May 5th 2016

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even
····at midnight—the cat in my neighbor’s
········window
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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.

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181 May 5th 2016 | bottlecap