…
Slate pond –
Lone moon met stem; no omen
Old, no petals
…
…
…
Parts tense, gardenia droner is sad
A cicada’s siren, ordained, rages
Nets trap
…
***
The first time I heard a cicada was in a Tokyo street at night, and I honestly thought it was a security alarm, such was the intensity of its siren.
With haiku, the 5-7-5 syllable count is only really relevant in Japanese, in which it is as natural a rhythm as iambic pentameter is in English.
…
Set a ballade–
Be not sad.
No plan, I forego regret.
A wet I? Mere folly…
…
Dim, lacy moths, in a vigor, fall.
Ill at last, I move to (no regrets) a faded dale–
A glade, pools.
Some more go too?
No…
…
Jump! ol’ frog, or flop.
Mujo no oto1
…gero2…
…
Me, moss-looped, algael,
Added a faster gero note,
Vomit salt, all ill.
A frog, I vanish
To my calm idyll of eremite water
…gero gero…
…
Final pond –
A stone bed
All abates
***
Notes and comments
1. Mujo no oto. Japanese for ‘the sound of impermanence’. Mujo or impermanence is an important concept in Buddhism and central to Zen aesthetics. This phrase also references Basho’s original haiku, the final line of which is ‘mizu no oto‘ – the sound of water.
2. Gero gero is the Japanese onomatopoeia for a frog’s croak, but is also used adverbially to describe vomiting. This pun was one of the inspirations for the poem.
I cobbled together this longer poem from some ideas generated as I created the first Basho poem, After the frog. In this one, I imagine Basho retiring to a solitary hermitage (in a shady glade, with lacy moths, pools, etc.) and himself diving into a pool to join the frogs. The ‘gero‘ grows more urgent inside him until he can’t contain it (‘a faster gero note’). He vomits salt, and sees that he himself has become a frog.
The final stanza is itself a haiku, and nicely captures the essence of the poem: all regret and suffering disappears in this hermit’s final resting place.
…
I, Basho, sit in a rigor, fond.
No plop, ol’ pond? No frog? I ran
It is – oh! – sabi.
…
***
Notes and comments
Fond: Used here in its archaic sense of foolish
Sabi: A Japanese word with no simple translation. An important aesthetic concept in Japanese art and life, it denotes a kind of elegant, refined simplicity with implications of solitude and antiquity.
Matsuo Basho (1644-1694) is Japan’s most famous and beloved of haiku poets.
This haikiah was inspired by his most well-known haiku
furu ike ya
kawazu tobikomu
mizu no oto
Which translates fairly literally as
Old pond –
A frog dives in
The sound of water
In a twist, I imagine Basho sitting by the pond again, on another day, waiting for a frog to plop, but becoming overwhelmed by the lonely beauty of the scene as no frog appears.