Pat Nolan
A HISTORY OF HAIKAI
Three Dokugin Kasen
in memory of Keith Kumasen Abbott
INSTANT OF EXISTENCE
The rushing stream
I join in swiftness toward that
instant of existence
—after Saigyo
big bamboo bows beneath
the weight of tiny drops
the pile of books
at bedside grown taller
winter evenings
in the visual cortex
resides the voyeur
full moon reminds me
having traveled far and wide
the hole in my sock
shimmer of a puddle’s surface
reflects a break in the clouds
play now pay later
he should have had that
tattooed on his knuckles
separated by time
even the neighbors are distant
looking at the old
photos I realize now
I can’t trust the mirror
just a scruffy literary type
wild hair wild eyed wild heart
alone tonight
after the first glass
the bottle pours itself
skeletal remains catch a breeze
hung from the window’s edge
late afternoon sun
shadow carves a new face on
the abandoned pumpkin
full moon’s midnight glow
on the porch railing
emerging from sleep
dreams clothe themselves
in a waking reality
relive the past
preparing for the future
new blossoms flutter
in the rainy wind protesting
too soon too soon
a smear of blue
edged by majestic billows
sneeze tremor extends
to hand holding coffee cup
café au lait tsunami
tragedy for the asking
day in and day out
wild onion flowers
gather what remains of light
frog chirp evening
seated too long I rise
a cricket at every joint
newspapers pile up
paint peels gray porch sagging
a yellow weed lawn
among the wild thorn bushes
a single bearded iris
hard rain pouring down
room lighted by one candle
—poetry weather
with each longer day
yesterday's further away
old spider web
stillness at dawn
a robin cocks its head
sawhorse left out in the rain
another delay
moon’s crooked smile
as I go from room to room
turning out the lights
choose without thinking
from moment to moment
wet winter
do the little entryway
rug two step
large fuzzy cloud comma
punctuates afternoon blue
a knock at the door
cord of wood neatly stacked
payment on demand
I raise my cup what I owe
can never be collected
late winter the pink
almond blossoms invite
a fine white rain
caught up in one day
turtle pace of a passing year
ICY NIGHT
Sounds as if water’s
cracking on this icy night
I lie wide awake
—after Basho
cat a furry ensō asleep
before the gas fireplace
shorter frosty days
last leaves cling as
old dingy brown rags
mist slips from the ridge top
a pale orange skyline
so then Issa wrote
“Guard the door leafy shadows
I’ve gone to the moon”
light showers after storm
green hills run with mustard
gingko leaf afloat
in the old watering can
overflowing rain
coffee cup keeps hiding by
being where it always is
young bird perched on
the shadow of a branch cast
across the asphalt
clouds have seized the light
and returned a wintry sky
pretentious foo dogs at
the new neighbor’s gate tagged
by real dogs’ comments
through the trees the flag
a breeze brings to life
inevitably
in front of the bus shelter
the largest puddle
evening star poised to
drop into the cup of moon
off to work early
headlights rake
the old gray fence
rhododendron leaves large
dragonflies glazed with dew
white rain complements
the pink of blossoms and
paler shades of green
black birds leapfrog
in the dry yellow grass
the young widow just
about to give birth the long
shadows of late day
driven to distraction
no need for a road map
at twilight a small
white dog follows scents
the tall summer weeds
hot afternoon’s silky breeze
lapped at my drowsy edges
get wives with kids
mistresses with poetry
thus immortality
the ghost of the bedroom
closes the door on its own
the clouds let go
a blessing or a curse caught
without an umbrella
shorter days lengthened
with a tall bottle
I wasn't so lonely
last autumn at this time
just a candle and me
from bank robber to reverend
difference a shaved head makes
if there was a moon
it shanked behind the pine like
a big old golf ball
how quickly puddles become
still the fleeting shower
past the empty beach
an armada of mallards float
on velvet waters
a cup of tea a warm book
static of steady light rain
a barking dog
the darkening bog
opens a mystery
even in an overcoat
the scarecrow looks cold
cloud marbled blue sky
a strong wind picks up
pink blossoms fly by
gusts bow the tall reeds over
and over the withered moor
A HISTORY OF HAIKAI
After a brief shower
sunset leaves its signature
on standing water
rain attends the flanks of firs
time to drain the bank account
autumn evening
questions posed answered perhaps
weighty old memories
I turn to heat my back
humming to myself alone
the old wicker gate
held up by its latch
the winter moon
—after Kikaku
every star in its place
too cold to linger and count
dish towel draped
over my shoulder long after
the dishes have been done
swatting a fly the price
I’ll pay in eternity
on the street below
cat pauses listening maybe
he heard me thinking
cash receipt marks a page
in the book I return
not much different
from a single electron
that stubborn recluse
with so much wretchedness
guilt at my moment of joy
I couldn’t hear
the wind blew the words away
the shape of her mouth
up until now nothing but
nonsense the moon tonight
kept inside by the storm
kids in their rain-gear
impatient for showers
when the car finally pulls up
I can find worry free sleep
pounding head
crick in neck I blame
the cherry blossoms
—after Buson
I don’t need the bright lights
dew strung on gossamer just fine
I can no longer hear
the high pitched whine
of evening’s hunters
in charge of its destiny
the last melon on the vine
in a ragged coat
stop to view a majestic presence
mist in the tree tops
“I should stop by but it’s been
so long what could I say”
fast asleep
the taste of blowfish repeating
may be a mantra
—after Basho
satisfied in a dream
I can put those desires to bed
impatient blue sky
at the edge of a cloud burst
wetter than winter
raking petals into a pile
the bare earth’s turn
if I returned as
a moth I would sadly expect
the same treatment
“I know all that” hollow
words fly back in my face
a chill comes with
the rain easing up
immaculate moon
has this dust always
covered everything
wild chamomile anemic
along the cracked sidewalk
about to keel over
—after Shiki
“who I am today more than
yesterday less than tomorrow”
it must be very cold
the actors speak their lines
with visible breath
even in the shadows
snow remains snow
after random cherry
blossom beauty order
imposed by the broom
the young bamboo races up
to its supple green height
Pat Nolan writes: "Keith Kumasen Abbott and I became interested in the idea of haikai no renga (linked verse collaboration) around the same time thanks to the publication of Basho’s The Monkey’s Raincoat, translated by Maeda Cana (Grossman, 1973). We were already well practiced in collaborative writing using the Surrealist model adapted by the New York School of Poets. By the mid-seventies we had made forays into linked verse, writing with little more understanding of this haiku based verse form than that the stanzas alternated three lines and two lines. Syllabic count, season specific stanzas, and the rudiments of linking were not yet considerations. Alerting by Keith to the publication of Earl Miner’s Japanese Linked Poetry (Princeton, 1979), I started my education in the intricacies of linking verse. Miner’s second volume, The Monkey’s Straw Raincoat (Princeton, 1981), added to our collective knowledge and obsession with what we now referred to as haikai no renga or renku. Thirty years later we were still writing haikai, giving it our own contemporary spin, and had roped a few of our poet friends into the practice as well, dubbing ourselves The Miner School of Haikai Poets. We published a number of our collaborations in haiku magazines, anthologies, and limited edition chapbooks. In 2015, I published a selection of three decades worth of Miner School linking titled Poetry For Sale (Nualláin House, Publishers). Now with Keith’s passing this last August, a vital link to the enjoyment of this practice is no longer available. I composed these three solo haikai (dokugin) of thirty six stanzas (kasen) in his memory, employing shifts and leaps in the linking that I imagine he would have enjoyed."
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A HISTORY OF HAIKAI
Three Dokugin Kasen
in memory of Keith Kumasen Abbott
INSTANT OF EXISTENCE
The rushing stream
I join in swiftness toward that
instant of existence
—after Saigyo
big bamboo bows beneath
the weight of tiny drops
the pile of books
at bedside grown taller
winter evenings
in the visual cortex
resides the voyeur
full moon reminds me
having traveled far and wide
the hole in my sock
shimmer of a puddle’s surface
reflects a break in the clouds
play now pay later
he should have had that
tattooed on his knuckles
separated by time
even the neighbors are distant
looking at the old
photos I realize now
I can’t trust the mirror
just a scruffy literary type
wild hair wild eyed wild heart
alone tonight
after the first glass
the bottle pours itself
skeletal remains catch a breeze
hung from the window’s edge
late afternoon sun
shadow carves a new face on
the abandoned pumpkin
full moon’s midnight glow
on the porch railing
emerging from sleep
dreams clothe themselves
in a waking reality
relive the past
preparing for the future
new blossoms flutter
in the rainy wind protesting
too soon too soon
a smear of blue
edged by majestic billows
sneeze tremor extends
to hand holding coffee cup
café au lait tsunami
tragedy for the asking
day in and day out
wild onion flowers
gather what remains of light
frog chirp evening
seated too long I rise
a cricket at every joint
newspapers pile up
paint peels gray porch sagging
a yellow weed lawn
among the wild thorn bushes
a single bearded iris
hard rain pouring down
room lighted by one candle
—poetry weather
with each longer day
yesterday's further away
old spider web
stillness at dawn
a robin cocks its head
sawhorse left out in the rain
another delay
moon’s crooked smile
as I go from room to room
turning out the lights
choose without thinking
from moment to moment
wet winter
do the little entryway
rug two step
large fuzzy cloud comma
punctuates afternoon blue
a knock at the door
cord of wood neatly stacked
payment on demand
I raise my cup what I owe
can never be collected
late winter the pink
almond blossoms invite
a fine white rain
caught up in one day
turtle pace of a passing year
ICY NIGHT
Sounds as if water’s
cracking on this icy night
I lie wide awake
—after Basho
cat a furry ensō asleep
before the gas fireplace
shorter frosty days
last leaves cling as
old dingy brown rags
mist slips from the ridge top
a pale orange skyline
so then Issa wrote
“Guard the door leafy shadows
I’ve gone to the moon”
light showers after storm
green hills run with mustard
gingko leaf afloat
in the old watering can
overflowing rain
coffee cup keeps hiding by
being where it always is
young bird perched on
the shadow of a branch cast
across the asphalt
clouds have seized the light
and returned a wintry sky
pretentious foo dogs at
the new neighbor’s gate tagged
by real dogs’ comments
through the trees the flag
a breeze brings to life
inevitably
in front of the bus shelter
the largest puddle
evening star poised to
drop into the cup of moon
off to work early
headlights rake
the old gray fence
rhododendron leaves large
dragonflies glazed with dew
white rain complements
the pink of blossoms and
paler shades of green
black birds leapfrog
in the dry yellow grass
the young widow just
about to give birth the long
shadows of late day
driven to distraction
no need for a road map
at twilight a small
white dog follows scents
the tall summer weeds
hot afternoon’s silky breeze
lapped at my drowsy edges
get wives with kids
mistresses with poetry
thus immortality
the ghost of the bedroom
closes the door on its own
the clouds let go
a blessing or a curse caught
without an umbrella
shorter days lengthened
with a tall bottle
I wasn't so lonely
last autumn at this time
just a candle and me
from bank robber to reverend
difference a shaved head makes
if there was a moon
it shanked behind the pine like
a big old golf ball
how quickly puddles become
still the fleeting shower
past the empty beach
an armada of mallards float
on velvet waters
a cup of tea a warm book
static of steady light rain
a barking dog
the darkening bog
opens a mystery
even in an overcoat
the scarecrow looks cold
cloud marbled blue sky
a strong wind picks up
pink blossoms fly by
gusts bow the tall reeds over
and over the withered moor
A HISTORY OF HAIKAI
After a brief shower
sunset leaves its signature
on standing water
rain attends the flanks of firs
time to drain the bank account
autumn evening
questions posed answered perhaps
weighty old memories
I turn to heat my back
humming to myself alone
the old wicker gate
held up by its latch
the winter moon
—after Kikaku
every star in its place
too cold to linger and count
dish towel draped
over my shoulder long after
the dishes have been done
swatting a fly the price
I’ll pay in eternity
on the street below
cat pauses listening maybe
he heard me thinking
cash receipt marks a page
in the book I return
not much different
from a single electron
that stubborn recluse
with so much wretchedness
guilt at my moment of joy
I couldn’t hear
the wind blew the words away
the shape of her mouth
up until now nothing but
nonsense the moon tonight
kept inside by the storm
kids in their rain-gear
impatient for showers
when the car finally pulls up
I can find worry free sleep
pounding head
crick in neck I blame
the cherry blossoms
—after Buson
I don’t need the bright lights
dew strung on gossamer just fine
I can no longer hear
the high pitched whine
of evening’s hunters
in charge of its destiny
the last melon on the vine
in a ragged coat
stop to view a majestic presence
mist in the tree tops
“I should stop by but it’s been
so long what could I say”
fast asleep
the taste of blowfish repeating
may be a mantra
—after Basho
satisfied in a dream
I can put those desires to bed
impatient blue sky
at the edge of a cloud burst
wetter than winter
raking petals into a pile
the bare earth’s turn
if I returned as
a moth I would sadly expect
the same treatment
“I know all that” hollow
words fly back in my face
a chill comes with
the rain easing up
immaculate moon
has this dust always
covered everything
wild chamomile anemic
along the cracked sidewalk
about to keel over
—after Shiki
“who I am today more than
yesterday less than tomorrow”
it must be very cold
the actors speak their lines
with visible breath
even in the shadows
snow remains snow
after random cherry
blossom beauty order
imposed by the broom
the young bamboo races up
to its supple green height
Pat Nolan writes: "Keith Kumasen Abbott and I became interested in the idea of haikai no renga (linked verse collaboration) around the same time thanks to the publication of Basho’s The Monkey’s Raincoat, translated by Maeda Cana (Grossman, 1973). We were already well practiced in collaborative writing using the Surrealist model adapted by the New York School of Poets. By the mid-seventies we had made forays into linked verse, writing with little more understanding of this haiku based verse form than that the stanzas alternated three lines and two lines. Syllabic count, season specific stanzas, and the rudiments of linking were not yet considerations. Alerting by Keith to the publication of Earl Miner’s Japanese Linked Poetry (Princeton, 1979), I started my education in the intricacies of linking verse. Miner’s second volume, The Monkey’s Straw Raincoat (Princeton, 1981), added to our collective knowledge and obsession with what we now referred to as haikai no renga or renku. Thirty years later we were still writing haikai, giving it our own contemporary spin, and had roped a few of our poet friends into the practice as well, dubbing ourselves The Miner School of Haikai Poets. We published a number of our collaborations in haiku magazines, anthologies, and limited edition chapbooks. In 2015, I published a selection of three decades worth of Miner School linking titled Poetry For Sale (Nualláin House, Publishers). Now with Keith’s passing this last August, a vital link to the enjoyment of this practice is no longer available. I composed these three solo haikai (dokugin) of thirty six stanzas (kasen) in his memory, employing shifts and leaps in the linking that I imagine he would have enjoyed."
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