Munio Makuuchi

Remembering the JA Poet and Artist, 1934 - 2000

By Yayoi Lena Winfrey

He was my friend, but only for a little while. I'd known him for just a couple of months before we had a huge argument. He told me that I was bossy and I said he was sexist. After that, we stopped speaking to each other, which is too bad because then he died.

To say Munio Makuuchi was intense is putting it mildly. For those more than a little acquainted with the late artist/poet, Makuuchi could be a royal pain. Yet, the slight, silver-bearded man was brilliant. His poetry, which was severely under-appreciated, often addressed controversial issues that pushed good taste to the limits. Poems about his life behind the barbed wires of Minidoka made folks cough into their fists and look up blankly into the sky. But Makuuchi continued writing his raw rhymes, oblivious to anyone's discomfort.

Born in Seattle in 1934, Makuuchi earned a B.A. from the University of Colorado at Boulder, an M.A. from the University of Iowa, and an MFA from the University of Wisconsin in Madison. Later, he taught at the University of Wisconsin in Janesville and, for seven years, at the University of Ife in Nigeria. I once wrote that he'd been a teacher and he phoned me while the ink was still wet on the newspaper.

"I was a professor," he corrected me.

Also known for his outrageously outspoken opinions, fellow writer Frank Chin was Makuuchi's college roommate. I shudder to think of those two bustling brainiacs setting up housekeeping within the confines of a single structure.

Although Makuuchi was better known for his visual art, I find his way with words more interesting. Being a hip-hop aficionado, I could really appreciate Makuuchi's rap-style rhymes. In Seattle, he was an active spoken word artist reciting against the backdrop of bands and taiko drumming groups.

As a fine artist, Makuuchi exhibited all over the world. Much of his artwork featured sad looking, rounded figures timidly drawn in pencil or with strokes of charcoal. His subjects looked soft, whimsical and totally opposite of his brazen character.

Makuuchi was also an inventor, creating colorful cut paper art that he cleverly called aerogami. Living in camp as a child, he became "utterly fascinated by flying paper airplanes" and began making them to "soar over barbed wire fences".

A book of his poetry and prints, From Lake Minidoka to Lake Mendota, was published in 1994. Makuuchi was also featured in the book Yellow Light: The Flowering of Asian American Arts edited by the late Amy Ling.

I met Makuuchi when I was looking for Asian Americans to interview for an article about single life in Seattle. Since he was the only senior candidate to respond, I was happy to send him a survey.

"Hey," Makuuchi said in his brusque manner after I interviewed him. "Take me with you when you get an extra ticket to the movies or a play."

Aware that I contributed arts and entertainment features for the newspaper, he wasn't afraid to demand a freebie. That boy could out-hustle Superfly! But Makuuchi was fair. He offered to do all the driving.

A whirlwind of contradictions, Makuuchi was entranced by the fact that my Japanese mother had married first a Black man then a white one, even though he himself had married a white woman.

"Mama didn't like yellow meat, huh?" he would leer at me.

His bold reputation was well known throughout Seattle's Asian community. I once attended a meeting hosted by the Japanese consulate for the annual Cherry Blossom Festival. As the committee discussed a publicity blitz for their event that included a televised remote, most of the people shyly demurred at being captured by a camera's lens. Suddenly, amid the tormented whispering, a confident voice cried out, "Hey! Let's get Munio!"

"Yeah, yeah," everyone at the table cheerfully agreed. "Let's get Munio. He'll do it."

Of course he'd do it. His flamboyance gave him a yearning for the spotlight. But he would do it, too, because of his dedication to the cause.

A family man with an unconventional family, Makuuchi spoke lovingly of his son, Jamie. They'd recently made up following a long period of estrangement. And after every restaurant meal, Makuuchi always ordered food to take to his Aunt Dorthea with whom he shared a home.

The first time we went to lunch, Makuuchi and I spent four hours talking over tea. I came home with my brain spinning from the marathon conversation. Maybe he knew his time was ending for it was nearly impossible to get him to shut up.

A once in a lifetime, one of a kind act, Munio Makuuchi will be missed. For all his outstanding accomplishments, his single final act will ensure we will not easily forget him--he died on Memorial Day.

Look for the spirit of Makuuchi at www.virtual-cafe.com/munio/index.html

Art used here is © 1986-1996 Munio Makuuchi, from the artist's "Camp" series.  Photography copyright © 1996 Josef LaVigne. All images are used here with permission.  View high resolution versions of more of these fine works at the Munio website at www.virtual-cafe.com/munio/index.html.