Would be glad to see what you come up with for this one in the comments (or whatever your thoughts are on my daily writing, which you are always welcome to share).
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
Fall leaves feel
Jenny rubs at her face again. "Sofu, I don't know about this haiku thing." She looks at her grandfather, hoping he will understand her in English and she won't have to explain her difficulties in her stumbling Japanese. "Sofu", the affectionate Japanese term for grandfather, is about the only word she would be sure she would get right.
"I will see." Her grandfather's wrinkle-creased eyes peer over her shoulder at the notebook. The page is empty except for the one line, written in a careful, neat hand. A cautious but uncertain hand, he thinks.
"It is not bad, Aiko." Jenny bites her lip as he calls her by his Japanese nickname for her- 'beloved'. "But, the haiku- you must feel it- different."
Jenny looks up at him confused, so he tries again. "You see the two 'f's? And the 'l's? That is not what haiku is about. That is English poems."
Jenny sighs. Her mother had somehow thought that learning haiku from her grandfather would be so much fun for both of them, as Jenny excels in her freshman English class, writing A+ poems, and her mother cannot remember a time when her father didn't enjoy his amateur haiku writing.
But, haiku is not English poetry, Jenny thinks frustrated, sighing again as she remembering her sofu's observation. Haiku isn't about alliteration, isn't about similes and metaphors, isn't about rhyming-- it doesn't seem to be about anything Jenny recognizes when she thinks of poetry.
"Take a walk?" her grandfather suggests.
At least they can both enjoy the sunny but cool October weather of southern Hokkaido, Japan's northernmost main island; the pressure to speak and get things done blows away with the refreshing breeze. Jenny thinks of the warmer weather back home; they'll be taking the long flight back to Southern California in a couple days, their visit to Japan and her mother's family over for this year. Yes, at least the awkwardness isn't so bad out here; the quiet of the country surrounding her grandfather's simple little house is soothing, gently complementing the natural green beauty of the ponds and plants Jenny doesn't know the names of.
"Aiko, you see that bird?" Jenny turns to where her her grandfather's wrinkled index finger points.
The heron is perfectly still, a natural statue in a boat that seems as in harmony with its surroundings as the bird.
"You see it?" Jenny is confused that her grandfather repeats the question. Clearly, she must be seeing it; she's following his finger, and looking directly at it.
"Hai, I do," she answers a little quickly.
"Watch." A few moments later, the heron takes off, spreading its wings in a graceful arc of white and grey, lightly splashing the water with its feet as it rises from the boat into the air. One moment there, then gone, but more beautiful than before and after is the special moment between the two, the flight that heralds fall. Jenny gazes after it for a moment.
"That- that is haiku. You feel it now?"
A simple moment in nature, a season in a moment- "Yes, I think I do, sufo," Jenny whispers, unwilling to disturb the moment. Nature doesn't work with rhyme schemes, or strive for human structures- and yet...
"It is poetry," Jenny murmurs. "Clear and beautiful."
The lines are already forming in her mind as she looks back at her grandfather, whose smile shines out like the sun emerging from a winter cloud.
Poetry, a little pool, reflecting the facets of the world...
No comments:
Post a Comment