 |
| Riva del Garda (TN) at Dawn |
 |
| Credits: Solitude Tree |
"Our featured haiku-poetess Shabi Sonome (1664-1726), a contemporary of Basho. Shiba Sonome was a disciple of Basho's whom he admired. After the death of her husband, she earned her living as an eye doctor and as a judge of haikai. It should be noted that it is due to Basho and his ability to work with women that the amount of woman's haikai writings have been preserved which we have. One sees that most of these women gained access to the inner circle around Basho by being related either by marriage or blood to one of his disciples. It is possible that Shiba Sonome was one of the few to be accepted as a poet on her own.(Source: AHA-Poetry)"
For this CD-Special, the next haiku by Sonome is the inspiration for you to write an all new haiku in the same sense, tone and spirit as the one by Sonome.
"As I read and re-read this haiku again it felt like Sonome had written it for her master Basho, because, as you all know ... Basho means 'banana-tree' and that tree has blossoms that aren't rich in color, the blossoms of the banana-tree are inconspicuously and it's wood is useless. But he (Basho) is like an oak, he is the master of haiku and he can point you the magical world of nature and expose it to you all (The deeper meaning of oak is mysterious and deeper knowledge/wisdom). So ... maybe Sonome has written the above haiku for her master."
 | |
| Original Photo Credits: Aftabbanoori |
I am forever walking upon these shores,Betwixt the sand and the foam,The high tide will erase my foot-prints,And the wind will blow away the foam.But the sea and the shore will remainForever.
[...] "We are all beggars at the gate of the temple, and each one of us receives his share of the bounty of the King when he enters the temple, and when he goes out. But we are all jealous of one another, which is another way of belittling the King". [...]
at the temple gateI bow in front of beggarshonoring their spirit© Chèvrefeuillebeggar's bowl,chased by the autumn wind,enters the temple© Chèvrefeuille
[...] "Even the masks of life are masks of deeper mystery". [...]
[...] "Long ago I, Chuangtse, dreamed I was a butterfly, flitting about lightly on if I were really one, happily following my fancies. Suddenly awakening, again I was in the form of Chuangtse. Was it a case of Chuangtse dreaming he was a butterfly, or is it now that a butterfly is dreaming that it is Chuangtse? I do not know". [...]
Soshi (Chuangtse)This is a very famous and often read poem ... and it has inspired many a haiku poet to write:
my heart
that was rapt away
by the wild cherry-blossoms, -
will it return to my body
when they scatter?
© Kotomichi (1798-1868)
cho kiete tamashii ware ni kaeri keri
the butterfly having disappeared,
my spirit
came back to me
© Wafu
 | |||
| Redon, Odilon - French, 1840 - 1916 Evocation of Roussel c. 1912 |
giddy grasshopper
take care...do not leap and crush
these pearls of dewdrop
© Issa (source)
how pitiful!© Basho (Tr. Ueda)
underneath the helmet
a cricket chirping.
deep silence
this lazy summer evening -
song of a cricket© Chèvrefeuille
* The shortest-lived creatures on the Disc were mayflies, which barely make it through twenty-four hours.
Two of the oldest zigzagged aimlessly over the waters of a trout stream, discussing history with some
younger members of the evening hatching.
“You don’t get the kind of sun now that you used to get, “ said one of them.
“You’re right there. We had proper sun in the good old hours. It were all yellow. None of this red stuff.”
“It were higher, too.”
“It was. You’re right.”
“And nymphs and larvae showed you a bit of respect.”
“They did. They did,” said the other mayfly vehemently.
“I reckon, if mayflies these hours behaved a bit better, we’d still be having proper sun.”
The younger mayflies listened politely.
“I remember, “ said one of the oldest mayflies, “when all this was fields, as far as you could see.”
The younger mayflies looked around.
“It’s still fields,” one of them ventured, after a polite interval.
“I remember when it was better fields,” said the old mayfly sharply.
“Yeah, “ said his colleague. “And there was a cow.”
“That’s right! You’re right! I remember that cow! Stood right over there for, oh, forty, fifty minutes. It was brown, as I recall.”
“You don’t get cows like that these hours.”
“You don’t get cows at all.”
“What’s a cow?” said one of the hatchlings.
“See?” said the oldest mayfly triumphantly. “That’s modern Ephemeroptera for you. “ It paused. “What were we doing before we were talking about the sun?”
“Zigzagging aimlessly over the water,” said one of the young flies. This was a fair bet in any case.
“No, before that.”
“Er . . . you were telling us about the Great Trout.”
“Ah. Yes. Right. The Trout. Well, you see, if you’ve been a good mayfly, zigzagging up and down
properly -”
“- taking heed of your elders and betters -”
“- yes, and taking heed of your elders and betters, then eventually the Great Trout -”
Clop
Clop
“Yes?” said one of the younger mayflies.
There was no reply.
“The Great Trout what?” said another mayfly, nervously.
They looked down at a series of expanding concentric rings on the water.
“The holy sign!” said a mayfly. ”I remember being told about that! A Great Circle in the water! Thus shall be the sign of the Great Trout!”
The oldest of the young mayflies watched the water thoughtfully. It was beginning to realise that, as the most senior fly present, it now had the privilege of hovering closest to the surface.
“They say, “ said the mayfly at the top of the zigzagging crowd, “that when the Great Trout comes for you, you go to a land flowing with . . . flowing with . . .”
Mayflies don’t eat. It was at a loss. ”Flowing with water, “ it finished lamely.
“I wonder, “ said the oldest mayfly.
“It must be really good there, “ said the youngest.
“Oh? Why?”
“ ‘Cos no-one ever wants to come back.”
© Terry Pratchett from "Reaper Man"
