Haibun: Shadows

 

 

(Oil painting, Jane Kohut-Bartels, 2010)

 

I love the Japanese form of Haibun. It’s a form 1000 years old and originated as a travel document by poets and priests. It’s supposed to be just ‘notes’ about the surrounding environment, but at times was extended to something longer. I was challenged to write a Haibun incorporating shadows. I include a haiku at the end to ‘seal the deal’.

Haibun: Shadows

The newborn radishes are shadowed by cherry tomatoes. The almost-red globes drop down to visit. They compare hues. The garden is bathed in the light of a horizontal crescent moon, grinning like an idiot, suspended over trees that cast shadows on hillocks and deepening the valleys with their creeping darkness.
It is very early Spring. Dusk and day still balance in a pale sky, though the moon has risen.

Oh, the mystery of the night where shadows churn with imagination!

I sit on a concrete wall, watching distant clouds dance on the wind. The oaks are feathery with their foliage, the pecans still winter-nude. Day is closing. Doves are almost silent, sleepy sounding. Bats speed by, scimitars of the night. I close my eyes and drink in the approaching dark. Only those shadows attend me, and possibly a few lurking monsters.

Night’s benediction:
Bull frogs bellow in the pond
Shadows blanket day.

 

Jane Kohut-Bartels
Copyrighted, 2018

Kobayashi Issa, (1763-1827) A Haiku Poet with an Enormous Heart.

This will be the cover painting of the soon to be published (in July)

“Song of the Nightingale”.  Watercolor by the author.

–

I have had “The Essential haiku: Versions of Basho, Buson, and Issa” for a few years and have only really gotten to Basho. But recently reading Issa, (Issa means Cup-of-Tea), the world of haiku opened up in ways I didn’t expect. I have spent my Easter weekend delighting in Issa’s poetry, and it has begun to restore my battered humanity.

What is remarkable about Issa’s poetry is the compassion for the lowest of creatures (insects, etc.), the deep interest in the commonalities of life, compassion for humanity, and the celebration of the joyful celebration of the ordinary.

Haiku can be a perplexing poetry form. Recently I have read a lot of bad haiku. I’ve written about this before. (I’ve also written bad haiku myself) It seems people throw together observations and call it haiku. It generally isn’t. There are ‘rules’ and structures for this poetry form, and it seems that many people who attempt haiku have no regard for even reading or researching some of these fundamentals. If they started with a reading and research of renga, they would get some background of haiku, or hokku, which is what haiku was first called.

Renga, or linked verse, is marvelous to read. One poet starts with a three line poem, another picks it up, and so on. They can go on for a hundred linked poems or more. Usually accompanied by sake.

What was remarkable of renga, and later of haiku…is the shifts and dissolves that remind one of early surrealist films. And there are some modernist poets, like Ezra Pound’s XXX Cantos, or even better, Wallace Stevens’s “Thirteen Ways of Looking at a Blackbird” that comes near to the renga spirit, this shifting and resolve.

But the Buddhist tradition embraced this shifting and resolve. Renga, and then haiku, have a way of embracing this life, this transitory nature of all things.

I came across a part of a 14^th century treatise on poetry: “Contemplate deeply the vicissitudes of the life of man and body, always keep in your heart the image of mujo (ephemerality) and when you go to the mountains or the sea, feel the pathos (aware) of the karma of sentient beings and non-sentient things. Give feeling to those things without a heart (mushintai no mono) and through your own heart express their beauty (yugen) in a delicate form.”(from “Basho and the Way of Poetry in the Japanese Religious Tradition”)

Again, haiku isn’t as simple as it seems. But it’s direct, forceful and of a keenness that satisfies.

People complain of the ‘oddness’ of haiku. Perhaps it is this ‘shifts and resolve’ embedded in the form. To me, Issa has less of this than Basho or Buson. There is a directness and compassion of Issa that deeply involves the heart and eyes.

My words will not convince anyone. But perhaps examples of Issa will.

Lady Nyo

–

Haiku of Issa: from The Essential Haiku, edited by Robert Hass

–

 

New Year’s Day—

Everything is in blossom!

I feel about average.

–

The snow is melting

And the village is flooded

With children.

–

Don’t worry, spiders,

I keep house

Casually.

–

Goes out,

Comes back—

The loves of a cat.

–

Children imitating cormorants

Are even more wonderful

Than cormorants.

–

O flea! Whatever you do,

Don’t jump.

That way is the river.

–

In this world

We walk on the roof of hell,

Gazing at flowers.

–

Don’t kill that fly!

Look—it’s wringing its hands

Wringing its feet.

–

I’m going out,

Flies, so relax,

Make love.

–

(approaching his village)

Don’t know about the people,

But all the scarecrows

Are crooked.

–

A huge frog and I,

Staring at each other,

Neither of us moves.

–

All the time I pray to Buddha

I keep on

Killing mosquitoes.

–

What good luck!

Bitten by

This year’s mosquitoes too.

–

The bedbug

Scatter as I clean,

Parents and children.

–

And my personal favorite…

Zealous flea,

You’re about to be a Buddha

By my hand.

–

A few of my own, struggling with the form.

–

Dogwoods are blooming.

The crucifixion appears

White moths in the night.

–

Tibetan earthworms

Bring a halt to all labor.

Here? Fat koi eat well.

–

Radishes are Up!

From such tiny seeds they grow

My stomach rumbles.

–

The morning glories

Twisting up the iron fence

paint random colors.

–

Sorrow floats like air

Strong winds blow throughout the night

Plague of death descends.

–

Pale lavender sky

Balances the moon and sun

The scale shifts to night.

–

Jane Kohut-Bartels

Copyrighted, 2013-2015

 

 

 

 

 

New Haiku, “Cold Moon” and a poem, “Plum Blossom Snow”

 

“Spring”, watercolor, janekohutbartels, 2006

Writing haiku is like eating chocolates…once you start, it’s addictive.  I am early in this more formal study of haiku, so I am probably violating everything about them, but I am trying to first proceed from direct observation .

These  new ones I am collecting under the title:  “Cold Moon”.

Perhaps it’s the pollen, but it is definitely spring, and the weather outside is so tender and lovely.  It won’t last long, here in the South of USA because we generally get violent storms in this season, and then a long, long stretch of drought and heat.  But until that part of the season reveals itself, there is so much right outside my window, and in my gardens, and up in the sky to inspire.

Lady Nyo

Cold Moon 

 

The koi are hungry

Orange mouths gulp green water

Good the algae grows

 

Spring robins watch

Quarrelsome beasts these birds!

They don’t share the worms

 

Half submerged eyes

Of frogs in algae filled pond

Reflect cloudy moon

 

Swifts- dark crescent moons

Sickles cutting through the dusk

Tag the slower bats

 

 

Chatter of sparrows

Treble voices to spring song

Dried leaves percussion

 

Soft rains caress earth

A hand slides up a soft thigh

Cherry blossoms bloom 

 

Sultry air disturbs

The sleep of husband and wife

Panting without lust

 

 

POEM

 

Plum Blossom Snow

 

 

The present snowstorm of

White plum blossoms

Blinds me to sorrow.

 

They cascade over cheeks

Like perfumed, satin tears,

Too warm with the promise of life

To chill flesh.

 

Jane Kohut-Bartels

Copyrighted, 2012

 “Plum Blossom Snow” was published in “White Cranes of Heaven”, 2011, Lulu.com

 

 

 

Tanka for OneShotPoetry

 

OneShotPoetry has asked me to do a presentation on tanka February 14th and February 21st.   Tanka, as many readers know, is an ancient form of Japanese poetry.  Originally called waka, it is a predominant form in Japanese literature, along with the 17th century haiku.

Tanka is much earlier than haiku, with anthologies of tanka being produced in the 8th and 9th centuries.  Basically tanka is a vehicle for  emotional verse.  In some cases, it’s deeply erotic, in other examples it celebrates nature, seasons, etc.  I am no expert, having stumbled upon  tanka  about 5 years ago, but I have fallen in love with the form.  It is a short and powerful  vehicle for poetic thought.  My intent in this presentation- to- come is to introduce tanka to those poets and readers who are not familiar with the form and to present some of my favorite tanka writers from ancient Japanese literature, in particular the priest-poet, Saigyo, and Ono no Komachi and Izumi Shikibu, two Heian court women who were excellent and could stand in any era as superb poets.

Below are some of my tanka, though I still struggle with the form.  It is not to be confused with freeverse in the classical sense of tanka, but then again, poetry and these forms do evolve.  That is my excuse for my poor offerings.

Lady Nyo

—

The moon floats on wisps

Of clouds extending outward.

Tendrils of white fire

Blanketing the universe

Gauzy ghosts of nothingness.

—

Come into my arms.

Bury under the warm quilt.

Your scent makes me drunk

Like the wine we gulped last night.

Too much lust and drink to think.

—–

Give me a moment!

To catch my breath and settle.

Give me some peace now.

Stop kissing my hands, stop it!

What if someone is watching?

—-

Presence of Autumn

Burst of color radiates

From Earth-bound anchors

Sun grabs prismatic beauty

And tosses the spectrum wide!

—

Bolts of lightening flash!

The sky brightens like the day

too soon it darkens.

My eyes opened or closed see

the futility of love.

—

Had I not known life

I would have thought it all dreams.

Who is to tell truth?

It comes at too sharp a price.

Better to bear flattery.

–

Jane Kohut-Bartels

Copyrighted, 2008,2011

More “Perhaps” Tanka

The more I study tanka the more I realize how ‘off’ my tanka can be. There are very strict rules to Japanese poetry, and tanka doesn’t escape them. For right now, I am sticking to the classical 5/7/5/7/7 form…though the translation of Japanese and English syllabic form isn’t the same.

Tanka often deals with interesting personal feelings, subjective emotions.  Most early tanka contrasts the writers emotions to a seasonal phenomenon.  Use of metaphor, symbols or other figurative devices are allowed. ( am getting confused with haiku)   In fact, the Japanese word for metaphor means ‘pillow word’, signifying the unspoken behind what is written.

Though tanka goes back to the 7th century in it’s earliest forms, tanka was a fiercely competative art form.  Tanka contests were popular in courts and in private life.  In courts they competed for prizes and acclaim.  Tanka was also the communication form of lovers, who would properly write in a more metaphorical language.

In the 17th century, haiku, a shorter and more severe form, tried to ‘reform’ tanka,  and for a while it straightened up, but tanka is such a universal form of expression in Japan, that by the 19th century it was ‘wild’ again.

But a deeper understanding and appreciation require a reading of Japanese culture, history, mythology, religion and literature.  That’s a lifetime of study, but one that impacts on more than our tanka.

Lady Nyo

TANKA, Perhaps…..

Like the lithe bowing
Of a red maple sapling
My heart turns to you,
Yearns for those nights long ago
When pale skin challenged the moon.

Come into my arms.
Bury under the warm quilt.
Your scent makes me drunk
Like the wine we gulped last night.
Too much lust and drink to think.

So much bitterness
Between two who lusted deeply.
What happened to love?
One word could change night to day.
One word could unbind my soul!

I walked a landscape
Unfamiliar to my mind.
The only sound  heard
Was the tinkling of bells
Then silence covered like snow.

I look up at blue
Sky this morning, watch leaves fall-
Whirling, colored tears.
Clip my face like dull razors,
The strokings of memory.

Is the whistling
Of the wind- a train, a plane?
Nature plays fiddle
And our senses are confused,
We dwell in chicanery!

Overhead, the cranes,
Sandhills, swirl in broad  circles.
Broken GPS?
No matter, their cries fall down
Celestial chiding rain.

Jane Kohut-Bartels
Copyrighted, 2008, 2009

TANKA for November 29th, 2008

I love tanka, no secret here. I find this ancient Japanese form of poetry to be an intensely personal form and expressive of things that can’t be said in ordinary sentences. I have been writing tanka for a year now, and find I am just scratching the surface of its potential.

I came across this line: “She has mounted my soul” in Japanese..or a translation from the Japanese. It means that ‘she’ has completely taken over me, she has captured my heart…something in that vein. But what a powerful sentence. I had to weave it into a tanka, in fact, to me, the soul is intangible…so in ‘mounting’ the soul (and clinging with strong legs…) ‘she’ makes solid that which is intangible.

This is just one reason I love tanka because it is so….multi-faceted.

Lady Nyo

TANKA FOR NOVEMBER 29th, 2008

#1

This grim November,
The month of my father’s death.
Always bittersweet.
My memories float, weak ghosts,
Hauntings in the fog of life.

#2

A mind that obeys
And becomes one with nature
Sees through four seasons
Embellished with life forces,
And completes a discipline.

#3

When nature is known
Reason for awe can be found
In familiar sights.
Intimacy at the core—
Astounding revelation!

#4

The full moon above
Floats on blackened velvet seas,
Poet’s perfection!
But who does not yearn for a
Crescent in lavender sky?

#5.

Birds fly in the blue.
All is gray upon the earth,
Heart stopped with sorrow.
White cranes lifts off calm waters,
My heart tries to follow them.

#6.

In this single branch
Of a wintry holly,
A hundred words hide.
A thousand blushes appear.
Do not overlook the thorns.

#7.

Lithe-bodied, she climbs-
She has now mounted my soul!
Clinging with strong legs
Her breasts pressed against me,
Shaping an intangible thing.

Jane Kohut-Bartels
Copyrighted, 2008

New Tanka of this morning….

TANKA WHILE WALKING, November 2008

Like the lithe bowing
Of a red maple sapling
My heart turns to you,
Yearns for those nights long ago
When pale skin challenged the moon.

Come into my arms.
Bury under the warm quilt.
Your scent makes me drunk
Like the wine we gulped last night.
Too much lust and drink to think.

So much bitterness
Between two who lusted deeply.
What happened to love?
One word could change night to day.
One word could unbind my soul!

I walked a landscape
Unfamiliar to my mind.
The only sound heard
Was the tinkling of bells
Then silence covered like snow.

I look up at blue
Sky this morning, watch leaves fall-
Whirling, colored tears.
Clip my face like dull razors,
The strokings of memory.

Is the whistling
Of the wind- a train, a plane?
Nature plays fiddle
And our senses are confused,
We dwell in chicanery!

Overhead, the cranes,
Sandhills, swirl in board circles.
Broken GPS?
No matter, their cries fall down
Celestial chiding rain.
Jane Kohut-Bartels
Copyrighted, 2008