Red Dragonfly
haiku. poetry.
Category: Rick Daddario
August 15, 2011
(sap rising)
August 11, 2011
(summer lightning)
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illustration: Rick Daddario, 19 Planets
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summer lightning…
dragonfly
fused
to dragonfly
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Frogpond 34.2
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August 1, 2011
(fence slats)
July 28, 2011
Yorick in Moscow
(Artwork by Rick Daddario, 19 Planets)
The cemetery is full of trees. How do they dig the graves? You couldn’t get a backhoe between the trunks. Are there still gravediggers here, men with shovels making dark jokes about the things they unearth in the course of their work? I think about dying here and what it would be like to lie with my head against one set of roots and my feet against another. With a rock over my chest that told everyone my foreign name. People would walk back and forth over me, murmuring, in a tongue not my own, the first and last years I was alive. For decades I would dream my life, until the gravediggers retrieved me, held me up to the light, let the sun shine through my skull.
last frost
my footprint melted
into the soil
July 18, 2011
(grandmother moon)
altered photograph by Rick Daddario, 19 Planets
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grandmother moon
I can’t help wishing for
a gold tooth like hers
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(Haiku Bandit Society, June 2011 Moon Viewing Party)
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full moon
one plate missing
from the setting
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(Haiku Bandit Society, July 2011 Moon Viewing Party)
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Hey…do you like writing moon haiku? Like reading moon haiku? (If you say no to either of those questions, you have to turn in your official Haiku Poet Badge, so think carefully before you answer.)
If so, you should really consider joining the party over at Haiku Bandit Society every month. It starts a few days before the full moon. Anyone can contribute a poem about the moon for those few days. Willie posts them all on the blog, and they are a blast to read. Then his dog Dottie picks out the three she likes the best and gives them the Dottie Dot Awards.
This is another one of my favorite things that people do with their blogs. I wish even more people would participate because I love moon haiku so much and there really are an endless variety of twists on them. I bet you’ve got something great up your sleeve. Think about it.
July 10, 2011
(mud season)
(Photo: Rick Daddario, 19 Planets)
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mud season
what to apologize for
first
(My third week of daily entries at DailyHaiku begins today. Hop on over and take a look.)
July 7, 2011
(cherry pits)
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cherry pits
the conversation
goes nowhere
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Presence 44, June 2011
Photo credit: Rick Daddario, 19 Planets
January 12, 2011
You Again: The 400th Post Bash
Another anniversary, another celebration. I have to say, these parties keep getting better and better. More people. More poetry. More kinds of poetry! In addition to haiku and haiku sequences and haiku sonnets and tanka and haiga and small stones, we have haibun* this time! (That’s how you know you’ve got a really great party going on — when the haibun shows up.)
And because this is a technology-forward blog (um, right), we’ve got an exciting new party activity this time — I created a Scribd doc to showcase your poetry and embedded it here. This allowed me to format stuff nicely (I mean, as nicely as someone who is completely lacking in graphic design talent and experience can format things) so you aren’t stuck looking at my horrible blog formatting of your brilliant words. And look at all the cool stuff you can do with it! Full-screen it! Download it! Print it! (No, I am not being paid by Scribd. I just really like new toys.)
I’m not going to blather on anymore because I know you’ve already stopped reading this and you’re scrolling through the document looking for your own poetry, or your friends’, or your kid’s. I’m just standing here in front of the mike talking to myself. I’d like to thank all the little people who helped me get this far … no, wait, that’s my Oscar speech. Actually, I would like to thank all the people who helped me get this far, but none of you are little, you all loom impressively gigantic in my mind. (Of course, I’m really short, so most of you probably are gigantic compared to me. What? Were you imagining me as some kind of six-foot Amazon or something?)
They’re making neck-slashing motions backstage now. Okay. Thanks for reading, and commenting, and making me laugh and making me think, and sending me your poetry to read, and giving me the day off* from writing. See you again tomorrow.
*I have to admit I cheated a little bit. I wrote the haiku for my friend Alex’s haibun. But it’s okay, right? Right? Alex doesn’t write haiku, but I love her prose, and we’ve collaborated before and I wanted to do it again. I hope it isn’t too annoying to have to read my haiku on the day you were supposed to get off from me.
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Please note that this doc has been revised a few times since it was first posted, to add in a couple of late submitters and fix some formatting problems. So if you haven’t looked at it since right after I posted or if you downloaded an early version, you might want to take another look. (I apologize to those whose poems’ formatting was off for a while.)
January 10, 2011
Someone Else: Rick Daddario
So the other day I pasted three haiku from my blog comments into a document on my computer and noted with satisfaction that yet another round number had been achieved: Rick Daddario had just left his 100th haiku as a comment on this blog. And I know I am going to be celebrating all my amazing commenters in just a couple of days, but I had long planned to feature Rick in a post of his own as soon as he hit 100 haiku (which I had no doubt he would), and this is when it happened, so here goes.
Rick has been commenting here prolifically, entertainingly, thoughtfully, helpfully, philosophically, supportively, and … oh, let’s not forget ramblingly … since back in June, which is almost as long as this blog has been around. There is no such thing as a pointless or boring comment from Rick. (Well, okay, maybe a little pointless. But in a good way. You know, the way surrealism is pointless. But definitely not boring.) It is so much fun having him around. Also, he writes some very cool haiku. (“Cool” is one of Rick’s favorite words.)
I’ve scattered just a sampling of my favorites of Rick’s ku down below, rambling all over the page in a way I hope Rick can relate to. Also, I’ve tried to link whenever possible to the original post that Rick was referring to, because a lot of the connections he makes between my ku and ideas and his are really interesting.
I hope you go check out Rick’s own blog, 19 Planets, where he mostly features his fascinating art (which I appreciate but can’t say much intelligent about because I am woefully ignorant about visual art), lots of which has words on it (I really appreciate that part). He also has some cool audience-participation activities on his site, including the great ku-me and the brand-new ku-on.
(By the way, there are several other people who have left me tons of ku in my comments. Rest assured, their turns are coming.)
Okay. Without further ado, heeeeeeeeeere’s Rick.
_______________
breath count
slowing the wings
of a butterfly
one Buddha
a perfect circle
on the road
muddy hand
against the wall
a street poet
wet feet
in the water
a dance
butterfly breeze
the flapping of lace
curtains
the shadow
around this keyhole
a locked door
the rain stops
outside my window
the crickets
wild life
the dance floor
a beehive
ku-me your ku
across a red dragonfly
splattering mud
carving the damp soil
taking away the spatter
yellow mud dauber
wet ink
on her shoulder
red dragonfly
crickets tonight
the passing rain clouds
have left music
fireflies
above the creek
a roadway
summer tea
the temperature
of moonlight
bed bound
in the tree house
a nestling
dandelion fluff
the last mouthful
of summer wine
lost ticket
the journey begins
now
big moon
the sky has become small
in my old age
a crash
of fallen leaves
red
groggy mind ~
this mountain veil
of volcanic haze
white birch
hidden in the snow
exclamation point
around in a circle
voices back and forth
a round in a circle
midnight
the stars so sharp
my eyes ache
upside down can
the garbage truck moves on
life
back eddy
this slow current
of childhood
the light tink
of rain in the gutter
storm break
constellations ~
each snowflake
in perfect place
the Milky way
a sprinkle of salt
in ink
the milky way
laughing so hard tonight
it comes out my nose
night blossom
beyond this dark tunnel
the moon
frog blossom
ripples in the pond
leave a moon
more moon
through avocado leaves
a soft glow
November 16, 2010
Across the Haikuverse, No. 3: Underappreciated Edition
(For no. 1 in this series, look here. For no. 2, look here.)
The haikuverse? You want to know what that is? Why, children, it’s a wonderful place, where mostly underappreciated writers toil night and day to produce a body of short poetry that at its best makes you jump out of your shoes, clutch your hair in awe, and possibly weep. Also, where other underappreciated writers explain how these poems work, and talk about the people who’ve written them, and so on and so forth. Where can you find out about some of the most interesting things that happened there this week? Why, right here, of course.
1.
Last week Rick Daddario of 19 Planets was inspired by my link to Marlene Mountain’s “ink writings” to post a similar haiga of his own, rather than save it for Christmastime as he’d been planning. Since Rick lives in Hawaii, his images of the holiday are a little different than ours here in Wisconsin. I found this pleasantly jarring, and also just thought that both the ku and the drawing were a very successful combination. Here’s the haiku, but you really should visit 19 Planets to see the complete haiga.
silent night
the grass grows taller
with each note*
Rick also celebrated his blog’s 100th post this week — I’ll let you visit to find out how. Congratulations, Rick!
*This version is slightly different from the one I originally posted here, since Rick called my attention to the fact that he had modified his ku since I had last checked on it. I like this version even better.
2.
Congratulation also to another blog which celebrated its 100th post this week — Alegria Imperial’s “jornales.” In it she recounts the story of her first “ginko walk,” which her haiku group took to obtain inspiration for haiku. In Alegria’s case I’d say the walk was extremely successful — I love the haiku that resulted from it!
hydrangeas–
the same whispers
the same sighs
3.
I really liked several of the haiku that Steve Mitchell of heednotsteve posted this week. First there was his sequence “always wind,” inspired by his visit to the apparently constantly windswept Norman, Oklahoma. My favorite from that sequence:
always wind -
rush to the south, no,
now rush north
Then there was his humorous but thought-provoking “ku 00000010,” a followup to another robot-inspired haiku he posted earlier this month. This haiku is clever, but for me it works as a genuine haiku, not just a gimmick:
> 1: standby mode
>particles/waves illume
>blossoms as they close
4.
The wonderful online journal “tinywords,” curated by d.f. tweney, features a new haiku or piece of micropoetry every weekday (there are submission guidelines here, if anyone is interested). My favorite this week, by Janice Campbell:
amid fallen leaves
a business card
still doing its job
5.
Aubrie Cox’s personal website is well worth a look for her varied portfolio of haiku and other short-form poetry and critical writings. Since I’ve been thinking so much lately about how this blog is in some ways a collaboration between me and my community of readers, I especially enjoyed reading her essay “Writing with the Reader as a Co-Creator.” An excerpt:
“The inviting audience is ‘like talking to the perfect listener: we feel smart and come up with the ideas we didn’t know we had’ (Elbow 51). More importantly, however, is that the inviting reader can have an active role within the exchange between writer and reader. By doing so, the writer is not relinquishing all power back to the reader, or giving in to the tyranny, but merely developing a partnership. The reader can be the writer’s partner in the writing process if there is a mutual trust and cooperation, if the writer lets the reader become a part of the meaning-making process.”
Aubrie goes on to discuss how she sent one of her haiku to several acquaintances and asked for their reactions; their interpretations of its meaning were for the most part nothing like her own, but she points out that they were no less valid for all that — something I constantly have cause to remember when I’m reading my readers’ comments here.
6.
At Issa’s Untidy Hut this week, the Sunday Service is on hiatus for a week, but Don Wentworth has given us instead an insightful review of Silent Flowers, a short volume of haiku translated by the person who perhaps did more than anyone else to popularize haiku for English speakers: R.H. Blyth. Silent Flowers, published in 1967, was apparently excerpted from Blyth’s legendary 4-volume compilation of translations and critical study of Japanese haiku.
Here’s a brief excerpt from Don’s review — an Issa haiku and Don’s commentary on it:
Just simply alive,
Both of us, I
and the poppy.
Issa
“There it is, folks – doesn’t get plainer or simpler or truer or more beautiful than that. After you read a poem like this, time to shut the book and get back to life.”
7.
Somehow I just managed to discover this week the Mann Library’s Daily Haiku site. Each day they republish a previously published haiku by an established haiku poet — each month is dedicated to the works of a different poet. The archives are a treasure for anyone exploring the world of contemporary English-language haiku — name a well-known haiku poet and they’re likely to have some of his or her works represented.
Here’s one of my favorites from this month’s poet, Gary Hotham:
time to go –
the stones we threw
at the bottom of the ocean
8.
Following up on my interest in foreign-language haiku: On the Haiku Foundation’s website, Troutswirl, last week, the regular feature “Periplum” (which is dedicated to haiku from around the world) was devoted to the work of a Bolivian poet, Tito Andres Ramos. Although Ramos’s first language is Spanish, he writes his haiku first in English and then translates them into Spanish. One I especially like:
sunny winter day
my packed suitcase
under the bed
dia soleado de invierno
mi maleta empacada
bojo mi cama
9.
Gene Myers of “The Rattle Bag” blog (and also the administrator of the “Haiku Now” page on Facebook) recently wrote about the chapbook of his haiku and other poetry that he put together on Scribd. (You can download the PDF here.) This looks like it could be a nice way to distribute collections of poetry without killing trees or inflicting boring design on people. I’m thinking about it myself, though I am also still attracted to the idea of the limited-edition dead-tree chapbook on handmade rice paper with custom calligraphy. But this is probably faster. 
One of my favorite from Gene’s collection:
Moth between window and screen
I’m tired
And so am I. It’s exhausting, traversing the Haikuverse. Going to bed now. See you on the flip side …
November 15, 2010
November 15: Basho and me
I was inspired by some recent blog posts by Margaret Dornaus of Haiku-Doodle and Bill Kenney of haiku-usa to try writing riffs on classical haiku. I started with a list of favorite haiku by Basho I had jotted down while reading Makoto Ueda’s Matsuo Basho: The Master Haiku Poet. Then I tried to distill each of these down to some universal theme or structure or atmosphere — to figure out what it was about them that made them seem so great to me. And then for each of them I tried to write a haiku that echoed in some way the spirit of what Basho wrote, while coming up with some new insight or image that was entirely my own.
This exercise was seriously fun and exciting, and I am definitely going to repeat it. Some of the haiku I wrote are clearly just versions of Basho’s haiku; some of them seem to me like they are different enough from what Basho wrote that they could stand alone. I wouldn’t try to publish any of these, at least without acknowledging Basho’s influence, but I do think I learned a lot about how many ways there are to write a successful haiku (even if it’s only Basho’s haiku that are actually successful ).
Basho’s haiku below are in regular type; mine are indented and in italics. The Basho haiku are all Ueda’s translations, except for the last one, which (as indicated) is by Jane Reichhold.
1.
At night, quietly,
A worm in the moonlight
Digs into the chestnut.
every morning
new holes in the leaves
someone’s night shift
2.
The sound of an oar beating the waves
Chills my bowels through
And I weep in the night.
winter morning
hearing the car start
my tears start
3.
The sea darkens
And a wild duck’s call
Is faintly white.
dark clouds gather —
the calls of songbirds
light in the distance
4.
Loneliness —
Sinking into the rocks,
A cicada’s cry.
frustration —
the stream rushes by
pounding the rocks
5.
A pile of leeks lie
Newly washed white:
How cold it is!
white onions
on the cutting board —
winter chill
6.
The daffodils
And the white paper screen
Reflecting one another’s color.
the forget-me-nots
and the sky —
an echo
7.
Whenever I speak out
My lips are chilled —
Autumn wind.
don’t tell me
what to say —
rising heat
8.
Autumn deepens —
The man next door, what
Does he do for a living?
winter approaches —
I try to learn the names
of the neighbors
9.
The squid-seller’s voice
Is indistinguishable
From the cuckoo’s!
the infomercial host
and the crow —
same voice
10.
Chrysanthemums’ scent —
In the garden, the worn-out
Shoe sole.
the scent of apples
left in the orchard
your torn sweater
11.
A bush warbler —
It lets its droppings fall on the rice cake
At the end of the veranda.
nuthatches—
shitting all over the sandwich
I left on the patio
12.
A white chrysanthemum —
However intently I gaze,
Not a speck of dust.
no matter how long
I stare at hydrangeas —
pure blue
13.
after the flowers
all there is left for my haiku
wisteria beans
(tr. Jane Reichhold)
after the leaves fall
nothing to write haiku about
until it snows
October 24, 2010
October 24: You and only you
So here we are again, exhibiting the peculiar human fascination with round numbers by celebrating my 300th blog post. It’s only fair that I should do this by letting some of you get a word in edgewise for a change — after all, without you there wouldn’t be a me. Or rather, there would, of course. I think. Or is it like the tree that falls in the forest with no one to hear it?
Anyway. You’re all such great listeners. And responders. The comments on this blog are like food and drink to me, and I say that as a person with more than a passing interest in food and drink. I have a suspicion I might have given up this whole crazy enterprise long ago if it weren’t for all of you, jollying me along, telling me politely what’s what, suggesting I might want to rethink one or two things, and just generally making me feel like I knew something but not too much, which is the right attitude to encourage in a blatant newcomer to any enterprise. There is some kind of charmed atmosphere around this blog which I can only attribute to the kind, thoughtful, and intelligent way all of you have received me, and each other.
These contributions were all so wonderful to read and made me feel luckier than ever. I loved seeing tanka and haiga among the contributions as well as haiku — I can’t do those things, or at least I haven’t tried yet, so it’s nice to have readers who can and are willing to share. I’ve posted all the contributions in the order they arrived in my email inbox. I hope you all enjoy.
Note: There were four haikuists who took up my (tongue-in-cheek) challenge to use the number 300 in their haiku in some way. They earn the promised bonus points, though I’m not quite sure yet what those can be redeemed for. Congrats to Alan Summers, Steve Mitchell (tricky, that one), Max Stites, and Rick Daddario.
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at the cafe . . .
caught in the firing line
of the poetry slam
(Previously published, Modern Haiku, Vol. XXX, No. 1, Winter-Spring, 1999)
– Charlotte Digregorio, charlottedigregorio.wordpress.com
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Prince’s 1999
was played on that New Year’s Eve
300 seconds
that’s all that was needed
to fall in love
(unpublished)
300 klicks
from my home to Hull
a renga love verse
(unpublished)
warm evening
goodnight to the needlemouse*
as I check the stars
(Previously published, Presence magazine [September 2010] ISSN 1366-5367)
—
*Linguistic notes on the word “needlemouse”:
Kanji: 針鼠 or 蝟
Kana: ハリネズミ
Rōmaji: harinezumi
English: hedgehog
Combination Meaning: needle ( ハリ) mouse (ネズミ)
— Alan Summers, area17.blogspot.com/
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obituary notice
the last of his regulars
died yesterday
— Stacey Wilson, theoddinkwell.com and inkwellwhispers.com
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acorn
buried among fall debris–
the waiting
(unpublished, inspired by the post “acorn time”)
symmetry
in the bare willows –
the shape of longing
– Alegria Imperial, jornales.wordpress.com
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Down this road – alone
silent, solitary, still
watching autumn fall.
(after Basho’s Kono michi ya!)
— Margaret Dornaus, haikudoodle.wordpress.com
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sunlit garden
when did my father grow
an old man’s neck?
(Previously published, Frogpond, Fall 2006)
sprinkling her ashes
on the rocks at high tide
the long walk back
(From the haibun, In the Air [Planet, The Welsh Internationalist Spring 2007])
– Lynne Rees, www.lynnerees.com
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october roses
the last but the most vivid
than ever
faded petals
the scent of their soft touch
on my cheek
— Claire
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first serial publication
grandma asks
when I started drinking
(Previously published, bottle rockets #22)
haiku history lecture
doodling
paper lanterns
(Previously published, tinywords 9.1)
— Aubrie Cox, aubriecox.wordpress.com
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Rivers Fast
Rivers fast!
Strongest
Clean…
Refreshing
Flower Waits
Flower waits
For bee
You see,
Bird told me
— Laz Freedman, lazfreedman.wordpress.com
_____________
crow lands on post
carries a grasshopper
can’t talk now
soft breeze
I regard nature, but wait —
I am nature
— Steve Mitchell, heednotsteve.wordpress.com
_____________
February wind
I want to believe
the crocus
early thaw––
the earth tugging
at my footsteps
(These two both took first place in the Shiki Kukai for the months in which they were submitted. I regard the first of them as my “signature haiku.”)
— Bill Kenney, haiku-usa.blogspot.com
_____________
reading history
seagulls gather on the beach
then fly away
(From Poems from Oostburg, Wisconsin: ellenolinger.wordpress.com)
turning the page
of a new book
branch of gold leaves
(From New Poems: Inspired by the Psalms and Nature: elingrace.wordpress.com)
— Ellen Olinger
_____________
the photo booth
becomes a grave-marker
our snapshots
how nice to see the sun
again, despite
returning spiders
— Ashley Capes, ashleycapes.wordpress.com/
_____________
who needs
three hundred facebook friends when
haiku are three lines
three fluttering notes
drift through the passage to find
the player and score
— Max Stites, outspokenomphaloskeptic.wordpress.com
_____________
a solitary bird calls to the space between lightning and thunder
(Previously published, http://tinywords.com/2010/08/11/2175/)
— Angie Werren, triflings.wordpress.com/
_____________
– Rick Daddario, www.rickdaddario.com/, 19planets.wordpress.com/, wrick.gather.com, www.cafeshops.com/19planets
_____________
spider song
eight syllables only
to tap your haiku
across my wall
– Lawrence Congdon, novaheart.wordpress.com
_____________
sharing full moon
with all the world’s
haiku poets
summer’s meadow
flowers too
inspire each other
– Kerstin Neumann
_____________
overcast midday sky-
her shrill voice calling
the ducks home
– Devika Jyothi
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