Hey Patrick! I read the introduction of The Penguin Book of Haiku and you were completely right. In retrospect, it makes perfect sense as most cultures try to delegitimize the “pauper” culture; it’s just more effective for us since we can’t read the unfiltered stuff. I think I am going to try even more than before to embrace humility (and fun) in my writing. Another thing that struck me: the critic said something along the lines of “haiku was always embedded in a context.” Be it renga, witty linked-verse, or haibun. Yours, for example, would be embedded in the entire Haiku year. With this thought, I tried my hand at prose since haibun has always attracted me, though I want to work on the prose first.
Sitting under an oak gives it to you straight. The bark notches into your back; the branches gnarl out with sometimes tumors; and its shadow swirls around reading some outdated time.
also, I have to say I was a little inspired by the Cliff/Bukowski mode :)
Glad you read it. I think the book is worth it for the introduction alone. The translations are a bit too forensic and literal for my tastes (lacking poetry) but the overall collection is nevertheless worth it. One finally gets a sense for the breadth of Japan’s poetic tradition—it wasn’t all just Zen sublimity.
And yes, I see my three year collection of haiku as one work. One of these days I’m going to gather them all up into a book.
And I’m glad you were inspired by Cliff. He’ll really be happy to hear that—and possibly worried. :)
This woods has no intent
But my own
To find in it comfort
To rest in its shade.
Speak to me tree
I’m lonely and lost!
It says to my longing
Well, that’s tough shit,
The next time you muse
Bring Rillie & Pat.
This woods has no intent
But my own
To find in it destiny
To rest in its shade.
Speak to me tree
I’m lonely and lost!
It says to my longing
You get what you will
If years of bare branches
Have roots in the ground
Limit is only the Fate
Of some leaves.
This woods has no intent
But my own
To find in it destiny
To rest in its shade.
Speak to me tree
I’m lonely and lost!
It says to my longing
You get what you Will
If years of bare branches
Have roots in the ground
Limit is only
The Fate of some leaves.
And should my rings of wisdom
Wax pathetic to you
Tough shit! Next time
Bring Reillie and Pat.
The problem isn’t in how you’ve arranged the parsley, it’s that the steak is poorly cooked. Given the bucolic beginnings of the poem, the fitful Turrets of the final lines is vintage Cliff—a peculiar sort of self-sabotage, as if you find any sort of poise, consistency or equanimity to be unbearable. You must destroy it immediately. It’s a peculiar feature of your poetry, one that you share, to a degree, with John Marston.
Thanks. Actually not so much masochism as welcoming the image of you and Rillie by the tree with me. But, yes, a little too “inside” for the general reader unless they follow your posts.
Tree Talk
This woods has no intent
But my own
To find in it destiny
To rest in its shade.
Speak to me tree
I’m lonely and lost!
It says to my longing
You get what you Will
If years of bare branches
Have roots in the ground
Limit is only
The Fate of some leaves.
So you would say that’s well enough alone and even worthy of Wordsworth? I ask because you suggested my nature poem previous to this could have been authored by an 11-year-old girl. Am I at least up to a 21-year-girl now, perhaps a recent Rhodes recipient on her way to Oxford to study Romantic poets?
90: November 16th 2020 | bottlecap
Hey Patrick! I read the introduction of The Penguin Book of Haiku and you were completely right. In retrospect, it makes perfect sense as most cultures try to delegitimize the “pauper” culture; it’s just more effective for us since we can’t read the unfiltered stuff. I think I am going to try even more than before to embrace humility (and fun) in my writing. Another thing that struck me: the critic said something along the lines of “haiku was always embedded in a context.” Be it renga, witty linked-verse, or haibun. Yours, for example, would be embedded in the entire Haiku year. With this thought, I tried my hand at prose since haibun has always attracted me, though I want to work on the prose first.
Sitting under an oak gives it to you straight. The bark notches into your back; the branches gnarl out with sometimes tumors; and its shadow swirls around reading some outdated time.
also, I have to say I was a little inspired by the Cliff/Bukowski mode :)
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Glad you read it. I think the book is worth it for the introduction alone. The translations are a bit too forensic and literal for my tastes (lacking poetry) but the overall collection is nevertheless worth it. One finally gets a sense for the breadth of Japan’s poetic tradition—it wasn’t all just Zen sublimity.
And yes, I see my three year collection of haiku as one work. One of these days I’m going to gather them all up into a book.
And I’m glad you were inspired by Cliff. He’ll really be happy to hear that—and possibly worried. :)
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Inspiration? The feeling is mutual.
This woods has no intent
But my own
To find in it comfort
To rest in its shade.
Speak to me tree
I’m lonely and lost!
It says to my longing
Well, that’s tough shit,
The next time you muse
Bring Rillie & Pat.
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Vintage Cliff.
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Yes, another one for the ages. I’ve titled it “Wordsworth II.”
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Does the will/fate trope work here?
Tree Talk
This woods has no intent
But my own
To find in it destiny
To rest in its shade.
Speak to me tree
I’m lonely and lost!
It says to my longing
You get what you will
If years of bare branches
Have roots in the ground
Limit is only the Fate
Of some leaves.
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Alternate ending :
If years of bare branches
Have roots in the ground
Limit is not the Fate
Of the leaves.
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Pathetic fallacy?
Tree Talk
This woods has no intent
But my own
To find in it destiny
To rest in its shade.
Speak to me tree
I’m lonely and lost!
It says to my longing
You get what you Will
If years of bare branches
Have roots in the ground
Limit is only
The Fate of some leaves.
And should my rings of wisdom
Wax pathetic to you
Tough shit! Next time
Bring Reillie and Pat.
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If not for misspelling Rillie’s name, it would be a masterpiece. Alas.
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Thanks. Rillie!
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I was thinking the fourth line from the bottom could use more compressing. Something like:
“And should my rings’ wisdom”
Does that strike you as an improvement?
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Or perhaps this:
But should my rings’ wisdom
Ring pathetic to you
Tough shit! next time
Bring Rillie and Pat.
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Or just the r-r-r alliteration here might smooth out the shift—at least it reads better to me:
The Fate of some leaves.
And should my rings of wisdom
Ring pathetic to you
Tough shit! next time
Bring Rillie and Pat.
LikeLike
The problem isn’t in how you’ve arranged the parsley, it’s that the steak is poorly cooked. Given the bucolic beginnings of the poem, the fitful Turrets of the final lines is vintage Cliff—a peculiar sort of self-sabotage, as if you find any sort of poise, consistency or equanimity to be unbearable. You must destroy it immediately. It’s a peculiar feature of your poetry, one that you share, to a degree, with John Marston.
LikeLike
Thanks. Actually not so much masochism as welcoming the image of you and Rillie by the tree with me. But, yes, a little too “inside” for the general reader unless they follow your posts.
Tree Talk
This woods has no intent
But my own
To find in it destiny
To rest in its shade.
Speak to me tree
I’m lonely and lost!
It says to my longing
You get what you Will
If years of bare branches
Have roots in the ground
Limit is only
The Fate of some leaves.
So you would say that’s well enough alone and even worthy of Wordsworth? I ask because you suggested my nature poem previous to this could have been authored by an 11-year-old girl. Am I at least up to a 21-year-girl now, perhaps a recent Rhodes recipient on her way to Oxford to study Romantic poets?
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That’s an improvement. Maybe up to 16. :)
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16, but not a “Valley Girl” I assume?
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