HIS WINDBLOWN SELF, poetry by Robert Okaji
Publication Date: March 31, 2025
Paperback, 70 pages
ISBN: 978-1-956782-99-8
“These silences I hear, are they not / music? … And when I / interweave these tunes, shaping them / into one distinct melody, / will you recognize its heart and shiver / to the beat?” Not since Oz have we encountered such a sentient scarecrow, who compelling leads us, shivering in the wind rattling the reeds and the soul, through Robert Okaji’s poetic wonderland. His scarecrow is but one guise or “self-portrait” that he adopts on his journey “Selfward,” as bereft of epiphanies and prayers he nevertheless seeks “Oh, to be whole in this splintered self.” But he speaks most forcefully in his own voice, out of his own life, finding at the close that “What astounds is the continuing. / That pulses resound, even during this slow / crumbling, this erosion of flesh.” Like the exclamation point he dons in one poem, “This is my hope: to be / heard, though silent.” Through these poems, reverberating on the wind, his hope is fulfilled.
Praise for Robert Okaji & His Windblown Self
His Windblown Self by Robert Okaji welcomes the reader to follow a poetic vision that shifts in nuanced and direct ways. Like wind, Okaji’s poetry is lyrically transparent, offering clarity and insight on all it comes across. There is as well an urgency to this collection that runs like nerves through the body. Whether from the persona of a scarecrow or from a more intimate vantage point, ruminations on mortality run alongside expressions of wonder in these poems that ask us to feel as much as to witness. In evoking the “windblown self,” this book progresses like footsteps on the wind, which can only be seen by the effect they have. And like wind, Okaji’s lyric poems course your way to stir and connect. Welcome them.
—José Angel Araguz, author of Rotura & Ruin & Want
Crows fill this book, and a playful earnest scarecrow who talks, and vultures who wait. Its score, a sort of adagio in spite of the rush to live, a wish to continue, to repeat and figure out why. There are letters to friends to be read and reread that break the heart. Which is to say, a weight and a will in Bob Okaji’s work transforms not by metaphor exactly but this poet thinks things, observes what is lush, brief and eternal in the natural world as if layers and layers of seeing will keep all of it intact and banish self-pity. The poet IS that crow—has such brothers and sisters among them. Brace yourself, reader…. This book is a testament to what is noisy then silent in trees.
—Marianne Boruch, author of The Figure Going Imaginary
One sees in Okaji’s poems something of an ontological investigation of his world. But it’s also a personal study of the Earth that pulls us all in on a less abstract level. As such, the poems vividly express the beauty that surrounds us without shying away from those aspects of living with which we must do battle. Certainly, what nature gives us it can take away almost immediately. Robert Okaji’s poems, on the other hand, will stay with you for a long time.
—Jose Padua, author of A Short History of Monsters
“The soul is the perceiver and revealer of truth,” wrote Emerson. In His Windblown Self, Robert Okaji identifies with the glory of all that is souled in this transcendent poetry collection. Poems offer a journey toward and into sky, bird, the invisible. Glory flutters, for Okaji, the grieved body recognizes and offers a celebratory vision of the in-between life: pulsed, crumbling, and as promising “as a pollen grain.” In its meditation, this collection is as brilliantly composed as any birdsong. I am in awe.
—Catherine Strisik, author of Goat, Goddess, Moon
About the Author
Robert Okaji holds a BA in history, served without distinction in the U.S. Navy, toiled as a university administrator, and no longer owns a bookstore. His honors include fourteen Pushcart Prize nominations, the inaugural Shō Poetry Prize, the Slipstream Press Annual Chapbook Prize, the riverSedge Poetry Prize, the Etchings Press Poetry Chapbook Prize, and the 1968 Bar-K Ranch Goat-Catching Championship. Two years ago he was diagnosed with late stage metastatic lung cancer, which he finds terribly annoying. But thanks to the wonders of modern science, he still lives in exotic Indianapolis with his wife—poet Stephanie L. Harper—stepson, cat and dog. He is the author of Our Loveliest Bruises (3: A Taos Press), multiple chapbooks, including Buddha's Not Talking and Scarecrow Sees, and his poems may be found in Louisiana Literature, Threepenny Review, Only Poems, Wildness, Panoply, Vox Populi, Evergreen Review, Boston Review, The Big Windows Review, Shō Poetry Journal, Indianapolis Review, and other venues, including his blog, O at the Edges.
Publication Date: March 31, 2025
Paperback, 70 pages
ISBN: 978-1-956782-99-8
“These silences I hear, are they not / music? … And when I / interweave these tunes, shaping them / into one distinct melody, / will you recognize its heart and shiver / to the beat?” Not since Oz have we encountered such a sentient scarecrow, who compelling leads us, shivering in the wind rattling the reeds and the soul, through Robert Okaji’s poetic wonderland. His scarecrow is but one guise or “self-portrait” that he adopts on his journey “Selfward,” as bereft of epiphanies and prayers he nevertheless seeks “Oh, to be whole in this splintered self.” But he speaks most forcefully in his own voice, out of his own life, finding at the close that “What astounds is the continuing. / That pulses resound, even during this slow / crumbling, this erosion of flesh.” Like the exclamation point he dons in one poem, “This is my hope: to be / heard, though silent.” Through these poems, reverberating on the wind, his hope is fulfilled.
Praise for Robert Okaji & His Windblown Self
His Windblown Self by Robert Okaji welcomes the reader to follow a poetic vision that shifts in nuanced and direct ways. Like wind, Okaji’s poetry is lyrically transparent, offering clarity and insight on all it comes across. There is as well an urgency to this collection that runs like nerves through the body. Whether from the persona of a scarecrow or from a more intimate vantage point, ruminations on mortality run alongside expressions of wonder in these poems that ask us to feel as much as to witness. In evoking the “windblown self,” this book progresses like footsteps on the wind, which can only be seen by the effect they have. And like wind, Okaji’s lyric poems course your way to stir and connect. Welcome them.
—José Angel Araguz, author of Rotura & Ruin & Want
Crows fill this book, and a playful earnest scarecrow who talks, and vultures who wait. Its score, a sort of adagio in spite of the rush to live, a wish to continue, to repeat and figure out why. There are letters to friends to be read and reread that break the heart. Which is to say, a weight and a will in Bob Okaji’s work transforms not by metaphor exactly but this poet thinks things, observes what is lush, brief and eternal in the natural world as if layers and layers of seeing will keep all of it intact and banish self-pity. The poet IS that crow—has such brothers and sisters among them. Brace yourself, reader…. This book is a testament to what is noisy then silent in trees.
—Marianne Boruch, author of The Figure Going Imaginary
One sees in Okaji’s poems something of an ontological investigation of his world. But it’s also a personal study of the Earth that pulls us all in on a less abstract level. As such, the poems vividly express the beauty that surrounds us without shying away from those aspects of living with which we must do battle. Certainly, what nature gives us it can take away almost immediately. Robert Okaji’s poems, on the other hand, will stay with you for a long time.
—Jose Padua, author of A Short History of Monsters
“The soul is the perceiver and revealer of truth,” wrote Emerson. In His Windblown Self, Robert Okaji identifies with the glory of all that is souled in this transcendent poetry collection. Poems offer a journey toward and into sky, bird, the invisible. Glory flutters, for Okaji, the grieved body recognizes and offers a celebratory vision of the in-between life: pulsed, crumbling, and as promising “as a pollen grain.” In its meditation, this collection is as brilliantly composed as any birdsong. I am in awe.
—Catherine Strisik, author of Goat, Goddess, Moon
About the Author
Robert Okaji holds a BA in history, served without distinction in the U.S. Navy, toiled as a university administrator, and no longer owns a bookstore. His honors include fourteen Pushcart Prize nominations, the inaugural Shō Poetry Prize, the Slipstream Press Annual Chapbook Prize, the riverSedge Poetry Prize, the Etchings Press Poetry Chapbook Prize, and the 1968 Bar-K Ranch Goat-Catching Championship. Two years ago he was diagnosed with late stage metastatic lung cancer, which he finds terribly annoying. But thanks to the wonders of modern science, he still lives in exotic Indianapolis with his wife—poet Stephanie L. Harper—stepson, cat and dog. He is the author of Our Loveliest Bruises (3: A Taos Press), multiple chapbooks, including Buddha's Not Talking and Scarecrow Sees, and his poems may be found in Louisiana Literature, Threepenny Review, Only Poems, Wildness, Panoply, Vox Populi, Evergreen Review, Boston Review, The Big Windows Review, Shō Poetry Journal, Indianapolis Review, and other venues, including his blog, O at the Edges.
Publication Date: March 31, 2025
Paperback, 70 pages
ISBN: 978-1-956782-99-8
“These silences I hear, are they not / music? … And when I / interweave these tunes, shaping them / into one distinct melody, / will you recognize its heart and shiver / to the beat?” Not since Oz have we encountered such a sentient scarecrow, who compelling leads us, shivering in the wind rattling the reeds and the soul, through Robert Okaji’s poetic wonderland. His scarecrow is but one guise or “self-portrait” that he adopts on his journey “Selfward,” as bereft of epiphanies and prayers he nevertheless seeks “Oh, to be whole in this splintered self.” But he speaks most forcefully in his own voice, out of his own life, finding at the close that “What astounds is the continuing. / That pulses resound, even during this slow / crumbling, this erosion of flesh.” Like the exclamation point he dons in one poem, “This is my hope: to be / heard, though silent.” Through these poems, reverberating on the wind, his hope is fulfilled.
Praise for Robert Okaji & His Windblown Self
His Windblown Self by Robert Okaji welcomes the reader to follow a poetic vision that shifts in nuanced and direct ways. Like wind, Okaji’s poetry is lyrically transparent, offering clarity and insight on all it comes across. There is as well an urgency to this collection that runs like nerves through the body. Whether from the persona of a scarecrow or from a more intimate vantage point, ruminations on mortality run alongside expressions of wonder in these poems that ask us to feel as much as to witness. In evoking the “windblown self,” this book progresses like footsteps on the wind, which can only be seen by the effect they have. And like wind, Okaji’s lyric poems course your way to stir and connect. Welcome them.
—José Angel Araguz, author of Rotura & Ruin & Want
Crows fill this book, and a playful earnest scarecrow who talks, and vultures who wait. Its score, a sort of adagio in spite of the rush to live, a wish to continue, to repeat and figure out why. There are letters to friends to be read and reread that break the heart. Which is to say, a weight and a will in Bob Okaji’s work transforms not by metaphor exactly but this poet thinks things, observes what is lush, brief and eternal in the natural world as if layers and layers of seeing will keep all of it intact and banish self-pity. The poet IS that crow—has such brothers and sisters among them. Brace yourself, reader…. This book is a testament to what is noisy then silent in trees.
—Marianne Boruch, author of The Figure Going Imaginary
One sees in Okaji’s poems something of an ontological investigation of his world. But it’s also a personal study of the Earth that pulls us all in on a less abstract level. As such, the poems vividly express the beauty that surrounds us without shying away from those aspects of living with which we must do battle. Certainly, what nature gives us it can take away almost immediately. Robert Okaji’s poems, on the other hand, will stay with you for a long time.
—Jose Padua, author of A Short History of Monsters
“The soul is the perceiver and revealer of truth,” wrote Emerson. In His Windblown Self, Robert Okaji identifies with the glory of all that is souled in this transcendent poetry collection. Poems offer a journey toward and into sky, bird, the invisible. Glory flutters, for Okaji, the grieved body recognizes and offers a celebratory vision of the in-between life: pulsed, crumbling, and as promising “as a pollen grain.” In its meditation, this collection is as brilliantly composed as any birdsong. I am in awe.
—Catherine Strisik, author of Goat, Goddess, Moon
About the Author
Robert Okaji holds a BA in history, served without distinction in the U.S. Navy, toiled as a university administrator, and no longer owns a bookstore. His honors include fourteen Pushcart Prize nominations, the inaugural Shō Poetry Prize, the Slipstream Press Annual Chapbook Prize, the riverSedge Poetry Prize, the Etchings Press Poetry Chapbook Prize, and the 1968 Bar-K Ranch Goat-Catching Championship. Two years ago he was diagnosed with late stage metastatic lung cancer, which he finds terribly annoying. But thanks to the wonders of modern science, he still lives in exotic Indianapolis with his wife—poet Stephanie L. Harper—stepson, cat and dog. He is the author of Our Loveliest Bruises (3: A Taos Press), multiple chapbooks, including Buddha's Not Talking and Scarecrow Sees, and his poems may be found in Louisiana Literature, Threepenny Review, Only Poems, Wildness, Panoply, Vox Populi, Evergreen Review, Boston Review, The Big Windows Review, Shō Poetry Journal, Indianapolis Review, and other venues, including his blog, O at the Edges.