6 responses

  1. Hi, great stuff. I periodically check in and like the unhurried rhythm of your haiku.
    You make recall – or though you may not – I commented right back at the beginning of the year that, many years ago (19 ) I wrote a haiku a day for my daughter in the first year she was born. As she was born 28 January they ran nicely in tandem with the unfolding year But, by the end of the year I was somewhat running out of steam! I just wondered how our we’re finding it so late on?
    In retrospect l’m glad I did it, think that some of them are actually quite good and that the process made me a better writer/ poet ( although you wouldn’t guess it from my “Drink Wine Today” voice!)
    Anyway thanks for the journey…

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    • After my first year (last year) I was exhausted. I had strictly written one haiku a day — just to say I could. This year, I’ve allowed myself some lee way — namely, going to bed before midnight whether I’ve written or not. After the first year was done, I took a little break, a month or so, then decided I missed the daily challenge — that momentary poetical absorption that was/is like meditation.

      I also felt like I was exploring some new ways to write haiku (new to me). I took up this second year. I don’t know if the quality of the haiku is better, the same, or worse. I do think I’ve written some very good poems in both years. Late fall and the start of Winter, November especially, was tough. I felt like I was in a rut — almost out of ideas or rather new ways to observe.

      In truth, the line between the formulaic and having a recognizable personal style is thin. I can’t yet say whether this last year has produced formulaic haiku or has solidified a personal and recognizable style. Even if the latter, I’m ready for a break. I’d like to write a third year, but want to let some time, maybe a few years, intervene. See what changes a little more life experience wrings out of me.

      I’m looking forward to this coming year in terms of artistic direction.

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  2. In my woods walking days many years ago abandoned houses like that really worked on my imagination, often providing the only company of human emotions in the middle of nowhere. And I mean nowhere, like four miles into a relentless woods. You could feel the history, the humble pride, the dreams, the isolation and the poverty–but also the tenacious survivalism—and date the last occupants by the magazine pictures and old newspapers they used as wallpaper.

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    • Yeah, I remember a house like that when I was a teen, and not so far from here (further up in the mountains). When you described your house it made me wonder if you were describing the same one — magazines and old newspapers… I always thing of the women who lived in these houses, probably because they were the homemakers. All the care and orderliness they put into the house, and not always without resentment, but their home nonetheless. The house becomes the ghost of a life…

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  3. In my communions I never sensed that much existential resentment among the ghosts there—figuring they had their compensations of good sex and simple, uncluttering choices living in tune with the earth. Certainly they were coping far better with realism than Hamlet up in the “Big House.” Of course that probably changed after they got television.

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