Hodgepodge 64/365 - Haiku

Matsuo Bashō

A few weeks ago my friend Kim mentioned a "haiku practice" that a poet in Homer, Alaska, Erin Hollowell, is leading this month. Always up for one more thing on my plate—er, I mean, a new challenge—I signed up.

Every other day in January, Erin will send an email with a little lesson and an exercise to do. Today was the kickoff, and the exercise is pretty easy: "For the next two days, carry an index card with you. Take a moment to jot down things you hear, things you see, scents that come to you, the way your shirt feels against your skin. Stay in the world, record raw nuggets to refine later. Aim for one full index card per day."

Well, easy except that when I went out for my walk this morning, I forgot to bring an index card. I have now placed some here on my desk, and maybe when I get out for my afternoon walk with the dog, I will remember to bring one. And a pen. Just maybe. . . .

Erin posted three haiku for our enjoyment. "Try reading these once or twice now," she wrote, "and then coming back to them at a different time of day. See how they reflect what you’ve been experiencing."

That's what I enjoy about haiku: they are tiny moments that in turn are facets of "it all." They are sensation, feeling, sense, emotion, a reminder of change and time, of how insignificant and all-encompassing, both at once, we are.

Here are the three haiku that Erin shared:

Yosa Buson

Winter solitude—
in a world of one color
the sound of wind.

     —Matsuo Bashō (1644–94)

Calligraphy of geese
against the sky—
the moon seals it.

     —Yosa Buson (1716–83)

The cuckoo sings
to me, to the mountain,
to me, to the mountain.

     —Kobayashi Issa (1763–1828)