A Haiku experiment continued ... #5 - #11

There is a challenge to simplicity.  A Haiku seems to be one of the "easiest" forms of poetry -- and to my untrained sensibility it is.  However, it is not so easy to summarize a train of thought or an action into seventeen syllables.  I find that I need to look for a simple moment in the day.  Trying to sum up 24 hours, or 8 hours, or even one hour, is unwieldy and clumsy.  The act of filling the bird feeder, or watching my cat play seems more manageable and lends itself more to the structure of the poem.  It also feels more appropriate to write such a brief poem about a brief moment in the day.  So here are this week's offerings (including a few that others have posted to my Facebook wall):

#5

Taking a sick day
Coughing, headache, no gumption:
Hubby's misery ...

Monday my husband stayed home with a nasty cold.  I suppose this day is pretty self-explanatory ...

#6

Single digit temps
Jack Frost nipping at my nose
Time to hibernate ...

Tuesday it was particularly cold.  I drove to town in the morning and saw on the bank sign that it was 9 degrees and promising only to get colder later in the week.  I am not a Winter person and have often stated that I should have been a bear, so I could sleep through until Spring ...

My friend Wendy posted the following haiku on my wall:

I wake, reluctant;
Too cold to get out of bed
But I need to pee.

Nice one!

#7

He's home sick again
All day: seventies T.V.
Can you dig it, man?

My husband stayed home again on Wednesday.  Between episodes of The Love Boat, Quincy MD, Rockford Files, Emergency, and CHiPs, I felt I was in a time warp.  Hubby was having some fun identifying all the vintage cars on the shows (well, except on The Love Boat, of course!).  I think if Jeopardy! ever has a "Cars of the 70s" category, he would totally clean house!

#8

Opening package,
my hand slips, leaving suet
beneath fingernails ...

I think I heard a chickadee titter when this happened ...

Posted to my wall from my little brother:

Caralee's haiku

Is swinging past the balance. 

Whatever that means.
My response:

My little brother
Thinks he is very clever
What a Dorkleton ...

#9

Unexpected card
Brings greetings from a long lost
Japanese sister ...

I got word from my dad that he received a holiday card from a former exchange student that we had lost track of for many years.  It is very exciting that she sent the card.  I am looking forward to reconnecting with her.

#10

Brady - Edelman
Edelman - Amendola:
Awesome touchdown play!

Play off game today between my team (Patriots) and a mighty foe (Ravens).  There was a sweet trick play that was a hoot to watch and that resulted in a touchdown.  The game was really stressful, though.  Even down to the last play with 3 seconds left on the clock, it was a nail-biter.  We prevailed, though.  Go Pats!

#11

Cat crouches in chair
He spins, flips, rolls and pounces ...
Still, that tail taunts him.

Until next week,
Peace ... 


  

A long overdue re-emergence ... and a challenge

Since my last post 6 years ago, I thought I may never return to this blog page again.  However, I have decided to challenge myself with documenting the year 2015 with a daily haiku.  For those of you who don't know, a haiku is a form of poetry from Japan.  The basic structure is 3 lines.  The first line contains 5 syllables, the second has 7, then the last one has 5 again.  There are other rules, which I am learning (any poetry critics who might stumble across this, be kind and remember I am barely an amateur).  These other rules can be found at this wikipedia link:  http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Haiku_in_English.
So I intend to post my daily haikus weekly on this blog page, with any explanation that may be necessary.  I will post the daily haiku on my facebook page without explanation.
So, here goes.  Remember, I do not claim to be a poet, I just wanted to challenge myself.

#1

A Happy New Year!
We'll take a cup o' kindness
yet for auld lang syne ...

I think that I will always associate the song Auld Lang Syne with one of my favorite holiday movies, "It's a Wonderful Life."  George Bailey holding Zuzu, singing that song, and Zuzu proclaiming in her sing-song cadence "every time a bell rings, an angel gets its wings."  I know that it is sentimental nonsense, but you gotta love Jimmie Stewart in that role.

#2

On-line job hunting
Is full-time work when using
Dial-up internet ...

I am still in the dark ages with dial-up internet.  I do a whole lot of clicking and waiting whenever I want to do anything in cyberspace. 

#3

A Wrinkle in Time ...
Film versus book? Agreement:
The book dominates!

For Christmas this year my hunny and I gave each other an audio-book (from me) and a dvd (from him) of the story A Wrinkle in Time.  We have just finished both of them.  We both agree that the book is SO much better--which does my heart good, since my hunny is not a reader.

#4

Barely holding on ...
Control starts losing control ...
Grief visits again.

This March will mark the 2 year anniversary of when my mom passed away.  I have been surprised at how suddenly and unexpectedly the grief will come up out of nowhere and bowl me over.  I will be fine driving down then road, then start sobbing into my steering wheel.  It usually only lasts or a few minutes, but in the meantime I am a wreck (trying to not be one literally!).

Until next week, Peace.  

Mr. Van Doren

I have recently made a delightful discovery.

By way of background, I am an avid reader, from a long line of avid readers. Lately though, not so much. I still read a lot, but I have been disappointed or bored by the books I have chosen to read. There seems to be a trend recently of completely entering a character's head and dissecting his/her inner thoughts for page after page ad nauseum. I don't have the patience to withstand such an assault. Books that have come to me highly recommended have been tossed aside partly read, simply because I couldn't stand the inner angst of protagonist A.

I do like poetry, but there is so much bad poetry out there that I tend to stick to Shakespeare, Yeats or Eliot--pretty hefty stuff. For me, poetry has been a mental exercise, wrapping my head around an idea, stretching my mind to figure out what the writer is trying to say, wrestling with the language or meter. Just the idea of good poetry exhausts me.

Enter Mark Van Doren.

Who?

I knew the name only from the movie Quiz Show. The movie is about the rigged game show 21. Charles Van Doren basically became the face of the scandal. He is the son of Mark Van Doren--a Columbia professor and Pulitzer Prize winner. Anyways, I picked up a book of his poems at a yard sale earlier this year, only because I recognized the name and because the price was right (50 cents, I believe). The book sat in my "yard sale bag" for several weeks, untouched. I picked it up a few nights ago when I needed to unwind after a long day.

The very act of reading--especially an old book--can be a pleasure. The feel of the book (preferably hard cover), the smell and color of the pages, the sound the book makes as you touch the pages. Sometimes you come across some old memento that a previous owner used as a book mark. Well, all of these things were coming together to work their magic. The first few poems went by barely noticed. Then the spell began working. The fourth poem in, I stopped . . . something had caught my attention, my imagination. I had to slow down and reread. The ninth poem in--a beauty called Immortal--I was completely bewitched.

I don't presume to know anything about Mr. Van Doren. And it has been too many years since my college Literature classes for me to dissect what about this book is so enchanting. All of the poems in this book involve rural life, something of Nature. He also gives some human traits to nature and vice versa. So a spring (water) can experience fear, or an old woman turns into a stone when resting. But they all have an intangible quality, a yearning, a sadness, a joy. I read through all 66 poems that night and have since reread several of them. I even read a few to my husband--always a risky affair. He enjoyed them as well.

So thank you to Mr. Van Doren for the surprise and delight!

Immortal

The last thin acre of stalks that stood
Was never the end of the wheat.
Always something fled to the wood,
As if the field had feet.

In front of the sickle something rose--
Mouse, or weasel, or hare;
We struck and struck, but our worst blows
Dangled in the air.

Nothing could touch the little soul
Of the grain. It ran to cover,
And nobody knew in what warm hole
It slept till the winter was over,

And early seeds lay cold in the ground.
Then--but nobody saw--
It burrowed back with never a sound,
And awoke the thaw.


From Spring Thunder
by Mark Van Doren

Peace
C