May 5th 2016


····at midnight—the cat in my neighbor’s

Last night’s haiku was an experiment. Its hard to write about black limbs, branches or boughs without thinking of Ezra Pound’s poem:

In a Station of the Metro

The apparition of these faces in the crowd;
Petals on a wet, black bough.

It’s frequently called a haiku, but most scholars, I think, refer to it as ‘Pound’s imagist poem’. I don’t think Pound would have called it a haiku and I haven’t read anything suggesting that was his aim. But in it’s being praised for economy of language and precision of imagery, it exemplifies what is best in the best haiku.

181 May 5th 2016 | bottlecap