The "invention" of language must certainly have been an amazing thing. Communication is basic to all living things. Even bacteria have language as the work of Bonnie Bassler has shown. So, this is key to life on our planet. But when was poetry discovered, and who did it? When we view a peony, or a sunset, or a deer standing in tall grass and the vision talks to us -- is that poetry? it may begin with the image on the retina? As the teenagers say -- "Whateva."
Reading the haikai of Basho, Buson and Issa recently, it struck me that each of us has our favorite poets. I will "share" some of the haiki with you in this and future posts, and also invite you to introduce us to your poetic mentors? From Iran, India, China, Europe -- our C2S community spans the globe and it would be curious to hear about your sources of inspiration.
The following are some random notes I took from
The Essential Haiku
Edited by Robert Hass
The poets of old speak to us over the vast expanses of time. Seven hundred years ago, Yoskida Kenko, a Japajnese monk wrote:
To sit alone in the lamplight with a book spread out before you, and hold intimate converse with men of unseen generations - such is a pleasure beyond compare.
This summarizes the romance we have with the our poets of old – those few who have survived the test of time.
Most of us in the West are familiar with our Greats: Keats, Hopkins, Dylan Thomas. Each country lays claim to super novas. Hafiz in Persia, Tagore from India, Goethe and Rilke from Germany. Please send me your favorites.
Forty years ago Li Po (now called Li Bai) held me in thrall – and I plan to revisit him soon. A few years back, I stumbled on The Essential Haiku: Versions of Basho, Buson and Issa edited by Robert Hass. I recommend this volume to you without hesitation.
As I sit in my back yard tonight – gazing at the foliage and the flowers (greens, and pinks, and purples, and yellows) and listening to a birdsong chorus (crows, and warblers, thrushes and a lonely owl) and swatting at the occasional gnats – I feel an affinity with the Immortals – they talk to me. They did not need digital cameras to capture what amazed them, but did so with words that endure and continue to enlighten and inspire us.
Matsuo Basho: 1644 – 1694 Da Ichi (number 1)
In his writings on the Craft Basho tells us:
Learn about pines from the pine, and about bamboo from the bamboo.
Don’t follow in the footsteps of the old poets, seek what they sought.
Make the universe your companion, always bearing in mind the true nature of things – mountains and rivers, trees and grasses, and humanity – and enjoy the falling blossoms and the scattering leaves.
The secret of poetry lies in treading the middle path between the reality and vacuity of the world.
Is there any good in saying everything?
Poetry is a fireplace in summer and a fan in winter.
Those who do not see the flower are no different from barbarians, and those who do not imagine the moon are akin to beasts.
The bones of haikai are plainness and oddness.
Eat vegetable soup, not duck stew.
Selected Basho Haikai
Even in Kyoto –
hearing the cuckoo’s cry –
I long for Kyoto.
This road–
no one goes down it –
autumn evening.
Winter solitude—
in a world of one color
the sound of wind.
When the winter chrysanthemums go
there’s nothing to write about
but radishes.
They don’t live long
but you’d never know it –
the cicada’s cry.
A caterpillar,
this deep in fall –
and still not a butterfly.
Don’t imitate me;
it’s as boring
as he two halves of a melon.
The morning glory also
turns out
not to be my friend.