I’m off for a school visit with second graders, so my own personal haiku will have to wait ’til a little later this afternoon. In the meantime, if you’d like to catch up on the daily haiku I’ve been composing all month, click here and scroll backwards. I’ve been having the best time with this lovely little form.
And then go enjoy this short video of Robert Hass reading his translations of Issa’s haiku at the Dodge Poetry Festival awhile back. It is DELIGHTFUL! The thing I love so much about this clip is the humor in every breath. Who knew haiku could be so funny? Partly, it’s Hass’ wry delivery, to be sure, but it is also the genius of the form that such a close observation of almost anything is either heartbreaking or hilarious.
I just got home from teaching my three-and-a-half hour Thursday night marathon. And I have a school visit tomorrow. And I’m in one of my "can’t seem to sleep through the night even though I’m exhausted" phases. So, nothing witty or thoughtful or philosophical tonight.
Just this:
Haiku 23
old dog and soup bone picture of satisfaction; how little one needs
Did you know that the first Earth Day was in 1970? Which makes sense to me. There was a whole lot of awakening going on then. I grew up during the first Do Not Litter campaigns and participating in Walk for Water protests, not to mention the women’s movement and the space program.
It seems like we could’ve gotten more right by now, y’know? I mean, I don’t want to dwell on my own age, but 1970 was a good, long while ago. Right?
Still, here we are. It’s Earth Day again.
My daughter went off to school today in her hand-sewn Asian wrap pants made of recycled sheets and we ate supper on the grass in the park tonight. We have a river running smack through the middle of our town that is healthier than it used to be, and all of the electricity in our home is supplied by wind. As far as I know, the oceans are still full up with water and the Alps and the Rockies are still standing.
All is not lost. All is not right, but all is not lost.
There is a lot we can do — from reusing and recycling goods, to cutting back on our own fossil fuel emissions, to lobbying our government to do right by Mama Earth.
But also? We can pay attention.
Haiku(s) 23
what threatened species? the cockroach population is alive and well
oh, long white radish who knew what was underground? spice, substance, surprise
each small bird looms large shadows on the warm brick wall; it’s all relative
open the windows — nevermind the fighting cats nevermind the moon
Just yesterday I was going on and on to everyone I know about our stellar spring. About getting a good hit of vitamin D by day and slipping into jeans at night. About the once-a-week rain. About the frequent temps-in-the-70s. About how this is the whole point of living in Austin, Texas.
Ahem.
Today it was like 94, my friends. Ninety-four.
Haiku 21
relentless sunshine already white-hot by noon; clever coon’s asleep
I am the lone non-musician at my house. We have a violinist, a pianist, and a guy who could make music from a soup can and twine if he had to.
It’s not like I’m tone-deaf or anything; I just don’t have a handle on an instrument.
Still, I was as thrilled and satisfied as the rest of them when, this weekend, our great piano search culminated in… a piano! (Small One’s been learning on an electric keyboard for a couple of years and was ready for something with wood and strings and soul…)
But when you’re shopping via Craigslist and estate sales, you don’t necessarily find the find on your first go-round. Or the third. Or the fifth.
Still. Patience is a virtue and we now have the instrument we were meant to have. There is jockeying around who gets to give it a go. The dog howls. The air reverberates. Even I can’t resist…
Haiku 20
middle C vibrates — who knows which note should follow? birds, just passing through?
Today’s Friday, April 17th. I am more than half-way through my month of daily haiku. I can tell already that I’ll be loathe to give it up.
It is the loveliest meditation, not unlike breathing.
The things I have paid attention to in the past 17 days include tree branches, migrating birds, ants, baby eagles and my sweet ol’ dog. (By the way, in case you’ve wondered, the ants are still going strong — safely ensconced in their little plastic box and tunneling as if their lives depended on it. Which I guess they do. And the eaglets? All three have hatched and I watched a very vigorous feeding session this morning…)
Since the start of this month, I’ve found myself sitting stiller for longer than I might have otherwise. Listening a bit more carefully. Watching silently.
I have found myself thinking through my days as if they were made up of small, crystalline moments. Which I guess they are.
But still, underneath the rather Zen practice, there is the form. Haiku has its parameters and while I’m no expert, I am trying to attend to them.
Interestingly, what we think of immediately are the syllabics (three lines of 5 syllables, 7 syllables and 5 syllables, respectively) but these are really just a poorly-translated Japanese construct. A lovely and more intutive way to talk about it is to agree that haiku are spare — they are written to be read in a single breath.
(This month, I’m keeping to the 5-7-5 structure, but only because I’m finding deep pleasure working within it, not because Basho or Issu says I must…)
More important is the content. Specifically, haiku lives in time and space. Each haiku is meant to refer to the season — not directly, perhaps, but through imagery of snow or cherry blossoms, bare branches or new leaves. This reference is called a kigo and I’ve tried to stay true to it in my poems. (There is a cousin of the haiku, called a senryu, that allows you to forego the natural and seasonal, and muse instead on human nature.)
The other guiding principal of haiku is the kireji — the cutting word. This provides a point of transition, at the end of either the first or second line — a shift in syntax or imagery or perspective. For me, the kireji is the heart of most haiku, a moment of emotional weight created by the interesting rub of the two bits of the poem against each other.
If I were more of a scholar, I’d go on — the nuances within this tiny form are endless. But for today, my basic grasp will have to be enough. It’s time I get back to listening to the torrents of rain falling on my roof and the thunder behind it…
Haiku 17
the road fills with rain the black sky bellows and roars — family, come home
Well. I wrote haiku yesterday but never got around to posting any of them. It was that kind of day.
So, this post is actually Wednesday’s — if you’re okay with that. Thursday’s will follow a bit later. (Think of it as my own personal brand of time travel…)
This week, I’ve been writing some human-nature inspired haiku (often called senryu) as opposed to the more naturey-nature ones…
Monday I had a school visit, which always brings me face-to-face with a slew of vivid and uninhibited little selves. And then, of course, I have a couple of those vivid selves in-house.
My Small One has been in speech therapy for a couple of months now — her r’s are w’s and she’s also got a bit of a lisp. It’s particularly cute, if you ask me, because she’s wildly smart and funny and articulate, so to hear her wide-ranging vocabulary in her not-yet-full-grown voice just about slays me.
But lately what’s getting to me is how hard she’s willing to try to kick these habits. Turns out it is not at all easy. She’s been talking like this for seven years and now she’s got to start anew and darn if she isn’t just soldiering on. Which is how we get to the next level, isn’t it? Plugging away on each little, tiny step.
Or r, as the case may be.
Haiku 15
my daughter’s round r’s stretch out as she lifts her tongue; brave imperfection
