David Fujino (January 28, 1945-May 6, 2017)

[photo of David Fujino taken by Roger Humbert, lifted from here]

Two days ago via John Barlow, I heard the sad news that Toronto poet and actor David Fujino had died. Known as (as Daniel f. Bradley recently posted on Facebook) an “extremely careful poet,” he was deeply engaged with the small press community of Toronto and beyond, interacting with John Barlow, Daniel f. Bradley, Gregory Betts, Gerry Shikatani, jwcurry, Bev Daurio, derek beaulieu, Kemeny Babineau and Nicky Drumbolis, among numerous others.

Born in Greenwood, British Columbia, David Kenji Fujino was a Toronto-based writer, actor (see his IMDB page here) and occasional trumpet player (as part of his acting roles) who’d worked with the artistic community on more than one level. Published in Canada, the United States, Australia, Great Britain, Japan and online (including ditch), he self-published the chapbook FAST (Vocabulary, 1987) [Daniel f. Bradley has provided a link to such online, here], Pictures & Words by David Fujino & Heather Yamada (Unknown Books, 1989) and a collection of text and visual poetry, Lines (ee.no books, 1990). He had solo shows of his visual art, coordinated group art shows, and given numerous spoken-word performances. As one of his bios included: “Brief studies in English Language and Literature at Victoria College ((U. of T.) were transformed, years later, in to a working career in visual art and poetry.”

His poems were included in an anthology of Japanese and Japanese Canadian poetry, Paper Doors (Coach House Press, 1982), the Anthology of Japanese American/Japanese Canadian Poetry (Tokyo, Japan: Doyoh-Bijutsu-Sha, 1986), numerous papertiger CDs (#1, 2, 3, and 4: 2001-2004), and the anthology of contemporary Canadian concrete and visual poetry White Wall of Sound #33 (2003). Substantial amounts of David’s work also appeared in the journals West Coast Line, dANDelion and filling Station, and as chapbooks via housepress, Pooka Press, Psychic Rotunda, fHole, and NEW CHIEF TONGUE. In 2006, he had a full-length collection, air pressure, appear via Toronto’s BookThug.

space 2

around perimeters

the glowing

expanding ound

in o

if I were a bell)))))))))))) (from Lines)

I’d been fortunate enough to produce a small chapbook of his work as well, his ORDINARY GLASSES (above/ground press, 2004), an item that ryan fitzpatrick reviewed briefly in an issue of filling Station, writing: “Just as the lens is a suitable metaphor for the difficulties of perception, David Fujino’s fragmentary glimpses cut-up and re-present our systems of representation, from stage to screen. These poems demand and deserve a closely applied eyeball.” I had been hoping to perhaps be able to produce another book; I’d actually been emailing him occasionally over the past couple of years around such, but couldn’t get a straight answer out of him as to whether or not he was writing.

The National Association of Japanese Canadians has a small tribute/condolence for him here.

that lovely angela rawlings reviewed a packet of above/ground press items on her blog recently (when im done alla this tour, perhaps ill have time to do same for someone else). the original appeared at http://commutiny.net/her/archives/000133.html

a writer herself, she has work all over the web, from her website. heres her review in full:

april 15, 2004
above/ground: a rooftop review
Today's mail delivered a package from above/ground press (Ottawa). Its neon contents included chapbooks by David Fujino, Max Middle, Shane Plante, and rob mclennan; issues of STANZAS magazine (derek beaulieu and J. L. Jacobs work showcased); and broadsides featuring poetry by Suzannah Showler, Tim Conley, Anita Dolman, Steven Heighton, Meghan Jackson, Lisa Samuels, Claudia Lapp, and Louis Cabri.

Of the mass of work, here's what excited me:

David Fujino's new chapbook Ordinary Glasses included one poem called "the untitled", a full page of partial words interrupted by mathematical and code symbols (+=|\) and space bubbles that seem to be fighting for breath amidst the crowding confusion of broken words and symbols. A fun piece, challenging the reader to perform it vocally and calling into question how we form meaning from phonemes.

Reading "the untitled", I'm curious to know if David has experimented with this style of poetry or if this is a once-off deal. Here's hoping it's not the only try. I could imagine repeated attempts with this style, similar to Ted Berrigan's various attempts at cut-up sonnets. With repeated attempts, I could imagine David creating a quintessential poem akin to Berrigan's Sonnet XXXVII, a poem that offers an excellent example of the athletic process of creating this particular style of poetry. As it is, "the untitled" as a concept intrigues the hell out of me, and could be a useful example of how one might experiment with meaning in a poem, but as is this offering has me impatient for other similar pieces -- no Eureka! here, yet.

Meghan Jackson's broadside "nesting shelf" is a concise, repetitive poem that's low on vocabulary and high on rhythm and timing. This is my favourite of the day. It has a Bjorkian sensibility of curious image woven together with a funky beat. For your reading pleasure, "nesting shelf", in its entirety:

i collect
and braid
seven feathers
six branches
five feet of brown string
four pieces of carbon paper
three blades of rye grass
two handfuls of dryer lint

for one bird
one bird
braid for one bird
sitting plaster
on the wood shelf
above
where i nest

the one bird
braided above me
braiding the nest
for the one bird

You know that feeling you get when you listen to or watch a performer who's a little nervous -- that feeling where you root for the performer not to fuck it up? Well, that doesn't apply here; Meghan's in control of this one from start to finish. "nesting shelf" is a good exercise in remixing a little to play a lot. Solid, metered pace as a result of line and stanza break choices. Unique subject. Good stuff.

To get your hands on this work or other above/ground ephemera, contact rob mclennan. Google him; he's out there.