half-light
the cat turns and washes
one paw
19 September 2011
restless night
turning from one shoulder
to the other
25 September 2011
hollow oak:
the echo of
your final words
30 September 2011
Sunday, August 19, 2012
Saturday, August 18, 2012
haiku retrospective cdxvii
A friend posted something about the bygone days of haiku email lists,
the days when there were hundreds of posts a day and long long haiku
chains with dozens of authors contributing. He did not wax eloquent
about the harsh criticism that many haiku received, but that was part of
the picture as well. And, although the criticism was not as much fun as
the play, it did serve to refine our haiku.
Anyway, this calls to mind Tim Russell's haiku exercise, one that many of us found useful.
In the old days on the shiki list, we were trying to write in the style of shiki. So haiku were to be two concrete images, with a break and a seasonal reference. There was much discussion of kireji (which I am translating rather loosely as “break”) and kigo (seasonal reference). Haiku were to be drawn from one moment in time, and sketched from life like a watercolour painting (shasei).
Tim had an exercise, one that could be useful to keep our minds limber for when a haiku moment seized us by the throats. It's a very simple exercise, one that yields 10 shasei a day.
First, pick the month or season and some aspect of it to be the short part of the days' exercise:
september grasses
spring growth
dead trees
hunter's moon
summer river
Next, take a notebook and a pencil and go for a stroll or sit on a bench somewhere.
Notice something. Write it down. Turn your head in a different direction or stroll a little further. Notice something else and write it down.
Continue until you have 10 longer parts of the haiku:
a boy picking scabs on the steps
a calico cat crouched on the car's hood
the spent blossoms of the lily-of-the-nile
a cacophony of birdsong
a heavy tread coming up the steps
oak moths mating in the bathroom
a stack of plates by the dishwasher
dust on the stack of summer reading
i try to take a sip from an empty teacup
wild cucumber tangled in the redwood
Now combine them:
september grasses
a boy picking scabs
on the steps
september grasses
a calico cat crouched
on the car's hood
september grasses
the spent blossoms
of the lily-of-the-nile
september grasses
a cacophony
of birdsong
september grasses
a heavy tread coming
up the steps
september grasses
oak moths mating
in the bathroom
september grasses
a stack of plates
by the dishwasher
september grasses
dust on the stack
of summer reading
september grasses
i try to take a sip
from an empty teacup
september grasses
wild cucumber tangled
in the redwood
In Tim's exercise, you now put these things away.
Do 10 more tomorrow.
14 September 2011
Anyway, this calls to mind Tim Russell's haiku exercise, one that many of us found useful.
In the old days on the shiki list, we were trying to write in the style of shiki. So haiku were to be two concrete images, with a break and a seasonal reference. There was much discussion of kireji (which I am translating rather loosely as “break”) and kigo (seasonal reference). Haiku were to be drawn from one moment in time, and sketched from life like a watercolour painting (shasei).
Tim had an exercise, one that could be useful to keep our minds limber for when a haiku moment seized us by the throats. It's a very simple exercise, one that yields 10 shasei a day.
First, pick the month or season and some aspect of it to be the short part of the days' exercise:
september grasses
spring growth
dead trees
hunter's moon
summer river
Next, take a notebook and a pencil and go for a stroll or sit on a bench somewhere.
Notice something. Write it down. Turn your head in a different direction or stroll a little further. Notice something else and write it down.
Continue until you have 10 longer parts of the haiku:
a boy picking scabs on the steps
a calico cat crouched on the car's hood
the spent blossoms of the lily-of-the-nile
a cacophony of birdsong
a heavy tread coming up the steps
oak moths mating in the bathroom
a stack of plates by the dishwasher
dust on the stack of summer reading
i try to take a sip from an empty teacup
wild cucumber tangled in the redwood
Now combine them:
september grasses
a boy picking scabs
on the steps
september grasses
a calico cat crouched
on the car's hood
september grasses
the spent blossoms
of the lily-of-the-nile
september grasses
a cacophony
of birdsong
september grasses
a heavy tread coming
up the steps
september grasses
oak moths mating
in the bathroom
september grasses
a stack of plates
by the dishwasher
september grasses
dust on the stack
of summer reading
september grasses
i try to take a sip
from an empty teacup
september grasses
wild cucumber tangled
in the redwood
In Tim's exercise, you now put these things away.
Do 10 more tomorrow.
14 September 2011
Friday, August 17, 2012
haiku retrospective cdxxvi
turning leaves
the silence so deep it fills
with memories
13 September 2011
summer love
a faded red t-shirt rots
in the gutter
13 September 2011
september grasses
the rumble of a distant
trash cart
14 September 2011
the silence so deep it fills
with memories
13 September 2011
summer love
a faded red t-shirt rots
in the gutter
13 September 2011
september grasses
the rumble of a distant
trash cart
14 September 2011
Thursday, August 16, 2012
haiku retrospective cdxxv
neglected garden
the sweet peas
stage a riot
9 August 2011
late-summer laze
the fading sweet peas nod
in the breeze
18 August 2011
hints of autumn
a piece of my soul rushes
out the door
6 September 2011
the sweet peas
stage a riot
9 August 2011
late-summer laze
the fading sweet peas nod
in the breeze
18 August 2011
hints of autumn
a piece of my soul rushes
out the door
6 September 2011
Wednesday, August 15, 2012
haiku retrospective cdxxiv
farmer's market
checking out the guy
checking me out
21 May 2011
rolling enchiladas --
i want to wrap his smile
around me
14 June 2011
lingering silence --
i burrow into the softness
of his smile
14 June 2011
checking out the guy
checking me out
21 May 2011
rolling enchiladas --
i want to wrap his smile
around me
14 June 2011
lingering silence --
i burrow into the softness
of his smile
14 June 2011
Tuesday, August 14, 2012
haiku retrospective cdxxiii
pretending
to be grown up...
the lines around my eyes
14 April 2011
counting blessings
he includes the beautiful
dandelions
23 April 2011
no zest
empty lemon husks
on the cutting board
28 April 2011
to be grown up...
the lines around my eyes
14 April 2011
counting blessings
he includes the beautiful
dandelions
23 April 2011
no zest
empty lemon husks
on the cutting board
28 April 2011
Monday, August 13, 2012
haiku retrospective cdxxii
first farm share
i dance to “back together”
with broccoli rabe
5 April 2011
spring squall
dividing radicchio
from the farm share
7 April 2011
cold snap --
the dandelion patch open
for business
9 April 2011
i dance to “back together”
with broccoli rabe
5 April 2011
spring squall
dividing radicchio
from the farm share
7 April 2011
cold snap --
the dandelion patch open
for business
9 April 2011
Sunday, August 12, 2012
haiku retrospective cdxxi
30 March 2011
Some haiku just won't let you go.
Many years ago, I saw a very ominous blackbird hunkered down on a wrought iron fence. It had just been raining hard, but was now sunny, and the fence was covered with dazzling backlit raindrops.
I tried several times to make a go of this haiku, but it just wouldn't do it. Somehow, the image was too full, too intense to be distilled down into the form of haiku. People suggested to me that there was more there than a haiku could hold, and so I reluctantly let it go.
It held on, however, and this version whispered itself to me last night:
hunchbacked crow --
sunlit raindrops hang
from the wrought iron fence
Here, for comparison, are the earlier attempts:
backlit raindrops
on the black iron fence
blackbird fluffs her feathers
13 April 2000
pearly raindrops
on the wrought iron fence
a blackbird fluffs her feathers
14 April 2000
raindrops on the fence
a blackbird hunches
feathers fluffed
18 April 2000
Some haiku just won't let you go.
Many years ago, I saw a very ominous blackbird hunkered down on a wrought iron fence. It had just been raining hard, but was now sunny, and the fence was covered with dazzling backlit raindrops.
I tried several times to make a go of this haiku, but it just wouldn't do it. Somehow, the image was too full, too intense to be distilled down into the form of haiku. People suggested to me that there was more there than a haiku could hold, and so I reluctantly let it go.
It held on, however, and this version whispered itself to me last night:
hunchbacked crow --
sunlit raindrops hang
from the wrought iron fence
Here, for comparison, are the earlier attempts:
backlit raindrops
on the black iron fence
blackbird fluffs her feathers
13 April 2000
pearly raindrops
on the wrought iron fence
a blackbird fluffs her feathers
14 April 2000
raindrops on the fence
a blackbird hunches
feathers fluffed
18 April 2000
Saturday, August 11, 2012
haiku retrospective cdxx
tsunami shelter
deep pools of beauty
in each pair of eyes
16 March 2011
black lace and moonlight
her underthings draped
over the chair
17 March 2011
sunbathe
a dead bee
in the leaf litter
3 April 2011
deep pools of beauty
in each pair of eyes
16 March 2011
black lace and moonlight
her underthings draped
over the chair
17 March 2011
sunbathe
a dead bee
in the leaf litter
3 April 2011
Friday, August 10, 2012
haiku retrospective cdxix
lowering sky --
maple syrup soaks
into my oatmeal
28 February 2011
closed window --
the room's reflection hides
the night
3 March 2011
dying fire-
what will they find when they empty
the ashes of my life?
9 March 2011
maple syrup soaks
into my oatmeal
28 February 2011
closed window --
the room's reflection hides
the night
3 March 2011
dying fire-
what will they find when they empty
the ashes of my life?
9 March 2011
Thursday, August 9, 2012
haiku retrospective cdxviii
leafless maple
she fingers the wool
of his last chemo cap
8 January 2011
the squeak of gurney wheels
i wish the surgical staff
happy valentine's day
15 February 2011
music for breakfast --
nothing to make me think
of you
23 February 2011
she fingers the wool
of his last chemo cap
8 January 2011
the squeak of gurney wheels
i wish the surgical staff
happy valentine's day
15 February 2011
music for breakfast --
nothing to make me think
of you
23 February 2011
Wednesday, August 8, 2012
haiku retrospectiive cdxvii
cherries on a stem --
the pirate swings her booty
on the parade route
8 July 2010
fading amaryllis
the old woman scratches
a flea bite
20 September 2010
christmas bustle...
the homeless man tells me i win
the best-dressed award
26 December 2010
the pirate swings her booty
on the parade route
8 July 2010
fading amaryllis
the old woman scratches
a flea bite
20 September 2010
christmas bustle...
the homeless man tells me i win
the best-dressed award
26 December 2010
Tuesday, August 7, 2012
haiku retrospective cdxvi
A friend of mine showed me her newly cleaned car. She'd accomplished the task while her children were at dance class.
My car rarely gets a deep cleaning. Somehow, I never seem to get around to it.
spring sunshine
old parking vouchers litter
the dashboard
My children have piano lessons, a 2-hour window in which I can read or knit or work on my laptop. This week, armed with inspiration (also rags and a spray bottle of cleaning solution), I attacked the windows and washable sections of the interior. I swept the detritus off the dashboard, but couldn't quite reach the dead bee that has been riding with me for the past 4 years.
repeated arpeggios
a single dead bee faded
to sepia
I cleaned the outer windows, the driver's door, the dashboard, the steering wheel and instrument panel. My cleaning cloths were thick with dust. I leaned forward to wipe the windshield.
mozart sonata
the sudden blare
of a car horn
I jumped back. The horn kept blaring, so I tapped it to get it to stop. I leaned forward again, careful not to press against the steering wheel. The horn sounded again.
“Oh great,” I thought, “I'm interrupting their piano lesson.”
I walked around the car to attack the windshield from the passenger seat.
floating melody
the insistent monotone
from the horn
The horn was in its groove now. I'd tap the horn to get it to shut up, and three seconds later, it started singing again.
I was getting more and more agitated, knowing that the sound would be irritating to the pianists. I envisioned driving home with a blaring horn.
light spring clouds
no visible signs
of a fuse box
My son came out to see why I'd flipped out and was leaning on the car horn. I instructed him to stop the horn for me while I hunted for the fusebox. The horn had been blaring off and on for about 15 minutes by this time. With my son hitting the horn every 5 seconds or so to stop its incessant noise, I was able to do a more thorough search for the fuse box.
I knew I knew where the fuse box in this car was; I just didn't remember where it was.
Finally, the horn gave us a breather. I popped the hood and instructed my son to go forward and see if he could see any signs of where the fuse box had to be.
As soon as he went, I remembered. I popped the lid on the dash and regarded the fuse box, with one particular fuse helpfully labeled HORN.
hand on the fuse
the notes of stargazing clear
in the sunshine
I left the fuse in place and closed the fuse box. I finished cleaning out the interior of the car, no longer so enchanted with the idea of cleaning out the car during piano lessons.
deep sigh
at least the windows
are sparkling
25 March 2010
My car rarely gets a deep cleaning. Somehow, I never seem to get around to it.
spring sunshine
old parking vouchers litter
the dashboard
My children have piano lessons, a 2-hour window in which I can read or knit or work on my laptop. This week, armed with inspiration (also rags and a spray bottle of cleaning solution), I attacked the windows and washable sections of the interior. I swept the detritus off the dashboard, but couldn't quite reach the dead bee that has been riding with me for the past 4 years.
repeated arpeggios
a single dead bee faded
to sepia
I cleaned the outer windows, the driver's door, the dashboard, the steering wheel and instrument panel. My cleaning cloths were thick with dust. I leaned forward to wipe the windshield.
mozart sonata
the sudden blare
of a car horn
I jumped back. The horn kept blaring, so I tapped it to get it to stop. I leaned forward again, careful not to press against the steering wheel. The horn sounded again.
“Oh great,” I thought, “I'm interrupting their piano lesson.”
I walked around the car to attack the windshield from the passenger seat.
floating melody
the insistent monotone
from the horn
The horn was in its groove now. I'd tap the horn to get it to shut up, and three seconds later, it started singing again.
I was getting more and more agitated, knowing that the sound would be irritating to the pianists. I envisioned driving home with a blaring horn.
light spring clouds
no visible signs
of a fuse box
My son came out to see why I'd flipped out and was leaning on the car horn. I instructed him to stop the horn for me while I hunted for the fusebox. The horn had been blaring off and on for about 15 minutes by this time. With my son hitting the horn every 5 seconds or so to stop its incessant noise, I was able to do a more thorough search for the fuse box.
I knew I knew where the fuse box in this car was; I just didn't remember where it was.
Finally, the horn gave us a breather. I popped the hood and instructed my son to go forward and see if he could see any signs of where the fuse box had to be.
As soon as he went, I remembered. I popped the lid on the dash and regarded the fuse box, with one particular fuse helpfully labeled HORN.
hand on the fuse
the notes of stargazing clear
in the sunshine
I left the fuse in place and closed the fuse box. I finished cleaning out the interior of the car, no longer so enchanted with the idea of cleaning out the car during piano lessons.
deep sigh
at least the windows
are sparkling
25 March 2010
Monday, August 6, 2012
haiku retrospective cdxv
jazz club --
“i expect more than a kiss
on the second date”
20 March 2010
rain-swept mountain
he looks smaller and smaller
as he walks away
7 April 2010
vespers
the maples don
their summer vestments
10 May 2010
“i expect more than a kiss
on the second date”
20 March 2010
rain-swept mountain
he looks smaller and smaller
as he walks away
7 April 2010
vespers
the maples don
their summer vestments
10 May 2010
Sunday, August 5, 2012
haiku retrospective cdxiv
Weeks ago, I dreamed of a towering reef of black rock in the ocean,
with waterfalls running down the sheer cliff facing the land.
When I woke up, I thought, “Waterfalls in the sea... what an odd notion.”
Yesterday, we went for a walk on West Cliff in Santa Cruz. It was raining lightly, and the surf and tide were both high. Waves were breaking against and over tall black rocks with sheer cliffs facing the land.
Waterfalls flowed over the faces of the rocks and back into the ocean.
storm watch
waterfalls return the waves
to the sea
26 January 2010
When I woke up, I thought, “Waterfalls in the sea... what an odd notion.”
Yesterday, we went for a walk on West Cliff in Santa Cruz. It was raining lightly, and the surf and tide were both high. Waves were breaking against and over tall black rocks with sheer cliffs facing the land.
Waterfalls flowed over the faces of the rocks and back into the ocean.
storm watch
waterfalls return the waves
to the sea
26 January 2010
Saturday, August 4, 2012
haiku retrospective cdxiii
autumn light -
the empty swing moves
a little slower
autumn light -
the finch shakes water
off its tail
autumn light -
the sound of his dish cloth
on the mixing bowl
autumn light -
the septic tank truck trundles
up the road
autumn light -
fresh stain
on the front steps
autumn light -
she practices her dance moves
in the parking lot
autumn light -
weathered plastic skeletons
in the new dojo
autumn light -
the old poodle sighs
in his sleep
autumn light -
redwood duff
on the woodpile
autumn light -
dead jasmine branches
on the brush pile
3 October 2009
the empty swing moves
a little slower
autumn light -
the finch shakes water
off its tail
autumn light -
the sound of his dish cloth
on the mixing bowl
autumn light -
the septic tank truck trundles
up the road
autumn light -
fresh stain
on the front steps
autumn light -
she practices her dance moves
in the parking lot
autumn light -
weathered plastic skeletons
in the new dojo
autumn light -
the old poodle sighs
in his sleep
autumn light -
redwood duff
on the woodpile
autumn light -
dead jasmine branches
on the brush pile
3 October 2009
Friday, August 3, 2012
haiku retrospective cdxii
autumn chill
her long fingernails drum
with the rain
29 September 2009
gust front --
wet wool clothes huddle
on the drying racks
22 November 2009
crisp morning --
turning leaves in the depths
of the cow's eyes
25 September 2009
her long fingernails drum
with the rain
29 September 2009
gust front --
wet wool clothes huddle
on the drying racks
22 November 2009
crisp morning --
turning leaves in the depths
of the cow's eyes
25 September 2009
Thursday, August 2, 2012
haiku retrospective cdxi
The daily haiku exercise, with a twist:
arms akimbo --
a row of dumb bells
under the couch
arms akimbo --
the pan of tomato soup steaming
on the stove
arms akimbo --
a new jazz tune
on the radio
arms akimbo --
cracked glass
in the terrarium
arms akimbo --
booty moves
across the dance floor
arms akimbo --
a glass of water
on the sideboard
arms akimbo --
wet maple leaves
on the driveway
arms akimbo --
the steady ticking
of the bird clock
arms akimbo --
stars wink into view
in the evening sky
arms akimbo --
her newest baby looks at me
like I'm from mars
14 September 2009
arms akimbo --
a row of dumb bells
under the couch
arms akimbo --
the pan of tomato soup steaming
on the stove
arms akimbo --
a new jazz tune
on the radio
arms akimbo --
cracked glass
in the terrarium
arms akimbo --
booty moves
across the dance floor
arms akimbo --
a glass of water
on the sideboard
arms akimbo --
wet maple leaves
on the driveway
arms akimbo --
the steady ticking
of the bird clock
arms akimbo --
stars wink into view
in the evening sky
arms akimbo --
her newest baby looks at me
like I'm from mars
14 September 2009
Wednesday, August 1, 2012
haiku retrospective cdx
fall check-up --
she searches for ducks' feet
among the knotholes
14 September 2009
blue skies --
a raspberry seed caught
in my molar
16 September 2009
autumn chill
a faint rainbow
in the shower
21 September 2009
she searches for ducks' feet
among the knotholes
14 September 2009
blue skies --
a raspberry seed caught
in my molar
16 September 2009
autumn chill
a faint rainbow
in the shower
21 September 2009
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
Posts
