M. S. Rooney & Edgar W. Hopper: Wednesday Haiku, Week 60

Great Bronze Buddha at Kamakura

morning snow flurries
have covered the bronze Buddha
hidden reflections

M. S. Rooney 

old photograph
i smile
at my mother's smile

Edgar W. Hopper

in the great bronze
Buddha's nose chirping...
sparrow babies

     Issa
     translated by David G. Lanoue

best,
Don

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Lillie poem archive

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

Go to the LitRock web site for a list of all 129 songs

Recent News and One from the Archive

Cover by Bobo

Some misc. items of interest:

Jim Kacian, of Red Moon Press, has passed along the following "Call for Poems" that has a looming May 15th deadline:

Dimitar Anakiev is editing an international anthology of haiku dedicated to the topic of WAR. The editor invites all poets to submit their haiku written on the topic (particular interest: Vietnam, 9/11, Iraq . . . ). The poems may be previously published, no limitation in number of poems and style.

We are not interested in senryu. Japanese haiku is not free of human content but in fact links human with nature—in other words, it expresses the human in terms of nature. So "war" is human and nature is anything you want. Take for example famous haiku by Basho:

summer grass -

all that remains of

warrior's dreams

This poem has a natural topic (summer grass, a kigo) but its theme is human: "warrior dream" ( our theme: war!). We seek such haiku for the anthology and not senryu, which is another kind of poetry. Often Western poets confuse TOPIC with THEME. THEME in haiku is always human, and our choice is to do an anthology on human themes: WAR, DISCRIMINATION AND HUMAN RIGHTS VIOLENCE. (Like Basho above). So, please, do not send senryu. Thank you,

best wishes, Dimitar Anakiev

The poems should be sent by e-mail ASAP ( deadline: May 15) to"

haikukamesan at gmail dot com (written out to avoid bots ...)

For those who have not yet heard, nearly 200 years after his death, two new poems by Kobayashi Issa have been discovered. Here's an article from Mainichi Daily News with the details.

If you are not familiar with the work of the poet Lorine Niedecker, Ed Baker, the Hut's unofficial guru, has passed along this excellent website to share. Start with the poetry page; you won't be disappointed.

There is an interview with poet Noelle Kocot in a recent Publisher's Weekly. Over the years, Noelle has been very generous in sharing her work and has been published a number of times in Lillie.

After 4 months, I finished Anna Karenina. Don't ask. Of course, I read nearly two dozen books of poetry, plus Neil Gaiman's Graveyard Book, over the same period but, still, don't ask.

Recently, the always excellent Five Branch Tree website featured the following video, which I thought I'd pass on. There have also been some fine postings on David Young's book, Du Fu: A Life in Poetry. Along with great translations, some of David Young's own poems have been featured on Five Branch Tree. The music video, by the way, is entitled "Chinese Translation" and is by M. Ward:









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From the archives: Lilliput Review issue #35, from August 1992, was an all-women issue. Here's a handful of poems to enjoy:



Nocturnal

It was the leaves
louder than wind.
It was the hand
of darkness
in the leaves
came moving slowly
and the sound
of waiting in the leaves
louder than the wind.

Therese Arceneaux

Eve La Nuit

she was a sculptress
who felt eaten by men
gobbled up in their world
beaten
licked
her most famous piece
was an abstract view
some think of a bird
hungry
with a gaping mouth
or else a cock split open
or perhaps a serpent
who could tell an apple
from a woman

Belinda Subraman

our hearts beat

a flesh drum,
a circle cleared by
washing sorrow
far enough to see that

stars are round and
sea rim fans
to blue salt fingers
curving back to earth

Mary Schooler Rooney

Finally, yesterday was the anniversary of the passing of one of the blues greats, Reverend Gary Davis. Here's a very informal, yet powerful, performance of one of his great tunes, "Death Don't Have No Mercy:"

my dear one's hut--
lost amid blooming
blossoms

Issa
translated by David Lanoue

best,
Don

Basho Haiku Chapbook Update and One From the Archive

Cover by Harland Ristau

I've begun simultaneously working on the forthcoming Basho Haiku Challenge Chapbook and the new issues of Lilliput Review. As with all the other things I try to do in tandem, they've become mixed together and so as a result work on both has slowed considerably (and, of course, there are also the small matters of this daily blog and all those snail mail poems - about 1,000 batches per year - to deal with). I originally hoped to get the new issues out by February first and had projected a January publication for the BHC Chapbook, but realistically I'm looking at a March 1st date for both. One and a half issues and the entire chapbook are in the preliminary layout stages - poems done, no artwork or covers - so slow and steady progress dictates the March 1st date. If I can get the chaps out sooner I will, but the issues won't begin to go out until the 1st.

Of note this morning, The Writer's Almanac has posted a fine poem by Elizabeth Alexander, who will be presenting a new poem today at the inaugural.

Ars Poetica #100: I Believe

Poetry, I tell my students
is idiosyncratic. Poetry
is where we are ourselves.
(though Sterling Brown said
"Every 'I' is a dramatic 'I'")
digging in the clam flats
for the shell that snaps,
emptying the proverbial pocketbook.
Poetry is what you find
in the dirt in the corner,
overheard on the bus, God
in the details, the only way
to get from here to there.
Poetry (and now my voice is rising)
is not all love, love, love
and I'm sorry the dog died.
Poetry (here I hear myself loudest)
is the human voice
and are we not of interest to each other?

Elizabeth Alexander

Tuesday being the new Lilliput archive day and this being Tuesday, it's that time. This week's highlights come from issue #56, April 2004.





Stars Fading Over A Red Trace

light pierces
lacework of trees
igniting
the flame of day

his presence, always closest
in this defenseless hour

Vogn

Theatre Piece

You have only to put a pinhole
in the backdrop to create a star.
Of course, you won't see it
that way, but someone out front,
someone in the seventh row
on the aisle or high in the balcony
where the music and lines
seldom reach, will see it
for what it is, a star,
something to dream on.

Louis McKee

Word

Iris spins
wide to light,
pushes against
the pull to
cautious pinhole focus,
seeks out the word
blurring to flesh inside
the snow blind cave
in the skull.

Mary Schooler Rooney

The Way It Is

You languish in Gaia's apron pocket
chewing on the strings.

Winds are blowing through your oven
flattening your bread.

You herd with sheep in city streets,
followed by barking dogs.

Language is your Nemesis
Indian gift of the Gods.

Jane McCray

Poetry Begins

with the road gang on Route 6
repairing the pole smashed
on a Saturday night drag race
and a stray dog pissing
on the perimeters.

Ruth Daigon

Harley Time

Writing a poem
is like driving a motorcycle,
baby pigs in the side car,
while you try to keep
their little helmets on straight.

George Monagan

Finally, Ed Markowski sent this along in homage to this historic day. Enjoy.







best,
Don

Gerald Stern, Gerard Manley Hopkins, and the Despair That Is Modern Poetry

Cover by Wayne Hogan

Well, just when I thought I had everything reasonably under control I realized I've fallen behind in replies to poetry submissions, the bread and butter of a little magazine, or at least this one. So, although I'd planned to concentrate on proofing and tweaking the layout for issues #163 & 164 this weekend, I believe I'll be concentrating more on the mentioned work at hand.

For those waiting an inordinately long amount of time (over 90 days), my apologies. I should have that corrected within two weeks.

I mentioned in one of two posts last Sunday that I have been reading Gerald Stern's new book, Save the Last Dance. I finished it up yesterday and won't comment in depth until I've gone through it again at least once more, but confess to being mildly disappointed. As is usual with most modern books of poetry, there were 3 or 4 poems that grabbed me. This is exactly opposite to my usual reaction to Stern: there are usually only 3 or 4 poems that don't grab me. But, before I get ahead of myself, I obviously have some rereading to do. I'm also reading Adam Zagajewski's new volume, Eternal Enemies. Zagajewski is another poet I usually enjoy very much and I'm having a similar reaction, though there are more than 3 good poems. Perhaps more on that front later. In the meantime, here is one of the poems by Gerald Stern that did grab me (plus an audio of Stern reading it last year):


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Death By Wind

As for those who face their death by wind
and call it by the weird name of forgiveness
they alone have the right to marry birds,
and those who stopped themselves from falling down
by holding the wall up or the sink in place
they can go without much shame for they
have lived enough and they can go click, click
if they want to, they can go tok, tok
and they can marry anything, even hummingbirds.

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I'm not sure if I'm getting a bit jaded, having a little "modern" poetry burnout, or if these are just two more examples of books that prompted my quest for books of poems that are nearly perfect. The reader contributed list is currently up to 36 books. If you'd like to make a suggestion for the list, just leave it in a comment to this post or send it in an email to lilliput review at google dot com. Meanwhile, I may find myself scurrying back to Han Shan's Cold Mountain, Basho's never ending road, or Issa's most accommodating, if decidedly disheveled, hut.

A tip of the hat goes out to Rus Bowden at The Poetic Ticker for pointing the way to last week's column by Ted Kooser at American Life in Poetry. Though I'm not much for parody, the item he posted last week by R. S. Gwynn is too good in and of itself not to share. First the much esteemed original by Gerard Manley Hopkins:


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Pied Beauty

Glory be to God for dappled things—
---FFor skies of couple-colour as a brinded cow;
-------For rose-moles all in stipple upon trout that swim;
Fresh-firecoal chestnuts fall; finches' wings;
Landscape plotted and pieced—fold, fallow, and plough;
__And all trades, their gear and tackle and trim.

All things counter, original, spare, strange;
_Whatever is fickle, freckled (who knows how?)
__With swift, slow, sweet, sour; adazzle, dim;
He fathers-forth whose beauty is past change:
_________Praise him.

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Here is R. S. Gwynn's Fried Beauty, from the original American Life in Poetry post:



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Fried Beauty

Glory be to God for breaded things—
_Catfish, steak finger, pork chop, chicken thigh,
___ Sliced green tomatoes, pots full to the brim
With french fries, fritters, life-flow onion rings,
_-Hushpuppies, okra golden to the eye,
____ That in all oils, corn or canola, swim

Toward mastication's maw (O molared mouth!);
__Whatever browns, is dumped to drain and dry
______On paper towels' sleek translucent scrim,
These greasy, battered bounties of the South:
------------------ Eat them.

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Yes, refreshing as that is, I believe a return to Cold Mountain is in order very soon. For now, it's time to take a look at some poems from Lilliput Review #86, from January 1997. This one opened with a beauty by Mary S. Rooney (with one more to follow):


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The wheel is geared

carved for movement, and we,
born in winter, move,
are moved forward
_____________into spring

knowing only:
this apparent fixity of seasons,
this sweet, uncertain wobble
____________________of earth.

M. S. Rooney

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one after the other--
the last sound
the wave makes

Gary Hotham

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"Lust For Life"

smoking a cigarette, bleached
by the tv light at 1 a.m.
watching Iggy Pop
Sufi dance across an all white
sound stage on MTV

God, i wish
my dead uncle
had lived to see
this

Mark Borczon

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Answer from Tibet

When the wind
increases
to blizzard
and your feet
are not your
own, and your open arms
write without notion, that
is a prayer
flag, my friend

M. S. Rooney

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Scattered diamonds
__far below the skyscrapers:
Life isn't so beautiful.

Kiyoe Kitamura

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One final note about something I am reading and enjoying very much: One Hundred Years of Solitude by Gabriel Garcia Marquez. For many years I had been scared off this title as too complex, too hard, overwhelming etc.; I've found, in fact, that for me it is just the opposite. Though character names can be a bit difficult to follow, there is a family tree at the beginning of the book that untangles any twisted skeins. This is the art of storytelling at its finest, the oral tradition in written form. Though Louise Erdrich has long been one of my favorite contemporary writers, it's taken me until now to make the connection between these two writers. Fine stuff, indeed. And, if you are still scared off, check out Garcia Marquez's Chronicle of a Death Foretold. It is one of my favorite novels and clocks in at an unthreatening 120 pages. I don't think you'll be sorry.


Until the next go round,
Don

Gary Hotham and Yosano Akiko (& more)

Cover art by Wayne Hogan

This morning I've received notice that one of Gary Hotham's poems from Missed Appointment, #17 in the "Modest Proposal Chapbook" series, has been reprinted in the Mainichi Daily News of Tokyo. If you click on the Mainichi link, not only will you see Gary's insightful poem but also 14 other fine haikus, including Francis Masat's excellent "dusk --" and a gem by this site's patron, Issa, translated by Isamu Hashimoto. Congrats, Gary.

This week also saw the anniversary of the birth of Yosano Akiko. Yosano almost singlehandedly revitalized the tanka form for modern readers. She is one of the premiere poets of that form and to this day remains my personal favorite. I'm happy to say it has been one of my greatest thrills as an editor to be publishing Dennis Maloney's new translations of Yosano Akiko in recent Lillies, with more to come in forthcoming issues. Here are a few examples from recent numbers:


#26

Unable to touch
The hot tide of blood
Beneath my tender skin.
Do you feel lonely
Teacher of the way?
(from Lilliput Review #153)



#14

You came from Saga, near water
Love god of a single night.
The poem you composed
Within the silk bed,
Please keep it secret.
(from Lilliput Review #155)



#372

Listen lord!
Love is the voice of admiration
For violets
in the purple evening.
(from Lilliput Review #157)



Dennis, by the way, is the editor and publisher of one of the finest American small presses in business today, White Pine Press. White Pine has published and continues to publish some of the very best classic and modern Eastern and contemporary world poetry, including recent reissues of work by Sonia Sanchez and James Wright.

On the reading shelf right now are Mary Oliver's House of Light, Roddy Doyle's The Woman Who Walked into Doors, and an advanced reading copy of Manil Suri's new novel, The Age of Shiva. Doyle will be appearing here in Pittsburgh at the Drue Heinz Lectures series next month, which many folks are looking forward to. Reading these two novels at once, I've been struck not only by the obvious differences compared to America, but by the similarities, particularly on how all three cultures treat women. The rituals and rites of passage may differ; the results are the same, all adding up to tragic inequality that one could never have dreamt dragging on into the 21st century. On my daily walk to work, I am reminded of this by a piece of incisive graffiti: "No War But Class War."

So it goes, as the much missed sage would say.

After much resistance, I've been reading Mary Oliver's work on and off over the last year. She is much maligned; one particularly unjust criticism is that she writes the same poem over and over again. It is hard to believe that this criticism was actually leveled by a fellow "poet." It seems to completely misunderstand the vocation that is poetry. I wonder what Dickinson, Willie Dixon, Issa, or Picasso might say to this, all of whom might have the same criticism leveled at them.

This week's sample of Lilliput poems comes from issue #133. Enjoy.


endless
the arrival

you are
going from

~ John Phillips



October Leaves

bleed veined beauty
pure enough
to suffocate art

while we look on
with loosened hair.

~ Larsen Bowker




Shiki wrote eighteen
thousand Haiku: How many leaves
has a willow tree?

~ Robert Chute



Everybody knows that
autumn is a ghost,
haunting us with memories
of things that never happened.

~ Albert Huffstickler




My flesh heart needs teeth
and all of Buddha's koans
will not jar them loose.

~ Mary Rooney

Finally, in particular for those new to Lillie, there are samples from three past issues up in the new archive page on the (also new) website. Check it out.

Best until next time, Don.