#1 or #2
First reflection
deep in the night
lantern on a pier
lit and trembling
dark waves below
a voice, a shiver, a passing cloud,
a house with a garden
I can barely see
First reflection
deep in the night
lantern on a pier
lit and trembling
water at the base
a voice, a shiver, a passing cloud,
a house with a garden
I can barely trace
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scattering of stars
the sound of running water
three doubts forged in fire
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. road to okini
the old woman stoops
weight of a thousand worries
she turns to and smiles
. otagi-nenbutsu
stone buddhas pepper
the field, the temple, two claps
bend into a bow
. gioji
a river, a wooden teahouse,
a painted face in the window
a princess worn and awaiting
a bamboo hewer’s return
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Everyone liked the second version of my previous slant haiku. JMN and Isha in particular liked the firmer closure. I think their observations were correct. As I was finalizing, though, I realized that they had enlightened me in reverse. I wanted a little opening in that closure, a little space for melancholia to leak in. But I did not want to revert to the rejected draft. So for now I have this. Just kill me.
or cp.
Addendum: I just re-read them and now I like the one everyone chose last time the best. Forgive me.
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I tried to do a voice recording of my latest poem. It was tricky getting it up on WordPress, as it seems I had to make it a video, upload it to YouTube, then post the YouTube link. Let’s see how it came out. Text below.
Hero and Leander (the lamp and the water)
I still walk to that lake, the surface now still,
absence of geometry, ache of tranquility,
a voice but a whisper
soothing, sad, a silver
thorn in the side of love.
What love creates, need destroys.
We put flowers on the table
at the changing of the season.
Then the rains came. We watched
through the kitchen window.
You turned out the lamp.
“I love you more than I need you,” I said.
“Now I know what that means.”
But need, the ache, the silver thorn,
will have its bloody day.
Time passes. Seasons change.
When I walk to the lake I stir the surface,
the glitter of sun, a dangerous swell,
my hand beginning to move
into place a geometry
of memories.
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I still walk to that lake, the surface now still,
absence of geometry, ache of tranquility,
a voice but a whisper
soothing, sad, a silver
thorn in the side of love.
What love creates, need destroys.
We put flowers on the table
at the changing of the season.
Then the rains came. We watched
through the kitchen window.
You turned out the lamp.
“I love you more than I need you,” I said.
“Now I know what that means.”
But need, the ache, the silver thorn,
will have its bloody day.
Time passes. Seasons change.
When I walk to the lake I stir the surface,
the glitter of sun, a dangerous swell,
my hand beginning to move
into place a geometry
of memories.
Poem by Gary Gautier
Painting by Cheryl Gautier
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From Berlin, 05/01/22
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A little slant haiku. Which do you prefer? The first one (“my”), which orients the field more personally, or the second one (“a”), which orients the field more philosophically/metaphysically?
you
are the rain
drops
falling
on my stone
pillow
xxxx
you
are the rain
drops
falling
on a stone
pillow
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Schematics and Assemblies of the Cosmic Heart is coming in all over.
For you poor souls who live without a bookstore cool enough, hit the Amazon link above (or get me a contact to your local store … and to local reviewers 🙂 )
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Swans and apples, balcony breakfasts,
skin hunger, a touch, no, a word,
not even a word
a sound
far away
past the cathedral
somewhere in the wind
a sound with just a memory
of meaning, of joy, of sadness
la vie en rose
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shakemyheadhollow 