object resembles a midwife’s—to attend a beauty born of nature mated with artistic impulse. Thus describing a man sweeping a garden to make it into an art object, Mitsui writes:

The man
shakes a branch
and decorates the stones
with maple leaves.

The other major theme of From a Three-Cornered World is the Japanese American experience in the twentieth century. In elaborating this theme, Mitsui captures many moving and memorable moments in the history of his ethnic group in America. Chief among such episodes are ones pertaining to immigration and relocation; these and the persons who lived them become entities of heightened awareness in Mitsui’s narrative of his heritage.

Immigration is necessarily a vicarious experience for Mitsui, as he was born in the United States. Yet both his parents were Japanese American immigrants (issei). His mother’s passage to America in the 1920’s, and her subsequent life there, is imaginatively more empathic for Mitsui. Newly wed, she had not married by choice, but she was not the usual Japanese American “picture bride” either. In a female variant of the levirate, she had wed her husband because he had been married to her sister and when her sister died, her family designated her to be a replacement for him. “Katori Maru” is the vivid and wrenching recuperation of this woman’s feelings two weeks into crossing the Pacific, seasick among strangers, married to a bare acquaintance: “Today she would trade her future/ for the bottom of the ocean.” To the experiences and feelings of his immigrant mother Mitsui returns repeatedly with touching tenderness in a variety of situations—performing the chores of nurturing her family at the remembered kitchen table (“The Table Lamp”), cursing in a hospital bed after an accident (“After a Stranger Calls . . .”), with grandchildren in her low-income apartment (“My Mother Juggling Bean Bags”). Perhaps the most delicate of such tender moments occurs in “Allowance,” where Mitsui remembers how, at age ten, he earned his allowance:

I stand in the kerosene light
behind her, . . . 
A penny
for each white hair I pull.

Mitsui’s father had preceded his wife to the United States. Born in 1888, he came to America in 1908, and after laboring half a century as a section hand for the Great Northern Railway, he died in 1963. For him, “sweat was religious” (“Minoru Mitsui”). Yet if work was godliness, then drink was the very devil. Mitsui’s portraiture of his immigrant father is more ambiguous than that of his mother. Instead of the...

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