So, I was in DC working on a project this past week and brought this book along as my only read. I wanted to force myself to sit down with it--it's so hard to create space to read such texts at home (the garden always calls me away from such pursuits). I finally made some time and have been reading through it. It's hard as a non-Japanese reading/speaking haiku writer in English to truly understand the details Shirane talks about, rooted so deeply in ages old Japanese and Chinese cultures. But, I must say such a thorough discussion on the topic of Basho's legacy has been helpful for me to better understand the cultural relevance of the forms he passed on to his students and colleagues (and us). I also see the personal relevance to myself of the Basho mystique, one of a wandering traveler ascetic artist (an icon I have looked at and explored a bit in my work and life).
Being in DC during the Cherry Blossom Festival, reading about the life and work of Basho and being quite fond of the form myself, I couldn't help but capture a few thoughts while wandering the Capital and along the Potomac. Here are a few selections:
Basho on the Metro Tanka
for Jimmy Purvis
I found Basho
on an east bound blue train
in the Metro--
a frog chirping in a pond
on an IPhone app
------------
a cherry petal
disturbs the surrounding stillness
only once
------------
a tomato seed
woven into my clothing
left overs from lunch
migrating through the DC Metro
like foods once did on wood ships
------------
looking up
cherry blossoms share blue skies
with kites
------------
train cars
filled with coal
stretch for miles
to/from Washington DC
under high voltage power lines
----------
Somewhere along the Potomac
Gothic spires part a pair of ducks in flight
momentarily separated from each other
and the water
Somewhere along the Potomac
a group of painters rushes
to capture sunset in oils
attempting to halt
cherry blossoms in flight
Somewhere along the Potomac
two lovers pose for a photograph
the river passing by eternally
on film
Somewhere along the Potomac
I watch a group of children
gather handfulls of cherry blossoms
toss them at each other like snow balls
with a shower of pink flutters
and giggles
-------------
amid DC's
bustling metro, the scent
of the Potomac
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I should add briefly that my last remaining grandparent, my beloved Fay, recently passed away, so I couldn't hide a sense of sadness, loneliness and the awareness of all life's impermanence from these poems, even during this joyous Spring season. May she forever remain, poetic, in the hearts of those privileged enough to know her (including myself).
