Move On

Sometimes from the outside it may appear nothing is going on. I’m sure my one or two faithful readers have begun to wonder if that’s what’s happening here.

Truthfully, daily life seems to have grabbed me by the pant legs and just won’t let go. As revealed in recent photos, this is not necessarily a bad thing. I have enjoyed grandchildren greatly the last few days.

With the great weather we’ve been having, I’ve often opted to forego writing rather than walking. Truthfully, my back demands regular exercise rather than sitting in front of the computer for hours typing, and, while playing on the floor with grandchildren is great fun, it too plays havoc with my back.

Even if that weren’t the case, I’ve lived in the Pacific Northwest too long to be willing to sit inside the house when it’s warm and sunny outside. God bless those poor teachers who have to baby sit a class full of hormone-driven teenagers when it’s sunny like this. Most teenagers’ minds do not turn to thoughts of Buson when the teenager sitting next to them is dressed for the beach.

I have been reading a rather long, scholarly work on the connection between Buson’s poetry and artwork. Unfortunately, I vacillate between utter fascination with the insights offered into Buson’s poetry and repugnance at the author’s didactic approach to his subject. Often times the footnotes to obscure works I’m never going to be able to read cause me to put down the book in disgust. Eventually I’ll have something meaningful, or not, to say about the work.

In addition to all this, and besides watching my beloved Mariners self-destruct, I’ve been continuing my study of Flash MX 2004, and, more recently, Dreamweaver MX 2004 in preparation for some new projects I’ve long wanted to pursue.

That doesn’t mean I haven’t been out reading blogs regularly, leaving comments, and, occasionally, pursuing interesting ideas and concepts. Lately, following a link from fait accompli led me to to As/Is,which eventually led me to Hay(na)ku and Hay(na)ku, Tatang!

Which inspired me to write this:

keep moving
nothing happening here

which, in turn, led to:

perfectly still
change begins here

What’s a Grandpa?

Here’s Lael at one month pretending not to see Grandma or Grandpa, the “not-mommies.” Actually, she spent much of the day not seeing me.

She was, however, fascinated by the bright blue sky that we are enjoying here in the Pacific Northwest.

Hopefully, she won’t spend tomorrow morning crying when mommy takes big brother to the dentist for the first time. I’m afraid I won’t get much reading done tomorrow, either.

Say Hello to Kylan

Kylan Sonnen, shown with brother Kel, mother Margaret, and father Cory, arrived late Thurday night.

Any delay posting this announcement can be attributed to the author’s unwillingness to run the story without insuring that the child’s name be spellled correctly.

Basho’s Haiku

As I read through 250 of Basho’s haiku as chosen by translator Sam Hamill for Narrow Road to the Interior, I began to realize why I like haibun and haiga.

Simply put, they isolate a haiku from other haiku. And, to be most effective, I think I haiku must stand alone. Read as a group, they tend to lose their effectiveness.

In fact, I think the perfect way to present haiku might be as a screensaver, when a single haiku would show up for a whole day, allowing the reader enough time to really meditate on what has been said.

Alternatively, of course, despite what
might say, haiku might serve as the perfect cross-stichery project.

With that disclaimer, I’ll list a few of may favorite Basho haiku, from Hamill’s selection, keeping in mind that I might well choose entirely different selections if I were to read them later.

This one, makes me long for high mountain ridges still inaccessible because of snow cover:

Your song caresses
the depths of loneliness,
high mountain bird.

as does this one

Traveling this high
mountain trail, delighted
by wild violets.

Of course, anyone who knows my loves would not be surprised to learn that discovering this haiku was worth the price of the entire work: