90 Frogs - karma tenzing wangchuk

The copy, pictured above, is actually the second edition of 90 Frogs by karma tenzing wangchuk, published as the first chapbook in Stanford Forrester's bottle rockets chapbook series.  Stanford provides a wonderful introduction on the composition of the original edition, which was produced by tenzing in 4 days for his mother's 90th birthday.  Not only did he present her the book but on the train on the way to visit her, tenzing made 90 origami frogs and wrote one poem on each to present to his mother on his arrival.

little frog
watch out
fly tongues about

There are any number of the poems in this collection which show the influence of the ever compassionate Issa.   Particularly when the poems directly address life forms, as with this "little frog" above, they have that timbre.

summer heat
a fly relaxing
on a frog's back

The ironical juxtaposition here of two natural "enemies" is delightful to all, except perhaps the frog.

the tree frog's
tiny toes
touched by the dawn

Time and again, tenzing's power of minute observation evinces itself, powerfully juxtaposed by the extreme minimalist of description.  What feels most impressive to me about these poems is their timeless quality; truly, as well done as they are, they could have been written by one of classic masters.

one moon
one pond
one frog

The poet here seems to tip his hat to all the possibilities of the situation, including Bashō's.

sitting patiently
without a thought
the frog

This poem nicely posits a response to critics of the anthropomorphic strain found in Issa's work, which also appears in some of the tenzing's poems in this collection.  Lighten up and laugh, folks, knowing full well what you (don't) know.

a blade of grass
bends with the weight
of a tree frog

Somehow, we feel the weight, light as it is.  And see it, too.  Truly, there is so little to say about tenzing's poems that they don't already more succinctly and more powerfully say on their own.  I'm just going to get out of the way of the next two:

back and forth
over the lake
two frogs

mrs. frog
I was once
a tadpole myself

Try this one on for size:

haiku festival
eleven frogs
hop on stage

Having just attended a haiku festival, I can tell you there is a lot of hopping around onstage.  This, however, is another timeless haiku; literal, it may be, and figurative it definitively is

frog chorus
none of the voices
out of tune

This poem shares a kinship with "waiting patiently," above - it is simple, wonderful truth

the teacher's drawer
has a frog in it
the class very quiet

Here is a moment perfectly captured.  The silence can be heard.

all those frogs
not one
with a cell phone

Ha!

Finally, three more which all, in one way or another, look back on their ancient precursor:

jumping in
the frog deepens
the silence

the frog
jumps over
the moon

the biggest splash
of them all
Basho's

This volume, of which this is just a small selection, is truly a classic of our time.  It is so rich, so resonate, and so spot-on it really is hard to believe that it has slipped out of print for a second time.  tenzing informs me that, down the line a ways, there is a possibility of another reprint.

In my view, it can't be soon enough.


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This week's selection from the Lilliput archive comes from #170, July 2009 and it is a powerful monostitich by the fine poet Grant Hackett.  Enjoy.

Each step into simplicity :: undoes the weave

                           Grant Hackett

he likes the grass
of my umbrella-hat...
flitting firefly

Issa
translated by David G. Lanoue

best,
Don

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Shelter | Street: Karma Tenzing Wangchuk

Karma Tenzing Wangchuk is a poet of the short form whom I admire very much. A new collection of his poems, Shelter | Street, pictured above, has been published by Minotaur Press (P.O Box 272, Port Townsend, WA 98368, $10) and found its way into my mail box. It is quite fine, indeed.

The volume opens with one of his best poems and its placement indicates the themes of struggle and homelessness that appear in its opening pages:

March winds-
a butterfly and I
struggle on

The poem is timeless and might just as well been written by one of the 4 haiku masters. So few words are used to capture a life, all of life really. Sorrow and pain permeate these powerful small poems:

Food Bank-
the wall we lean against
worn smooth

The detail is damning here, such a powerful image that passes unnoticed in more fortunate lives. In the following poem, the first two lines quickly state something many of us see each and everyday, yet the observation in the third line I would venture to say hardly anyone thinks:

the beggar
holding out his hand-
this too is work

In reading this first section of haiku and senryu, one is tempted to impose a narrative character to the whole. With these poems, I think of the persona as a true modern Everyman:

Palm Sunday-
the sign says FREE FOOD
but you have to kneel for it

I found the following poem, which I would characterize as a senryu rather than a haiku, though no person appears, devastating:

greasy spoon-
a fly emerges
from the plastic flower

For me, there is a powerful identification between the perceived and the perceiver; why they are there, what they are doing, and, frankly, their shared experience, their shared existence. The poet has found words to sketch what I would have thought simply beyond capturing in such a deep, resonating way. The sadness is huge, it is mind-numbing.

Further on in this volume, there are poems from an ongoing series that might be titled the "Stone Buddha" poems. In fact, the previous volume of KTW's I reviewed here is entitled just that, Stone Buddha. There is a selection of 13 here, 2 of which I recognize and singled out before. A few from this selection are either new to me or have struck me now when they didn't before, which amounts to much the same thing, eh? 2 more this time grabbed me and wouldn't let go:

first crocus-
the stone buddha's
gentle smile

stone buddha-
never a thought
for himself

The common quality here is that both of these are simply true. For me, the second resonates in such a profound way as to make it nearly perfect. Both have an enduring Zen quality, while remaining true to the "is." Another poem that captures a quality beyond its basic image is:

summer heat-
a fly relaxes
on the frog's back

There are a number of precepts in this collection reminiscent of the Four Nobles Truths and the Eightfold Way, all in less words than it takes to describe them. Least we confuse the moon with the finger pointing at it, the poet summarizes nicely:

Farmer's Market-
the fruit flies point out
the ripe ones

On one hand, what is being emphasized is the obvious; yet are we, poetry's audience, always attentive and aware, attentive and unaware, unattentive and unaware? Who better to point to the moon than the poet?

growing old
with the rest of me
...-my skeleton

Yes, obvious, but not often stated and, when stated, not often thought about in any extended way, such as:

my shadow ephemeral too

Sorrow and pain are never far from truth; a finger pointing at the path of paths:

no parents
left to shame now
...-winter rain

An almost traditional senryu, complete with seasonal allusion, and a near bottomless feeling, this poem, too, is timeless.

Sometimes, too, the magic and wonder and mystery of life can be encompassed in 9 brief words, 3 short lines:

it's the worm
inside the bird
sings the song

Is the finger pointing at the bird, or the worm, or the song, or something beyond? Oh, but the finger is mine not the poet's, you say. Really?

Bet you can read my mind.

One can go deep, deep into many of these poems and this is what gives them their close kinship to traditional haiku. Some are basic observations which, though they might not reward endless revisiting, still they grab hold when they bite, and they itch for sometime afterward.

Photo by Michael Dylan Welch

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Here are two poems, originally published side by side in Lilliput Review #148, February 2008, that make something of a set piece.

Rhododendron in a Time of War

Red petals clot on
its glossy exterior
then drop to stained ground.

Corey Cook

One

Tree sheds red petals.
Out of respect,
I forget my name,
too

Mat Favre

.赤い花頬ばって鳴きりぎりす

cheeks stuffed
with a red flower
the katydid sings

Issa
translated by David G. Lanoue

best,
Don

Stone Buddha by Karma Tenzing Wangchuk

We all know the old saw: form dictates content. By extension, artistic concept also dictates content, arguably in more restrictive way. I'm not much for a whole particular set of poems about "blah," especially if the poems are all written by one poet. Even more especially when the form is haiku.

There you go, my quirks, laid out on the line, for all to see.

And for one to prove decidedly erroneous.

That one is Karma Tenzing Wangchuk and the volume in question is Stone Buddha, put out by John Martone's exemplary tel-let press. Each volume from this press is unique; as you may see above, Stone Buddha is handmade, with a sort of papier-mache cover, front and back of which has a whole leaf (actually, the back has leaves) embedded beneath a thin layer of handmade paper. My cover, which has traveled back and forth in my satchel from work to home, is beginning to fray a bit. Two little tiny ends of leaves disengaged from the cover and now adorn the desk where I sit.

It feels as though the book wishes to return from whence it came and how very right that feels.

The poet's concept or conceit is that each poem is about or addresses a stone buddha. In his short but prescient foreward, Stanford Forrester observes that, utilizing this single object, Tenzing looks at "Time, impermanence, temporality, existence and many other concepts are explored playfully in these pages ..." I would only add playfully, yes, and very seriously also. There are over 50 stone buddha poems in this wonderful little collection. Here's a few that grabbed me and wouldn't let go:

no thought best thought stone buddha

see no evil here no evil speak no evil

----------stone buddha

the wind
not always at his back
----stone buddha

losing weight
one grain at a time-
stone buddha

like everyone else
empty of self-substance-
stone buddha

stone buddha-
never a thought
for himself

In the first one-line ku, immediately the blending of humor and seriousness is apparent. A poem of a mere six words is working on 3 levels that I can discern: a riff off the famed Beat Writer mantra "first thought, best thought," the fact that in meditation the ideal state is to cease thought or break the cycle of obsessive thinking, and, of course, lumps of stone don't think, I think.

The second ku plays off the famed pictorial proverb

and, of course, is once again literal. Still, the literal is the embodiment of the principle, again as in the first.

The third reminds me of timelessness and change - in terms of a lump of stone, it may be only one grain at a time, but like all things, including man, it tends to entropy, no matter how slowly. Buddhism does have a response to entropy; at least a handful of my own ashes will be sprinkled in the garden. We all reincarnate somehow; I tend to lean to the literal and, well, there is really nothing quite like a fresh, off-the-vine garden tomato.

The fourth ku has some deep philosophical resonance and, I suspect, is the one many people might have the most trouble buying, philosophically speaking. Still, again the goal of Buddhism is no-self and, though we are all very conscious of ego and"who we are," perhaps it is a lesson being taught here by Master Stone Buddha.

The last of my favorites from stone buddha takes us back to the first: no thought, never a thought. The literal again brings the humor, resonance elicits the depth.

I'm not sure if there are any copies of stone buddha available if you are interested or what they might cost if they are. If you are interested, try contacting John at the above link at tel-let. Meantime, here's another stone buddha poem I found at Mann Library's Daily Haiku. Click the previous and next buttons for other poems by Karma Tenzing Wangchuk - there is still another stone buddha poem, it is one of my favorites and it's not even in the book.

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This week's featured broadside is #140, October 2004, entitled For Cid by Alan Catlin. For Cid is a 7 poem suite in memory of Cid Corman, who had recently died. Broadsides are available for $1 apiece or, for this featured series, a simple SASE. They may also be purchased 3 for $2: here are the details. Finally, enough with the jabbering, already: here are 3 little beauties from that collection:

So still this night
a lone dog’s bark
is swallowed by the moon

A fade of light in tall
marsh grasses-still

water thick with refuse;
nothing moves.

Deer prints in fresh
fallen snow-

frozen scat where he
stood-no path forward

or back

--- Alan Catlin

And caught by the precise eye of Master Issa, that which isn't even there:

bush clover sprouting--
when people aren't looking
the deer eats

Issa
translated by David G. Lanoue

best,
Don

New Year's Haiku/Tanka Challenge Winners

Thanks very much to all for sending along poems with barely 12 hours of open reading time, on New Year's Eve to boot. The winning poem (haiku) is

Snow blurs tracks
From year
Just past

Russell Libby

And here are 3 runners-up ...

New Year’s Day —

the wreath has fallen

between the doors

Scott Metz

end of the year--
not enough fingers and toes
to count my blessings

Karma Tenzing Wangchuk

ashes, few embers—
enough for a fresh fire though
this New Year’s morning

Joseph Hutchison

Once again, my sincere thanks to all who sent work along. It was all solid and a nice way for me to start the new year.

Happy New Year to all.

And from Issa, a reminder: Edo is the ancient name for Tokyo, but we all may fill in the name of our own town ...

homeless, too
seeing in the new year
in Edo

Issa
translated by David G. Lanoue

best,
Don