August 21st 2016

·
late
····August—rain darkening in the scorched
········fields
·
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I continue to read whatever haiku I can find, though Basho remains the most commonly translated and, in truth, the poet nearest my own conception of haiku. Whereas earlier in the year I looked for guidance, I  mostly read other poets for enjoyment now. After so many months, I feel as though I’ve internalized my own conception of haiku—August 19th being among my favorites. It’s the unexpected observation; the concrete image; the allusion that lends a beautiful surrealism to unanticipated association. Always, in the back of my mind, Basho’s haiku:
·
winter garden
·····the moon thinned to a thread
··········insects singing
·
What each image has to do with the next is uncertain, and yet Basho makes them seem inseparable and beautifully interdependent. I ask myself: How could it be any other way?
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289 August 21st 2016 | bottlecap
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