Bloomfield poet’s ‘Common Grace’ captures Japanese American experience, inherited trauma
When he was growing up in Santa Rosa, California, Aaron Caycedo-Kimura knew his parents had undergone hardship during World War II. His mother lived in Tokyo when it was firebombed by the U.S. His father, with his parents and siblings, had been confined to Japanese internment camps.
He didn’t know much, though, because his father didn’t talk about it. His mother talked a bit more about the bombing raid that killed 100,000 people and flattened the city. Sometimes, she screamed in her sleep.
Despite his silence, his father did carry lifelong trauma, Caycedo-Kimura said. “He told me once, ‘don’t trust anyone.’ It was a cynical thing to say but you can understand why after knowing what happened to him,” he said.
Caycedo-Kimura, of Bloomfield, has published a book of poems, “Common Grace” (Beacon Press, 104 pp., $16). Caycedo-Kimura’s first major poetry collection is part of Beacon’s new poetry series, “Raised Voices,” which was created to give a platform to marginalized voices and perspectives.
Caycedo-Kimura will do a poetry reading in a free Zoom event from Wang Center in Stony Brook, New York, on Wednesday at 6 p.m.
He also will do a reading on Friday at 7 p.m. at CT Fable, a tea room at 96 Center St. in Southington. He will read along with Abigail Chabitnoy, Melissa Buckheit and Trace Peterson. Admission is free. ctfable.com.
“Common Grace” discusses the fragments Caycedo-Kimura knows of his parents’ experiences. Other poems discuss their passing, Caycedo-Kimura’s artistic journey, life in New England and relationship with his wife Luisa.
In advance of those events, Caycedo-Kimura talked about his family, his poetry and his own experiences with racism. The responses have been edited for length.
Tell me about your father’s experiences in an internment camp.
He was born in San Gabriel, California, on a farm, with many brothers and sisters. When the war broke out, they were rounded up and gathered at the Santa Anita race track. Then they were sent to Jerome, Arkansas, and then to Tule Lake (California). He was born in 1924 and they went to the camp in 1942 and stayed for three years.
Did he talk much about his experiences?
I know he buried a lot of it. He once told me that he couldn’t dwell on what happened, just so he would be able to function. He put it all behind him, but he did carry it with him. I don’t know if he ever got over them in a healthy way.
How has his experience affected your own outlook on life?
I have certainly felt some forms of racism, growing up Japanese. Clearly not to the extent my father did. But I had to grow up knowing that my family, my ancestors, were put away just for looking the way they did. When I was growing up, we were the only Asian kids in our elementary school, my sister and I. It was traumatic. Kids want to be accepted and fit in. I was being called Chinaman and Ching Chong. That stayed with me throughout the years. When I walk into a new situation, a room of people look at me and my first thought is, they’re looking at me like I’m Japanese.
Do you feel an obligation to tell your parents’ story?
Well, that is one reason I wrote all of these poems about my parents. One poem is called ‘Burial.’ My father didn’t want a funeral. He didn’t want his obituary in the newspaper. Mom asked us the same thing. We honored their wishes but it bothered me. Unless there is an obituary, no future generations will know about them. I thought, I should write poems about them and get them published so on the one hand I will have honored their wishes but I will also be letting people know I had great parents. It honors them and keeps them alive in my life.
Since the pandemic began Asians have reported an increase in hate crimes. Have you experienced this?
I have not experienced physical or verbal abuse but I have experienced micro aggressions, a person not aware that they are saying something offensive.
Ubasute is a Japanese legend describing a person taking an elderly parent to a remote place to die. Why did you title one of your chapters Ubasute?
It’s a story that my mother told me when I was a little boy. It’s a horrifying story. I don’t know why you would tell your children that. I remembered this story. It sort-of kind-of fit in with my view of a Japanese mindset. My mother never wanted to be a burden to people. I wrote the first poem of that chapter from that voice. It’s largely about them growing old and dying but I am doing the opposite, not abandoning them. They are in the house and I am taking care of them.
Have you always wanted to express yourself through poetry?
No. I went to San Francisco Conservatory and then to Juilliard. Music was an acceptable art. I was always visually oriented, but my parents thought, all kids draw and make things. They preferred I study music. At the end of my grad work, I did some soul searching and realized I didn’t like performing.
Did poetry come after that?
No, I had always been more visually oriented. I set out to explore that. I learned computer graphics to pay the bills and I delved into painting and other media.
How did you come to poetry after that?
About 2009, my wife was a lawyer. She left the profession. She wanted to be a writer. She went to school to study writing. She came home and showed me her poems to ask what I thought. I had no clue what to say. I swiped her textbook and studied. I figured if I started writing something on my own I would have something reasonable to tell her. Then she dragged me to poetry readings and I was hooked. I am a poet because she was a poet first. I started writing in my late 40s. It’s never too late.
Tell me about “Text, Don’t Call,” another book you wrote.
It’s about the introverted life. I found difficulty in life due to the fact I’m a huge introvert. A lot of people, extroverts, have a hard time understanding introverts. It’s not about being shy. It’s where you get your energy from.
Susan Dunne can be reached at sdunne@courant.com.
