American Life in Poetry: Momotaro in the Philippines
Kwame Dawes. Courtesy photo. Marianne Chan, in her riddle of a poem, “Momotaro in the Philippines,” reminds us of how the world contracts by migration, by communication technology, and by trade, and how every culture finds a way to make sense of the cultures that somehow find their way into their worlds.
Momotaro is best known as the boy hero birthed from the seed of a peach in Japanese folklore.
For Filipino-American poet, Chan, peaches evoke alienness: Europe, cans, boy-heroes, Japan, and America — peaches are part of the global world of trade.
Her “peach girl” becomes a counter-hero. She is not “a warrior, no hero.” She loves and she stingily consumes delicious peaches for her survival. I find her defiant self-awareness strangely comforting.
Momotaro in the Philippines By Marianne Chan
Here, peaches come from boxes that smell like Europe, from cans made of a tin-coated steel. I lie with the peaches soaking in saccharine darkness until freed. I don't recognize the children who run toward me. Their faces like the feathers on the feet of birds. Their slippers repeating that melancholic drone. “Wake up,” they say. “Wake up.” And as I rise from the dreamy fluid-oh, the America, which preserves me -I press my sticky forehead on your sun- freckled hand. I love you, am sorry, am not a warrior, no hero. I fight for nothing, am stingy. I ate all the peaches from the can from the box from which I came.
Kwame Dawes. Courtesy photo. Marianne Chan, in her riddle of a poem, “Momotaro in the Philippines,” reminds us of how the world contracts by migration, by communication technology, and by trade, and how every culture finds a way to make sense of the cultures that somehow find their way into their worlds.
Momotaro is best known as the boy hero birthed from the seed of a peach in Japanese folklore.
For Filipino-American poet, Chan, peaches evoke alienness: Europe, cans, boy-heroes, Japan, and America — peaches are part of the global world of trade.
Her “peach girl” becomes a counter-hero. She is not “a warrior, no hero.” She loves and she stingily consumes delicious peaches for her survival. I find her defiant self-awareness strangely comforting.
Momotaro in the Philippines By Marianne Chan
Here, peaches come from boxes that smell like Europe, from cans made of a tin-coated steel. I lie with the peaches soaking in saccharine darkness until freed. I don't recognize the children who run toward me. Their faces like the feathers on the feet of birds. Their slippers repeating that melancholic drone. “Wake up,” they say. “Wake up.” And as I rise from the dreamy fluid-oh, the America, which preserves me -I press my sticky forehead on your sun- freckled hand. I love you, am sorry, am not a warrior, no hero. I fight for nothing, am stingy. I ate all the peaches from the can from the box from which I came.