September 19: Night bells

Buoy bell ringing

in the heavenly temple

of ocean and stars.

 

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September 18: Monhegan: Butterflies

Butterflies lift off

of every patch of flowers--

yes, I remember.

 

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September 17: Sounds like spring

End of summer--

in the backyard

phoebe calling again.

 

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September 16: Early morning, sound of feathers

I hear wings flapping

but fall back asleep

too tired yet for the divine.

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September 15: Just before dawn

Just before dawn

a single crow caws--

I'm not the only one awake.

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September 14: On the trail

That feeling of freedom

and ferns for toilet paper--

peeing in the woods.

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September 13: Translation

I spent this rainy afternoon working through a book I bought in Quebec City: a French translation of Japanese haiku by contemporary poet Mayuzumi Madoka. The book is arranged in four seasonal sections, with each haiku and its explication by the author on facing pages. I read through Spring and into Summer, fascinated by the nexus of several languages: the original Japanese, the French translation, my attempt to piece it together in English, and the universal poetic sensibility, which renders a good poem timeless in any language. It feels like a good exercise to play with words, image, and feelings in this way; I found myself longing for a retreat to submerge myself in this world for several days to see what might come out of it for my own poetry.

 

Here is my halting translation of one of her spring haiku:

 

Amplified

by the toll of the temple bell--

this spring twilight.

__

 

Rainy afternoon--

I can almost hear the fog horn

or a temple bell.

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September 12: The world is new

I awake to crows

telling loud eagle stories--

first light on the ash.

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September 11: Night light

This is a small town, but even here, living as we do across from a street light, we rarely get to fully appreciate the night sky in all its starry glory. So after dinner with friends who live on a farm out in the country, it was such a thrill to look up on the way to the car and enjoy such a wide, clear view of the night's stars.

 

Night sky above a dirt road--

we pick out Polaris,

now it all makes sense.

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September 10: Skunk hour

In the redolent dark

soccer ball on the lawn becomes

so easily a skunk

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September 9: River nocturne

Dusk on the river--

goldfinches finish chatting

--was that a peeper?

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