The Journal of Japanese Form Poetry
No. 8, March 2011
featuring Haiku, Tanka, Haiga & More. Welcome to Notes from the Gean the haiku journal
Brought to you by Gean Tree Press
featuring haiku, tanka, haiga, & more.
Mission Statement:
We seek to encourage excellence, experimentation and education within haiku and its related genres. We believe this is best accomplished by example and not imitation. Our aim is for authenticity above all else. We therefore solicit your finest examples of haiku, tanka, haiga, haibun and renga/renku so that we may "hear" your voices speak.
The Editors
For details on how to submit to Notes from the Gean please check our SUBMISSIONS page.
cover artwork Melinda B. Hipple
Magazine content copyright © 2011 Gean Tree Press. All Rights Reserved. Individual works copyright © the artist/artists.
Notes from the Gean No.8, March 2011 Page 2
contents
haiku
pp.4-32
tanka
pp.33-46
haiga
pp.47-77
haibun pp.78-94
renga/renku
pp.95-122
special feature pp.123-126
reviews pp.127-128
Editor-in-Chief / Resources: Colin Stewart Jones - Scotland
Notes from the Gean No.8, March 2011 Page 3
spring moon from the tarot deck the fool
Nika - Canada
brilliant dawn the nuthatch brings out a new song
Allan Burns - U.S.A.
Whitsuntide a bundle of goslings shifts with the breeze
Matthew Paul - U.K.
Pentecost — flames shoot up from the oven
Mary Davila - U.S.A.
ancient temple the monk swirls incense my way
Berenice Mortimer - Canada
Notes from the Gean No.8, March 2011 Page 4
beach wedding the Mexican wave of seagulls
Berenice Mortimer - Canada
news of a grandchild I touch a furled bud in spring rain
Beverley George - Australia
four-leafed clovers... my grandson finds the one I lost years ago
Maya Lyubenova - Bulgaria
bitter spring — not all ducks are paired
Svetlana Marisova - New Zealand
the wind chimes restrung already spring gusts
Ann K. Schwader - U.S.A.
Notes from the Gean No.8, March 2011 Page 5
hawthorns in bloom — her crayon trees all the same shape
Adelaide B. Shaw - U.S.A.
three weeks late — something scratching inside the wall
Melissa Spurr - U.S.A.
the newborn with her arm in a sling hard spring frost
Melissa Spurr - U.S.A.
flu epidemic the city smells of thyme
Vladislav Hristov - Bulgaria (translator - Maya Lyubenova)
stone fort dizzy with history... the fizzing sea
Susan Richardson - U.K.
Notes from the Gean No.8, March 2011 Page 6
battlefield soldiers sharing the gene pool
Dietmar Tauchner – Austria
dense fog we built up a world of words
Dietmar Tauchner - Austria
endless conversation the river runs through my fingers
Aubrie Cox - U.S.A.
watching SBS... a possum pauses at the French doors
Cynthia Rowe - Australia
hazy moon all the shapes of a hangover
Polona Oblak – Slovenia
Notes from the Gean No.8, March 2011 Page 7
river's edge — buildings a century old anchor the town
Jan Dobb - Australia
cloud breaks — the door ajar to the glassblower's studio
Alan S. Bridges - USA
day's end — the old-timer closes his pocket watch
Alan S. Bridges - USA
birch bark... nothing at all like toilet paper
Alan S. Bridges - USA
roadkill a simple cardboard box
Alan S. Bridges - USA
great plains rails bend to the curve of the planet
Alan S. Bridges - USA
Notes from the Gean No.8, March 2011 Page 8
the crest of this hill the sea
Rodney Williams - Australia
streams converging... beside the riverbank a python slides
Rodney Williams - Australia
dense woods a stone wall snakes into it
Michele L. Harvey - USA
the rutted road between two gentle slopes flitting fox sparrows
Neal Whitman - U.S.A
a score of starlings on the telegraph wires the wind's song
Claire Everett - U.K.
Notes from the Gean No.8, March 2011 Page 9
screech owl the first violinist tunes up
Joanna M. Weston - Canada
sycamore branches swaying the wind's mirror
Bill Wolak - U.S.A.
in the wild night weeping willow branches knocking at the gate
Beverly Acuff Momoi - U.S.A.
helicopter seeds my life spiraling out of control
Aubrie Cox - U.S.A.
summer winds in the sound of leaves a lizard
Violette Rose-Jones - Australia
Notes from the Gean No.8, March 2011 Page 10
evening star the ping of a micro bat
Violette Rose-Jones - Australia
falling star the quiet sound of quicksilver
L. Costa - Brazil
the sound of my own voice wild honey
Brendan Slater - The Netherlands
empty boat adrift without oars a loon's laugh
Ted van Zutphen – USA
leather shoes on the pebbled path — the sound of ducks
David Ash - U.S.A.
Notes from the Gean No.8, March 2011 Page 11
summer sunset... drongo voices weave weird melodies
Petrus Heyligers - Australia
Cactus Flats our conversation dries up
Melissa Spurr - U.S.A.
a rattler yet to grow its rattle rising desert sun
Melissa Spurr - U.S.A.
windswept... all the dust in one corner of my eye
Greg Hopkins - U.S.A.
winding down after a long day... dust on the fan blades
Tanya McDonald - U.S.A.
Notes from the Gean No.8, March 2011 Page 12
a cross traced in the dust summer rain
Mary Davila - U.S.A.
sudden impact the heightened pitch of a cricket
Mary Davila - U.S.A.
watching parched trees walk out of the water — heat haze
Liz Rule - Australia
after the rain cleansed from summer heat the scent of flowers
Petrus Heyligers – Australia
the smooth flow of the Similkameen... peaches ripen
Susan Constable - Canada
Notes from the Gean No.8, March 2011 Page 13
mountain trek — her laughter echoes the tinkling stream
Geethanjali Rajan - India
the echo of a waterfall... shimmering sunlight
Keith Simmonds - Trinidad and Tobago
silky sunlight... from bloom to bloom a butterfly
Keith Simmonds - Trinidad and Tobago
the full moon glides down a plantain leaf: heavy rainfall
Keith Simmonds - Trinidad and Tobago
storm clouds seagulls leave the cricket pitch
Cynthia Rowe - Australia
Notes from the Gean No.8, March 2011 Page 14
rising beyond the muck... lotus viewing
Kala Ramesh - India
my monsoon sale bargains — all through the year his critique
Kala Ramesh - India
thunder, as if to emphasize his point
Michele L. Harvey - USA
fireflies a few stars twinkle between the pines
Don Baird - U.S.A.
Good Friday — a dragonfly splayed across the web
Quendryth Young - Australia
Notes from the Gean No.8, March 2011 Page 15
morning glories a slight hesitation in my step
Michael Lindenhofer - Austria
Indian Summer — pretending we're in love
Melissa Allen - U.S.A
dawn breaks between her excuses... ash in my coffee
Brendan Slater - The Netherlands
Indian summer — all his love letters signed in pencil
Michele L. Harvey - USA
new coolness a bicycle with a buckled wheel
Brendan Slater - The Netherlands
Notes from the Gean No.8, March 2011 Page 16
our differing points of view — blackberry vines
Joanna M. Weston - Canada
first day of fall a hint of blue in the raven's eye
Susan Constable - Canada
my old hometown... a sudden chill when I hear her name
Susan Constable - Canada
harvest moon... beneath your balcony the sleeping town
Jo McInerney – Australia
the moon turns red as it enters Earth's shadow all that love making
J. Zimmerman - U.S.A.
Notes from the Gean No.8, March 2011 Page 17
into autumn distance the blindman's blue eyes
Allan Burns - U.S.A.
the moon in my dog's eye watches me
Don Baird - U.S.A.
rain... toadstools dribbling down the hill
Quendryth Young - Australia
life-drawing the bottle-shaped space between his legs
Quendryth Young - Australia
Yellow leaves — learning to do without things I don't really need
Jack Galmitz - U.S.A.
Notes from the Gean No.8, March 2011 Page 18
silver maple letting the kayak drift awhile
Bill Cooper - U.S.A.
deep ravine brown leaves just as welcome
Bill Cooper - U.S.A.
crimson leaves fall he packs away the unused crib
Garrett Derman & Tyler Lamensky - U.S.A.
falling maple leaves... she picks up her needlework
Susan Constable – Canada
fiery sunset the curling leaves of a liquidamber
Gavin Austin - Australia
Notes from the Gean No.8, March 2011 Page 19
autumn webbed in brent geese feet... dazzle of fireweed
Susan Richardson - U.K.
the rusted teeth of a two-man saw autumn equinox
Melissa Spurr - U.S.A.
stalled behind a log truck... I count the rings
Jo McInerney - Australia
fresh stump a spider scurries across aeons
Polona Oblak - Slovenia
my wife asleep on my pillow - my dreams still not hers
Bob Lucky - Ethiopia
Notes from the Gean No.8, March 2011 Page 20
full moon — unable to distinguish her shadow from mine
P. K. Padhy - India
every day less certain — brilliance of the moon
Ruth Holzer - USA
rest home — slumped on the porch a stuffed scarecrow
Ruth Holzer - USA
I forget his name the neighbor with Alzheimer's checks the mail again
Bob Lucky – Ethiopia
my newborn taken to the camp orphanage — tule fog years
(written in response to a World War II Internment Exhibit at the Japanese Cultural Museum, San Jose, California)
Judith Schallberger - U.S.A.
Notes from the Gean No.8, March 2011 Page 21
winter twilight — homing mynahs over my backstroke
Ramesh Anand - Malaysia
the first snow — in the late night quiet mice in the attic
Adelaide B. Shaw - U.S.A.
Watching snow fall I settle into myself a little bit more
Jack Galmitz - U.S.A.
first snow — a childish wish to be invisible
Michele L. Harvey - U.S.A.
snow clouds drifting — in the photo album, an empty face
Jerry Foshee - U.S.A.
Notes from the Gean No.8, March 2011 Page 22
Holly berries — in my coat pocket a forgotten stone
Ramona Linke - Germany
The coffin lowered — mother took Creation with her
Jack Galmitz - U.S.A.
brushing snow from her father's shoulder — memorial tea
Susan Constable - Canada
year's end — no more leaves to turn
Svetlana Marisova - New Zealand
out of the old year into the new a dream unbroken
Stuart Quine - U.K.
Notes from the Gean No.8, March 2011 Page 23
first big snow a sense of smallness returns
Peter Newton - U.S.A.
snowmobiles rev deep in the woods up the quiet
Peter Newton - U.S.A.
bare birch — the crow and shadow settle on white
Paul Cordeiro - U.S.A.
winter sky the trees through the trees
Greg Hopkins - U.S.A.
pond ice remembering swans
Polona Oblak - Slovenia
Notes from the Gean No.8, March 2011 Page 24
midwinter a grey tree bursts into pink galahs
Jan Dobb - Australia
Valentine's Day — I give him the opera his mother loved
Ruth Holzer - U.S.A.
warming days icicles under the eaves grow another drop
Adelaide B. Shaw - U.S.A.
the warming sun — winter gurgles down the drain
Adelaide B. Shaw - U.S.A.
thrush's flute song I lift my head from Basho's journey
Belinda Broughton - Australia
Notes from the Gean No.8, March 2011 Page 25
wall of water the wave draws back
Owen Bullock - New Zealand
end of the jetty the sea's steady work with boulders
Peter Newton - U.S.A.
part grace part strut in another life gull
Peter Newton - U.S.A.
new fish tank... the bubbles set to the snail's pace
Peter Newton - U.S.A.
rotting seaweed — the low tide exposes life on the rocks
Adelaide B. Shaw - U.S.A.
Notes from the Gean No.8, March 2011 Page 26
From behind the homeless man in the rain could be Santōka
Bruce England - U.S.A.
city road the rain puddles are red with beggar blood
Gautam Nadkarni - India
night bus a buckled beer can rattles down the aisle
Stuart Quine - U.K.
farewell party a glint of moonlight on my car keys
Rosie Roumeliotis – Greece
March memorial — his grit in the wind's teeth
Michele L. Harvey - U.S.A.
Notes from the Gean No.8, March 2011 Page 27
war zone a white lily inches up too soon
Victor P. Gendrano - U.S.A.
his finger-wagging about desk haiku — blossoms keep falling
Chen-ou Liu - Canada
the mayor filling the air with words — snow flurries scatter
Chen-ou Liu - Canada
at home alone in a barking contest a child and a dog
Vladislav Hristov - Bulgaria (translator - Maya Lyubenova)
busy playground from inside the bushes a crow is watching
Michael Lindenhofer - Austria
Notes from the Gean No.8, March 2011 Page 28
the baby monitor babbles to itself night of shooting stars
J. Zimmerman - U.S.A.
Memorial Day grandmother wishes on a star for a grandchild
J. Zimmerman - U.S.A.
last star the squirrel's tail from the fox's mouth
Allan Burns - U.S.A.
a ring of keys on a rusty nail... the porch gapes
Maya Lyubenova – Bulgaria
cloudy sky the foam missing from my cappuccino
John McManus - U.K.
Notes from the Gean No.8, March 2011 Page 29
a toothless smile the last streak of day in the night sky
John McManus - U.K.
class reunion the evening clouds drift further apart
John McManus - U.K.
far from home... the llama makes friends with the sheep
Ruth Holzer - U.S.A.
the last drops of cabernet... robin at dusk
Claire Everett - U.K.
infinity pool a raven bathes on the far edge
Bob Lucky - Ethiopia
Notes from the Gean No.8, March 2011 Page 30
setting out to sea the moon a little deeper than the night before
Greg Hopkins - U.S.A.
cello suite — taking leave of the world
Ruth Holzer - U.S.A.
Sunday morning the stillness pulls on the lids
Ramona Linke - Germany
summer glare along the beach only light
Svetlana Marisova - New Zealand
Notes from the Gean No.8, March 2011 Page 31
(haiku by Allan Burns, traditional haiga by Ron Moss)
Notes from the Gean No.8, March 2011 Page 32
first day of winter five thousand candles flare on Enoshima approaching on his knees a small boy blows one out
Beverley George - Australia
black pines in Bashō's garden — what twists and turns await on my narrow road
David Terelinck - Australia
the sweet scent of temple incense — toki no kane * sounding over rituals unchanged for centuries
* the Bell of Time that sounded the hours in 17th Century Edo
David Terelinck - Australia
Notes from the Gean No.8, March 2011 Page 33
having no need to get anywhere I tramp off-road through meadows and groves bypassed, and lost, long ago
Michael McClintock - U.S.A.
like a child i want to touch the white billowing clouds for tomorrow they will have changed
Carolyn Thomas -U.S.A.
after the rain each blade of grass in the meadow rings its own bell in the morning sun
Aya Yuhki - Japan
summer on the cusp of autumn the man who always walks alone walking a dog
Martin Lucas – U.K.
Notes from the Gean No.8, March 2011 Page 34
a winter sunbeam falls on an old man who smiles and shrugs and shuffles along
John Stevenson - U.S.A.
I stand on the edge of the canyon before me a decision and behind me a decision above me a hawk soaring
C W Hawes - U.S.A.
aurora borealis! waving my hands wildly to describe red and green to a colorblind friend
Alan S. Bridges - U.S.A.
passing clouds in the space of a breeze my father's face... changing from smile to scowl just as I remember it
Carol Raisfeld - U.S.A.
Notes from the Gean No.8, March 2011 Page 35
garage sale the flowered couch on which I became a woman... father died many years before my mother knew
Carol Raisfeld - U.S.A.
in a gallery I seek refuge from the hot sun — the blue serenity of Van Gogh's irises
Joyce S. Greene - U.S.A.
the thin line between need and greed — a heron spears a stoat and swallows it whole
Martin Lucas - U.K.
I saw how you hesitated and withheld your truth. When an eagle catches a fish he flays it.
John Stevenson – U.S.A.
Notes from the Gean No.8, March 2011 Page 36
there is silence in the afternoon sunlight all along the wall the skinks don't move until you reach for pen and sketchpad
Bob Lucky - Ethiopia
old she-cat back home at last such outrage in her miaowing this famine all my fault
Rodney Williams - Australia
soft mews in the darkness I wake to find underneath the covers my cat is nursing newborns
Joyce S. Greene - U.S.A.
after a summer of solitary walks along back roads I hesitate before merging into commuter traffic
Joyce S. Greene - U.S.A.
Notes from the Gean No.8, March 2011 Page 37
Porter's Pass the moebius road curved as a snake and slick with ice the river below half visible
Pat Prime – New Zealand
Snowblind (Tanka Sequence)
as if it knows morning brings the inevitable a gull flies in silence over a film of ice
on a rocky slope waiting out the winter a prickly pear with a heart destined to outlast every delusion
quietly, as snow sifts through branches, thoughts come to fill in what the body no longer remembers
snowblind we have parted ways, the world still big enough for me to be lost here you, there
Jeanne Emrich - U.S.A.
Notes from the Gean No.8, March 2011 Page 38
is it possible — when the Bismarck sank like lead into that sea — did crew belowdecks wonder what they were doing there?
Michael McClintock - U.S.A.
a thick fog blankets the islands in the gulf between us it's cold, you're gone, and yet I would want no other life
Christopher Herold - U.S.A.
uncomfortable with your black and white thinking my monotone world has many shades of grey
Julie Thorndyke - Australia
a small bird strikes my reflection and its own both of us stunned that what seems clear is not always so
Christopher Herold - U.S.A.
Notes from the Gean No.8, March 2011 Page 39
morning star in an indigo sky the wash of a persimmon sunrise bleeds night from the clouds
David Terelinck - Australia
morning's scattered clouds knit together by midday to cover the sun with a gray fleece blanket during its afternoon nap
Dorothy McLaughlin - U.S.A.
on the day I wear the scarf you gave me in our time so many say it suits me that I am moved to tears
Beverley George - Australia
I brush mom's gray hair as she chats with unseen friends in her hospice home I wonder if she knows I'm her least-liked daughter
Victor P. Gendrano - U.S.A.
Notes from the Gean No.8, March 2011 Page 40
a two-to-one or a three-to-one ratio of water to rice? where are you when I need you?
Ruth Holzer - U.S.A.
My father opens pea pods fresh from our garden into a blue bowl his pale accountant's hands filled with edible emeralds
J. Zimmerman - U.S.A.
slipping into chipotle and cinnamon with hot cocoa a manageable world at the end of the day
Michael McClintock - U.S.A.
I feel such a fraud writing tanka in English sipping green tea wearing a silk haori bought on the internet
Julie Thorndyke - Australia
Notes from the Gean No.8, March 2011 Page 41
my mind sustains a dream world in the bathtub soap bubbles burst into nothingness
Kala Ramesh – India
the sudden light of autumn in high relief exposing each deep last green — each deep last lie
Anita Virgil - U.S.A.
I watch him while he is talking I see the lie a small fish darting in the shallows of his eyes
Cherie Hunter Day - U.S.A.
have others noticed? as long as you blend well your biggest lies don't appear overdone or fully made-up
Michael McClintock - U.S.A.
Notes from the Gean No.8, March 2011 Page 42
our hotel room on the twenty-ninth floor the circuit board of city lights beginning to glow
Cherie Hunter Day - U.S.A.
the clock ticking so loudly now at fifty my purchase of this first hearing aid
Julie Thorndyke - Australia
autumn solitude... sadness wells in me cold as the shadow at the base of the mountain
Anita Virgil - U.S.A.
burning me you are no ordinary weed I pull stinging nettle
Anita Virgil – U.S.A.
Notes from the Gean No.8, March 2011 Page 43
damp dawn in this newly built suburb how unexpected the chorus of birdsong across the rooftops
Elaine Riddell – New Zealand
for all the joy of sparrow song at daybreak I cannot forget the one who perished in my dreams
John Martell - U.S.A.
all those things I never got around to doing... a pile of leaves scattered by the wind
André Surridge - New Zealand
set adrift unknown seasons ago an old house listing to one side in a vast sea of corn
Michele L. Harvey - U.S.A.
Notes from the Gean No.8, March 2011 Page 44
no curves on the road that brings me to work just a straight line connecting the dots of morning and night
Andrew Riutta - U.S.A.
no Bach on the jukebox so I select Johnny Cash and talk about unemployment with a gal named Shirley
Andrew Riutta – U.S.A.
bad news comes in threes so say the old women I've had my share in this month of numbing cold and intermittent rain
Adelaide B. Shaw - U.S.A.
Notes from the Gean No.8, March 2011 Page 45
A Thrilling Afternoon (Tanka Sequence)
cellular phone beside me I await the entrance exam results from my granddaughter
passed! came her first shout then, sobs of joy after a while happy! she laughed
indispensable for young days; good friends, good books, to dream just a little beyond one's ability
Fujiko Sato - Japan
Notes from the Gean No.8, March 2011 Page 46
Haiku - Jade Anderson, USA Photograph - Aubrie Cox, USA
Notes from the Gean No.8, March 2011 Page 47
Haiku - Garrett Derman, USA Photograph - Aubrie Cox, USA
Notes from the Gean No.8, March 2011 Page 48
Haiku - Garrett Derman & Tyler Lamensky, USA Photograph - Aubrie Cox, USA
Notes from the Gean No.8, March 2011 Page 49
Aubrie Cox, USA
Notes from the Gean No.8, March 2011 Page 50
Tanka - Carmella Braniger, USA Photograph - Aubrie Cox, USA
Notes from the Gean No.8, March 2011 Page 51
Adelaide B. Shaw, USA
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Adelaide B. Shaw, USA
Notes from the Gean No.8, March 2011 Page 53
Brendan Slater, The Netherlands
Notes from the Gean No.8, March 2011 Page 54
Brendan Slater, The Netherlands
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Brendan Slater, The Netherlands
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Brendan Slater, The Netherlands
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Brendan Slater, The Netherlands
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Brendan Slater, The Netherlands
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Brendan Slater, The Netherlands
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Brendan Slater, The Netherlands
Notes from the Gean No.8, March 2011 Page 61
Don Baird, USA
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Diane Mayr, USA
Image from the Crosby Stuart Noyes collection, Library of Congress.
Notes from the Gean No.8, March 2011 Page 63
Heike Gewi, Germany
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Heike Gewi, Germany
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Heike Gewi, Germany
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Haiku - Ignatius Fay, Canada Photograph - Ray Belcourt, Canada
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Haiku - Ignatius Fay, Canada Photograph - Ray Belcourt, Canada
Notes from the Gean No.8, March 2011 Page 68
Haiku - Ignatius Fay, Canada Photograph - Ray Belcourt, Canada
Notes from the Gean No.8, March 2011 Page 69
Mary Davila, USA
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Mary Davila, USA
Notes from the Gean No.8, March 2011 Page 71
Pris Campbell, USA
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Pris Campbell, USA
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Ramona Linke, Germany
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Ramona Linke, Germany
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Ramona Linke, Germany
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Terri L. French, USA
Notes from the Gean No.8, March 2011 Page 77
Melissa Allen, USA
What I Lost
"If you want to see Dad before he dies, come now," my sister tells me. "You can't believe the pain he's in." I hang up, make the flight reservations and pack. Then, jittery with nervous energy, I note that there's just time for me to go for a quick run before I need to leave for the airport.
I put my cell phone in my pocket before I set off, in case my sister has anything else to tell me.
childhood summers —
he combs my tangled hair painlessly The sidewalks are coated with ice. I try to run carefully. But a cardinal darts from a branch hanging across the walk, a flash of red that pulls my attention into the sky. Suddenly, I'm on my back, pain in every part of me, afraid, for just a minute, to try to move.
But I force myself to my feet and set off running again, even faster now, despite the ice, because of the ice. I'm young, I'm strong, no cancer will ever worm its way into me and break my bones from the inside out. I'm about to get on a plane and rise thirty-five thousand feet in the air and descend, alive, a thousand miles away.
Nothing else can ever hurt me.
deep inside the snowbank — a cell phone rings
Notes from the Gean No.8, March 2011 Page 78
Alan S. Bridges, USA
Scanning for Blues
My Uncle Yancy's best friend, Dan, died two days after he did. At a celebration of their lives, Dan's wife, Wilma, served the last of the smoked pate they always made after a successful day of fishing. They had retired together from the same workplace to the same beachside community; a place of bluefish ("blues"), shorebirds, and sunsets that turn the bay colors that have no names.
I still visit their beach and think of the two tossing their lines at swirling blues, no longer so plentiful, razor teeth cutting their leaders as the friends swore and laughed at the same time. Wilma lived a few more years at the beach house with her two pet birds. Several years ago she was accepted to the local retirement home, and her daughter helped her hold a yard sale, as the new place didn't have much room. Also, they didn't take birds. Before leaving, Wilma went out to the beach one last time, placing the birdcage next to her in the sand, looking for the telltale scatter of baitfish.
Today, I walk the beach at dusk, scanning the water for blues, my pole in hand just in case. From nearby trees I hear an unfamiliar peeping and chirping. On the upper branches is a pair of non-native birds, chattering away as the sun sinks slowly behind the bay, turning the water that color you can only try to remember.
moving day — letting go the parakeets
Notes from the Gean No.8, March 2011 Page 79
Owen Bullock, New Zealand
Knox Church
I come here because I like empty spaces. God which is not us which is us the nothingness the space this building holds I crack my knuckles; they don't seem so loud as usual.
I open a Bible at random, hoping for some wisdom. First I get something about judgment in Jeremiah. I skip ahead to the New Testament and read these words:
"Lift up your tired hands then, and strengthen your trembling knees! Keep walking on straight paths, so that the lame foot may not be disabled, but instead be healed." Hebrews 11: 12-13
Well, that's interesting because I know I need to walk more (to lose weight) and my left achilles tendon has been sore lately, though it still seems better to walk than not. George Street a sign reads 'Church of Chris'
Notes from the Gean No.8, March 2011 Page 80
Ferris Gilli, USA
Scattered Acorns (For Peggy, who taught me how to listen for the chipmunk's call.)
Several wild chipmunks forage beneath our backyard feeders, running away as soon as a human appears. We saw our first juvenile last week, only half as big as an adult and very skittish. A stray black cat sometimes creeps around, alert for voles and birds . . .
something stirs
deep within the hedge a dark shape flattens
For several days the chipmunks have been making their territorial claims. One is calling now. The call is a series of very high, short chirks. Stepping outside to freshen the water bowls, I move slowly, not wanting to startle it. As I quietly open the wrought-iron gate, the chirks at once grow louder, nearer. I take a few slow steps toward the water, and the call accelerates.
a sudden gust
sweeps dry leaves — the fallen squash, split
I take another step, and the intense warning sounds move closer. As I take one more step,zot! The chipmunk leaps from under the deck and races beneath a hydrangea about two feet from me. I don't move. The chipmunk holds ground, giving short, steady chirks. I stand amazed as this bold creature challenges me.
distant siren
the scent of fresh laundry loose on the wind
I remain still as the creature races from beneath the bush, leaps onto a concrete block almost at my feet, and, I have no other word for it, yells at me. A squeaky, chirky yell, but a yell no less. I look it in the eye and keep my place. It sits facing me, firmly between me and the water bowls, its whole body shaking with the rapid calls. I sense a standoff in the making.
a highflying hawk
glides toward the moon scattered acorns
My challenger's vocalizing continues. On a whim, I begin whistling, "Morning Has Broken." Soon the chipmunk slows its call and lowers the volume. I switch to "Yankee Doodle Dandy." Aha! The animal hushes, seems to relax, and begins a different utterance, a low, steadychuck,chuck.
a new arthritis knot
the Virginia creeper turning red
The chucking continues while my leg gets a cramp. The well-known haiku "high noon" by Peggy Willis Lyles is repeating in my head.
high noon
a cat stares down the chipmunk's hole
Notes from the Gean No.8, March 2011 Page 81
As I start to hum "Do Not Forsake Me," the lilliputian hops down and dashes away, stopping once to turn and look back, before disappearing beneath the deck. As I pick up the garden hose, I hear a chipmunk in the neighbor's yard start its own chant.
Indian summer
a faint sound of drums from the high school
Credits: Lyles, Peggy Willis: "high noon" The Heron's Nest III:1, January 2001. To Hear the Rain: Selected Haiku of Peggy Lyles, edited Randy M. Brooks. (Decatur, Illinois: Brooks Books, 2002.)
Notes from the Gean No.8, March 2011 Page 82
Michele Harvey, USA
Judgment
In the family history there is a relative who was hanged as a witch. I was told she was one of the first in the USA. Apparently, she had lost a child and began to talk to herself or the child, desperately trying to hold onto the connection. She was arrested and convicted for conjuring spirits.
ground fog... frog voices deeper in the hollow
Notes from the Gean No.8, March 2011 Page 83
Marilyn Hazelton, USA
Dawn Meditation
Aware of being closer to death than to birth, I light a candle as night's shadows recede. This wick of fire, kin to stars, opens a doorway to the cosmos. My mother, father, and son, all unbroken, whole and beautiful, greet me. Our time together is precious. I see them doing what they loved: my mother her polka, my father pitching a perfect game, my son kicking the winning goal. When the knot in my heart releases, I blow out the flame and begin my day.
a goldfinch swoops into my garden as if she owns it I almost remember having feathers
Notes from the Gean No.8, March 2011 Page 84
Helen E. Herr, Canada
Black Sticky Corners
I watch my children sort my life: one box for my daughter, one for my son, another for the garbage, and a forth for the auction — tossed cards from treasured friends, pictures black and white held in place by black sticky corners. Today they tack one family photo, a calendar and some bird snapshots on my bulletin board in the care home. A rose bowl sits on my bedside table. Before, my albums matched dates with places. Now faces blur, names are lost and seasons never change.
the frost turns the pumpkin into pie
Notes from the Gean No.8, March 2011 Page 85
Ruth Holzer, USA
Amherst Again
Last century's tycoons lived here in rosy sandstone mansions, their wealth generated by the booming banks and railroads. Now motorcyclists race in the vacant warehouse yards. The writing's on the wall.
spray of black words: biker bitches on coke
Notes from the Gean No.8, March 2011 Page 86
Chen-ou Liu, Canada
Glimpse of A Floating World
A gray-haired man slumps behind the makeshift counter displaying a flat screen TV, toys, CDs, dishware, pots, and clothing. Kids chase after each other across an unkempt lawn. His wife sits exhausted amidst the haggling bargain finders.
sun-baked piles
of This Old House — one dollar each
(This Old House is the companion magazine to a PBS home improvement and remodeling television show of the same title.)
Notes from the Gean No.8, March 2011 Page 87
Ed Markowski, USA
The End Of It
After drinking from the hand that caressed and tipped
the souvenier shot glass from our honeymoon at
Niagara Falls seventy minutes an hour, twenty - five
hours a day, eight days a week, thirty - two days
a month, thirteen months a year, the mosquito
blasted off and wobbled straight into a spider's web
above the door my wife walked out of for the last
time on May 4th, 2002 at 2 : 00 am sharp.
Falling
On The
Fallen
Scare Crow
Harvest
Moon Light
Notes from the Gean No.8, March 2011 Page 88
Rhonda Poholke, Australia
Spring Hut
Every now and then my memories walk me back there, to Spring Hut's winter grass turning, its summery slide down to elegant eucalypts in the valley, where a thatched roof hut leans on the side of a rise, and where the spring is merely an indent in the ground, always water not far from the surface.
does the earth know
this scruffy child digging with her fingers?
It will not go away, that brown horse with one white patch, standing at the highest point, turning its head to look at me, then on the pulse of its big Phar Lap heart, it gallops across Spring Hut.
flying with the wind mane and my hair
Notes from the Gean No.8, March 2011 Page 89
Adelaide B. Shaw, USA
Thoughts on a Hot Night
Old apprehensions and worries return in dreams. Final exams, new job, no job. Misunderstandings, disappointments, changes, both planned and unexpected. The present and the past skewed and twisted, a tangle of truth and nightmare, a canvas of smeared colors.
Upon awakening, elusive remnants remain. A piece here ... there. Sometimes pleasant, sometimes unsettling.
full summer moon — an owl asks "Who?" I ask, "Why?"
Notes from the Gean No.8, March 2011 Page 90
Brendan Slater, The Netherlands
Her
It's a simple recipe if you have enough flair to overuse the cumin, underuse the lemon juice and add just the right amount of her essence caught on a warm summer-night breeze. Stir until morning.
finished the washing up I look for you in the dark places of your absence
Notes from the Gean No.8, March 2011 Page 91
Neal Whitman, USA
Hold That Line
Whittier College mascot: The Poets! Imagine a football game. Their visiting opponent on the Poets' 2- yard line. The hometown fans cheering: Hold that line — Iambic Pentameter — Hold that line. I go to their online bookstore and buy a ball cap inscribed Fear the Poet. Cap arrives and I head to Lovers' Point on Monterey Bay to write haiku. Near my perch a couple spread a picnic, him on his cell phone, her staring out to sea. I write a haiku, hand it to her and return to my perch. She says nothing to him. Neither turns around to look back at me. Lunch over. They walk in front of me to toss their garbage. Leave with no eye contact. In fact, look away from me. In fear?
picnicking on the seawall hopeful gulls
Notes from the Gean No.8, March 2011 Page 92
Theresa Williams, USA
Another Cast
The boat rounds a curve in the river. The shimmers on the water turn into the face of the one I loved. Always, always: this desire for what was before.
A dragonfly moist from another birth, its body filling with sun. Soon it will dart through the air like a spear.
ripples a fisherman throws his line once more
Notes from the Gean No.8, March 2011 Page 93
Carol Pearce-Worthington, USA
in the matter of the radio
He pays $5 to a man who's getting out after 10 years. The cover rattles. It reads STEREO SOUND dynamic 2 speakers. On the back, a pockmarked Sears Roebuck and Co., Singapore, assumes responsibility where serial number 101726 fades into a dent. Unidentified switches stick out along one side where a ridged AM/FM wheel spins uselessly. The aerial flops. Various wires coil around it. The radio requires a cord and since plugging in is strictly forbidden, playing it calls for subterfuge and the use of a blanket. When working, the radio occasionally pulls in classical music from a distance so mysterious he declares he loves this radio — which others around him loathe. He would rather have this radio than soap.
With a crisis caused by confiscation of the plug-in wire, he attests on official forms that the radio needs repair and he officially mails it to her who is to theoretically take it to a nonexistent repair shop which of course will declare it unfixable and officially replace it. In other words after a decent interval, she will arrange to ship him a new radio. Sears & Roebuck in Wabasha Wisconsin swears to her by phone that they will indeed send along their best battery operated radio directly to this nearly nonexistent place BUT — and they swear this above all to her by phone — it will NOT be shipped until she sends them a permission form and a number to accompany the name that mustmustmust go with it and within the week and with no permission form, his perfect Sears radio arrives: short wave long wave AM FM battery operated earbuds included.
a blade of grass the arc of grace
Notes from the Gean No.8, March 2011 Page 94
A Pair of Yotsumono Renku
Barbara A Taylor, Australia Kala Ramesh, India
Lingering Heat (autumn)
lingering heat we play outside just a little longer /b
wave-swept rocky shores glimmer as full moons /k
the president's wife flutters her eyelashes, flashes her stones /b
sparrows perform acrobatics on a cable wire /k
The Smothered Valley (winter)
the smothered valley — swirls of wood smoke just on dusk /b
memories hemmed into my patchwork quilt /k
desperate to escape the diggers make a tunnel underground /b
from branch to branch the monkey's off in a jiffy /k
Notes from the Gean No.8, March 2011 Page 95
An Autumn Shisan
Ramona Linke, Germany Claudia Brefeld, Germany
moon silver
Side 1
early autumn morn appearing near the seashore cormorants /r
federweisser ... the moon silver swaying through the alley /c
to The Transparent Factory Horwitz recites a parable /r
Side 2
three weeks on Samos Pythagoras' footsteps /r
wildflower meadow — between sun and sleep his deep voice /c
by the fireside listening to the glow together /r
Side 3
slum quarter children grubbing for plastic /c
melting of snow ... she finds the lost ring /r
laughter slips into the waiting room plum blossom scent /c
Side 4
Jesus' mild glance flyspecks on damask /c
overexposed the Great Wall of China on the return flight /r
bring in last hay — rolling thunder /c
Notes from the Gean No.8, March 2011 Page 96
Haiku Sequences in the Spirit of Renku
André Surridge and Owen Bullock, New Zealand
small town
post office queue a little girl near the front throws a tantrum
swaying away from the charity stand empty street
in the gutter sparrows squabble over a crust
muttering to himself a man reading the news
the barista disappears in a cloud of steam
a mist this side of the mountain one car escapes
missed call the flashing light of a plane
chihuahua pulls its owner through the small town
guitar lesson Tequila Sunrise escapes through a window
autumn squall the mountain absent and distance gone
fasten the night
bonfire — everything but the flame seems ridiculous
afterwards the stars that don't fall Notes from the Gean No.8, March 2011 Page 97
fasten the night
sleeplessness born of love the dawn chorus
expanding light one song swells to rise above the others
the phone doesn't ring he waters the seedlings
scent of jasmine putting to bed sweet thoughts
lotus pond
fundraiser the smell of fried onions loosens his wallet
clinging to beliefs... the harrier hawk circles the whole valley
nor'wester bringing closer the whine of a chainsaw
meditation — all forgotten that was
lotus pond the still centre of the universe
a ripple reaches a hand
Notes from the Gean No.8, March 2011 Page 98
Hyakuin
Sabaki: Narayanan Raghunathan Renju n: Narayanan Raghunathan r: Rebba Singh
Spring — Dancing Butterflies
heavenly fragrance ...fresh grass laden with spring dew /r
lingering snow first green birds /n
nodding at every passer by a lone daffodil /r
a serene dawn an empty boat /n
swaying a bough with tender leaves butterfly family /r
spectral balloons glow on the distant clouds /n
darkening skies etch age-old reflections strumming fires /r
spring drizzle twirls in a jasmine breeze /n
papery blossoms fluff voluptuously a chaste moon /r
a lizard gently shifts in pure green light /n [10]
twilight shadows setting sun ablaze in spring colours /r
burning the mountain flames ascend the sky /n
the geese have gone melting snows watering lakes and meadows /r
a crane stands still Notes from the Gean No.8, March 2011 Page 99
near the dawn sun /n
mystic pond koi weaving patterns spring sunlight /r
an orange butterfly silent on the sacred hibiscus /n
awakening flowers ushering in new life twittering sparrows /r
the little girl with a doll sways on the swing /n
lingering day evening walkers stroll past dinnertime /r
midnight silences echo a cool fragrant breeze /n [20]
wrapped in new found warmth old spring dreams /r
a frog jumps on a moon another croaks at the moon /n
young sparrows build their first nest one twig then two /r
a boy with a kite the dog follows him /n
late afternoon lemon blossoms and a solitary parrot /r
twilight spring mist distant temple bells /n
some trudge uphill the pilgrimage ends at the foothills /r
camphor fumes merge with the ancient mantrams /n
knotting the thread with fragrant jasmines sacred vows /r
spring mountains rest on the twilight breeze /n [30]
searching for the path meandering streams merging waters /r
Notes from the Gean No.8, March 2011 Page 100
a man plows earth the sun follows him /n
vast Himalayas upside down and slipped down /r
the distant hermitage a golden cow leads on /n
a garden bee in the white hibiscus flowery destination /r
women in purdah smile butterflies all around /n
spring gust girl trying to clutch runaway petals /r
lizard changes colour watches blossom breeze /n
scrubbing a marble floor with a red sponge floating soap bubbles /r
on the polished piano the morning garden /n [40]
spring clouds bloom a soft melody for the Buddha /r
flowering meadow myriad birds pecking /n
long day over a silver flask of tea Darjeeling bouquet /r
saffron robed sadhus bathing in the ganga /n
tattered shirt floats on spring cool waters chanting silences /r
twilight vendor's bell crows idle near the river /n
a spring sneeze sniffling geese waddle across pollen streaks /r
the gulmohr pathway leads to a rubiscent sky /n
portulaca blooms a flowery carpet at dawn Notes from the Gean No.8, March 2011 Page 101
shifting shadows /r
the crane takes off the sun still in water /n [50]
many dandelions zigzag in cool breeze the child smiles /n
mama grasshopper baby on her back /r
cherry blossoms rain on the solitary yogi smoking shivabhutti /n
swan fluffs feathers engulfing shadows /r
aroma of frying stray cat and kitten come sniffing /n
spring rolls sliced diagonally /r
many ants struggle on to drag a bread crumb /n
first raindrop on the threshold /r
nirvana ceremony ageless bodhisattvas in luminous forms /n
shrubs tug at scarf delay departure /r [60]
the avalanche sways the mountain midnight thunder /n
clubhouse aglow no one at the ski-slopes /r
kite down the twilight sky throbs above the ocean /n
neighbor's spaniel lifts paw pointing at nothing at all /r
woman lifts her purdah gazes at the morning sun /n
in the attic last year's spring wardrobe /r
Notes from the Gean No.8, March 2011 Page 102
two butterflies one yellow one white dissolve in mist /n
sudden darkness on other side of the tunnel spring light /r
astral ciborium wobbles in the pond three silent frogs /n
transient seasons echoes come and go /r [70]
evening namaz a brown cow and pigeons intently listen /n
candlelight dinner the lord for company /r
new pilgrimage deer lead the way in the forest path /n
déjà vu of images parrots and sparrows too /r
night shelter starry night soaked in ganga's music /n
celestial aarti lit diyas float ablaze /r
a floral bird rises in the valley of flowers lingering snow /n
wagtails visit the birdbath before proceeding north /r
little girl blows spectral soap bubbles amused dog /n
rainbow dreams drift to a seamless heaven /r [80]
hemkund sahib amidst the seven peaks a golden glacier /n
oh! my back a stubborn pony /r
roti dal cha with the villagers a pahadi dhun /n
nooo! please don't wash Notes from the Gean No.8, March 2011 Page 103
your coffee mug in the brook /r
rudra prayag distant cranes arrive in stately formation /n
the motorcade stops by the rose cottage she waits /r
easter eggs curious butterflies come to watch /n
near the rhododendron in the grass bunny-ears /r
ancient himalayas luminous all around jhaanhavi surges on /n
laving holy feet she bids farewell to the sea /r [90]
spring thunder a child's cry in the wilderness /n
a starling couple rush back from birdbath /r
kailas abloom over maanasarovar a fiery twilight /n
melting glaciers spring turning summer /r
buddha jayanthi pilgrims arrive in bodhgaya with cows /n
ah! lovely spring whither will thou go? /r
i wake up before the first birds listen to darkness /n
wild rose studded with silver dewdrops /r
flame children dance free in rainbow worlds fragrant colours /n
a full moon rests on the lotus pond /r&n [100]
Notes from the Gean No.8, March 2011 Page 104
Junicho Renku
(Composed at Issa's Snail begun Feb 27th 2010, completed March 17th 2010)
Sabaki: John Carley Renju s: Sandra Simpson: Tauranga, New Zealand g: Genevieve Osborne: New South Wales, Australia m: Mysha, Frisia, The Netherlands a: Ashley Capes: Victoria, Australia c: Colin Stewart Jones, Aberdeen, Scotland l: Lorin Ford: Victoria, Australia b: Barbara A Taylor: New South Wales, Australia j: John Carley: Lancashire, England
First Cool Day
first cool day — the blackbird and I sing, sing, sing /s
spilling from a window Clair de Lune /g
evening market, navigating by the scent of food /m
the tide too slow I watch for your colours /a
a beach-ride-man unable to catch his donkey's hat /c
after the bulldust fat drops of summer rain /l
when was the last time? pure joy trickles down my cheeks /b
an internet cafe in Old Saigon /j
swept up with the daily dose of litter plum blossoms /a
Notes from the Gean No.8, March 2011 Page 105
this spring morning — setting your face aglow /g
her laugh lines the true testament to a spirited youth /b
let's hibernate until the season turns /m
Notes from the Gean No.8, March 2011 Page 106
Junicho Renku
(Composed at Issa's Snail begun Feb 25th 2010, completed March 17th 2010)
Sabaki: John Carley Renju l: Lorin Ford: Victoria, Australia g: Genevieve Osborne: New South Wales, Australia s: Sandra Simpson: Tauranga, New Zealand k: Kala Ramesh: Pune, India w: William Sorlien: Minnesota, USA j: John Carley: Lancasihre, England b: Barbara A Taylor: New South Wales, Australia c: Colin Stewart Jones: Aberdeenshire, Scotland
The Button Jar
river of stars — choosing shirt buttons from the button jar /l
among the green a single golden leaf /g
following his nose the old dog finds a new bone /s
her chandelier earrings jingle-jangle /l
this cold morning I sink deeper into my thoughts /k
the iron moon through shattered glass /w
a tongue of flame to name the name of ten thousand things /j
lost in translation that smile of Lao Tzu's /b
take me where the heather blooms on Eilean Fraoich /c
Notes from the Gean No.8, March 2011 Page 107
pride of place for the family gramophone /l
thirty-two years and still we can't agree on frogs /s
five silkworms spinning the tranquil day /b
Notes from the Gean No.8, March 2011 Page 108
A Spring Junicho
Barbara A Taylor, Australia
Across Craggy Rocks
soaking spring two clucky chooks content to sit...
the mulberry tree alive with peace doves
just as he wished his ashes scattered close to his beloved
once upon a time in a bridal photograph
double rainbows shimmer across craggy rocks
confused by an abstract mirage
long crowds queue for hours to see a painting of a can of soup
warmth lingers as the days close in
on the dresser wilted chrysanthemum in a porcelain vase
sold for a fortune even with these deep cracks
trying hard not to take the psychic at her word
the snow woman reappears beneath an icy moon
Notes from the Gean No.8, March 2011 Page 109
Hyakuin
Sabaki: Narayanan Raghunathan Renju n: Narayanan Raghunathan r: Rebba Singh
Summer — Monsoon Rains
summer dawn — ancient sound of rain blooms sunlight /n
birds sit in the shade of dripping trees /r
a rainbow crowns the green mountain on a golden sky /n
bluebells tinkle mantrams in my ear /r
countless red ants one after another ascend the giant mango tree /n
lone pond heron contemplates stillness /r
morning breeze beyond the cloud empires the solitary sun /n
summer mirages beckon offering one for the road /r
a herd of deer cross the forest path sound of waterfall /n
the heat shimmers a hazy horizon /r [10]
a giant moth on the acacia listening to a sunny drizzle /n
the powdery impression of a distant cloud /r
summer moon echoes midnight darbaari solitary silences <="" font="">/n
shadows come and go Notes from the Gean No.8, March 2011 Page 110
over the unlit courtyard /r
green meadow rests on the twilight sky children play football /n
old woman smiles a fan in her hand /r
morning aroma of frying doshas a fly on a visit /n
desperate chirping from birdhouse hunger pangs /r
temple festival a happy beggar talks to himself loudly /n
bells chime the sway of homing cattle /r [20]
musical dreams summer butterfly chokes in the fragrance /n
sweaty hands and feet sizzling june beats a retreat /r
cooling on the porch birds named and unnamed in the bird bath /n
a koil on the neem tree other on another tree /r
silkworm cocoon throbs inside and outside in morning light /n
not a leaf in breeze afternoon siesta /r
fresh greens in the old garden glow little cuckoo's song /n
busy schedule a sandwich for dinner /r
starry night fragrant lilies in cicada's cries /n
no birds at the birdbath only a few fallen leaves /r [30]
overcast sky sound of a river then the wind /n Notes from the Gean No.8, March 2011 Page 111
cold milk on muesli don't feel like fruit /r
morning drizzle many crow's caw near the kitchen window /n
tender rice plants sway within their watery fields /r
river frog croaks the twilight sun shuffles a little /n
my way to the mountains feet stir the cool stream /r
the jungle echoes in myriad insect's cries a distant human voice /n
herding cattle the planter's moon /r
wild irises all around the stream a rainbow crane /n
iced lemon tea blossoms when it rains /r [40]
thunder storm myriad birds hiding in the sound of waters /n
a leak in the roof dust in a sunray /r
a cottage rests on the green hill and a cow chews cud /n
roses for the old lady sitting by the stream /r
solitary ant in the vast wilderness bloody twilight sky /n
these crickets they don't let me sleep /r
midnight gossip children watching distant football /n
waiting for the moon watching the sky close /r
clear dawn Notes from the Gean No.8, March 2011 Page 112
chirping birds bring a fragrant breeze /n
the alarm clock thought it was a snore /r [50]
the summer sun woke up very early warm darjeeling tea /r
grass cutting labourer amused koil sings on /n
last night's ice cubes grow on the rocks this summer dew /r
faraway mountains fluffy clouds drift gently /n
persistent calls the speckled cuckoo finds its mate /r
children dancing in the sudden rains /n
patched umbrella good for every season summer undressed /r
a floating lantern vanishes into the milky way /n
overcast skies await the call of frogs monsoon symphony /r
circles, circumfuse on the lotus pond /n [60]
memories float in the shade of trees a crane lands /r
afternoon darkness a distant birdsong /n
looming clouds first drop of rain disappears /r
rice planting women one with a child /n
an eagle circles endlessly marking new horizons /r
a spider falls from a tree climbs back /n Notes from the Gean No.8, March 2011 Page 113
low moon a sacred star flirts with pure space /r
hot afternoon with tender coconut water /n
few more steps the temple door nearly there /r
fragrant flowers and camphor fumes merge /n [70]
running downhill a huge rolling stone hopping, a hare /r
the sun at its zenith time for pista ice creams /n
plump berries juice trickles down her dimpled chin /r
two rainbows cross the mountain sky /n
a frog jumps higher than far falls flat on grass /r
a rat snake crawls near the bird bath /n
a squirrel on wire mesh the back veranda vibrates help! help! /r
twilight beach last crow takes off /n
gathering clouds parrots screech music worms in guavas /r
spilt coffee pool ants in sugary ecstasy /n [80]
squishy boots walk through rain puddles go swoosh /r
floral umbrellas bloom children off to school /n
oh! no forgot my tiffin...subway sandwich please /r
Notes from the Gean No.8, March 2011 Page 114
devastating storm thundering temple drums /n
dancing divine in a seamless trance sadaa shiva /r
infinite cosmoses born reborn in eternal spasms /n
burning to ashes the body is no more the aatma rises free /r
the lotus pond floats a crescent moon /n
drifting along endless paths unknown a sun rests awhile /r
breezy dawn unfolds a still windmill /n [90]
beyond the mountains unending space and time here the i limits it /r
empty bird bath a wobbling twilight /n
total darkness a tiny ray of hope erupts another vast dawn /r
the last days reveal an Apocalyptic hope /n
rainbow breeze mansions of pure light burst forth in bliss /r
a summer butterfly gently flies into autumn /n
lighting the birdbath with its brilliant glow the setting sun /r
a silver bee flutters around a sunflower /n
the sacred garden from season to season new visitors embark /r
wild fireworks merge with the starry canopy /n [100]
Notes from the Gean No.8, March 2011 Page 115
Two Freestyle Free Verse Renku
Jean Brasseur, U.S.A. Stacey Dye, U.S.A.
Silhouettes
gray skies a backdrop for bare limbs and lonely birds /j
melancholy cries echo through dark hollows /s
fir tree conceals a wren's nest barren in autumn
waits for snow to brush it clean /j
crow on a fence scans distant trees ruffles his wings —
scarecrow shudders in the breeze /s
red plank barn shows its age — gapes and illusions
reveal rusty plow empty harness /j
mouse skitters home mouth full of treasure owl stares...
takes wing obscuring shadows /s
crumbling silo stands sentinel over the land at dusk
silhouettes blend into darkening sky /j
Winter's Grasp
icicles drip pines warm themselves Notes from the Gean No.8, March 2011 Page 116
fragile sunlight /j
paints the forest floor
cobwebs dazzle in new fallen snow wrens hop /s
make tiny prints timeworn patterns
raccoon pauses winter coat slows him sniffs for berries /j
beneath winter's cloak as darkness settles
twinkling lights mimic the brilliance of a starlit night /s
darkness swoops down like a predatory hawk
searching for the unwary and unprepared talons ready /j
to snatch them from their present /s
Notes from the Gean No.8, March 2011 Page 117
A Bi-lingual Winter Shisan
(composed on 15 January 2011 in Cividale del Friuli, Italy) Italian/English
Sabaki: Valeria Simonova-Cecon Renju e: Erica Barbiani m: Mauro Clementi f: Fabrizio Zamero
Apollo ad Agrigento Apollo in Agrigento
tormenta di neve — snowstorm — al gatto che dormicchia the sleeping cat's trema un baffo /v trembling whisker
aghi di pino pine needles impigliati nel tappetto /m stuck in the carpet
con le dita my finger seguo le strade gialle follows the yellow roads sulla mappa /f on the map
scorrono le nuvole the clouds glide dietro i monti a Est /e behind the Eastern mountains
a destra del tempio Apollo in Agrigento di Appollo di Agrigento on the right of the temple un mandorlo in fiore /f an almond tree in bloom
un bambino solo a child by himself con un maggiolino /v with a may-bug
cosi vicino so close ha un gusto dolce the sweet taste il suo calore /e of his heat
nuotano all'unisono their bodies and souls i loro corpi e pensieri /m swimming in unison
il charleston metallic sound contrappunta metallico of the charleston counterpoints il basso cupo /f the gloomy bass
quale sarebbe so, what is the il senso della vita? /v meaning of life?
passato l'orizzonte the moon non è più incerta having passed the horizon la luna /e is not hesitant anymore
Notes from the Gean No.8, March 2011 Page 118
una foto ferma a photo stops le foglie cadenti /all of us the falling leaves
Notes from the Gean No.8, March 2011 Page 119
Four Tan-Renga
m: Mark Smith, Keyser, U.S.A. j: Jerry Dreesen, U.S.A.
shadows sinking between stones autumn sunrise /m
under the pines late morning frost /j
where the snowflake died the damp spot /m
still raining every puddle bigger than the last /j
day of his death hillside of trees turning at their peak /m
surrounded by loved ones last breath /j
caught cloth in barbed wire the blowing leaves gray-bearded veteran /m
watches old glory flashing its colors /j
Notes from the Gean No.8, March 2011 Page 120
Free Verse Renku (This renku ten free-verse version is about Typhoon Morakotm the deadliest typhoon to impact Taiwan in recorded history. It formed early on August 2, 2009 as an unnamed tropical depression.)
Paul Pfleuger, Jr. and Jack Galmitz
Floods
An egret's steps: fine lines drawn in careful cursive
the water is a sheet that doesn't hold the traces
driving through the untranslatable... urns burning in the night
bodies are buried in the mud, but no tears can release them
it goes on raining close up after close up of the dead and dying
ropes are tied from shore to shore like lines that children write upon
recalling how it whispered dozing on its banks: it takes another home
slower than the rising floods could our soldiers in file run
hungry ghosts: the President stays far from water
but, steps must be taken, so he scrawls an urgent order.
Jack and Paul's reasons for the ten verse renku:
Jack:
I can't give you a reason for the ten verse schema. I can add a bit, though. You can see it begins with the tranquility and special beauty of nature (a terrific hokku by Paul) and I follow with a hint, a tenet from Buddhism about all actions, emotions, etc being written on water. Paul follows with a wonderful expression of the "absolute and the death urns" and I follow with the reintroduction of the water theme, but this time with bodies caught, stuck, which plays off of urns burning in the night. Then Paul gives a Notes from the Gean No.8, March 2011 Page 121
close up for emphasis and I again emphasize the futulity of human action and play on, bring back associations with "lines of children" referencing the opening hokku.
Of course bit by bit it is taken and we end up with Buddhist references to hungry ghosts, fear, and the futile attempt of consciousness (the head of state) attempting to enforce "orders" on the disordered.
As to why we chose ten verses, I'll leave that to Paul, since it was his idea; I could have gone on as long as he wanted.
Best, Jack
Paul replied:
As for the renku that we collaborated on, it was written at the time of Typhoon Morakot, which was merciless when it made its way to our island. About 700 people were reported dead or were never found. Bodies were buried in the mudslides, rivers took villages, literally.
For this work I am taking it in while I am here in Taiwan and Jack either sees it or reads about it in the news.
Being that 10 is the completion of the numeric cycle in English, does that sound like a fair enough reason for our choosing to go with 10 verses?
Hope you'll still consider "Floods" though it may be seen as being somewhat non-traditional, there are traditional sensibilities about it.
Best, Paul
Notes from the Gean No.8, March 2011 Page 122
A Conversation with John McDonald and Colin Stewart Jones At the Guildford Arms Pub
Edinburgh, 29 December 2010
Colin: Why did you start writing haiku, John?
John: My real aim in starting writing was very strange. The aim was that silence was very important to me as it is in all the religions of the world. You go to silence and that is where it is all happening and springing out from and I always had this ambition to write out poetry which said as much as could possibly be said about this scene or event with as few possible words as one could. Haiku came close to what I have always been wanting.
Colin: So you are interested in the space between words, the dreaming room—ma.
John: Well yes, I know from my own particular studies and an interest in Eastern religion for most of my life that the space is all that there is and everything else is an impingement on it. The space is all. That's what the Zen master says...there's nothing to think there's nowhere to go here it is here.
There was a big bang which is still going on and everything has come out of this massive heat which was 1000 times stronger than the heat in the centre of the sun. It has become the retina of the eye. The thunder of the Big Bang has become language and is fast becoming one language all over the world.
Colin: That suggests a cause and effect, ripple effect, coming down the millennia from this one event. I would say to you as a sceptic, what caused that one event, because scientists say there was nothing and then it exploded.
John: Well that is it, something can't come from nothing. The great mystery in the world is that something has come from nothing and that is what we spend the rest of our lives trying to find out. Something has come from nothing but that something came from something that was there in the nothing. In other words, from consciousness. Nothing in the world can exist without consciousness. That is the one base in the world and when you meditate and go into this consciousness what you find is this silence, this absolute silence, this absolute nothingness, but everything is pounding about madly in it, you know, which is quite amazing. But it is all a great mystery, everybody will tell you, anybody with any sense will tell you that it is a mystery that none of us understand, and, indeed, may never understand. No tes from the Gean No.8, March 2011 Page 123
Colin: And that is the beauty of it.
John: I had a great friend who was a sceptic who lived to 96, we used to have philosophical discussions and I used to say it is like this Tom: this is what I honestly believe...I may go through the whole of my life, I've no doubt I will, and at the end of it I will never know what it was all about but I will be able to say it was a privilege to have been a part of it. That's all I can say.
Colin: You have a poem about the weight of the world being carried on a sparrow's legs:
in such in siccan a dangerous world unchancy warl sparrow's thin legs speuggie's spurtle-legs
Colin: The name of your blog is Zen Speug, now there are a lot of weighty issues there but you have got that counterpoised with the delicateness of a sparrow and the Scots and the East married together.
John: The real reason for calling it Zen Speug was that that was the name of my very first Scots book I self-published and put in the library.
Colin: Why was that first book called Zen Speug?
John: I was into Zen, madly at the time, and they spoke a lot about sparrows and I thought that a sparrow knows as much about Zen as I do so he has every right to be there. The next one was Zen Tinker, Peeries an Stanes, Tanner Baw. These were the four that went into libraries but when I started the blog I thought let's call it the same as the first book because that was the first purely Scots poem. I never gave any translations of the Scots poems, it was just in Scots, no glossaries or anything like that, I felt that it was up to the reader, if they were interested to find out what the Scots words were. Another way of saying, well, get interested.
I remember being asked to officiate at a Burn's Supper in Fife and I thought I'll go up there and I'll push the Scots language. My last words were to tell them all to keep the Scots language going and I recounted a story about a guy kneeling at the side of his bed praying to God and he says to God, "What are you going to do about all this poverty there is in life? What are you going to do about wars? What are you going to do about greed?" and he went on and on and on. Just as he was getting up when he finished his prayers God answered him saying, "By the way, I have done something about all these things — I made you." So what I was saying to them was when are you going to do something about it.
Colin: I got the impression it was because the sparrow sings no matter what. I was thinking of Edith Piaf, The Little Sparrow.
John: I am grateful for you thinking that because this is what I would want in haiku. What I want is to write a haiku that has got many meanings. You walk away and start thinking of a sparrow, the image of it, and who knows what will come out of all that. Who knows what you like about it and who knows what somebody else will like about it. I often get comments on my blog where people only see the one meaning and sometimes that is all there is too see, and quite rightly. Sometimes there is haiku where you would like them to realise that there is another level and meaning to this but they don't, they still just see the one thought. I despair of repetitive haiku but if you try too hard to be metaphorical or deep then you find yourself holding back from the moment and that can be a problem.
Colin: Yes, then you'd miss the point of haiku. Surely the act of recording the moment makes it subjective anyway, does it not?
Notes from the Gean No.8, March 2011 Page 124
John: It does indeed. At the end of the day there is only subjectivity.
Colin: Yes!
John: It's the lack of true words for what we are trying to grasp. But the best words are that there is only subjectivity. What I am saying is there is only consciousness and everything plays in that consciousness and that consciousness is not yours and is not mine but it is one.
Colin: What about politics in haiku, or say, social issues, because I noticed you have a haiku about two gay lovers who are walking beside the river and it is a bitter day but the wind changes. That speaks of softening attitudes though it is also a concrete statement.
gay lovers walking gay luvers stravaigin by the water's edge — bi the waater's lip — the bitter wind easin the wersh wund easin
John: Yes. Without any real deliberate intent that was one where I did see a couple of guys going along and I knew that they were gay and it was joyous to me that the winds of change were blowing and that that was ok. It was expressed that the cold wind had ceased. These are the double meanings that I seek, or sometimes even treble or more if I can. It is trying to get as much into as few words. There will be a political dimension but I do not deliberately start a haiku with political intent.
Colin: It creeps in though, doesn't it, sometimes because it is a big part of us.
John: Yes, subjectivity is what we are all about.
Colin: I remember I wrote one about a burnet rose, which is a symbol of Scotland, and catching its scent in shade. To most people it was just a concrete image but I wrote it about the time of Devolution and to me it was very political but nobody got it.
John: Yes when you advertise yourself, for want of a better word, within a genre, such as haiku, people expect a certain style but a lot of what we are getting is imagist poetry.
Colin: I have noticed with you, and I'd say with my own stuff, that you are more interested in turning things on its head. Instead of the rain falling to the ground the rain will be bouncing up off the ground and it is playing with the words rather than just the juxtaposition. Is that true?
John: Yes for me... ______
There is no more, unfortunately, as something went awry with my tape recorder but we discussed John's love of jazz:
ma neb refeckit my face reflected: smiling in a photo smirkin in a photy amang jazz legends among jazz legends
'Jazz On A Summer's Day' 'Jazz On A Summer's Day' a basket full of flowers a skep fou o flooers fou o bummers full of bees
We also discussed innovations in haiku from Japan and other stuff that will forever remain private. I can Nosaytes thoughfrom the thatGean JohnNo.8, hadMarch a 201touch1 of flu which he eased with a hot toddy and I had a pint of BudwarPa gande 125
we spent a very pleasant time together.
Some more of John's poems for you to enjoy:
on the street on the causey an auld mattress an old mattress dented by love and death duntit bi luve an daith
'another soldier dead' — 'anither sodger deid' — they blaw cuil tirls they blow cool breezes across their tea-cups athort their tae-cups
I call 'good morning' a cry 'guid mornin' the deaf man's dog the deef chiel's dug wags its tail wingles its tail
You can read more of John's work in his blog which is updated several times a week:
zenspeug.blogspot.com
Notes from the Gean No.8, March 2011 Page 126
wild camomile: haiku by Owen Bullock
A review by Colin Stewart Jones
Owen Bullock is a Cornishman who lives in New Zealand where he works as a teacher of creative writing and is, as you will see, a very accomplished poet. Most collections of haiku follow the pattern of a year in a poet's life from Spring through to Winter and wild camomileis no exception. Where wild camomile differs from most collections, however, is that there is a unity to the collection as a whole and the reader is left with a quiet sense of hope. Though Bullock takes us with him as he gains a new job, moves home and gets divorced we still share in his overriding optimism for the future.
tired I crouch in the grass wild camomile
Bullock always seems to be able to take a positive out of a negative and even life's failures can be turned around to give a feeling of peace:
she folds my failed poem into a dove
And likewise, when a child disturbs a quiet moment of contemplation, we share in Bullock's delight in the freedom of childhood:
Japanese garden — a child rings the bell on his bike
Bullock seems to accept where he is at in the world and just gets on with what life throws at him. The mundane routines of life are just something that has to be done but will lead, we feel, to fuller living.
another love that doesn't work out — he cleans the kettle
The bills present no problem now he has a job again:
Notes from the Gean No.8, March 2011 Page 127
money to pay the bills the envelope tastes sweet
Even the baser things can easily be rectified:
someone has drawn a huge penis in the sand the sea will take care of that
There is also a wonderful sense of community and belonging which encompasses all of the natural world:
an ant carrying one of the ants that didn't make it
so still the neighbourhood on test match day
For Bullock it seems everything is as it should be and everything is in its place; where everything is in everything:
the sky and all of the lake in the lake
If you are feeling a little jaded with your part of the world take a fresh look from Bullocks viewpoint to regain a positive outlook. I cannot recommend this book enough.
______
wild camomile: haiku by Owen Bullock Post Pressed, Teneriffe, Qld, Australia 2009 ISBN 13: 978-1921214 ______
Notes from the Gean No.8, March 2011 Page 128
Notes from the Gean No.8, March 2011 Page 129