Two Haiku: Ring Out the Old, Ringing in the New

Photo by Ritesh Man Tamraka

Ringing out the old, with a reminder from an old friend:

little tail twitching and gone...this world

                                                                       

Photo by Terence

And ringing in the new, from my new friend, Sho-u:



The first dream of the year;
I kept it a secret
And smiled to myself.

Sho-u
translated by R. H. Blyth

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Artwork by Edward Lear

a new year--
the same nonsense
piled on nonsense

 Issa

 translated by David G. Lanoue 

best,
Don

 

This post was something of a collaborative work - thanks very much to my good friend, Joy McCall.

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Gloria: In Excelsis Deo - Issa's Sunday Service, #150

Photo by Edward Mapplethorpe

 
 
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Who'd have thunk it - 150 songs with literary references. 150 and counting that is. Patti Smith gets the honor of this landmark number because, well, she is a people's rock artist, a people's poet. You might think the 'honor' would go to the likes of the Beatles or Van Morrison (whose song Patti is covering, and then some, here) but nope. 

All of which has a little something to do with how an artist approaches the distribution of their music, how much common sense they use in said approach, and how willing they are to see it 'out there' in the hands of the great unwashed. And at what cost. To the artist, to the great unwashed. 

To the art.

But, don't get me started.  Here's what the fab site, Songfacts, has to say about this week's song: 

Hang on, this will get confusing. Van Morrison originally wrote a song called "Gloria," released in 1964 by Morrison's band Them, on their album The Angry Young Them. The Catholic church also has a hymn called "Gloria in Excelsis Deo," also known as the Greater Doxology - it's part of both Byzantine and Roman rites and has been since the 2nd and 3rd century. So we come to this song, where Patti Smith is covering Van Morrison's "Gloria" but giving it the Catholic hymn name. Because that's the way they do it in New York!

Patti Smith was clearly aiming for deliberate sacrilege and shock-value with the title - the opening lines "Jesus died for somebody's sins, but not mine" are one of the seminal protopunk lyrics.

As to what Patti is referring to in the title, the Greater Doxology as noted above, well, that might just add to the confusion. I'm betting it's the modern translation of the present day Latin text:

Glory to God in the highest,

and on earth peace to people of good will.

We praise you,

we bless you,

we adore you,

we glorify you,

we give you thanks for your great glory,

Lord God, heavenly King,

O God, almighty Father.

Lord Jesus Christ, Only Begotten Son,

Lord God, Lamb of God, Son of the Father,

you take away the sins of the world, 

have mercy on us;

you take away the sins of the world, 

receive our prayer.

you are seated at the right hand of the Father, 

have mercy on us.

For you alone are the Holy One, 

you alone are the Lord, 

you alone are the Most High,

Jesus Christ, with the Holy Spirit, 

in the glory of God the Father. Amen

The reason I'm thinking this is that Smith's opening line is referencing "you take away the sins of the world": "Jesus died for somebody else's sins, but not mine." In any case, old or new, this seems to be what she is referring to. Surely, it isn't the modern carol, here diva-fied by Mariah Carey?

Of course not.

So, Patti has number 100 and now 150 (as well as 36 & 58)on the Litrock list - here is a relatively recent live version of Gloria; not to put too fine a point on it but she has not lost a single step:



 
Oh, and so here is what's his name, with the Brit invasion band Them, putting it out there:




Finally, the 60s version from this side of the pond that US kids, who aren't already dead, remember by the Shadows of Knight: 




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

Photograph by Alice Kandell

less high
than the sins of men...
peak of a cloud

 Issa

 translated by David G. Lanoue 

best,
Don 

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Nick Virgilio: A Life in Haiku - Small Press Friday

I came to this volume of work by Nick Virgilio virtually cold; I'd heard of him but had only read a poem or two here and there.

The book overwhelmed me with its beauty, its power, and its sadness.

First and foremost, this is not simply a retrospect of haiku by a master English language practitioner of the art.  There is an insightful introduction and afterward, by Raffael de Gruttola and Kathleen O'Toole respectively, as well as an appended tribute by Michael Doyle, Nick's parish priest. Also, there are three essays by Virgilio and, most wonderfully, the transcript of a radio interview in which the poet comes truly alive on the page.

The cumulative effect of the volume reminded me of books by Makoto Ueda on Basho and Issa: insightful, scholarly, and biographical. We are given a full, three dimensional picture of the artist and, in this case, as in the cases of Basho and Issa, this expands our understanding of the work rather than detracts from it.

There is, above all, a deep sadness that permeates Virgilio's haiku, yet, miraculously, no negativity. His attentiveness to detail displays an over powering love, a love of life, and these two seeming opposites coalesce in a feeling akin to the Eastern concept of sabi. 

Virgilio is an English language haiku poet imbuded in the spirit of the East, the spirit of haiku.

His life, ultimately, was his work, as is true of any great haiku poet. Most well-known is the profound impact of his brother's death in the Vietnam War on his life and poems. The details are hardly necessary to recount. 

The work speaks for itself. The following is just the tip of the iceberg. Without hesitation, I must say: get this book. And, since this is a Small Press Friday, why not get it directly from Turtle Light Books.
 

in the empty church
at nightfall, a lone firefly
deepens the silence

Memorial Day:
staring at the grassy plot
set aside for me

telegram in hand,
the shadow of the marine
darkens our screen door

a skylark's song
and a billowing cloud
fills my emptiness 

among the rows and rows
of white crosses
patches of young grass

my father and I
quarreling face to face
exchanging breath

filling the silence
on the long distance telephone
the things unsaid

my father and I
with no footprints to follow
step into deep snow

New Year's Eve:
pay phone receiver
dangling

Be sure to check out The Nick Virgilio Poetry Project (tip of the hat to friend Joy McCall), hosted by Rutgers University.

 
 -----------------

Photo by Drew Leavy

a battle royal
with radishes...
children

 Issa

 translated by David G. Lanoue 

best,
Don 

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Mary Oliver: Today

Mary Oliver's new book, A Thousand Mornings, has, as all her books do, a handful of very fine pieces. It's well worth reading; I find myself returning to poem after poem. There is a delicate simplicity, a certain lyric sleight of hand she performs that transports us to that place of awe and revelation. Here is a poem from that collection: 


Today

Today I'm flying low and I'm
not saying a word.
I'm letting all the voodoos of ambition sleep.

The world goes on as it must,
the bees in the garden rumbling a little,
the fish leaping, the gnats getting eaten.
And so forth.

But I'm taking the day off.
Quiet as a feather.
I hardly move though really I'm traveling
a terrific distance.

Stillness. One of the doors
into the temple.

~ Mary Oliver




Wednesday Haiku will return next week. 

on a snowy day
the temple is packed...
pigeons, sparrows

 Issa

 translated by David G. Lanoue 

best,
Don 

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Star of Bethlehem: Issa's Sunday Service, #149

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This is my very favorite Christmas song of all, on my favorite of all Neil Young albums (grossly maligned and neglected, though it is), with which I want to wish you all a great holiday season and a fine, creative new year.

And, because I can't resist, here is my second favorite Christmas song of all :

Not too shabby for a lapsed agnostic, eh?

at the hermit's hut, too--
an upturned face awaits
the stars

 Issa

 translated by David G. Lanoue 

best,
Don 

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John Bennett: Small Press Friday

Photo by Tevaprapas Makklay

Paths to God - John Bennett

A Zen monk
on a
six-month
silent retreat
with a
smuggled-in
cell phone
& a
stock portfolio.   

A little something from John Bennett, who won't back down, who tells it like it is, and who has a low tolerance for BS.  Check out his work here at Hcolom/Vagapound Press and drop him a line @ dasleben@fairpoint.net.  I love his tribute to another small press icon, Kell Robertson, which you can find at the always in your face outlaw poetry network.  

John Bennett, who spends a good deal of his time doing what he notes of Kell: bringing Moloch to its knees. 



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

Artwork by Katsushika Hokusai

a monk beats his bowl--
by now a dent
in the mountain! 

 Issa

 translated by David G. Lanoue 

best,
Don 

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Rachel Sutcliffe & dan smith: Wednesday Haiku

Photo by bkornprobst

divorce proceedings
the lawyer calls me
love 

Rachel Sutcliffe

Photo from Back Garden Moths

 



 .. but see how the moth
with singed antennae
bathes in light

dan smith

 Photo by Ross

why is playing
with fire such fun...
tiger moth?

 Issa

 translated by David G. Lanoue 

best,
Don 

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Good Shepherd: Issa's Sunday Service, #148

Photo by Sogning (paused perhaps on the edge of Dante's wood)

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As we approach the holiday season, a handful of songs come to my lapsed agnostic brain and so will be featured here today and next week.  Today's offering comes from Jefferson Airplane, my favorite band as a young neophyte music addict. The song was arranged by lead guitar player Jorma Kaukonen, whose folk, blues and bluegrass chops are impeccable, to say nothing of his awesome guitarness. 

Chalk this one up to the sentimental holidays and note that the litrock connection comes from the Bible, New Testament variety. 

Here's a beautiful acoustic version of "Good Shepherd" by a recent iteration of Hot Tuna, Jorma and Jack Cassady's spin-off Jefferson Airplane band, with the able accompaniment of Barry Mitterhoff on mandolin. 

   

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

Woodblock print by Secchu Tsubaki ni Suzume

flock of sparrows--
and not one of them
a stepchild

 Issa

 translated by David G. Lanoue 

best,
Don 

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Russell Libby 2: Small Press Friday

Still thinking about the passing of Russell Libby, I noticed that the Poetry Foundation recognized his work, which is wonderful.  Here is the poem they have of his on their site, which was featured in the American Life in Poetry project, #194. 


Applied Geometry
 
Applied geometry,  
measuring the height  
of a pine from  
like triangles,  
Rosa’s shadow stretches  
seven paces in  
low-slanting light of  
late Christmas afternoon.  
One hundred thirty nine steps  
up the hill until the sun is  
finally caught at the top of the tree,  
let’s see,  
twenty to one,  
one hundred feet plus a few to adjust  
for climbing uphill,  
and her hands barely reach mine  
as we encircle the trunk,  
almost eleven feet around.  
Back to the lumber tables.  
That one tree might make  
three thousand feet of boards  
if our hearts could stand  
the sound of its fall.


For those of you who have expressed interest in his work, here's a few more poems from around the web:


@ terrain.org 

@ Off the Coast - page down for a review, with poems, of Balance: a Late Pastoral

@ The Maine Organic Farmers and Gardeners Association

@ Poems from Gulf of Maine - another review of Balance, with poems 

@ Issa's Untidy Hut - a review of Russell's chapbook, Each Day
 


Russell was at the forefront of the Maine organic farming movement. Here on this TED video, he puts it all in perspective, capping it with an excerpt of a poem from Lew Welch:

 
   

Finally, an obituary for Russell from the Bangor Daily News, as well as an editorial from the same paper. Truly, Russell was a man whose work and life, both literal and writerly, not only reflected who he was but also who we should be. 

Which is probably as close a definition of Bodhisattva as we get here in the good old US of A. 

To balance out the geometry that opens this post, here is another poem dealing with 'math' by Russell Libby:

Early Morning

Sun just over the trees.
My shadow, forty-three paces long,
   precedes me down the hill.
Plenty of space to think
   between here and there.

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

Photo by Russell Lee

With a turnip,
the turnip farmer points
the way 

Issa

best,
Don 

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Anne Grote & Máire Morissey-Cummins: Wednesday Haiku, #94

        After Sandy's Storm
        chain saws and blowers
        the only alarm clock

Anne B. Grote

Photo by Rich Tea

winter gales

tangled in ivy

my holly wreath

Máire Morrissey-Cummins

Photo by Robin van Westrenen

in this world
unprayed-for autumn gales
surely blow

 Issa

 translated by David G. Lanoue 

best,
Don 

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Russell Libby: Rest in Peace

Portrait of Russell Libby by Robert Shetterly, from his Americans Who Tell The Truth collection.

This morning, it comes: a dull, heavy blow that Russell Libby has died. I'm having a hard time expressing the admiration I had for this man and poet, so I'll let his words stand in stead.

Just as the Inuit have many words for snow,
in some forgotten language
there is a word for the sound of the south wind
as it pushes across the tops of the ashes
and catches in the pine trees just beyond.

The poem comes from his wonderful chapbook, Moments. More from the book and on Russell may be found here.


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

mountain temple--
deep under snow
a bell

 Issa

 translated by David G. Lanoue 

best,
Don 

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