Friday, February 27, 2015

LINES FOR FEBRUARY 27 



Morning song -
wind and trees.



# posted by Tom Montag @ 4:30 AM

Thursday, February 26, 2015

LINES FOR FEBRUARY 26 



Cranes standing
where grain stood,

the tawny field,
the call

of ancient birds.



# posted by Tom Montag @ 4:30 AM

Wednesday, February 25, 2015

LINES FOR FEBRUARY 25 



Night still
glistens

on the grass,
even though

the sun is
full.



# posted by Tom Montag @ 4:30 AM

Tuesday, February 24, 2015

LINES FOR FEBRUARY 24 



Nothing
quite so

high
as the

empty
sky.



# posted by Tom Montag @ 4:30 AM

Monday, February 23, 2015

LINES FOR FEBRUARY 23 



Upon the sky,
crows

like black bows.



# posted by Tom Montag @ 4:30 AM

Friday, February 20, 2015

LINES FOR FEBRUARY 20 



Sandhill crane.
Ancient history

climbs the air.



# posted by Tom Montag @ 4:30 AM

Thursday, February 19, 2015

LINES FOR FEBRUARY 19 



Crow,
as if

a hawk
drops.



# posted by Tom Montag @ 4:30 AM

Wednesday, February 18, 2015

LINES FOR FEBRUARY 18 



Out here
all the sky

every day
is wind.



# posted by Tom Montag @ 4:30 AM

Tuesday, February 17, 2015

LINES FOR FEBRUARY 17 



The wind's
wisdom

lies hidden
in the lee

of trees.



# posted by Tom Montag @ 4:30 AM

Monday, February 16, 2015

LINES FOR FEBRUARY 16 



Crow's
wisdom
is not

confined
to silence.



# posted by Tom Montag @ 4:30 AM

Friday, February 13, 2015

LINES FOR FEBRUARY 13 



Old crow
knows

the wisdom
of

ripe things.



# posted by Tom Montag @ 4:30 AM

Thursday, February 12, 2015

LINES FOR FEBRUARY 12 



Hawk,
my brother.

Our friend,
wind.



# posted by Tom Montag @ 4:30 AM

Wednesday, February 11, 2015

LINES FOR FEBRUARY 11 



Thickness
of the air,

the green
humming summer.



# posted by Tom Montag @ 4:30 AM

Tuesday, February 10, 2015

LINES FOR FEBRUARY 10 



Perhaps
not this much.

Perhaps
even less.

The day,
going grey.



# posted by Tom Montag @ 4:30 AM

Monday, February 09, 2015

INTO THE LIGHT BY HARRIOT WEST 

 Harriot West, Into the Light. Mountain and Rivers Press, PO Box 5389, Eugene, OR 97405. $15 + $2 shipping.

The haibun might seem a precious form in the wrong hands, as the haiku itself is precious without a true poet behind it. The content of the haibun may vary; the form remains steady. The poet may write prose about his or her travels, as Basho did, or about nature or personal experience, or anything, really. The haiku which follows likewise may be about anything the poet feels is fit subject for the form; this varies from culture to culture and poet to poet, I suppose, but it must always have that haiku moment of recognition or revelation. In terms of form, the prose may be short or long, but if it is good writing it is always physical, intense, tight, and always you can see wind move over the water. Something lifts. As in the haiku, the frog must jump.

All this is by way of introduction. I want to speak of Harriot West's Into the Light. I do not know Harriot West, yet reading Into the Light I know so much of the world she inhabits, or perhaps I mean the world which inhabits her. These are haibun not so much about travel as about motion, more of family than of nature, more about empty spaces and abundant blessings. The prose is a model of fine, tight, electric writing, full with snap, crackle, pop. Always, something moves, sometimes close to the surface, sometimes deep, far down at the edge of our vision.

Then the haiku. The haiku in these haibun, and the haiku which stand alone in the middle section, depend on nothing else. They are poetry. They can sing by themselves if needs be. The frog in them jumps. Those that are paired with a prose passage are independent, yes, but they are also like lenses through which we might consider what came before.

What I especially like is that, while the prose and the haiku in a particular haibun are not related in content, something leaps between them. There are three movements: the leap within the prose passage; the leap in the haiku; and the leap between the prose and the haiku. With some lesser haibun, my reaction to the gap between the prose and the haiku is "So?" In West's work, it is more "Uff!," as with a punch to the gut.

Well, it should be obvious I've come to praise this body of work which I find powerful and moving. I am offering that as one poet's assessment, informed by his experience and reading and by his personal preferences. I start out liking this kind of work. Yet I think if one comes to it uninformed about the world of haibun and haiku, one will also be moved by Into the Light. I'd even venture to say that if you come to the book biased against haibun in particular or haiku in general, you may be won over - this is a lesson from the best of them.

But let me not just tell you: let me show you. This is "Empty Spaces:"

We're drinking orange juice. Not fresh squeezed but from a can. It's slightly bitter with a metallic taste. But father doesn't mind. He's having his Kentucky style - with a splash of bourbon and a sigh from mother. As a treat for me, he is making scrapple, cornmeal mush with greasy sausage. I love it but what I love most is father cooking. For me. And I love watching mother push the scrapple around on her plate. She barely eats a bite.

cabin in winter
the floorboards too
have pulled away.




# posted by Tom Montag @ 9:36 AM

LINES FOR FEBRUARY 9 



A grey
morning,
the clouds

pushed to
sadness.



# posted by Tom Montag @ 4:30 AM

Friday, February 06, 2015

LINES FOR FEBRUARY 6 



Crows
on straw.

The wind
lifts

their talk.



# posted by Tom Montag @ 4:30 AM

Thursday, February 05, 2015

LINES FOR FEBRUARY 5 



Crows and
silence.

Black and
white.



# posted by Tom Montag @ 4:30 AM

Wednesday, February 04, 2015

LINES FOR FEBRUARY 4 



Bluffs and clouds
along the river,
playing bump-bump.



# posted by Tom Montag @ 4:30 AM

Tuesday, February 03, 2015

LINES FOR FEBRUARY 3 



Wet crow
knows of rain.



# posted by Tom Montag @ 4:30 AM

Monday, February 02, 2015

LINES FOR FEBRUARY 2 



Rain, like a blessing
let down upon us.



# posted by Tom Montag @ 4:30 AM

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