Haiku Moments

[freedombecki]

harsh headache hovers,
haunts habituarium
harboring high hopes​

 

[freedombecki]

bullfrogs, cicadas
and cricket cacophony
cheerful eve chorale​

 

[freedombecki]

a gentle bell chimes
sheltering souls bound to rise
forever faithful​

 

[numan]

'

Meigetsu ya,
kuraki tokoro wa,
mushi no koe.

Bright full moon,
In the shadowed places,
The voices of insects.
---Bunson---​

.

 

[numan]

'

Ochikochi ni,
taki no oto kiku,
ochiba kana.

Far and near,
Hearing the sound of waterfalls
----- falling leaves!
---Bashô---​

.

 

[numan]

'
A bit of Buddhist poetry from ancient China:

The broken mirror will not reflect again; fallen flowers will never rise back to the branch

Hundreds of years later, in Japan, the poet Moritake, remembering it, was inspired to write:

Rakka eda ni,
kaeru to mireba,
kochô kana.

"Do I see a fallen flower
Returning to the branch?
----- a butterfly!!"​

Some years ago, in Japan, while resting at my ease in the garden at the tomb of the Emperor Hanazono ["Flowergarden"] in Kyoto, I witnessed the following event, and being overwhelmed with astonishment and aesthetic emotion, I was inspired to write my one and only haiku:

Kare futaba,
ochiatte mawaru,
tsukanu no ----- chô!!

"Two dead leaves, falling,
Meet and spin together:
One does not land? ---- a butterfly!!"​

Japanese friends have severely criticized my modest effort, because I have offended against the canons of haiku by combining a Spring reference (butterfly) with an Autumn reference (dry leaf).

However, I am an arrogant bumptious Westerner, and I just don't care !!
.

 

[numan]

'

Kura yakete,
sawaru mono naki
tsukimi -- kana!

My storehouse was burnt up ---
Now nothing remains to block
The sight of the Moon rising !
---Mizuta Masahide​

,

 

[numan]

'

Maimai ya,
ugo no enkô
torimodoshi

Dancing water-strider,
After the shower has passed,
Gets its halo back.
---Kawabata Bôsha​

.

 

[freedombecki]

darkness of midnight
rest will be kindly received
following moonshine​

 

[freedombecki]

woven whte rattan
warmed with outpouring of sun
comfort from all wrong​

 

[freedombecki]

sheets of pouring rain
followed by quietude brings
clean earth refraction​

 

[Ropey]

Slippery words trace
The keys hard-pressed and sending
Don't press send too much​

 

[freedombecki]

music is barking
is there somebody around
dog nose disjointed​

 

[numan]

'

furu ike ya / kawazu tobikomu / mizu no oto

Old pond : frog jumps in, water's sound
---Matsuo Bashô---​

Ah, the Old Pond ! (the syllable "ya" roughly represents the "Ah" or the exclamation mark, or both)

I am sure that I would be soundly thwacked on the head by any Zen master worth his salt for being far too explicit and obvious, but, being a bumptious Westerner, I will mention that the Old Pond is clearly the Ultimate: Primordial Enlightenment, out of which all things arise and into which all things return.

This is very much a poem about perception and knowledge. The most striking rhetorical feature is the hysteron proteron in awareness -- one first perceives the water's sound and only then does one realize that a frog has jumped into the water -- though the order is reversed in the poem.
Of course, no one in their right mind has the initial thought, "Oh, there is a water-sound." Instead, one's instantaneous reaction is, "Oh, a frog has jumped in."

So which comes first, the frog or the water-sound? Or is it a chicken-and-the-egg problem? Does the phenomenological concrete world produce a mind and mental awareness? Or must mental awareness be an initial condition before any sort of phenomenology is possible? [Ow!! I feel the thwacks from the Zen master coming down fast and furious on my head!]

And what about the Old Pond? Although the haiku does not say so, I feel certain that the scene is set at night. The Old Pond is not seen. Which raises the question: is this an Old Pond which is known and familiar to us, or have we never come across it before? -- perhaps we are walking at night in an unfamiliar neighborhood when, out of the darkness, we hear the splash and think, "Oh, there must be a pond there!" This is initial enlightenment; the sequence of awareness is, "oh, there's a pond, a frog has jumped in, that explains the water-sound."
But that is not our case. We are old, experienced Enlightened Beings. · ·

The Old Pond is very familiar to us, and we are comfortable playing, at our ease, with the antinomies of perception and awareness!! · ·

GRAMMATICAL NOTE: In Japanese grammar, a relative clause is formed without a relative pronoun. Rather, a verb or clause is placed immediately before the noun which it modifies. Therefore, everything after "the Old Pond" can be read as a single phrase : the sound of the water into which the frog jumps -- which I, at least, find a pleasing ontological synthesis to the dialectical complexities of the phenomenological and epistemological questions raised by the poem. · · · ·

The Japanese expression is rather more fused and unified that the somewhat wordy and indirect English construction : frog-jumps-in's-water's sound. · ·
.

 

[Ropey]

riding lightning waves
breezily effortlessness
while splitting amber
​

 

[Capstone]

I saw a penny,
picked it up, but spent the day
unluckily broke.​

 

[freedombecki]

oak tree refractions
lagoon's foliate flourish
endearment of dawn​

 

[freedombecki]

steamy summer night
alleviated by cool
when fanning the flame​

 

[Ropey]

a slated chalkboard
beseechingly protesting
strikes walled intentions​

 

[freedombecki]

hummingbird preening
from his perch on a vine's branch
nature's finery​