A Review of Naoko Fujimoto’s Glyph

According to Merriam-Webster, the word “poet” comes from a Greek word meaning “to make.” The poet is a maker. Naoko Fujimoto and her new graphic poetry collection Glyph (Tupelo Press, 2021) fully embody this meaning in a powerful and stunning way. Fujimoto has skillfully combined two art forms (word poetry and visual art) to create a third: graphic poetry. In Glyph’s introduction, Fujimoto describes graphic poetry as “trans. sensory,” meaning word poetry that has been translated into words and images, which invites and encourages the reader/viewer to transport the senses into a fuller experience.

In an interview on Poetry Today (a City of Highland Park PEG Access TV program), I learned that Fujimoto’s graphic poems begin as fully-formed, well-crafted word poems. She then goes through a process whereby she decides which words to remove and represent graphically. The title Glyph, meaning a non-verbal symbol, is apropos. The original word poems were not included in the book, because they are not of the form Fujimoto wanted to highlight in this collection. However, those who are intrigued by her translation process may want to google some of the titles to read the original word poems.

In Glyph, Fujimoto has assembled forty-five graphic poems. They are all strikingly different in subject matter and design, and each one is a mixed media feast for the eyes and mind: cutouts of various materials, original drawings, paint, pastel, ink, and words written by hand. Each layout is uniquely organized, designed with plenty of freedom.

One of my favorite poems in the collection is “Enough is Never.” I googled the original text of the poem (published in RHINO 2017) out of curiosity. There are only two lines from the original fifteen-line poem that appear in words: “I will take the trash out….” and “…enough is never enough.” The other lines have been translated into images, and here’s where it gets really fascinating. It’s not just an image-for-word translation but also an expansion of imagination that takes place in the process. The second and third stanzas of the word poem read as follows:

Our hearts, like rhubarbs,
liquidate in a garbage disposal.

Magpies bring pieces from the glass company
adding more stones to the riverbank.

Yes, there is a red-orange heart (organ) anchoring the upper left of the page with two large blood vessels resembling plant branches (presumably rhubarb stalks). But Fujimoto introduces a large pair of scissors not found in the word poem to cut the stalks, spilling blood and water to the bottom of the page. This liquid also represents the river implied in the second line of the word poem’s third stanza, as there are pieces of glass and stones filling the heart and draining out of the vessels.

The last two stanzas of the word poem as published in RHINO read:

We hear her lively laugh—
a neighborhood girl raises her sunglasses

with freckles on her clavicles,
her white dress flares.

At the bottom of the page in Glyph, there’s a female figure who raises a wine glass to catch the falling liquid. The freckles are on her white dress. Although there is room for interpretation in word poetry, this expands in graphic poetry where the specificity of words is reduced.

With expanded imagination and opportunity for interpretation, there’s a mysterious richness in each poem. The reader/viewer can find something new to consider every time they go back. One may never fully uncover all the significances constructed into the poems, since many of the choices in selecting materials and images are personal to Fujimoto. For instance, she reveals in the Afterward that paper from Matsukado Stationery Store in Takayama was used in “Grandfather’s Left Eye.” She says, “Since I was a young girl, my grandfather used to buy me origami and washi papers from that store.” I suspect there were many untold decisions like that made in other poems.

The full-color production of the book is beautiful, and because it’s at a magazine-size of 8.5” x 11,” the words are readable and the mixed media details are clearly discernible. Whether or not you have ever entered the world of the graphic poem, Naoko Fujimoto’s Glyph is an essential addition to your poetry collection.