#morehope

I'm continuing to join a whole crew of December hopefuls in Tweeting daily haiku.  Here are mine for the last week, and while I keep trying to hew to some basic tenets of traditional haiku, circumstances continue to drain my self-discipline so that the best I can do is to write something, never mind according to any rules.

What are those rules?  I often turn to my friend Robyn Hood Black for haiku inspiration, because

empty window
the last of her fur
in the lint trap

 ©Robyn Hood Black
Frogpond 40:3, Autumn 2017

which just goes to show you don't even need  5-7-5, but today I'm reviewing a bit of guidance from The Academy of American Poets:

Among the greatest traditional haiku poets are Basho, Yosa Buson, Kobayashi Issa, and Masaoka Shiki. Modern poets interested in the form include Robert Hass, Paul Muldoon, and Anselm Hollo, whose poem “5 & 7 & 5” includes the following stanza:

     round lumps of cells grow
     up to love porridge later
     become The Supremes                                          [my goodness, how I love this]

Haiku was traditionally written in the present tense and focused on associations between images. There was a pause at the end of the first or second line, and a “season word," or kigo, specified the time of year.

As the form has evolved, many of these rules—including the 5/7/5 practice—have been routinely broken. However, the philosophy of haiku has been preserved: the focus on a brief moment in time; a use of provocative, colorful images; an ability to be read in one breath; and a sense of sudden enlightenment and illumination.


As you'll see in my week's work, each of my haiku has one or two of the traditional elements, but I don't think any one has all of them.

Dec. 8

is this a place where
only those survive who are
extraordinary?

 Dec. 9

dead brown living green
hanging somewhere in between
wise bud of waiting

Dec. 10

single string of
tiny lights twines up trunk
strives at crescent moon

Dec. 11

full-on sweat-soaked battle
scrambling bodies slap the mat
purity of wrestling

Dec. 12

arthroscopy:
two holes show hidden joins
present hearts, everyone


Here are two where I try to get at all the markers of classic haiku.  Let's see if it makes a difference....

Dec. 13

still a week to go
weary feet make for the car
frozen lawn sparkles                               

Dec. 14

lot full of tiny trees
our car the polar opposite
of Grinch's sleigh





Okay, ONE where I try to get all the markers!  Yep, the self-discipline is definitely a little flabby. I'm sure the round-up this week will be toned and taut over at Laura Shovan's blog, where she's featuring a book by a mutual friend of ours from Maryland, Jona Colson.  Wishing you all more merry, more bright.

hb to the mayor of poetrytown!

For so many years I had known his name, read his work, heard how the children's poetry world revolved around this venerable voice for children and their reading needs.  But it wasn't until 2009 that I had any opportunity to actually meet Lee Bennett Hopkins, and that was no small moment--it happened in front of dozens of the bright lights of children's poetry, gathered to celebrate Lee's receipt of the NCTE Poetry Award.

I posted about that event here and mentioned the poem that I shared at that festival in the "town square" which was really a large but windowless conference room.  What town do I speak of?  Poetrytown!  And who is the Mayor-by-Acclamation of that town?  It is Lee!


What did I read that day?  A poem which coincidentally--for I knew little of this feeling of community or of Lee's leadership until I walked into the room and felt it--described both my desire to invite others "into the house of my poem" and to be invited in.  And here is that poem, dedicated to Lee Bennett Hopkins on his birthday!

Stanza Means Room | Heidi Mordhorst

  for Lee Bennett Hopkins, again

Come into the house of my poem.

Knock on my title,

I’ll open the door--

Knock on my door and come in!

This stanza’s my parlor.  Come in.

Hang up your hat,

Settle in, stay a while—

I’ll tell you my story and you tell me yours.

Sit down in my poem and chat.

This stanza’s my kitchen.  Come in.

Are you ready to eat?

Belly up to the bard—

Sip at a simile, munch on a metaphor.

Dig into my poem and feast.

This stanza’s the playroom.  Come on,

Unpuzz all the packles!

Chant or sing, whisperSHOUT---

Giggle the riddles and chime all the rhymes!

Join in with the juggling and jokes!

This stanza’s the bedroom.  Come in.

Recline on my lines,

Doze off in my drift…

Pillows of imagery wonder your head.

Relax in my poem and dream.

This stanza’s the back door.  Farewell.

You aren’t the same now

As when you came in—

A guest in my poetry house.

********************************
There you are, and there I am, and there are all of us, citizens of Poetrytown--and all over this virtual town today (thanks to Robyn Hood Black, our host today) the houses of our poems will be festooned with balloons and environmentally-friendly confetti and colorful hoopla in honor of Lee!