IN MEMORY of Keiko Imaoka

a wrenching in my chest -
the white peony
pulled from the garden

Michael Dylan Welch

above the desert

- marius

Her poetry was the highlight of the Shiki list for me.

the desert sky

in a drop of dew

trembling

Jim Mullins

surf, sand or shell,
who can say which shines most
in moonlight?

Debra Woolard Bender

at the heron pool

where we said goodbye

a shining waterfall

spills its constant music

through jasmine fragrance

Ferris Gilli

How sad. I knew Keiko only via Internet. I met Keiko when I (re)joined shiki haiku list for the second time. She had offered me her friendship within days, we were true friends, and and for years we were corresponding quite a bit. Then she left shiki, I moved in the real world a lot, and we lost contact. But from the early time and later too, I always considered her a Great haiku & tanka Master, I was mentioning her more than once in recent years, also on a Polish poetic group (pl.hum.poezja).

In the past I have written two poems about Keiko. Here is one of them:

         Keiko's haiku

         about an Indian town--

         slow spring now warm

Wlodzimierz Holsztynski - 1997

we shared taro's taste

books each other hadn't read

warmth after sunset

mikaline

~!~

I met Keiko on the Shiki list, where, in December of '95, she translated several of my (minimalist) English 'ku into Japanese. It was a delight to see how naturally the 3/3/2 syllable English 'ku became proper 5/7/5 syllable Japanese 'ku. For example ("morning dog walk, 12/7/95"):

before dawn / snow begins / unseen

yoake-mae mienai yuki-no furi-someru

We corresponded often and talked on the phone for hours. This was not a meeting of like minds, for we disagreed about many things. But it was often a treat for me to come to see Keiko's way of looking at things. I also had the pleasure of seeing (on slides) many of her art works (paintings and ceramic), but never of meeting her in person.

I have been having some trouble reconciling myself to the way in which Keiko left us. Then, in reminiscing, I recalled Keiko complaining about how her walks in the Arizona desert would frequently be interrupted by automobile drivers stopping to ask if she was all right, and offering her a ride. Their assumption seemed to be that everyone should be in a car, and that if she was on foot, something must be wrong. Which led to the advice which I wanted to give to those drivers, and which I can now (almost) take:

let her walk

let her go

drive on

-Jim Pekar, in Maryland USA

~!~

My name is Lorena Moore. I am an artist and metalsmith in Tucson, AZ. I am just writing to let you know that I appreciate your memorial page for Keiko Imaoka - my husband found it last night after searching on Keiko's name. Without your page we would not have known of her death, since I lost touch with her two years ago. It is very sad but not too surprising.

I met Keiko at the Tucson Museum of Art fair in 1993. Her booth, full of brightly painted tiles depicting desert plants and creatures, was set up next to my table of gourd rattles and copper jewelry. We traded some art and quickly became friends. Besides art, we shared a love of nature and a disinterest in having children. I have good memories of visits to her house in the Avra Valley to look at art, pick vegetables from her garden, walk in the desert, and enjoy her Japanese-Southwest cooking.

My husband and I left Tucson in 1994 and did not move back until 2000, although I returned every year for the gem show in February and met Keiko for brief visits or desert hikes. Occasionally we wrote to each other, though this appeared to become very difficult for her. I was aware of her struggle with depression but lost touch with her in 2000 - a letter I sent to an address in Albuquerque was returned.

Keiko was five years older than me. I write poetry occasionally (though not haiku), and have published a few pieces here and there, most recently a poem in the November 2001 issue of Borderlands. It's on my art website:

http://www.mineralarts.com/artwork/HiddenLandCards.html

This poem on my cactus website is probably as good a memorial as any:

http://home.earthlink.net/~ironwing/saguaro.html

Thank you for putting up the memorial page - it is a fine tribute.

~!~

autumn equinox coolness of the clay slabs soundlessly I dance scoring joining folding piercing texturing stretching a torso emerges life-size yet abstract gently I caress her pregnant belly II. bone dry against my palm the rounded cheek of a baby head the gas kiln loaded with a mask a vessel two legs two torsos three heads slowly I shut the kiln door III. suspended the hourglass of a black widow on the concrete porch something small hops toward me pointing a flashlight at the thumb-sized creature I peer into its eye pulsating the glistening throat of a spadefoot toad IV. silhouetted by the moonlight grape vines cascading swaying in a cool breeze listening and not listening to the crickets' chorus suddenly a bird breaks into song then another waxing moon I howl with the coyotes

the sculpture finished
beyond its beauty the artist
not satisfied
and though we said so much
your leaving left it unspoken

"Surf"

by

Keiko Imaoka