A short tribute to this lovely poetry blog an email from whom lands almost daily in my mailbox with a poem and commentary. I remember my cousin introducing me to this many years ago – occasionally I would read the mail but even if not, the fact that a piece of loved creativity walks into my mailbox often gives a warm feeling inside. Thanks go to Ivan M. Granger who has been running this initiative.
Here is the beauitiful Haiku he shared:
This cold winter night
English version by Sam Hamill
This cold winter night,
that old wooden-head Buddha
would make a nice fire
So, would you burn your beliefs for survival?
As a thanks:
Lovely Haiku, Ivan
Weather is chilly here too
Warm thoughts though I share
Have you written a Haiku? Care to share it in the comments section? Have you managed to follow the structure (5-7-5) and talk about nature in every one of them (as traditionally done apparently)?
Loneliness is a strange companion.
She comes to visit me
when I am alone
or among a hundred.
She's my best friend
when I think of my brothers
in some other Universe
or the whole span
of my physical existence
as the blink of someone's eye
and of their existence
as the blink
of someone else's eye
and of their existence further ---
Loneliness, my friend, my companion,
I blink my eye.
Another resurrected poem (originally published in the quarterly New Quest, a journal of participative inquiry, edited by the legendary Dilip Chitre).
Are we by ourselves in the whole wide universe? As lonely (7 billion lonely ones), we have thought a lot about this. Maybe we are not, as we discover more and more water on the moon and even that asteriods can replenish their own water!!
Today happens to be national poetry day, I suddenly realized
and out of the tattered green book
below are a couple I have revived:
Poetry is spewn
from the exhaust pipe
of a revving car
at an unending red light
on a vast open road,
fed into mad frenzy by an imginary accelerator
by real brakes, strong chains.
Poetry is a revolt
asking for the freedom of flight
poetry is a revolt against the red light;
the question is —–
does poetry turn the light green
does the revolt turn into a revolution?
Since I couldn’t stop at one, here’s another:
Day after God
What’s the good
they remember me as a great poet,
as a great leader
and maybe day after
as a God —-
What’s the good
if day after
they still search for Gods.