L'aura del Campo

Bashō, Busan, Issa [151]

I grew up with the Japanese poets. Whether haiku, tanka or haibun, they spoke to me. Their keen observations of the natural world instructed the child who started gardening at age 9 and loved simple things.

red geraniums
look out the window—a fly
swats the screen.

I loved the juxtaposition of images. The short snippets, a freeze frame of daily life. I didn't need a story. I looked, saw, felt.

the toy sits
by the path—no one ventures out
in the blizzard today

I didn't know how hard it was to write one. 17 morae, a seasonal word, a cutting word, emotion elicited not provided. Later I learned there were senryu as well.

lemonade
in the shade—I remember
her laughter most

I think of Bashō and wonder whether I would have traveled with him and taken notes or intensely observed the world sitting under his banana tree. Could I have understood and valued Busan's sketches or shared the joy of Issa.

When I traveled to Japan at end of winter 2015 I climbed Yamadera and thought of them.

two umbrellas
descend through heavy snow—
the sun comes out



© Kåre Enga [177.151] (23.juli.2020)

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