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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.
~~~~~
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
In his preface to Blue Chicory, a collection of the work of Lorine Niedecker, edited by Cid Corman, he noted:
The poems in the first part of this collection, heretofore unseen in book form, are those that seem largely to have been "abandoned" by the poet as perhaps not up to her best work, since they were available for the Fulcrum edition of The Collected Poems. Nevertheless, they seem to me to warrant safer keeping here - even when they are variants on other pieces.
Here are four very brief poems from the first part of Blue Chicory - it is hard to deny Cid's assertion that they "warrant safer keeping."
Frog noise
suddenly stops
Listen!
They turned off
their lights
~~~~~
In the transcendence
of convalescence
the translation
of Bashō
These two poems follow one upon the other in Blue Chicory and it would be a stretch to imagine that they are unrelated, either for the poet or the editor that has placed them thus. The first, though not a variant of Bashō's famed frog ku, does bring it to mind, centering as it does on sound, and being placed as it is before "In the transcendence," which does reference the earlier master poet.
This second poem at first recalls, for those familiar with the classic Japanese haiku masters, Shiki rather than Bashō, but upon close inspection such speculation is most probably beside the point.
The moment captured here is simply as stated. All who have experienced prolonged convalescence or illness know what the transcendence is of which she speaks. To encounter a particular translation of Bashō during (or perhaps sparked by) such a volatile state might make for an astounding moment, indeed.
The radio talk this morning
was of obliterating
the world
I notice fruit flies rise
from the rind
of the recommended
melon
Here is a poem truly in the spirit of haiku, even if worked out more to tanka length, and beyond. The connection which crackles in the rubbing together of two seemingly disparate elements is the essence of haiku.
And what you liked
or did -
no matter
once the moon
dipped down
and fish rose
from under
This is an ominous tone that certainly relates to the first stanza of "The radio"." Just swap out the second stanzas in these two poems to see how tonally similar they truly are, and how very ominous, too.
Cid concludes his introduction with the following:
Her father planted trees for their community, where they stand still and more tall. She planted words where "carp-fed roots" sing every moment we light them that much taller yet. I leave you with her flowering shade.
Published by the Elizabeth Press back in 1976, this is not an easy volume to get a hold of economically (check the first link above for possible copies). More small press history than Small Press Friday, it would behoove a reader to keep an eye out for a copy to grace shelf and mind.
~~~~~
old pond--
please, you go first
frog jumping
Don
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