| Kasen
: Bamboo Greeting - annotated
 In
memory of Earl Miner |
| Side 1 |
|
Alone
with my thoughts
when the wind came to call
bamboo
bowed in greeting |
“Alone with my thoughts”
Hokku
In Saigyo’s poem, the wind is the only visitor to his thatched
hut. In my case, I was locked up in my head with worldly concerns
and the bamboo had to act as my surrogate in greeting my visitor.
PN |
| |
Alone
with my thoughts
when the wind came to call
bamboo
bowed in greeting
this snow isn’t just falling
it’s shorling out of the ground |
“this snow”
I have a patch of Minnesota “bamboo” in the back yard.
In the fall it dries out and gets knocked down by the wind. An early
snowfall nearly covered it – blond stalks sticking out like
bones. The “shorling snow” was ripped off from Dylan Thomas’
“Child Christmas in Wales.” MS |
| |
this snow isn’t just falling
it’s shorling out of the ground
magical
lake trout
crystal clear at 30 feet
tail
slap your bait |
“magical lake trout”
I was thinking of Michael up in Duluth and remembering Minnesota ice
fishing where you can look down into the circle cut in the ice into
water brilliantly clear and the fish like in an aquarium lit tank
– so gorgeous and precise – and watch them give your bait
a whack with their tail. MO |
| |
magical
lake trout
crystal clear at 30 feet
tail
slap your bait
“son, don’t fight over women –
let women fight over you” |
“Son, don’t fight
over women—“
Maureen’s clear water I imagined was Lake Tahoe. Alpine lake
trout seldom go for any lures, flies or bait but do whack any strangers
to show who is boss. But despite my experience with Tahoe, alpine
lakes and fishing nothing much sprang forth. Then this advice came
out of nowhere. I don’t remember if anyone ever gave me this
advice. Sounds like two lines from the blues. KA |
| |
“son, don’t fight over women
–
let women fight over you”
“There’s
a moon out tonight”
head warped in old doo-wop hit
stumbling up the stairs |
“There’s a moon.
. .” First moon.
Had to get a “moon” in there. And Keith’s lines
sounded like street-corner advice to me. Standing around the streetlight
– harmonizing and philosophizing. Going home, half lit, alone.
MS |
| |
“There’s
a moon out tonight”
head warped in old doo-wop hit
stumbling up the stairs
flock of dots on far wires
I wish I could read music |
“flock of dots on far
wires”
This stanza links to the musical theme of Michael’s stanza,
and is also a graphic representation of something rather ordinary.
Birds seem to gather at certain times of the day as if in some kind
of roll call, usually along phone lines and the edges of roofs. From
a distance, they could be part of a musical score writ by chance.
PN |
| |
| Side 2 |
|
flock of dots on far wires
I wish I could read music
going
deaf she glances down
her gate swings a friend leaves
tired
of knocking |
“going deaf she glances
down”
Before I got my hearing aids, I had invited a friend over one day.
Music was playing and apparently she knocked on the door and I couldn’t
hear it. Because of the telephone lines in the preceding link, this
scene came to mind while also recalling looking out Michael Sowl’s
second story windows at Duluth. But he’s not that old woman
or that deaf. But there are telephone lines outside his house. KA |
| |
going
deaf she glances down
her gate swings a friend leaves
tired
of knocking
mocked noise a feather landing
match strikes a different chord |
“mocked noise a feather
landing”
Meditating on Keith’s friend and her hearing loss I thought
about sounds, subtle and not really perceptible to most human ears
as the feather, then small sounds that our ears catch and we recognize
immediately like the match striking. And resting for a spell in the
magic of simple sounds and thinking how tragic to not be able to hear
them. MO |
| |
mocked noise a feather landing
match strikes a different chord
St
Paddy's day dawns
isles of mist cling festively
to
the bright green trees |
“St Paddy's day dawns”
It was just as it says. The pun is on misty isles, and of course there
has to be green. Maureen’s image laden lines contrasted with
something matter of fact. PN |
| |
St
Paddy's day dawns
isles of mist cling festively
to
the bright green trees
senior citizen discount
getting carded makes my day |
“senior citizen discount”
Feeling of happy celebration like Pat’s St Pat’s day.
The high school girl at the register “cards” me for the
senior discount at the Old Country Buffet. MADE MY DAY! MS |
| |
senior citizen discount
getting carded makes my day
earphones
on joggers
can’t hear the spring birds singing
redemption songs |
“earphones on joggers”
Turning back to Pat’s St Pat’s Day and Spring in the air.
People out running and jogging in the musical day full of bird sounds
and magic Spring sounds but not hearing any of it. Just listening
to some tape instead of the real redemption songs in the day. I think
Bob Marley would have liked to be singing with the sounds, not be
used to shut the world out. MO |
| |
earphones
on joggers
can’t hear the spring birds singing
redemption songs
so one foot in front of one foot
in front of one front foot |
“so one foot in front
of one foot”
Kinhin is the walking meditation between zazen sitting meditation.
One is supposed to concentrate on walking very slowly with full attention
on each step. During kinhin I sometimes slip into The Four Treasures
meditation practice from Tai Chi training, where the weight shifts
between feet occur instantly, through the waist, never affecting your
upper body that remains very still, relaxed and calm. This thought—one
foot at a time--is how you think, but jogging can induce that state
too, that fine high of peaceful solitary exercise. KA |
| |
so one foot in front of one foot
in front of one front foot
I
hear it a lot
”money isn’t everything”
—mostly,
them that’s got |
“I hear it a lot”
Riffing off of Keith’s “one foot” – kinda
a “one-day-at-a-time” feeling. “Yeah, thanks for
your input. . .but I still gotta get some scratch for the damn bills!”
“Them’s that got.” Ripped off from the Ray Charles
tune. MS |
| |
I
hear it a lot
”money isn’t everything”
—mostly,
them that’s got
moon through clouds sheer hosiery
blazing moon too bright to pine |
“moon through clouds sheer
hosiery” Second moon.
I am mesmerized by the many guises of the moon. Every time it appears
it appears so changed. My lines here are just pure description of
how the moon seems to me, looked to me, and juxtaposing that amazing
mythology with the money and materialism issue raised in Michael’s
stanza. MO |
| |
moon through clouds sheer hosiery
blazing moon too bright to pine
so
the plain truth comes easy—
that I have no love to hide—
you
have mine |
“so the plain truth comes
easy—“
Maureen’s link got me thinking of silken legs in moonlight.
And then, once being a country boy, up came C&W style lines for
a song: a little maudlin, a little desperate; depending on who sings
them. I returned the lines to their first draft state: unedited jottings,
barely clinging together, and then selected three. Pat got the message
and tore the lines up just as if he’d been there himself. KA |
| |
so
the plain truth comes easy—
that I have no love to hide—
you
have mine
left behind on garbage day
shreds of his letter to her |
“left behind on garbage
day”
Keith and I have a long history of undermining each other’s
links. I was awakened that morning by the loud rumble of the garbage
pick-up on my block, and with my morning coffee, looking out the window
at the bits of paper debris blowing around, I was able to link with
Keith’s stanza. I like to think of it as offering him a hand
out of the mire of sentimentality. PN |
| |
left behind on garbage day
shreds of his letter to her
O
wisteria
wild iris in the rocks
look
I’ve dressed up too! |
“O wisteria”
First flower.
Keith and Pat drift into the melancholy attributes of love. Pat’s
letter shreds especially made my heart weep at the miscommunication
between lovers. Perhaps someone wrote a letter he couldn’t send
or maybe a woman received a letter so full of break-up or unrequited
love or worse that she shredded it. Either way the strips of the letter
have blown out of the garbage truck and are still in the possession
of the bereaved. SO sad. I had to turn to beauty wild and free to
shake myself forward. MO |
| |
O
wisteria
wild iris in the rocks
look
I’ve dressed up too!
suddenly even the
ugly people are beautiful |
“suddenly even. . .”
Dressed up people in Maureen’s stanza. On a city bus full of
the mentally/physically “challenged”, I’m lifted
from whatever funk I was in. “Hey! Mary’s Going To A Party!”
Why are all these folks so happy? Get caught up in it. MS |
| |
| Side 3 |
|
suddenly even the
ugly people are beautiful
ducks
in flight auger
through the heavy morning gray
spelling
certain gloom |
“ducks in flight auger”
I actually saw ducks fly past in V-formation from my window. The way
they flap their wings on those stubby little bodies reminded me of
the way an auger goes through wood only they were boring through the
rather heavy morning fog. There is a play on words here too, as auger
can also mean to predict, and fowl flying in this formation were believed
to have inspired the alphabet so that their “spelling”
actually has a double meaning. There is also a rather tenuous connection
between Michael’s use of the word “ugly” and my
use of the word “ducks”. PN |
| |
ducks
in flight auger
through the heavy morning gray
spelling
certain gloom
I LIKE BO POTOTOS she wrote
backwards on the wet bus windows |
“I LIKE BO POTOTOS she
wrote”
That day Pat’s mood-heavy redwood shadow mysticism followed
me onto my bus to work. As chance would have it, it was raining. A
love-struck Chicana was writing this on the misty glass over and over
and over. Through her clear strokes I watched the scenery go by. KA |
| |
I LIKE BO POTOTOS she wrote
backwards on the wet bus windows
summer
winding down
gray scud swift from the Nor’east
birds
getting nervous |
“summer winding down”
Geez. Pat’s gray morning really hung around. With Keith’s
steamy windows and low fog of late fall here. We have a raptor funnel
here in Duluth. Thousands of hawks and eagles don’t want to
fly over Lake Superior. They like clear days to move. One day in a
friend’s back yard a river of Broadwings streamed over us at
about twenty feet due to the low fog blowing in off the Lake. MS |
| |
summer
winding down
gray scud swift from the Nor’east
birds
getting nervous
restless night tired as I am
still I chase a deeper sleep |
“restless night tired
as I am”
Wiped out after many extra hours and days on the job, sleep doesn’t
come easy because the mind is trying to make sense of the chaos of
all the intense activity. The deep sleep is either REM sleep or that
of eternal rest. I linked to the nervousness of Michael’s birds.
PN |
| |
restless night tired as I am
still I chase a deeper sleep
“a
thing of no learning”
one or two pine cones
brighten
perfume the fire |
“a thing of no learning”
In Japanese Zen Buddhism, when someone paints without leaving a trace
of their education, their productions earn the honorific title mu-gaku
no koto: a thing of no learning. Pat’s notion of a deeper
sleep seemed to me a yearning for that state, but the world burns
on in the fireplace. KA |
| |
“a
thing of no learning”
one or two pine cones
brighten
perfume the fire
autumn’s urban cicadas rasp
summer’s over on city streets |
“autumn’s urban
cicadas rasp”
Like Pat, I linked to Michael’s nervous birds, and then Keith’s
fire, both seeming to harbinger autumn and the end of summer. In the
city the fall foliage is not so pronounced so the more subtle changes
in the insect songs are the key to seasonal change. MO |
| |
autumn’s urban cicadas rasp
summer’s over on city streets
bumper
to bumper
living west of the commute
steer
by visor’s edge |
“bumper to bumper”
Taking a cue from Maureen’s urban streets, I linked with my
own version (vision) of the grind. An old boss of mine once said,
“Never live west of your commute.” The reasons are obvious
enough. Driving to and from work, especially at certain times of the
year, the sun is always in your eyes. PN |
| |
bumper
to bumper
living west of the commute
steer
by visor’s edge
George Morrison’s holy horizon
—the brightest of lines |
“George Morrison. . .”
Pat’s “visor’s edge” brought to mind a big
series of small abstracts by George Morrison. The paintings are all
abstracts of Lake Superior – just water and sky – in all
moods. The “edge” is George’s bright red horizon
line. When I told him horizons were strange because you could see
‘em. . .but you could never get there, he chuckled. After his
passing, George Morrison was one of the two artists honored with an
exhibit at the initial opening of the Smithsonian’s “Museum
of the American Indian” in D.C. MS |
| |
George Morrison’s holy horizon
—the
brightest of lines
U.S.
president fails
at every appointed task
—gets
re-elected |
“U.S. president fails”
I know from Michael that George Morrison was a local where Michael
lives and an incredible sculptor and painter. Such a positive force
gave me the power and grace for a moment of political satire. MO |
| |
U.S.
president fails
at every appointed task
—gets
re-elected
it’s only for a big laugh
donkey room human room |
“it’s only for a
big laugh”
Maureen’s link about our President stumped me for weeks. Then
I remembered the Ming prince Bada Shanren, my favorite Chinese painter,
who hid out in a monastery for many years, pretending to be mad to
avoid the Manchu ax. He did go crazy with heartache, some say. Two
of his seals I had carved, copies for use on my art, each line a separate
seal. P.S. Bada saved his neck, survived his grief and that particular
tyranny. KA |
| |
it’s only for a big laugh
donkey room human room
“next
full moon – if you like
bring your zither and come
drink
with me again” |
“next full moon”
Third moon.
Had to get a “moon” and Keith’s stanza brought to
mind old Chinese poets and their “wok-hay” take on things.
How easy it seemed to be, in them old days, to just get together –
or more like – “fall” together. Translation from
Wang Wei’s poem lifted from a beautiful out-of-print book of
woodcuts by Wang Hui Ming. MS |
| |
“next
full moon – if you like
bring your zither and come
drink
with me again”
at the Palace Bar and Grill
you me and Joan Baez too |
“at the Palace Bar and
Grill”
I met and had my first drink with Michael at the Palace Bar &
Grill on Cannery Row in Monterey in the early ‘60’s so
his invitation to “drink with me again” recalled those
days. The Palace was also frequented by a young Joan Baez and friends
(including a certain Bob Dylan on occasion) from Camel Valley. Her
songs were on the jukebox and she would play them and then sing along
in a proto-karaoke fashion. PN |
| |
| Side 4 |
|
at the Palace Bar and Grill
you me and Joan Baez too
ghosted
up & down
the town alone thinking how
we
were together |
“ghosted up & down”
Again stumped for a link out of our shared nostalgia (Pat and Michael
and I were all in Monterey together once), I was looking at notebook
poetry lines and found this quote from Philip Whalen. So I put his
line to work. I don’t remember where it is found in Whalen’s
poetry or if his lines are arranged this way, so these line-breaks
may be my sole creative input. KA |
| |
ghosted
up & down
the town alone thinking how
we
were together
thumbing through the early zines
gala’s past can break your heart |
“thumbing through the
early zines”
Following Keith’s nostalgia link on Pat’s nostalgia link,
putting my archives in boxes and rereading magazines from the 70’s
remembering all the great collating parties at The Poetry Project
in NYC and poets’ apartments and excitement over publishing
our own zines. Ah nostalgia. MO |
| |
thumbing through the early zines
gala’s past can break your heart
Johnny
V. was right—
“when you’re old, seasons mean
more”
—mid-winter’s
melt down |
“Johnny V. was right”
John Veglia, old Monterey days friend and collaborator on renkus,
had a theory about linking stanzas. He called the “bow wave.”
Write your stanza before you get the previous link. This is one of
those. I had it ready for Maureen’s “gala’s past.”
The quoted line is an approximation of a poem John wrote. Closing
your eyes – tilting your head back – bearing your chest
to the sun on the first warm spring day. The poem was on the front
of a program for his memorial celebration that Keith sent me. MA |
| |
Johnny
V. was right—
“when you’re old, seasons mean
more”
—mid-winter’s
melt down
Baubles, Bangles and Doodles
leave it to diva
Oh My! |
“Baubles, Bangles and
Doodles”
Diva, the ageless, timeless spirit of sassy energy. She just sprang
to mind when I read Michael’s “when you’re old,
seasons mean more” – I wanted to compliment Michael’s
spunkiness in the face of aging. MO |
| |
Baubles, Bangles and Doodles
leave it to diva
Oh My!
she’s
tucked into a leaf
next to an apricot bud—
a
ladybug |
“she’s tucked into
a leaf” Second flower.
A big surprise one spring day in my backyard in Albany, California:
shady lady, the first one of that spring. Some have eccentric markings.
So when Maureen wrote Baubles Bangles and Doodles about her diva this
particular image returned: genetically chaotic ladybug. KA |
| |
she’s
tucked into a leaf
next to an apricot bud—
a
ladybug
sweeping at shadows my hair
getting whiter and whiter |
“sweeping at shadows my
hair” Ageku.
Keith has the trappings of spring’s certainty and renewal in
his stanza. Spring is a time of sweeping out the cobwebs and accumulated
dust of winter. I linked to that aspect of his stanza but emphasize
the opposite as well, that of aging (whitening hair) and illusion
(the shadows). Also, as a renga convention, the ageku should in some
way link with the hokku. “Sweeping at shadows” could be
considered a euphemism for being lost in thought. PN |
|
|
Composed by The Miner School of Haikai Poets:
| KA |
: |
Keith Kumasen Abbott |
| MO |
: |
Maureen Owen |
| PN |
: |
Pat Nolan |
| MS |
: |
Michael Sowl |
6 January 2004 – 3 March 2005
Related articles
in this issue of Simply Haiku:
Bamboo
Greeting (unannotated, unpaired)
The Miner School of Haikai Poets – History
and Biographies
|
