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29 pages, Kindle Edition
First published June 21, 2011
...haiku's essence was to find, in the face of the long-familiar, something not yet said.
silence:
the cicada's cry
soaks into stone
coldness—
deep-rooted leeks
washed white
don't copy me,
like the second half
of a cut melon!
on a journey, ill,
dreams scouring on
through exhausted fields
spring leaving--My review could easily be as long as Hirshfield's little book, especially if I add my unfulfilled longings of travel. Of a good family, Basho chose enlightenment by poetry and travel, and I think he readily attained it. As he wrote:
birds cry,
fishes' eyes fill with tears
growing old:
eating seaweed,
teeth hitting sand
dusk: bells quiet,
fragrance rings
night-struck from flowers
a cuckoo!
masters of haiku
vanish
On a leafless branch,
a crow's settling:
autumn nightfall
The moon and sun are travelers of a hundred generations. The years, coming and going, are wanderers too. Spending a lifetime adrift on boat decks, greeting old age while holding a horse by the mouth -- for such a person, each day is a journey, and the journey itself becomes home.It is entirely possible that I will re-read this book. Many times.
"Bashō’s seventeen-syllable haiku, looked at closely, are much like Emily Dickinson’s poems: they are small but many (both poets left behind over a thousand poems), and the work of each of these poets crosses implausibly variable and precise terrains of mind and world."
"Linked verse could be written by two people, but more often were composed over the course of several hours—during which a good amount of sake or rice wine might be consumed—by a larger group of three to seven poets."
The Heart of Haiku by Jane Hirshfield