Ray Zimmerman's Blog - Posts Tagged "poetry"

This is an excerpt from my next book, tentatively titled Nature is my Muse, and currently in the editing process.

A Note on Haiban

The 17th century Haiku poet, Matsuo Basho (1644 to 1694), popularized haiban in his travel journals, most notably Narrow Road to the Interior. The form looks like a hybrid, and I have found examples of haiban in poetry journals and also in at least one collection of essays. As published in contemporary American poetry journals, the form is usually a short prose piece followed by a haiku.

The haiban in Basho’s journals took a form somewhat different from this. Basho used the haiku as a conclusion for one section and immediately began another narrative. They almost serve as punctuation. Copies of the journals are readily available in both print and eBook format.

Aside from popularizing haiban, Basho is noted for formalizing haiku. He wrote thousands of haiku during his lifetime and some scholars say that haiku began and ended with Basho. His stand alone haiku are noted as the best of the genre, and his poem “Old Pond,” is often cited as the model haiku:

Old pond
A frog jumps in
The sound of water
- Matsuo Basho

He also presented haiku in other diverse formats. His drawings and calligraphy are superb, and he often combined poems written in exquisite calligraphy with a visual image on the same page. The form of combining Haiku with visual art is known as haiga. Examples appear in The Art of Haiku by Stephen Addiss. The author also addresses the lesser known (at least in the west) form of linked haiku, another form at which Basho excelled.

Later masters of Haiku, including Buson, Issa and Shiki also combined their Haiku with visual images. Issa wrote at least one haiban journal. Addiss states that Haiku has become the most popular poetic form world-wide.

My reviews of The Art of Haiku and Narrow Road to the Interior appear on my blog at rayzimmerman.weebly.com and on my Goodreads page.

My new book, We are Water, is in the final stages of production. I review the final draft at the printer tomorrow, and hope the print run will be complete next week.

This book is a very small product, featuring haiku and color photographs. The photograph and matching haiku appear on facing pages, and in a sense the poems are ekphrastic.

Initial production will be a short run, due to the cost of color printing, and book will be available from the author and through a local book store.

I began looking at my photographs (originally shot on 35 mm slid film and digitized more recently) and writing matching haiku after reading The Art of Haiku by Stephen Addiss.

Also published in the literary journal Number One, Gallatin, Tennessee, 2019 edition.

For the Last Carolina Parakeet

I imagine the loneliness of your aviary
there at the Cincinnati Zoo where your
predecessor, the last Passenger Pigeon,
flew off to oblivion just a few years earlier.
One voice is not a choir.

You were part of a social species,
descending by the thousands,
on fields to consume cockleburs,
or orchards for luscious fruits.
One voice is not a choir.

Some labelled you a pest
and pursued with shotguns.
Audubon noticed your species
in decline even in his bygone days.
One voice is not a choir.

No welcoming song of your fellows
greeted your waning days. Does your
skin adorn a museum, just as your
ancestors’ feathers adorned ladys’ hats?
On voice is not a choir.

It saddens me to think my adopted home
of Tennessee once knew the calls and colors
of a native parrot. One scientist titled
an article about your kin, “Forever Gone.”
No voices remain in the choir.

The full text and some pictures appear on my substack publication at https://rayzimmerman.substack.com/p/i....

Personal Appearances
I have finished a zine titled Spirit Birds and sent it to a local publisher for consideration. The zine includes poetry and prose pieces about Sandhill Cranes. If accepted, it will dovetail nicely with the release of my poetry collection, It’s Just a Phase.

My new poetry collection will launch at Clear Story Arts here in Chattanooga on November 1 thanks to Walnut Street Publishing. The printer has received the final copy and the presale will begin soon.

On October 19, I will have a poetry reading at Reve Coffee and Books in Hixson, Tennessee at 2:00 PM. I will read from Healing and Conflict and We Are Water, my two self-published poetry and color photography books. I will also read a few poems from It’s Just a Phase and presale information will be available.

At 6:30 on October 19, I will present my storytelling show at Audubon Acres. Information is available on the Chattanooga Audubon Society website.

Road Trip
On February 22, I will have a book signing at the Crazy Book Lady in Acworth, Georgia from noon until 4 PM. Copies of It’s Just a Phase will be available for purchase.

I will look for other reading and signing opportunities over the coming months.

The new book includes old and new poems. This one appeared in a DIY chapbook and was published as a limited edition poster. Some friends say it is their favorite, so I think it can stand up to wider circulation
Walking the Labyrinth
October 2013

The path of the soul is not linear.
It spirals like the turns of this maze,
outlined with bricks on their sides.
Like time, it circles back
passes by starting points.

I turn left, one hundred eighty degrees.
It's not exactly the way I came, this path
to the center, where there is no Minotaur.
My dragons are all in my heart,
slain or otherwise.

The first wall outlines a square
which no paths cross.
Is this square sacred ground,
reserved for shaman, priestess,
and holy man?

If I stepped inside where
no tracks appear, would I
transport to another place or time,
reappear burned to ash
by sacred Geometry?

A friend asked a transit driver
in Nashville's less sacred geometry,
Is this my stop? Her simple reply,
“Either sit back down or get off the bus.”

My first book was a poetry anthology titled Southern Light: Twelve Contemporary Southern Poets. I collaborated with two other poets to produce this volume in 2011. It is out of print now, but authors retain the rights to their work. I am pleased to present a few of my poems from that volume, beginning with two poems appropriate to the season.

Christmas Papers

I was older when I noticed
the same color and pattern
on the Christmas papers.

Christmas morning, I rose with excitement,
and opened packages with scissors,
carefully cutting tape, so I wouldn’t rip the paper.

I was older when I noticed my mother
ironing on Christmas night. She ironed
the same towel again and again.

Under the towel, Christmas papers
lost their creases. They regained smooth surfaces.
She rolled the paper we could never replace.

Choosing between gifts and new paper,
she chose gifts.

Snow

Already the snow dissolves
at seven in the morning
in the Chattanooga dawn.

It returns me to an Ohio childhood
where I dragged my sled uphill
to skid back down again.

I would conclude the days sledding
and await my dad’s return, a rabbit
in his hunting coat.

Blood and guts defiled the whitest landscape,
cleaned up by dogs.

Then my mother was busy in the kitchen
with the rabbit in a pan and
vegetables from a Mason jar.

Birdshot lead between my teeth,
I could not taste the flesh
washed down with milk.

Awakened from this dream,
I breakfast on oatmeal with raisins.
The snow has melted.

This next one won an award from the Tennessee Writers' Alliance, and I read it at their awards ceremony at the Southern Festival of Books in Nashville, Tennessee. It has since appeared in several other publications, including The Southern Poetry Anthology, Volume VI: Tennessee.

Glen Falls Trail

I climb the limestone stairs
through an arch in rock,
into the earth’s womb,
pass through to a surprise:
George loves Lisa painted on a wall.

I wonder, did he ever tell her?
Did she ever know or think of him,
raise a brood of screaming children?
Did they kiss near wild ginger above the stony apse?

Did lady’s slipper orchids
adorn their meeting place where
deer drink from rocky cisterns?

Did their love wither
like maidenhair fern,
delicate as English Lace?

The symbols have outlived the moment.
There is only today,
only the murmur of water underground,
my finding one trickle into a pool.

I never knew this George or Lisa.
The rock bears their names in silence,
names the stream forgot long ago.

This last one shows my concern for environmental quality, which began before poetry became a passion and continues today.

Moonscape

The full moon obliterates
all but the brightest stars.
She casts shadows
on urban monoliths,
home to rats and divas.

Rainbows form and dissolve:
Neon stars announce coming events.
COLD BEER
SANDWICHES
SPICY BIKINI BAR

Alleys clog with dust.
Grit polishes glass.
I shade my eyes against smoke and soot.
Wind shakes neon signs.

The full moon rules above the skyline.
Despite burning questions about combustion,
downtown is looking up.

This post previously appeared in https://rayzimmerman.substack.com, my Substack newsletter. The Substack version included a downloadable PDF with several of my Southern Light poems.

The blog on my website has a collection of fall photographs. Rather than the multicolored hillsides typical of fall photographs, I searched for perfect tiny scenes such as individual leaves and an acorn sitting in a bed of moss. https://www.rayzimmermanauthor.com/th....

The publisher has sold out of the initial print run of my new book, It’s Just a Phase. I am promised that a second print run will soon be available. https://walnutstreetpublishing.com/pr....

The Chattanooga Chapter of the Joseph Campbell Mythological Society has asked me to emcee the 2024 production of their solstice celebration at Grace Episcopal Church, on December 15 at 6:00 PM. The event is not well publicized, but all are welcome. I still have a few spots open for anyone wishing to share stories of rebirth and bringing the light.

May the holiday season bring you joy and a return to your sense of wonder.

Merry Christmas,
Ray Zimmerman

Cranes at Hiwassee Refugee by Ray Zimmerman.

I once said that good writing is subject to the law of supply and demand and supply far outruns demand. That statement has come home to roost with my Substack readings.

My interests exceeded my reading time, so I was shocked when my email inbox held 45 messages primarily from Substack. I encountered one fine newsletter after another and subscribed. I knew I couldn’t sustain that workload and continue my creative endeavors, so I realized I must unsubscribe from a few newsletters.

Saying that is easier than achieving it. I read as many as I can and each one merits continued subscription. I open and read and find such wonderful prose and poetry, and I cannot let it go. Nevertheless, push has come to shove, and I will be unsubscribing from a few newsletters that are well worth reading.

Meanwhile, here are brief reviews of two poetry books.

On Phillips Creek
Natalie Kimbell
Finishing Line Press 2024
ISBN 979-8-8838-626-2
Natalie Kimbell teaches English, Theater Arts, and Creative Writing. Her prose and poetry have appeared in several literary magazines.

Her book opens with the poem “River.” Titles are capitalized and “RIVER” begins with these lines: “I am a River of women’s stories / passing fluid, from mother to daughter- / distinct, like the sound of stones / skimming across pools of eternity.” The stories continue with “THE BOOK OF THE DEAD,” a name her granddaughter gave to the family picture album

The poet’s family and a homestead gone to a coal company are recurring themes in this inspired book of verse. Kimbell recalls visiting that homestead, bordered by Phillips Creek, a few weeks each year while growing up, so the passage of time is also a recurring theme. A painting of the homestead is reproduced on the book’s cover.

“MOURNING THE DEATH OF MY EX-HUSBAND’S SECOND WIFE” is a fine example of Kimbell’s wry sense of humor. I hear that she has another chapbook coming out soon.

Morning Window
Bill Brown
Iris Press
ISBN 978-1-60454-501-2
Bill Brown mentored many poets and taught Creative Writing at Nashville’s Hume/Fog academic high school. Brown received awards or fellowships from the Tennessee Writer’s Alliance, The Tennessee Arts Commission, and The National Endowment for Advancement of the Arts. Biographies appear online courtesy of Iris Press and Nashville Scene. Morning Windows has a page on the Iris Press website.

His poetry's recurring themes are family, rural life, and the natural world. The poem “Tracing Words” is exemplary of his work. “Could something announce // the importance of now and let / forever sit a while on the porch / proud of our neighbor’s new hay, / the buckskin’s flashy eyes?”

I reviewed Bill’s poetry textbook, Important Words in a previous edition of Crane’s Eye View. Chapter 16, a literary newsletter published in Nashville put a few of Bill’s poems online. “In Praise of Winter Trees,” was one of them. They also posted Love for Life: A Grateful Tribute to Bill Brown by writer Kim Green.

I have seen a list of his books somewhere, but here are links to a few I have read.

Late Winter

The News Inside

Elemental

The Cairns

It makes a nice image for this post on why I write poetry. But first a word about my new book, It’s Just a Phase.

We sold out of the first print run in early December, but my publisher has informed me that the second print run is now finished and will be in stock. I am happy copies will again be available from Walnut Street Publishing.
I learned today that Humanities Tennessee will include a review of It’s Just a Phase in the statewide newsletter, “Chapter 16.” I never dreamed of this kind of exposure. The post will include a review, author headshot, cover image, and one of the poems.

I also learned today that I will be included in an authors’ panel at the Trails and Trilliums event, April 4-6 at Beersheba Springs Assembly on the Cumberland Plateau. Park Rangers and other Naturalists from across the state will attend this workshop.

I will also have a book signing at the Crazy Book Lady in Acworth, Georgia on Saturday, February 22.

On Wednesday, February 19 at 6:00 PM, I will offer a generative poetry workshop “Family and Other Animals” at Reve Coffee and Books in Hixson, Tennessee.

Another Diversion

I am putting the finishing touches on this edition on the night following the full moon. In Janisse Ray’s Journey in Place workshop presented via her Trackless Wild Substack: we renamed the full moons to reflect our location and experience. I renamed January the Moon of Rain and Flood because I once saw Glen Falls flowing at full volume after walking the path on muddy trails. I wrote the poem “Rain” to celebrate the event.

Like a poem that fills the heart to overflowing
rain covered the mountain just after the New Year.
Murmuring rivulets covered once dry leaves,
intersected paths and muddied trails,
muddied shoes and trouser legs.
I plunged through fecund mud and leaves,
became a mud man devoted to Sylvan gods.

Glen Falls became a roaring torrent,
deceived my ears.
Thinking it close, I forged ahead.
The cascade below the falls
became a booming choir.
Basses and contraltos reverberated
from hickory and oak.

I bowed before the splendor,
prepared to endure cold days ahead,
anticipated Equinox rebirth.

"Rain" appeared in the journal Number One (now defunct), a Volunteer State Community College publication, in Gallatin, Tennessee. I republished it in my book, Healing and Conflict.

On this drier and colder January Night, I returned from a meeting of the Chattanooga Writers’ Guild around 8:00 pm and looked up to a clear sky to see Orion. As is my custom, I greeted the mighty hunter with the words, “Hello, Old Friend.” After all these years, he still doesn't reply.

The waning gibbous moon shined brightly to his north but did not obscure the hunter. He is one of the brightest winter constellations. Below him, the Dog Star, Syrius, shined brightly with Procyon to its north. Above Orion shone Aldebaron and one other star in the Hyades portion of Taurus. A few of the Pleiades burned brightly too.

I saw only bright Castor and Pollux of the Gemini twins above Procyon. I used the StarDate podcast to identify the nearby orange light as Mars. It is closest to the Earth now and, from our perspective, near the moon.
Why I Shouldn’t Write Poetry
I can think of a few compelling reasons not to write poetry before telling you why I do. If you don’t want to hear why I shouldn’t write poetry, skip to the next section of this edition. The final section includes exciting news for my new book, It’s Just a Phase. Some of them are beyond my fondest dreams.

The foremost reason not to write poetry is that it doesn’t pay. Guy Clark lamented this situation in his song “Cold Dog Soup.”

The small print run is a related issue. I once told a well-published fellow poet I was negotiating publication with a small press that used 500 copies as its standard print run. He told me this was a huge print run for a poetry book, and his comment filled me with foreboding.

At another time, a fiction publisher criticized me for telling people that another book had surpassed 300 copies. He said that people would think the book was a loser because it was not selling enough copies.

It is true that novels and some nonfiction books, especially cookbooks, surpass poetry and short story collections in sales, with a few notable exceptions. Billy Collins has made publishing his poetry into a small industry. A look at one of his TED talks illustrates why his work is popular. His poem “The Lanyard,” is a personal favorite.

That talk also illustrates why he has detractors among poets who view poetry as SERIOUS BUSINESS. He is noted for using humor and criticizing pretentious writing. He values “accessible poetry,” It is rumored that when he became Poet Laureate of the United States some poets went so far as to elect an “anti-laureate.”

His success illustrates a point about writing generally. For every Billy Collins, Stephen King, or Danielle Steele, hundreds support themselves with other jobs. The traditional measures of career success elude most writers.

I only included one poem about monetary success in my latest book. I debated including the poem “Money,” but the topic is inextricably linked to the human condition.

Money When it comes to money there is never enough. People with plenty say times are tough. For those without, times are tougher still. There’s no cash in the house to pay that bill. Adam Smith said we will always want more to buy new goods; keep the wolf from the door. The wolf is what we always perceive. Your wealth is determined by what you believe. I examine my bills and check my account, as I wish I had a larger amount.
​
Why I Write Poetry
I am no Billy Collins, but my poetry is sometimes called accessible. Writing a poem is much like solving a puzzle. I discover which words fit where, and why. I write in several forms and don’t believe one is superior to the others. Some forms have specific rhythms and rhyming patterns. Free verse also has a rhythm but is more like syncopated jazz while other forms might be compared to classical music.

I also write poetry as a means of communication. I express joy at the wonders of nature, chagrin at their mistreatment, and hope for a better future. I detour into matters of humanity and societal issues. Some listeners will agree, and some may disagree vehemently. I say listeners because my poetry is meant to be read out loud.

I appreciate poets who write for the page but I emphasize performance poetry and public readings. For me, putting a poem on the page is only the beginning. This belief is not new or revolutionary. Scholars tell us the Odyssey was recited for audiences before it was written. Some say the various sections were created separately and later became an epic poem with several sections.

I like that thought. It emphasizes the poet as the bard. Performance poets may be more closely aligned with songwriters, storytellers, and playwrights than novelists and nonfiction writers.

This essay began as a journal entry in response to “Credo,” Chapter 7 of Craft and Current by Janisse Ray. The chapter ended with an exercise and a writing prompt that inspired me, although this writing does not exactly adhere to her guidelines.