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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James Wright: Milkweed

While doing research at the library on James Wright for a forthcoming poetry discussion, I've discovered many things. First and foremost, I've connected with some poems that I hadn't previously, such as "A Prayer to the Lord Ramakrishna." In addition, I've been reading lots of criticism, the Paris Review Interview, and pieces of memoir. In a chapter from his book, American Poetry: Wildness and Domesticity, Robert Bly talks about Wright and their relationship and how he sees his friend's work. The lens Bly uses is, as is often the case, a large and refractive one; his debt to Jung is obvious and, on my part at least, frankly welcome. On occasion, this approach does lead to some fantastically awry notions, yet he ventures into new territory with fresh eyes and always has something interesting, often profound, to say. More often misinterpreted than misinterpreting, Bly's only "problem" is he frequently spoke in metaphors that appalled the dull-minded literalists of this world.

I'll side step for the moment his in-depth "analysis" of the poetry and recount an incident he relates as it informs one of the strange and wonderful poems in The Branch Will Not Break. Here is the poem:

Milkweed

While I stood here, in the open, lost in myself,
I must have looked a long time
Down the corn rows, beyond grass,
The small house,
White walls, animals lumbering toward the barn.
I look down now. It is all changed.
Whatever it was I lost, whatever I wept for
Was a wild, gentle thing, the small dark eyes
Loving me in secret.
It is here. At a touch of my hand,
The air fills with delicate creatures
From the other world.

James Wright

There is such an air of mystery one forgets sometimes that what is happening is very real. The poem itself might serve to sum up the entire quest which is The Branch Will Not Break. Early on in the book, the poet is striving to find himself, is lost, trying to understand how this happened and what is his relation to the world. The event is chronicled beautifully in "Lying in a Hammock at William Duffy's Farm in Pine Island Minnesota." In turning to nature, the poet does find himself in the world relative to what surrounds him. And here in "Milkweed," this revelation is reprised with a stunning lyrical beauty.

I read this poem many times and, as a writer, kept thinking of the final 3 lines as an analog for the writing process itself and, of course, they are. But they are first and foremost a lyrical depiction of a very real event: the bursting of a milkweed pod by the poet. This poem has threads that lead back to other major poems in the volume. The images themselves, the surrounding fields, the lumbering animals, the small house may all be found in "Lying in ... ." The wild gentle thing, the small dark eyes, seem at once to recall the pony in "A Blessing" and the poet's cherished secret in "The Jewel." The 3 final lines echo the haiku-like succinctness of the final 3 lines of "A Blessing", and all 3 poems share variations of a powerful revelation in the final lines.

Bly jokes in his essay that Wright's bursting of the milkweed seed pod might not have been the best thing for the surrounding fields but, as he says, never mind that for the moment.

For the moment, indeed. For myself, lyrically speaking, the delicate seeds scattering on the wind all gather together as the poems in The Branch Will Not Break, one of the 20th century's finest volumes of poetry. It never ceases to shake me, to touch me, to move me as deeply as the written word ever has.

A second thing I've discovered while doing background work was James Wright's love of the poet Georg Trakl (this link is a pdf document for those who avoid such things). And he has passed it on. I'm hooked. But I'll save that for a future post.


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This week's featured issue is #155 of Lilliput Review from 2007. Here are 5 very brief poems that reach for it all. Enjoy.





April morning-------the crow too-------has a song

Stanford Forrester

snowy road
wind picking up
our footprints

Dorothy McLaughlin

digging
& squirrels
digging too

John Martone

---There was this moment
in the middle of my life -
--------roses in the skinny limbed tree

Ron Price

violet dusk
the old, slow
aching toward

Sean Perkins

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Saturday midnight is the deadline for the 2nd Annual Bashô Haiku Challenge entries so, procrastinators, start your engines.

While polishing up this post this morning, Curtis Dunlap i.m.ed me to let me know he was reprinting an Albert Huffstickler poem from a back issue of Lillie. Here is the link; check out the lovely photo of Huff. And in related Huff news, Felicia Mitchell has started a Huff page on Facebook on which lots of remarkable things are being shared.

now I watch
with careful attention...
autumn dusk

Issa
translated by David G. Lanoue

best,
Don