one brush stroke
just enough to change
the cloud shape
Akitsu Quarterly
Fall 2016
piątek, 23 września 2016
wtorek, 20 września 2016
Indian summer
I pick out the colours
from a spice stall
I pick out the colours
from a spice stall
Living Haiku Anthology
"Maria Tomczak lives in Poland, and her haiku, “Indian summer / I pick
out the colours / from a spice stall”, perfectly bring together the
thoughts, and senses of autumn. The colors of shrubs and trees have
turned and the spice stall colors reflect the change. I picture myself
standing in front of row after row of spices and wondering what to cook
with them. It’s the perfect season for a soup or stew using spices
which, coincidently, match the season in color and smell."
---Greg Longenecker
piątek, 2 września 2016
insomnia
length of the night
on her knitting needles
length of the night
on her knitting needles
Editor's Choice
The Heron's Nest
"What is the color of 'insomnia'? Black because you are in a dark
tunnel? White because you cannot paint anything on the canvas in front
of you? Imagine that you have knitting needles in your hands and you are
given invisible yarn to work with. You sit on a hard chair. There is no
moon outside. The snow stops falling and you are alone with the click,
click, click of the needles.
Knitting is, in a way, an act of love. When I was a kid, I was so
upset when my mother wouldn't allow me to grow my hair long. My
grandmother made a knit cap with long braids for me. I grew up in a
house with three generations living under the same roof. My young aunt, a
half-sister of my father, went to a knitting school to improve her
homemaking skills before her marriage. I tried to knit a scarf for a
high school classmate with whom I fell in love. So why do I sense dark,
lonely feelings in this haiku by Maria Tomczak?
霜の墓抱き起されしとき見たり 石田破郷
shimo no haka dakiokosareshi toki mitari
a grave in hoar frost
I saw it when I was
helped to sit up
I saw it when I was
helped to sit up
Hakyo Ishida (1913-1969)
from Gendai No Haiku (Modern Haiku) an anthology edited by Shobin Hirai, Kodansha, Tokyo 1996
Hakyo had been in and out of the hospital due to tuberculosis for most of his adult life. In his haiku collection Shakumei (Borrowed Life)
published in 1950, a reader can find many haiku involving a brush of
death. He watched the gate through which a casket was brought out. He
stared at snow falling silently, but rapidly, outside the mortuary. He
joined other patients with ghost-like white hands around a burning pile
of leaves. How many sleepless nights did he spend in his hospital bed?
Did he sometimes hear the click, click of knitting needles?
死神に妻子あるらむ日向ぼこ 澤田和哉
shinigami ni saishi aruran hinataboko
God of Death may have
a wife and children...
I bathe in the winter sun
a wife and children...
I bathe in the winter sun
Kazuya Sawada (1980-2015)
from Kakumei Zenya (A Night Before Revolution), a haiku collection by Kazuya Sawada, Yuu Shorin, Nagano, 2013
Kazuya was a member of the haiku group that I belong to in Japan.
He was a prolific writer of haiku and critical essays. He didn't hide
the fact that he had been suffering from depression. But even after he
quit his job and started living with his parents in his home town, he
continued writing haiku. In January 2015 he informed me that his doctor
had forbidden him to go online, so he would be incommunicado for a
while. When he died by "accidental drug overdose," I was not the only
one who suspected a suicide. He never married, nor had children. Did he
envy the God of Death who has a wife and children? What was the length
of his final night?
I don't know anything about Maria Tomczak, the poet, except that
she lives in Poland. According to the Global Peace Index, in 2016 Poland
is the 22nd safest country in the world. #1 is Iceland. Japan, my home
country, is #9. The United States is #103, just one rank above Cambodia.
Since Tomczak used 'her' instead of 'my' in her haiku, she might have
simply been watching someone knitting. She might have felt that she sat
at a safe distance from this person's night.
But have you had an experience telling your friend, "this happened
to a friend of mine," because it is too painful for you to tell it as
your own?
What causes insomnia? When do you see the "length of the night" on
your knitting needles? Does the clicking sound resemble clock hands
ticking time away? Do you feel the dawn approaching? Or do you hear the
footsteps of a God of Death who will snatch the life of someone you
love?"
Fay Aoyagi
September 2016
September 2016
wtorek, 9 sierpnia 2016
czwartek, 21 lipca 2016
czwartek, 23 czerwca 2016
czwartek, 9 czerwca 2016
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