By Abigail Friedman
The matter got here to a head sooner or later as i used to be riding via Tokyo. whereas expecting the sunshine to alter, I observed the subsequent public carrier statement at the facet of a bus: Omoiyari hitonikurumani konomachini (Sympathy / towards humans, towards automobiles / towards this town). Seventeen syllables. Five-seven-five layout. It has to be a haiku, i presumed. but if I reached the place of work and repeated the statement to my eastern coworkers, none of them concept it was once a haiku. I knew they have been pondering to themselves, what sort of a lunatic is she? One attempted to damage the scoop to me lightly, It’s now not a haiku, it’s an ads jingle. good, I knew it was once an advertisements jingle, yet nonetheless, wasn’t it an ads jingle haiku?—From The Haiku Apprentice
Abigail Friedman was once an American diplomat in Tokyo, no longer a author. an opportunity come upon leads her to a haiku crew, the place she discovers poetry that anybody can get pleasure from writing. Her instructor and fellow haiku workforce participants coach her in seasonal natural world, and steadily she learns to explain the realm in undeniable phrases, turning into one of many thousands in Japan who lead a haiku existence. this can be the author’s tale of her literary and cultural voyage, and extra: it truly is a call for participation to readers to shape their very own local haiku teams and, like her, discover ways to see the area anew.
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Additional info for The Haiku Apprentice: Memoirs of Writing Poetry in Japan
Sample text
Like sigh of love the bosom raising, The domes, against the waters’ blue, Trace the pure contour of the phrasing, Swelling full, as round breasts will do. I land as my skiff touches ground By a façade of pink; and there, A pillar chaining it around, Next to a rising marble stair... Gondolas, palaces, her nights Of seaborne revels, sweet chagrin... Venice, with all her wild delights, Sings us that song and lives therein. A pizzicato plucked upon A fragile string... ∞Ω 32 Emaux et Camées, 1852–1872 III Carnaval Venise pour le bal s’habille.
10 Emaux et Camées, 1852–1872 LE POEME DE LA FEMME Marbre de Paros Un jour, au doux rêveur qui l’aime, En train de montrer ses trésors, Elle voulut lire un poème, Le poème de son beau corps. D’abord, superbe et triomphante Elle vint en grand apparat, Traînant avec des airs d’infante Un flot de velours nacarat : Telle qu’au rebord de sa loge Elle brille aux Italiens Ecoutant passer son éloge Dans les chants des musiciens. Ensuite, en sa verve d’artiste, Laissant tomber l’épais velours, Dans un nuage de batiste Elle ébaucha ses fiers contours.
Against the melody chromatic, Venus, her breast with droplets pearled, Rises up from the Adriatic, Her body pink and white unfurled. Like sigh of love the bosom raising, The domes, against the waters’ blue, Trace the pure contour of the phrasing, Swelling full, as round breasts will do. I land as my skiff touches ground By a façade of pink; and there, A pillar chaining it around, Next to a rising marble stair... Gondolas, palaces, her nights Of seaborne revels, sweet chagrin... Venice, with all her wild delights, Sings us that song and lives therein.