Tag Archives: haiku

Haiku for 10/10/10


Direct link to video on Vimeo.

10/10/10 is variously Binary Day and 42 Day among geeks and Douglas Adams fans; a Global Day of Doing for greens; a day to try and record the world in photos and videos on Flickr; and among birders, the annual, international Big Sit bird count. For me, it was just a day to walk in the woods.

I approach videohaiku a little differently from regular videopoetry, as you’ll see. For one thing, I prefer the poem to appear as type, without audio. Also, the text can flow more directly from the imagery than with a regular videopoem. And finally, while some videohaiku makers use three short scenes in imitation of the three-line pattern that characterizes most English-language haiku, I prefer the style I’ve followed here: holding the poem until the end of a quiet, meditative scene or two. This resembles the effect of a poem on a scroll, or a haiku following a passage of prose (haibun).

I might get a second videopoem, haiku or otherwise, out of footage I shot today, but that will have to wait until tomorrow.

Posted in Plummer's Hollow, Trees, Video, Videopoetry | Tagged , , , | 5 Comments

Autumn haibun

This entry is part 19 of 41 in the series Bridge to Nowhere: poems at mid-life

Fall is a time of strange promptings, even for those of us who never succumb to vagabondage. If I happen to spot decades-old spiderwebs like wings of dust in a corner of the basement, I glance quickly away & reach for the jar of screws. And when the green is gone, when it has leached from the last of the leaves & the ground is ankle-deep in gloria mundi, I want to know the trees as Indians once did: from the flavor of their ashes. I want to learn restlessness from the natives, stand still enough to become a landmark for a mob of lekking gnats in Indian summer. I want the little brown bat in my portico to find a hibernaculum no other bat knows about, where he can hang all winter like a stilled pendulum, safe from the killer fungus the color of snow. I want my bootprints to collect the November rain & freeze: windows for whatever Argus might still be with us, insomniac, going over & over the dwindling flocks.

The Amtrak’s
quick double blast—
then cricket   cricket.

Posted in Poems & poem-like things | Tagged , | 2 Comments

Woodrat Podcast 21: Dylan Tweney

Dylan Tweney and tinywords

Dylan Tweney and tinywords (photos by Jonathan Snyder)

Dylan Tweney is the editor and publisher of tinywords, which has been serving small poems daily since 2000. The Haiku Society of America has recognized it as the “largest-circulation journal of haiku in English.” Dylan is also a senior editor at Wired, in charge of gadget news, new product reviews, and other ultra-geeky topics. The motto at the top his website reads, “If you’re bored, you’re not paying attention.” I spoke to him last month by phone, and got him talking about everything from how he handles a large volume of submissions on a part-time basis, to what he learned from studying poetry with Louise Glück, to why he decided to live-tweet a Wagner opera.

Here are a few of Dylan’s favorite haiku and micropoems from the past ten years of tinywords.

Tinywords is currently accepting submissions (through September 30) for the next issue, on cities and urban life. If you’re on Twitter, you can follow the magazine: @tinywords as well as Dylan himself: @Dylan20.

Podcast feed | Subscribe in iTunes

Theme music: “Le grand sequoia,” by Innvivo (Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-Share Alike licence)

Posted in Poets and poetry, Woodrat Podcast | Tagged , , | 4 Comments

Lepidoptera: haiku

The butterfly weed’s
deep orange—
a monarch stops to fill up

*

Halogen flashlight:
he picks out the luna moth
from 100 yards

*

The stripped catalpa
still quivers in the breeze:
starving caterpillars

*

Candlelight vigil
outside the state prison—
the smell of burning moths

*

Hummingbird battle:
only the hummingbird moth
remains on the flowers

*

Red-spotted purples
mating in mid-air—
her wings stop moving

*

Bright yellow goldfinch—
the tattered tiger swallowtail
surrenders the thistles

*

Hot August day:
I stop to check out the fur
on a woolly bear caterpillar

*

The whole hillside turns
prematurely white:
fall webworms

*

Driving home after dark
from the flood-swollen river,
a forest full of moths

*

Earlier versions of the first and fourth haiku appeared on Identica, 6/26/10 and 6/26/10.

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Corn moon

Too hot to sleep
I bask in the moonlight’s
illusion of coolness

*

A warm breeze
fireflies come blinking
out of the shadows

*

Katydids chant
full moon full moon full moon
a passing jet

*

Staring at the moon
I wish I too could be buried
up to my neck

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Enormous letters: haiku

The letters suddenly
look enormous —
ant on the keypad

*

Fireworks from the valley
blossom at eye-level –
the smell of gunpowder

*

My desk lamp has acquired
a curtain of beads:
white spiderlings

*

Coffee just poured,
I rinse the pot & find
a live firefly

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World Cup haiku

Night game:
every player in the crosshairs
of his own four shadows

*

Even when he floats,
landing is just as hard:
slow-motion replay

*

Back and forth
from head to head to head—
& the ball makes four

*

Behind the prone body,
the perimeter ads
all turn over

*

Hand on his solar plexus
where a foot connected,
he jogs upfield

*

Waving the flag
of their just-beaten team—
“We’re on TV!”

*

Six hours later
I go outside to see it,
that African moon

Posted in Greatest Hits, Poems & poem-like things | Tagged , | Comments Off

Ceiling snakes

This entry is part 4 of 41 in the series Bridge to Nowhere: poems at mid-life

Direct link to video on Vimeo

The night that a pair of mating milk snakes drops out of the ceiling, I do not dream of snakes. I dream of mating, and of breaking through the crust of the earth and discovering another world filled with an unnatural light. I dream of inescapable stairs verging on a cliff-face to which I cling like a wingless fly. When I wake, it’s still humid, if no longer hot, and a wood thrush sings at the edge of the woods, where wood thrushes always sing: one part joy, two parts longing. I find my notebook from the night before, what I’d been writing when I heard a noise in the kitchen and set it down (some writer!) to grab the video camera. Picking at a scab, it says, and worry beads. I’m sure I had something in mind, but I don’t know what. The snakes were beautiful, and if I hadn’t known better, I might’ve thought from their configuration that they were one snake with a head at both ends, curious but calm as milk snakes always seem to be. If they’d stayed longer I might’ve stood beneath them and offered the use of my body as a steep set of stairs. But the ceiling or their unfinished business called them back, and up they went.

night kitchen
feeling in the dark to pour
a glass of milk

Posted in Poems & poem-like things, Video | Tagged , | 13 Comments

Provision

Fresh snow—
the child fills the trailer
of her toy truck.

*

Packaging the cold ground meat,
my hand turns numb.

*

Netted tight & stacked
by the American Legion,
the unsold firs.

*

A barn cat by the compost
hisses in defense of eggshells.

*

The creek at dusk:
doves crowd in to drink
from the dark water.

*

Christmas Eve, & sleep’s in short supply
as sleet ticks on the windows.

Posted in Poems & poem-like things | Tagged , | 6 Comments

Buson tells a fart joke

Gakumon wa...  haiga by Yosa Buson

Gakumon wa... haiga by Yosa Buson (photo by ionushi on Flickr, Creative Commons BY-NC-ND license)

Gakumon wa ketsu kara nukeru hotaru kana

(Study/scholarship as-for, ass from exiting/emitting firefly [exclamatory particle])

All this study—
it’s coming out your ass,
oh firefly!

*

I found this gem while looking for a photo of one of Buson’s haiga (haiku illustration, a proto-Manga-like genre he did much to advance) as a possible addition to Sunday’s post. It comes courtesy of Mexican blogger and man-of-letters Aurelio Asiain, who, as it happens, now teaches at the very college in Japan where I spent a formative year as an exchange student back in 1985-86.

This is as close to an outright simile as a haiku can get. Notice that there’s no firefly in the painting, which acts as a kind of commentary on the poem. In the absence of any additional information, one could certainly read this as a poem about a firefly whose diligent study bears fruit in the radiance coming from his abdomen. But the facial expression of the figure in the painting encourages a more Rabelaisian interpretation. Notice, further, the placement of the text in relation to the figure, the calligraphy suggesting curls of vapor. This is a fart joke.

It translates particularly well into modern American English, since “talking out one’s ass” is such a popular way to characterize know-it-all bloviating. Intellectual pursuits had a much higher value in Edo-period Japan, though, where students and scholars were often poetically said to study by firefly light — a conceit that survives to this day:

“Keisetsu-jidadi” which literally translates into “the era of the firefly and snow,” means one’s student days. It derives from the Chinese folklore and refers to studying in the glow of the fireflies and snow by the window. There is also an expression “Keisetsu no kou” which means “the fruits of diligent study.”

So Buson’s insight consists simply in pointing out where on its anatomy the firefly’s light emerges.

We shouldn’t be surprised that such a humorous haiku came from the brush of one of the greatest haiku masters. Humor and earthiness were primarily what distinguished haiku and haikai no renga from the much older renga (linked verse) tradition in the first place. In social terms, haiku poetry represented a middle-class appropriation and popularization of what had been a very aristocratic pursuit. And Japan was and remains an earthy culture; there’s nothing like the split between classical and vernacular views of the body which has afflicted Westerners since the Renaissance. Buson was able to paint equally well in a high-brow Chinese style and in the cartoonish fashion seen here, just as Chaucer included the Knights Tale and the Miller’s Tale in the same work.

Posted in Art, Greatest Hits, Humor, Poets and poetry, Translations | Tagged , | 4 Comments
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