Mary Frederick Ahearn & Pravat Kumar Padhy: Wednesday Haiku, #213

Photo by Clyde Bentley

how tenderly
the hawk feeds her young -
who are we to say

Mary Frederick Ahearn

 

Photo by Chris Gunns

autumn melancholy--
the shadow connects
the trees

Pravat Kumar Padhy

Photo by Kusakabe Kimbei

 

in the wake
of the Buddhist procession...
honking geese

Issa
trans. by David G. Lanoue

best,
Don

PS  Click to learn how to contribute to Wednesday Haiku

alter-world: old pajamas

What is it we ask of the modern short-form poet, the modern haiku poet? What do we want, what is necessary in a short poem?

What do we need?

To get close to an answer to any, or all, of these questions perhaps we should be asking most importantly: what do we ask of ourselves when it comes to poetry as readers and, for some, as poets?

Old Pajamas (aka Alan Segal) is an excellent poet working in short forms for whom form itself is mercurial, form is protean, form is content's shadow. Like contemporary masters Cid Corman, John Martone, and Charlie Mehrhoff, he knows where the lines are and chooses to dance over and amongst them.

For my two cents, Old Pajamas would be a candidate for inclusion in a second edition of Haiku in English, as would Ed Baker, another fine purveyor of 'shorties' as he is wont to call them on any given day, work don't fit any strict definition but is all heart and spirit and soul.

Is the pen name 'Old Pajamas' off-putting? Just think about the various pen-names of so many Japanese poets. Even the masters - Bashō's name means banana leaf or tree, Issa's cup-of-tea, Buson's midnight studio, and Shiki's cuckoo. 

As far as English goes, Old Pajamas sounds just fine to me. 

The new collection he sent along is a limited hardcover edition, 1 of 25 printed.The book is entitled alter-world and here are four of my favorites from it:

Photo by Hadi Fooladi

ah
the butterfly
not an actor

Photo by Amour Perdu

that you're in black
flower and scaly
while I'm paleness
blinking in the dark
is enough enough for us

Photo by flugflugfunmangel

in one cricket
the sound is weary

Photo by Seth Anderson

BLOWER MOTOR #4

mad with rust  / /  camellias in bloom




Regular readers of this blog will recognize this last poem (and photo) as having appeared previously on Wednesday Haiku. 

Looking at these four pieces superficially they seem to be all over the place, form-wise. Yet, there is a unifying element among them, one of the major components of traditional haiku.

All four are firmly ground in nature.

Now, arguments could certainly be had, one way or the other, as to which, if any, are haiku, and which are not. I have my opinions and I'll keep them (mostly) to myself. 

One thing I will say is that they are all haiku-like or, even more generally, fine brief poems.   

alter-world is not available to purchase, so there is no pitch here. However, you can find more of Alan's work, from alter-world and and other places, at old pajamas: from the dirt hut. It is definitely worth your while. There is also a more extensive review of an earlier collection, Drenched Through at Old Age, here.


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

Photo by Mo

when will it become
a cricket's nest?
my white hair

Issa
trans. by David G. Lanoue

best,
Don

PS  Click to learn how to contribute to Wednesday Haiku

Goran Gatalica & Olivier Schopfer: Wednesday Haiku, #212

Photo of a Jackdaw (member of the Crow family)  by Jyrki Salmi

the Blue crow
brings morning silence
with its wings

Goran Gatalica

Photo by Ricardo Cuppini

    ​            

first drops of rain...
halfway up the wild rose stem
a ladybird stops

Olivier Schopfer

Photo by Adrian Kingsley-Hughes

making mountains rise
in the clouds...
cawing crow

Issa
trans. by David G. Lanoue

best,
Don

PS  Click to learn how to contribute to Wednesday Haiku

Chiyo-ni: the plum flower ...

Photo by Appaloosa 

so so sad 
to miss the plum flower
before it fell

Chiyo-ni
trans. by Patricia Donegan & Yoshi Ishibashi

Though I was tempted at first to say, "Here is the modern dilemma," really, here is the human dilemma, shared by no other species. In Patricia Donegan's commentary on this poem, she mentions that this is more than likely a poem of mourning for fellow haiku poet, Shiko, whose pen name means 'plum flower.' Of course, the poem stands also on its own with this second level of meaning.

One of the books in my morning "pile" of poetry is Chiyo-ni: Woman Haiku Master, translated with commentary by Patricia Donegan, with the assistance of Yoshi Ishibashi. It is truly a masterwork. Unfortunately, it is out of print from Tuttle and copies are going for $100 and up. One can only hope that it will again see the light of day as it is a must for any serious haiku collection. 

Donegan's work here, particularly as commentator, as in Haiku Mind, is transcendent. In my limited experience, she is only surpassed by Blyth. 

plum blossoms gone
suddenly Kyoto
looks old

Issa
trans. by David G. Lanoue

Photo of Seiryuga haiden

best,
Don

PS  Click to learn how to contribute to Wednesday Haiku

Michael Dylan Welch & DJ Garvey: Wednesday Haiku, #211

Photograph by Kettukusu

whistling wind—
a small snow drift
by the still rabbit

Michael Dylan Welch

Image by Jetheriot via foter

black bough
vibrating
no bird

 DJ (Dennis) Garvey

Artwork from Wellcome Images

grafting a branch--
I might be dead
tomorrow 

Issa
trans. by David G. Lanoue

best,
Don

PS  Click to learn how to contribute to Wednesday Haiku

Five Classic Cormorant Haiku

Photo by Frédéric Lemaréchal

In book 3 of R. H. Blyth's classic 4-volume Haiku, there are a number of sections on particular subjects, one being cormorant fishing. Cormorant fishing is a method, as depicted above, in which the bird has a snare attached to the base of its throat. When the cormorant catches a fish, it is unable to swallow it and the fisherman extracts it from the bird's throat. The the process is then repeated, over and over again.

This method of fishing, hundreds and hundreds of years old, inspired many haiku. And, as would be expected, most are in empathy with the plight of the bird.

Here are 4 poems by classic masters, translated by Blyth:

Art by Katsukawa Shunsen

      Cormorants
and cormorant fishers, too,
      Parent and child.    

                    Issa

This is a signature Issa poem, focused as it is on the shared experience of bird and human: both are, potentially, parent and child. Issa, who considered himself an orphan from an early age, has compassion which knows no species line. Obviously, the plight of the cormorant is especially emotive for him.

Model from Vatican Museum

      Morning twilight;
In their basket, the cormorants
      Asleep, exhausted.    

                    Shiki

Shiki goes right to the heart of the matter, the birds' terrible plight: catch the fish, be unable to eat. Hence, the exhaustion - all effort, no reward. 

Statue, Eden Park, Cincinnati, OH

      The cormorant keeper
Grown old,
      Is not to be seen this year.  

                    Buson

Buson focuses on the elderly man he remembers seeing who is the keeper and trainer of cormorants. As with Issa's poem, we see the human, in important respects, shares the plight of the cormorant: life's ephemerality.

Frontispiece, Talks about Birds

       My soul
Dived in and out of the water
       With the cormorant    

                    Onitsura

Like Shiki, Onitsura identifies completely with the task of the cormorant and replicates what is a very real emotional experience for those who witness this type of fishing.

The one master missing is Bashō from this particular selection of Blyth translations. I found his translation of the follwoing a bit cumbersome, so here it is, translated by David Landis Barnhill instead:

Artwork by Keisai Eisen

so fascinating
        but then so sad:
               cormorant fishing boat  

          Bashō

Bashō  strikes a perfect balance of humanness - the fascination with this 'ingenious' method of fishing and, suddenly, the revelation of its implication, karmic and otherwise. The range of emotion from one mere moment to the next is, in itself, something of an analogy for the human experience.

One note - there are, and have been, different methods of cormorant 'fishing.' Another method does not involve a snare around the neck, but the bird (actually, a number are used at a time) is tethered to the boat, having been trained not to swallow.

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

Woodblock by Kunisada

the cormorants stare
at them hard...
cormorant fishermen

Issa
trans. by David G. Lanoue

best,
Don

PS  Click to learn how to contribute to Wednesday Haiku

K. Ramesh & Ken Sawitri: Wednesday Haiku, #210

Photo by Ashley van Haeften  wikicommons

full moon rise...
the deer trots back
to the forest

K. Ramesh

Photo by Lyza

sudden shower
the sun flows
into countless paths

Ken Sawitri

Photo by Jane Shivery

even Mr. Moon
is slandered!
evening cool

Issa
trans. by David G. Lanoue

best,
Don

PS  Click to learn how to contribute to Wednesday Haiku

Kala Ramesh & Elmedin Kadric: Wednesday Haiku, #209

Photo by John Morgan

fallen blossom
  the silent  farewell 
deepens the sunset

Kala Ramesh

Photo by DeShaun Craddock

shadowboxing...
the panhandler
cheers me on

Elmedin Kadric 

Photo by Margherita Ballarin  via foter

lotus blossoms--
the beggar's smoke
wafts over

Issa
trans. by David G. Lanoue

best,
Don

PS  Click to learn how to contribute to Wednesday Haiku 

Daryl Nielsen & Susan Constable: Wednesday Haiku, #208

Listen here

first thought
best thought
nothing in-between

Daryl Nielsen

Photo by Tuncy

winter solstice     
I watch my shadow
climb the wall

Susan Constable

Photo by Stefan Ramsaier

speaking
this day's deepest thoughts...
poppies

Issa
trans. by David G. Lanoue

best,
Don

PS  Click to learn how to contribute to Wednesday Haiku 

Chen-ou Liu & Lisa Espenmiller: Wednesday Haiku

Kaji-jo by Chooro Kuniyoshi 

in twilight
cherry petals fall
without a sound

Chen-ou Liu

Photograph by Robert Ashworth

early morning
redwoods shrouded
in the sound of fog

Lisa Espenmiller

Ash man by @doug88888

the cherry tree
that made blossom clouds
becomes charcoal 

Issa
trans. by David G. Lanoue

best,
Don

PS  Click to learn how to contribute to Wednesday Haiku  

Steve Sanfield: a Tribute

Poet and correspondent, David Giannini, contacted me last week to pass on the sad information that haiku master poet, Steve Sanfield, had died. I'd just recently begun to acquaint myself with Sanfield's work in two anthologies of English language haiku which I've been reading over the last couple of months. The first, Haiku in English: The First Hundred Years, edited by Jim Kacian and ..... has a single poem of Steve's and the second, The Unswept Path: Contemporary American Haiku, edited by John Brandi and Dennis Maloney, which has a narrower geographical focus, has a whole section with over 35 poems.

I'll be writing more about both these anthologies in future postings. In one of life's little synchronistic moments, I'd just finished up the section of poems by Steve in Unswept Path when the news of his death came my way.

First, a poem by Sanfield from Unswept Path:


Because I have nothing else
I have begun to love
my sorrow. 


This is as touching as it is universal - at some time in each of our lives we experience the loss of love itself, which is replaced by another kind of love altogether as in this poem. This next poem is something of a prayer, one that would be appropriate each an every morning that a lapsed agnostic rises:


The silence before the dawn:
may it enter
my heart.


Another universal situation, at least as sketched out in the first line, with something of a wish/prayer for all that face it alone. Poem after poem deeply explores the ennui, the sorrow of our days:


to shake all morning
because you touched me 
—a simple bow



This is love, desire, and gratitude, all wrapped in one, in love's full glory. The poet makes us feel the emotion in an extraordinary way. 

And then this remarkable piece:


like a new season
she stands between me
and old sorrows


Remarkable in how the poet captures the transition between two exacting emotional states, the old sorrow we are all so reluctant to give up because our love is still so deeply entwined with it, and the new love standing aside in the path, showing the way. 

Here is so true a definition of love itself, I'm tempted to append it (in my own print copy) to the separate definitions in the unabridged Webster's Dictionary:


each time
surprised by it:
beauty beyond desire  



If these moved you, you can find many different editions of Steve Sanfield's work here. If you'd like to sample a few more poems, this website has a nice representation.  The later will, I'm certain, lead you back to the former. 

By the way, Sanfield called many of his poems 'hoops,' instead of haiku, and here is the reason he gave:

"I call them hoops rather than haiku, because haiku is a Japanese word for a poem usually written according to very specific guidelines. I wanted to step beyond those lines and also add another season—the season of the heart. And further, as Black Elk says, "that is because the Power of the world always worked in circles and everything tries to be round. In the old days when we were a strong and happy people, all our power came to us from the sacred hoop of the nation, and as long as the hoop was unbroken, the people flourished." 1.

Love, loss and sorrow were obviously major points of focus for Steve Sanfield. This last poem is the only one in Haiku in English, and it shows something more implied than explicit in the examples above, and certainly something that could not be more universal for those paying attention:


The earth shakes 
just enough
to  remind us.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

After putting together the above post and preparing it for posting, I ran across the following poem by Steve in my morning reading from the exemplar collection, Haiku Mind: 108 Poems to Cultivate Awareness and Open Your Heart (another being read for future posting), edited and annotated by Patricia Donegan:


a petal falls
       you
across the table


What an astounding body of work by Steve Sanfield ... 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Photo by Kentama

by itself
my head bows...
plum blossoms!

Issa
trans. by David G. Lanoue

best,
Don

PS  Click to learn how to contribute to Wednesday Haiku  

Gerald Vizenor: favor of crows: New and Collected Haiku

favor of crows by Gerald Vizenor has plenty to celebrate and plenty to ponder. The poems here are largely quiet, occasionally listless, many are image-based and some are simply revelatory, in the sense that anything revelatory can be simple.

But wait: perhaps that listlessness is something else. 


       bright hollyhocks
teeter in the rush of trains
        flurry of faces


Like many fine haiku, these poems on the surface do not give up their essence easily. So, we see that if it is mind that struggles, lay aside mind and, as again with many fine haiku, something else appears: meaning opening up with the first rays of the sun.


            gusts of rain
trees turn away from the sea
            beach stories


Gerald Vizenor is a poet, critic, cultural theorist and academician, a leading Native American writer of the last half century and a member of the Chippewa Nation. He is a haiku scholar as well as haiku poet - his introduction, entitled "Haiku Scenes," displays his command of haiku history and haiku essence, and situates him in the Zen Buddhist / R. H. Blyth school of haiku theory and practice.


            red poppies 
trace the motion of the sun
        elders in the park


His linking of Native American culture and concepts to Japanese culture is at once informative and historical (Vizenor, as was true with many Americans, encountered the culture first hand during a tour of duty in WW II), and the relationship to nature and animism in both cultures makes for interesting, thought-provoking theory.


        china sunrise
tourists circle the statues
        cicada fugues


Ultimately, there is a balance of theory and feeling, the academic and the lyrical, and the truth is revealed in the poems themselves. His haiku are firmly nature based and season themed, with two contrasting elements stylistically prompting revelations both large and small, succinct and resonant, as in this poem.


    marsh marigolds
trembling in the rain
     faces on a bus


This haiku reminded me simultaneously of the classic haiku of the horse and the trembling flowers (a little help, anyone; I can't quite recall the poet or the poem exactly) and Pound's petals/faces/Metro poem.

The book is arranged seasonally, as are many traditional haiku collections. The autumn section is particularly strong, with the following poem recalling Bashō's famous autumn crow haiku (scroll down for multiple translations via this link):


          spider web
billows on a bare branch
            empty


Vizenor is at once subtle and almost understated, presenting us with images and contrast, and letting the reader take it from there. Like the finest haiku throughout time and across cultures.


         mountain snow
warblers search for apricots
           no regrets


We know the warblers have no regrets; how about you? 

Or perhaps the warblers do. What to make of these clever little sparrows?


       noisy sparrows
flutter over the birdbath
     clearing the snow


Sentience, learned behavior, coincidence?  Some things to ask ourselves as well as the sparrows.

Gerald Vizenor asks, and his answers are of the very best type; they are suggestive, they are lyrical, they are alive.

This is a book I anticipate revisiting again and again, as the seasons return again and again.  And, as with the seasons, one can anticipate a return of joy, each time different, each time the very same. Give it a try, from the library or the nearest bookstore, electronic or otherwise. 

It will reward you deeply. 


~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Eigenfaces by Ylebru

the first cherry blossoms
soon scatter and stick...
people's faces

Issa
trans. by David G. Lanoue

best,
Don

PS  Click to learn how to contribute to Wednesday Haiku  

Laurie Kuntz & Roberta Beary: Wednesday Haiku, #206

Photo by Nemo's Great Uncle

The old man
picks the fruit
cautiously.

Laurie Kuntz

Artwork by Mattheus van Helmont

family christmas
the one who drinks  calls
just to talk

Roberta Beary

Artwork (detail) by Sidney Paget

a prize-winning chrysanthemum!
the old man
weeps

Issa
trans. by David G. Lanoue

best,
Don

PS  Click to learn how to contribute to Wednesday Haiku  

Cid Corman: Yet

I have fond memories of my correspondence with Cid Corman over the years: a generous man, a resonant poet, and an insightful master of life's great mystery.

If you don't know what that great mystery is, pick up a collection of Cid's work and you'll soon find out. You'll find no obfuscating there.

My friends at the local used and rare bookshop, Caliban Books, know something of my tastes and so, one day a year or two back when I stepped in, they handed me the little volume, pictured above, that they had put aside for me when it came in.

And I've been meaning to write about it ever since. 

A tiny little volume that fits nicely in the palm of your hand, yet was published in an edition of 500 copies by Elizabeth Press in New Rochelle, NY, in March 1974, finely stitched as you can see above. It contains 18 poems, if you count the dedication and coda pieces, which I do. And they are little gems, these 18 poems. As an example:



Cicadas
cling 
to what

there is
to 
cling to too



There's that mystery, right out of the gate. The final "too" breaks through to where the poem was destined to go, in the process carrying the full weight of its meaning. I thought immediately of Master Bashō's poem about a cricket:


How solitary it is!
Hanging on a nail -
a cricket


And another from Cid:


Shaken
is the bell of silence

Transparent
body
transparent

emptiness
listening
unquenched



Each word, precisely chosen, precisely placed.  Precise.

Here is a little something a bit unusual for Cid, and beautiful:


Beautiflies
and bizzies
making their

curious
approaches
to what stands

up to them
as part of
their pursuit


No, those aren't typos in the 1st and 2nd lines. No typos at all.


From bamboo
flask into
bamboo cup

emptiness
the source of
drunkenness


Though this has little to do with haiku and syllable count, if you look (and listen) closely you will see that Cid's precision is not by any means limited to meaning and particular word selection.

I believe you've got it now. My friends at Caliban are special. A tip o' the hat their way. 

Though a limited edition, as mentioned above, there are 9 copies available through abebooks, most of them in fine condition, ranging with shipping from 13 to 40 dollars, all waiting like a beautifly to settle perfectly in the palm of your hand. There's a couple available via amazon, too, but not in as good a condition, so I'll let you find them yourself.

~~~~~

Butterfly and wisteria by Anonymous

on the flower pot
does the butterfly, too

hear Buddha's promise?

Issa
trans. by David G. Lanoue

best,
Don

PS  Click to learn how to contribute to Wednesday Haiku