Thursday, March 31, 2011

Guest Post: Ed Markowski - Blue Collar Baseball

Forbes Field, circa 1900-1910, courtesy the Library of Congress

Back about a month or so ago, Ed Markowski sent me the following email that I asked his permission to reprint as a blog post.  He kindly granted the same, and so it was decided that this lovely piece of baseball-iana should appear on opening day, 2011.  Here it is in all its glory.

Hope you enjoy it.


---------------------


Don

Loved the Pirates of the late 50 ' s to the late 70 ' s
from Harvey Haddix & Smokey Burgess to Roberto
Willie & Manny Sanguillen to Doc Ellis Dave Cash
& Kent Tekulve hands down my favorite National
League team & had they played Detroit in the WS
would have had a hard time rooting for the Tigers.
______________________________________

When I think of it can ' t help but wonder about the
blue collar connection between Detroit Pittsburgh Chicago ,
my grandfather & father ' s union activities & my loyalty
to the Tigers , Pirates , White Sox & Cubs . Oh , i liked
the Giants of Marichal , Mc Covey , & Mays well e nuff ,
but never as much as the lunch bucket teams .
______________________________________

& Don , go figure , on June 12th , 1970 , the only game ,
complete game , shut out , and no hitter ever thrown by
a pitcher tripping on acid while thrown in California ,
was thrown by Pittsburgh ' Dock Ellis . At that time ,
my heroes had already changed from Kaline , Clemente ,
Matty Alou , Ernie Banks , Ron Santo , and Bob Gibson ,
to Rennie Davis , Grace Slick , E Cleaver , Tom Hayden ,
The Dead , and The Doors .
_____________________________________

So you know Don , when Dock tossed all them zeros
in some crazy way the lesson I learned was that it 's
entirely possible & wise to keep one foot in both worlds ,
I realized that it was perfectly ok to have Bob Gibson
& Bob Dylan as heroes ..... Our minds are vast and endless ,
& there ' s room enough at the inn for everybody .
_____________________________________

Well ok , when Cor , Pizzarelli , & I were doing the
radio interview with Jimmy Roselli at Chautauqua I
recited .............


FACTORY WINDOWS
THROUGH A FILM OF GREASE & SOOT
OUTFIELD GRASS


and told Jimmy , " alot of the auto plants had baseball
diamonds on the plant property & they sponsored teams.
Well , I was working on the assembly line and I knew
my childhood dream was over when I looked out that
window on my lunch break & realized that the side of
the window I was on was the side of the window I
would stay on for the rest of my life .

After we did the readings , we went to this bar down
the road & off Chautauqua ' s property .

I sat next to Cor and asked ......

" Why didn ' t you send factory windows for the baseball
anthology ?

I said ......
" Because I wrote the piece two nights back in room 16
the Super Eight in Mentor , Ohio while I was eating a
ballpark frank & sipping a coke that my wife and I got
at a seven - eleven "


Cor said ......
" Factory Windows would ' ve been the best in the book . "

I said ........
" Cor , I wrote baseball for ten years , you know , it ' s
an old rabbit I can still yank out of the hat every now ,
then , and there in room 16 . "


Ed


zero zero after nine the blonde in seat 7 ignoring us both





Dog days     a white butterfly       knuckleballs  its  way  to  nowhere




---------------------------




playing their games
on the sly...
pale blue butterflies
Issa
translated by David G. Lanoue






best,
Don





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Wednesday, March 30, 2011

Wednesday Haiku, Week 10: Tom Montag




Wednesday Haiku, Week #9



 
Five crows -
there's always a reason
to quarrel.
Tom Montag









don't teach your tricks
to the fawn!
cawing crows
Issa
translated by David G. Lanoue




'Crows' by Maruyama Okyo
Maruyama Okyo





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Sunday, March 27, 2011

The Glass Bead Game: Issa's Sunday Service, #96





Today's featured song is only the second instrumental so far in this ongoing literature meets rock and roll project - the first actually did have a few words, but was largely instrumental.  Today's selection is courtesy of The Thievery Corporation.

The Glass Bead Game by Hermann Hesse, the inspiration for today's selection, is one of my favorite novels by one of my favorite authors.  Largely overlooked by fans and readers in general, it is certainly one of the finest novels of the 20th century, well deserving of the Nobel Prize that it garnered for its author.  It reprises all the great themes of Hesse's career, from duality through transcendence.  There are bits of all of his great books here, if in slightly disguised forms: Siddharta, Demian, Steppenwolf, Narcissus and Goldmund, and Journey to the East, as well as many of his early student novels.

Narrated by a fictional biographer, with introductory and supplementary material, the larger part of the book passes for a partial biography of Joseph Knecht, a great Masters of the Bead Game or Magister Ludi.   Set in the 25th century, it relates the story of the intellectual province of Castalia, where the students all learn the glass bead game, a sort of interdisciplinary exercise of connections among all the great fields (literature, music, science etc.).

The folly of such an exercise, removed as it is from "the real world," slowly and steadily becomes apparent, no matter how attractive the concept.  And attractive it is; witness the proliferation of exercises online attempting to recreate its chief philosophical premise (& that's just a handful).

Some have gone so far as to suggest that the internet itself is the glass bead game manifest.  We won't go down that road but we will take some time to chill to the groove of The Thievery Corporation, a dance-acid jazz-trip hop band, that knows the ins and outs of the outs and ins.  I just learned of them last week and I'm already listening to third of four albums I could rustle up from the library and, well, they make me relax and smile.

So there you go.   The cut may have nothing more to do with The Glass Bead Game than a shared title, but if it made me mellow, well there will be no argument from me.




Sticking with the theme of the unusual, here is a composition performed by Jacques Burtin performed on the kora, entitled "La Lumiere Matin (Morning Light)," a piece the composer describes as a prelude to The Glass Bead Game.








-------------------------------------


This week's featured poems come from Lilliput Review, #102.   It is a triad of pieces that all appeared together on a single page, the stitch just tight enough to pull us through ...




Our hearts are empty for the Beloved,
and streetlamps are endless in the night.
W. T. Ranney







Dangerous kisses
pull us closer to heaven
Nowhere left to go
Kate Isaacson







The Goddess's Sweethearts
All those guys
holding hands with Kali are
already rotting away
Tom Riley








even the heavenly gods
crowd 'round...
plum blossoms
Issa
translated by David G. Lanoue






best,
Don





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Friday, March 25, 2011

Wayne Hogan: Master Artist, Lilliput Review Division



I can't speak for the world of big publishers, but as a small (well, ok, micro) press publisher in the business for over 20 years, I get amazing things in the mail with a fair amount of regularity.  The book pictured above may, however, take the cake for all-time surprises.

The incomparable Wayne Hogan, artist and poet extraordinaire, put together a book of his own artwork that has graced the covers and interiors of Lilliput Review for a good part of those 20 years.

And it is amazing.  I am not going to waste your time trying to describe what he has done - I'm going to show you (for maximum enjoyability, click each image to enlarge):




What we have here is 32 pages jam-packed with the kind of joy only Wayne Hogan can communicate with the tip of pen and a whole bundle of talent.  His work, while often levitating, nonetheless has kept this mag grounded for all these years and I am eternally grateful for that. I asked Wayne if this was a limited run and he said no, but at the moment there are a handful of copies available. Here's the details:


The chap sells for $11.56, which includes postage, and I'm nothing if not prompt in sending things out when I get a request---within no more than 2 days, barring drastically unforeseen circumstances.


So there you have it - fantastic art at a very reasonable rate.  Mail payment to "Wayne Hogan", little books press, PO Box 842, Cookeville, TN  38503.

One final note on the chap; it comes complete with a bevy of blurbs, which were quite a delightful surprise to me.  Here's the back cover:



click to enlarge




The quotes are all genuine, coming from various issues his work has appeared in.  Perhaps, I need to reel in my effusiveness.

It could become ubiquitous.

Then again, perhaps not.


---------------------------


This week's feature poem comes from Lilliput Review, #145.  This morning, I'm particularly struck by this poem as I've been preparing for a poetry discussion session next month on Walt Whitman: Father Walt.  One of the poems I'm considering covering is "As I Ebb'd with the Ocean of Life," a poem that captures him during one of his infrequent downside moments.    The tone of this week's poem, "Ebb and Flow" by Robbie Gamble, is distantly related to Whitman's and called it to mind immediately.

There is something about the pensiveness, the taking stock, we humans seem to do on returning to the ocean, that is captured in these works, as well as E. E. Cummings "maggie and millie and mollie and may."  I will follow Robbie's poem with one of my favorite modern haiku that I use when doing introductory classes, a poem by Peggy Heinrich.



Ebb and Flow
my beloved strides the water's edge
trailing her pain in a wake


I sit on the lip of the boardwalk
walking up with the turning tide,
trying to imagine what she passes through


each of us
is pulling toward something new
as water pushes on the skin of the earth


how miraculous, to both be warmed
by the same sun-soft air
Robbie Gamble




Peggy's poem is so brief and so simple that it contains the world entire:







ebb tide
turning to look back
at my footprints

Peggy Heinrich





And, finally, we continue to think very often of our friends in that land of the sea, Japan.  Here is Issa, touching a deep, deep chord:






mother I never knew,
every time I see the ocean,
every time.
Issa
translated by David G. Lanoue








best,
Don

PS  Get 2 free issues     Get 2 more free issues     Lillie poem archive

Go to the LitRock web site for a list of all 95 songs
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Wednesday, March 23, 2011

Wednesday Haiku, Week 9: Tom Blessing

Photo by bgblogging






Wednesday Haiku, Week #9




captured
in the jar of pickled eggs
the moon
Tom Blessing












sitting on her eggs
the chicken admires
the peony
Issa
translated by David G. Lanoue





Photo by Bill Barber



best,
Don

PS I mentioned to Tom his ku reminded me of Basho's about the octopus traps - so here it is.


Octopus traps - 
summer’s moonspun dreams, 
soon ended.
Bashō



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Sunday, March 20, 2011

Yeats's Grave: Issa's Sunday Service, #95





This week's selection for Issa's Sunday Service is "Yeats's Grave" by The Cranberries.  I'm not sure where I ran across this one but it is a fine example of LitRock.

The lyrics quote directly from a Yeats's poem and, as such, are actually worth a look see:


Yeats's Grave
Silenced by death in the grave
W B Yeats couldn't save
Why did you stand here
Were you sickened in time
But I know by now
Why did you sit here?
In the grave

Why should I blame her,
that she filled my days
With misery or that she would of late
Have taught to ignorant men most violent ways
Or hurled the little streets upon the grave
Had they but courage
Equal to desire

Sad that Maud Gonne couldn't stay
But she had Mac Bride anyway
And you sit here with me
on the isle Inistree

And you are writing down everything
But I know by now
Why did you sit here
In the grave...

Why should I blame her
Had they but courage equal to desire


The second verse of "Yeats's Grave" is a quotation from "No Second Troy," which follows:



No Second Troy
Why should I blame her that she filled my days
With misery, or that she would of late
Have taught to ignorant men most violent ways,
Or hurled the little streets upon the great.
Had they but courage equal to desire?
What could have made her peaceful with a mind
That nobleness made simple as a fire,
With beauty like a tightened bow, a kind
That is not natural in an age like this,
Being high and solitary and most stern?
Why, what could she have done, being what she is?
Was there another Troy for her to burn?
William Butler Yeats


The poem deals with his former lover, Maud Gonne, an actress and Irish revolutionary.  Yeats takes issue with Gonne's revolutionary ways, comparing her classic beauty by implication to Helen of Troy, whom the Trojan War was supposedly fought over.   The last line, the last of a series of questions in the poem, asks "Was there another Troy for her to burn? and the title, "No Second Troy," supplies the answer.   Background info for the poem may be found here and here ...

When folks think of Yeats,  this rendition of "An Irish Airman Foresees His Death" by Shane McGowan and the Cafe Orchestra sometimes comes to mind, especially for the musically inclined:






For no particular reason at all having to do with Yeats, here is a stunning version of Dominic Behan's "The Auld Triangle" (written for his brother, Brendan) by Luke Kelly and a couple of his Dubliner band mates:





Finally, to get back to Mr. Yeats, here's himself, reading his work:





---------------------------

This week's poem gives the dirt a little turn to see what it is we are about in the northern temperate climate these days.  Originally published in Lilliput Review #103, back in another century (April 1999), it has the lasting power of, well, a world.  Enjoy.




Think Of
silkweed and larch
milkweed
silkwood

honey and thyme

sweetgum

snow

and feel
the world
crack open
Jeanne Shannon







the cure for
this raucous world...
late cherry blossoms
Issa
translated by David G. Lanoue





best,
Don


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Friday, March 18, 2011

Some Thoughts of R. H. Blyth

 Monkey by Tōhaku


It's been over three years since I speculated that it would take me awhile to read and report back on the 4 volume colletion of Haiku by R. H. Blyth and it seems I was right.

That's some delay.

Over those years, volume 1 has sat next to my bed, moving up and down the immediate pile of books to be read, occasionally picked up, dipped into, and very much enjoyed.  Lately, I've been reading a section on haiga and haiku.  Having to lead two groups over the last two weeks through appreciation of haiku sessions, I was particularly attentive to the following:

What Bashō wanted to do, however, was to condense without heaviness, to refine without dilettantism, to philosophize without intellection.  This he could find done in pictures already.

When you are working on trying to communicate a cogent definition of haiku to folks new to the form, you pay attention when you run across a statement like this.  Further on, as Blyth sums up his thoughts on haiga and haiku,  he notes that roughness and humor are two admirable qualities of haiga.  He continues:

The insistence on the fact that humour is to be seen everywhere, under all circumstances, which is the special virtue of haiku, is also the distinguishing quality of haiga, and one which keeps it most closely connected with this world and this life.  Art comes down to earth; we are not transported into some fairy, unreal world of pure aesthetic pleasure.  The roughness gives it that peculiar quality of sabi (Ed. note: B's emphasis, not mine) without age; unfinished pictures, half-built houses, broken statuary tell the same story.  It corresponds in poetry to the fact that what we wish to say is just that which escapes the words.  Haiku and haiga therefore do not try to express it, and succeed in doing what they have not attempted.


Here are two of  Bashō's poems, as translated by Blyth, from volume 1 of his Haiku:



        Yield to the willow
All the loathing, all the desire
        of your heart.





         In the midst of the plain,
Sings the skylark,
         Free of all things.



---------------------------------------------


We all sit and wait and pray over developments in Japan.  There will be another post from Scott Watson in Sendai tomorrow. 

For now, this week's featured poem comes from Lilliput Review #143, June 2005.  It is a translation of a Japanese classic.

We wait and hope.




A spring day
filled with tranquil light.
Cherry blossoms,
why are you
falling so restlessly.
Ki-no Tomonori
translated by Dennis Maloney and Hide Oshiro








without you--
how vast
the cherry blossom grove
Issa
translated by David G. Lanoue






best,
Don





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Go to the LitRock web site for a list of all 94 songs
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Wednesday, March 16, 2011

Wednesday Haiku, Week 8: Ed Baker

 Photo by netlancer2006




Wednesday Haiku, Week #8





full moon
moving
a little closer
Ed Baker











hazy moon in the pine--
passing through
passing through 
Issa
translated by David G. Lanoue




Tsukioka Yoshitoshi






best,
Don






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Go to the LitRock web site for a list of all 94 songs
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Sunday, March 13, 2011

Jason & the Argonauts: Issa's Sunday Service, #94






This week's feature on the Sunday Service, "Jason and the Argonauts" by XTC, isn't a straight out rocker, not a song you can cuddle up to, and is really hard to define.   A description from the blog "500 Songs" catches some of its quirkiness and mystery, but there is some other indefinable something about this tune.  First, make sure you crank the volume a bit.  And, since this blog feature is all about LitRock, there are the lyrics to consider:


Jason and the Argonauts

There may be no golden fleece,
But human riches I'll release

Oh, my head is spinning like the world and its filled with beasts I've seen,
Let me put my bag down and I'll tell you it all right from the start,
Like the scarlet woman who would pick on the boys she thought were green,
And the two faced man who made a hobby of breaking his wife's heart.

Seems the more I travel,
From the foam to gravel,
As the nets unravel,
All exotic fish I find like Jason and the Argonauts

There may be no Golden Fleece,
But human riches I'll release

I was in a land where men force women to hide their facial features,
And here in the west its just the same but they're using make-up veils.
I've seen acts of every shade of terrible crime from man-like creatures,
And I've had the breath of liars blowing me off course in my sails.

Seems the more I travel,
From the foam to gravel,
As the nets unravel,
All exotic fish I find like Jason and the Argonauts

There may be no golden fleece,
But human riches I'll release.

I have watched the manimals go by
Buying shoes, buying sweets, buying knives.
I have watched the manimals and cried
Buying time, buying ends to other peoples lives.

Jason and the Argonauts

There may be no golden fleece,
But human riches Ill release.

Jason and the Argonauts

There may be no golden fleece,
But human riches I'll release.


For me this is just another rock song copping another riff until verse 5.  Then lyrically it takes off.  Musically, it is a whole other furry beast.  Fortunately, there exists an extended explanation by the lyricist and driving force of XTC, Andy Partridge, who unpacks the song, musically and lyrically, here in a fascinating interview specifically about "Jason and the Argonauts."  If you are inclined to read this long, wonderfully detailed piece I recommend you put the song on loop as you do.  It gets in your bones.



"The whole thing is almost as if you're in an incredibly fast boat, and you're looking over the prow just staring into the sea for a couple of minutes. That's the whole essence of the song, really. It's almost as if the little vocal motifs that come up are like dolphins jumping by the prow or something.  "               --- Andy Partridge



"I have watched the manimals go by ..."  - beautiful.  With a tip of the hat to H. G. Wells, as well as Apollonius.

This is XTC's first appearance on the Sunday Service, which is kind of surprising since they are something of the quintessential artrock band. 

Here is perhaps there most famous song, given the classic MTV treatment; fortunately, though the video has dated, the lyrics are not, right up to the powerful ending:



One final note about XTC; they have an alter-ego as the psychedelic band, Dukes of Stratosphere, which, in fact, I'm an even bigger fan of.  If your are a psyche music fan, I highly recommend Chips from the Chocolate Fireball, the compilation album that contains both Psonic Psunspot and 25 O'Clock in their entirety.  Here is a static video which will give you an idea of how sonically inventive they really are (if you didn't catch it from Jason).




"Brainiac's Daughter" recalls, by name association, a thriller of a Mexican horror movie, Brianiac. The reference is more directly, however, to the character Brainiac from the 50s Superman story (in Action Comics), though there was no daughter of BrainiacHowever, Wikipedia tells us, the reference came full circle in the 4 issue limited series comic, Kingdom Come, in which Brainiac's daughter was created in homage to the song.

Finally, this is not the first time Jason and the Argonauts have been referred to on the Sunday Service, replete with the commensurate skeleton fighting scene (click picture at the previous link).   Since I've already posted the skeleton scene, here is the awakening of Talos, as mentioned by Andy Partridge in the interview, above:





----------------------------------------


This week's selections from the archive come from Lilliput Review, #105, which was featured twice before on the blog.   These 3 poems opened the issue; C. C. Russell sends up what I've been trying to do for the last 23 years, largely unsuccessfully (me, not C. C.), in a spot-on satire, and Kelly Donlan's short precise little poem bridges the gap to David Chorlton's miniature masterpiece, which at once nails what is done, when it's done right, and how (it is done).  Enjoy.





  Formula For A Short Poem Under Ten Lines
Insert nature image here,
something of pain,
something of light,
and leave it
hanging
there,
not
quite
finished.
C. C. Russell







October wind
   blows to pages
I am not ready for
Kelly Donlan









Cezanne
On paper
left to breathe,
the eye completes
what strokes
of green began
David Chorlton








completing
the green mountain
a pheasant cries
Issa
translated by David G. Lanoue






best,
Don





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Go to the LitRock web site for a list of all 94 songs
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Friday, March 11, 2011

Haiku Canada Review: October 2010


A new issue of Haiku Canada Review came across my desk quite awhile back and I'm finally getting to it .  As I've mentioned before (and before that), it is one my favorite haiku mags. It comes out three times a year, is always jam packed with interesting, challenging work, including haiku, haibun, linked verse and reviews, all of which are at once thought provoking and inspirational.  Editor LeRoy Gorman deftly blends together the traditional and experimental; in the 10 years I've been reading I've never been disappointed.

The October 2010 issue is no exception. Here are a few highlights from that issue:

temple pond
the moon floats by
just out of reach
Pat Benedict


A classic haiku in form and execution, calling to mind Li Po's (Li Bai) famed adventure trying to embrace the moon.  While looking up this legendary incident, I ran across a website with 40 different translations of his own poem about drinking and the moon, (variously titled) "Drinking Alone by Moonlight." 


dust particles
suspended-
first day of school
Deborah Fox


Dust motes in the golden light of autumn seem a universal, almost a collective conscious memory.  It is the time of the year, the slant of the sun, the balance of low humidity, and atmospheric pressure - and it is magic.


the vagrant
reasoning with someone
who isn't there
Barry George


With the ubiquity of the cell phone and other connective devices, it's often hard to sort the disturbed from the disturbing.  "Reasoning" is the perfect word here because the vagrant, like the actor in a play, is completely convinced, and convincing, in his role.  The phonies, pun intended, you can smell a mile away.


This next poem begins:

another motel

and I thought, oh, the ennui, I'm not sure if I'm going to like where this is going, when it suddenly pivots on its axis:


another motel
this time nearby
frog songs
Jeanne Jorgensen


Perfect: the commonplace is transformed and, come to think of it, that's as good a definition of haiku as I've run across this week.  The frog pulls us back where we belong - the time, the place, the uniformity all fall away for a timeless event.

Here's another poem with a less than promising opening line, that takes a great turn:


two-for-one sale
crows gather
outside McDonald's
Nida


Funny and sad and ominous at once, all in 8 words, quite a slick feat.


not so sure
but the waxwings want them
ripe red berries
Bruce Ross


Here the poet, like an expert fisherman, lets the truth come to him, no easy task for the amateur. 


her tennis arm -
a swan dips its head
to the water
Richard Stevenson


On one level, this feels mundane, but there is something sublime here.  To see how close this poem comes to not working, simply place the 1st line last.  The shape and movement of the swan's neck raises the tennis arm, something usually ignored, to a thing of exquisite beauty.  Reversed, the effect would have been opposite.



cadence of bells
frail arms lift for a change
of clothes
Roberta Beary



This haiku from a haibun by Roberta Beary resonates, not only with sound, but motion.

The following is a verse from a renku:


the woman
selling dreamcatchers
sighs
Barry George


Well, it doesn't get much better than this - a haiku poet at exactly the right place at the right time, and paying attention, to boot.


hearing the train whistle
bound for the city...
here in the city
Barry George


This reminds me of the poem by Bashō about longing for Kyoto while in Kyoto.  There is more than nostalgia here, though I believe the two poems share a deep sense of longing, perhaps under very different circumstances.

Than again, perhaps the circumstances are nearly the same. Love, and the love of love, are universal.


into the future
as fast as all of us
this garden snail
George Swede


There is Issa's haiku about the snail climbing Mount Fuji (but slowly, slowly) but, dare I say it, this one rivals the Master.    Here, at once, we see why the snail may make it to the top of Mount Fuji, and why it may not, and why we may make it to the top of Mount Fuji, and why we may not.


from the bridge
between my hemispheres
grandfather still fishes
George Swede


This is another beauty by one of our modern masters; we are firmly in the present moment and at the same time, lodged in the past, all in the gray matter, deftly separated by the poet, into the two hemispheres of his own brain.  Brilliant.


The Salvation Army truck
packed from floor to ceiling
with my dead mother's things
I remove a wicker basket
I don't need
George Swede


This is touching in every sense of the word.  Each and everyone of us who have been there have done this and we may not have even made a conscious decision to do so or had the self-awareness to realize why.

birthday surprise -
no extra waves
on the ocean
Gary Hotham


This poem comes from a review of Gary Hotham's book Spilled Milk: Haiku Destinies.  The reviews in HCN are always very good and here is what the reviewer, Guy Simser, had to say about this one:

Read this literally and see a tranquil seashore picture.  Read this more deeply and you sense an ego deflating. Make of it what you will folks, He says, that's all there is.  In the time it takes a hummingbird to disappear and suddenly reappear in a different place....there's your haiku, back with a new meaning.

I like Simser's take here, most especially because he notes that Hotham's poem is so good it allows more interpretations than his own.  My kind of critic ...


For more on Haiku Canada, visit their website.   Membership includes a subscription to HCR, published 3 times a year, plus newsletters, a Members' Anthology and Haiku Canada Sheets.  Or, if you prefer, subscription includes membership, with all of the above as noted.

Membership (Subscriptions:)

Regular - Canada       - $25 CDN
Regular - U.S.           -  $27 US
Regular - International - $30 US
Student - Canada        - $15 CDN  Other $15 US

Checks or money orders should be made out to "Haiku Canada" and mailed to:

Marco Fraticelli
148 King
Pointe Claire, QC
Canada  H9R 4H4

Submissions are open to members and non-members.  Haiku, related writing, letters and reviews are welcome.  Send to:

LeRoy Gorman, Publications Editor
91 Graham West
Napanese, ON  K7R 2J6  CANADA
leroygorman AT hotmail DOT com (email spelled out to avoid harvesting)


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Lately, I've been talking to John Bennett a bit about our mutual acquaintance - a friend of John's and an acquaintance mine from my editorial work - the late artist and poet, John Harter.  John had something many poets would, and have in fact, died for: a unique voice.  I often think of him when I think of Albert Huffstickler, not because their work was similar, but because they both had genuine, unique voices that cut to the quick of things.
 
As many of you who have been reading this blog for any length of time know, every week, usually a number of times, I feature work from past issue of Lilliput Review.  Currently, the Friday and Sunday posts have poems from the mag.  I've been doing this so long that I've gone up and down the full run of Lillie issues, up to #178 now (I'm currently laying out 179 & 180), a number of times.

In looking at #142 this morning, from back in January 2005, I noted that I've featured poems from this issue twice before and that there are still a bunch of poems worth reprinting.  What I didn't think I would stumble on is poems by John Harter I had yet to feature on the blog.  And what a wonderful surprise it was.

Here are two poems by John.  Everything he did was written in caps, with his delightfully eccentric spelling (and, in one case here alignment - that's right, this isn't just another Wentworth f-up).  I hope you enjoy these two; they are beautiful in, perhaps, a little mellower way than usual for John.

It was one of the great honors and delights of my 23 years (and counting) editing this little rag to have made John's acquaintance via poetry.



FOR STEVE
OUT OF  BED       PAJAMAS      FACE
START COFFEE GET WOOD     CUT
KINDLING NEEWWWS   P
START BLAZE
OPEN TO BLUE SKY WHIITE
CLOUDS
MAPLE OVER EVERGREEN
COFFEE
NOTE YELLOW BUDS
WRITE POEMS









FOR HANS
   RIDDING INTO THE FOREST ON
   THE BACK OF AN ANT
   I FOUND A BEAUTEFULL STONE
                      AND
   PUT IT INTO MY POCKET
   I LOST IT OF COURSE
     SO HERE IS A POEM
SORRY IT'S NOT AS
               BEAUTEFULL AS
               THAT STONE
John Harter









in mosquito territory
the double blossom
yellow roses
Issa
translated by David G. Lanoue






best,
Don





Send a single haiku for the Wednesday Haiku feature.  Here's how.

Go to the LitRock web site for a list of all 93 songs
Hear 'em all at once on the the LitRock Jukebox

Wednesday, March 9, 2011

Wednesday Haiku - Week 7: Peter Newton





Wednesday Haiku, Week #7




wood's edge --
stepping inside
the sound of river
Peter Newton










watching the river
through a window of trees...
spring rain falls
Issa
translated by David G. Lanoue











best,
Don





Send a single haiku for the Wednesday Haiku feature.  Here's how.

Go to the LitRock web site for a list of all 93 songs
Hear 'em all at once on the the LitRock Jukebox

Sunday, March 6, 2011

Stephanie Knows: Issa's Sunday Service, #93







This week's selection for Issa's Sunday Service comes from one of my favorite 60s bands: Love.  The literary allusion is brief, (the mention of "poetry") with the cut being a smart, if lightweight (especially compared to their later work), pop song.  It does highlight the rocking side of a band that became famous for a more mellow folk/chamber rock vibe, best exemplified by one of the finest classic rock albums ever, Forever Changes.  

Not long after recording that album, Arthur Lee, the charismatic leader and songwriter of the band, fired everyone and started a long, checkered career with backup bands and material that never rose to the quality of his previous work.   Lee's spiraling descent hit a low point when he was sentenced to 6 to 12 years in jail i prison in 1996, the details of which may be found here.

Lee's sentence was shortened when the original trial proved tainted and he was released. What followed was an amazing coda to his story; Lee put together a new assembly of musicians, went out on the road and performed a stellar version of the Forever Changes album live, which is available in both CD and DVD editions. If you are a fan, it is not to be missed. What follows via youtube are two cuts from that tour and the Forever Changes album, performed live on Later with Jools Holland. It seemed that just as quickly as he had returned, he was gone, this time for good.

You Set the Scene



Between Clark and Hillsdale





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It would seem that issue #106 of Lilliput Review had some amazing poems, some of which have been featured here and here and here.  So, adding to those 9, here are 10 and 11: LeRoy Gorman reminding us of a classic haiku concerning the octopus dream by Bashō and Marshall Hryciun just reminding us.




baitshop's
plastic pail
of dreams
LeRoy Gorman








       Buddha's birthday parade
one of the monks
won't take his eyes off me
Marshall Hryciun









paying no heed
to Buddha's birthday...
wildflowers
Issa
translated by David G. Lanoue






best,
Don





Send a single haiku for the Wednesday Haiku feature.  Here's how.

Go to the LitRock web site for a list of all 92 songs
Hear 'em all at once on the the LitRock Jukebox

Saturday, March 5, 2011

Lost Poem Looking for Poet: "The Earth-Boat"



I have a poem on hand for publication that has become detached from its poet.  It's title is "The Earth-Boat" and its opening line is ...


The ocean's susurrus . . . .



Can anybody help out with this ...






the lost child
clutches them tightly...
cherry blossoms
Issa
translated by David G. Lanoue






best,
Don


Send a single haiku for the Wednesday Haiku feature.  Here's how.

Go to the LitRock web site for a list of all 92 songs
Hear 'em all at once on the the LitRock Jukebox

Friday, March 4, 2011

John Bennett: Battle Scars


When it comes to class acts in the poetry world, only a handful come close to Henry Denander's Kamini Press.  I've waxed on and on about the press previously, with review of two previous publications.  Pictured above, and excerpted below, is another fine volume from Mr Denander:  John Bennett's Battle Scars.


Battle Scars is something of an anomaly:  it feels as though Bennett has invented a new form, an astute amalgam of the the short poem and the aphorism.  Though the work is in natural language, or perhaps because it is, the pacing is precise. There is no mistaking Bennett's opinion on a particular subject; he is straightforward, plain-spoken, cynical, perceptive, and sarcastic.  All of which add up to one thing.

He is battle scarred.

In one little book, Bennett has solved the age-old conundrum of experience versus learning.  In Battle Scars, you may learn, at what seems as close to first hand as you can get, from someone else's hard won experience.

Need an example?


Lacking
We will
not do
what we
need to
do to
save ourselves.

We do not
have it
in us.


How's that for an empirical statement on the human experience?  New agers need not apply here.  Self-helpers, keep on walking.

Even zen-sters seem to be nodding appreciatively, or maybe that's just a no.  Hmn.


The Herd
The herd
remains happy
until
slaughter time.



Ouch.  Is this guy over the edge?  No, wait, here you go:


Reading Tea Leaves
The less
you know about
what's going on
the better
you can
see what's
coming.


Ok, so maybe what's coming ain't so hot, but here's a bit of survival technique.  Suddenly, all three poems come into stark relief; what they have in common is a point of convergence from which we can learn quite a lot.

What might that be?  The thread running through all three pieces is not fatalism or misanthropy or even old school Darwinism.  What we have here is a heightened, unsentimental perception of the human psyche, with all its warts, foibles, and limitations.

What is is.

Is "Reading Tea Leaves" the answer - it would seem that the very title isn't holding out any unadulterated hope.  But seeing patterns seems to be a help, be they in tea leaves or herds or a certain something lacking.

There are 30 of these little bon mots here, ready to pop in your metaphoric gullet, tasty as all get out, but there's a caution.  Chew well; chew very well, indeed, if digestion is your intent.  Reflux can be a nasty condition.

It leaves scars.


Hospitality
I tell
people  I'm
not one
of them &
they laugh
& say
have a
beer
John Bennett



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Lilliput Review #141 was originally published in January 2005.  Today's featured poem comes from that issue.   For 6 more poems from the same issue, check out these two posts.  Enjoy.




train
toward home
fog
on both sides
of the bridge
Pamela Miller Ness










night mist--
the horse remembers
the bridge's hole

Issa
translated by David G. Lanoue






best,
Don


Send a single haiku for the Wednesday Haiku feature.  Here's how.

Go to the LitRock web site for a list of all 90 songs
Hear 'em all at once on the the LitRock Jukebox

Wednesday, March 2, 2011

Wednesday Haiku - Week Six: Susan Diridoni






Wednesday Haiku, Week #6






this brimming reddened west your heart today
Susan Diridoni









traveling geese--
the human heart, too
soars
Issa
translated by David G. Lanoue










best,
Don




Send a single haiku for the Wednesday Haiku feature.  Here's how.

Go to the LitRock web site for a list of all 90 songs
Hear 'em all at once on the the LitRock Jukebox