Posts Tagged ‘ Fleischer ’

Daily Haiku: Nov. 28, 2020 | Charlotte Digregorio’s Writer’s Blog

mist

rolling up the mountain

yellow snapdragons

 

by Donna Fleischer (USA)

Modern Haiku, 35:1, 2004

Source: Daily Haiku: Nov. 28, 2020 | Charlotte Digregorio’s Writer’s Blog

Photogram by Ellen Carey and Poem by Donna Fleischer Celebrate Two Art Forms at Hundred Heroines

        

Dings & Shadows (2018) © Ellen Carey

 

Donna’s poem – “Rapture in Oneiric Blue” – celebrates Anna Atkins, whose cyanotypes produced a Prussian blue — the word “cyan” means  “blue” — and Hundred Heroines is honoring Atkins, the 19th century British pioneer, who had many firsts: first female practitioner in photography, she made the first photo-book; first to use text in and around her unique photograms of nature found in her botanical studies; and first in colour/color . . . . and Donna’s poem highlights light and color with Carey, in the 21st century, made in the  “light-tight” darkroom, where no light is allowed, except upon exposure. Thank you, Donna, for your wonderful poetry and more, on Ellen Carey’s work at www.ellencareyphotography.com or Wikipedia.  – Ellen Carey

Source: Rapture in Oneiric Blue – Hundred Heroines

Contemporary Haibun Online: An Edited Journal of Haibun (Prose with Haiku & Tanka Poetry)

Donna Fleischer

 

Songliness

On this chill, grey streak afternoon, a triangle of robins appears near the rim of the French window where I sit, trying to write, end up seeing only them, their fresh concentration on a wild red clover field. Every eye tilted for movement, sound, vibration.

There had been only minutes of raindrops, the kind one can count. Not enough to raise any earthworms. Yet there they stand staring at the ground. Their lives depend upon getting enough calories to sleep somewhere through the cold night and wake up with the sun, begin again. Our human tasks, by comparison, with diamond drill complicate, frack, pollute, radiate the sucked dry honeycombs.

These days I write much the same way. Bore into white paper sheet, computer screen, topographic font, space bands, contour, hoping to bring to surface something necessary felt there.

open window,
with Mompou’s song
morning birds join in

Source: Contemporary Haibun Online: An Edited Journal of Haibun (Prose with Haiku & Tanka Poetry)

Contemporary Haibun Online: An Edited Journal of Haibun (Prose with Haiku & Tanka Poetry)

Donna Fleischer

 

Just Enough

The river trail is flush with wild rose bushes. Flanked by them, their just enough scent, pale whites and pinks, kimonos slightly open

the folds
of the geisha’s robe
wild roses

 

Source: Contemporary Haibun Online: An Edited Journal of Haibun (Prose with Haiku & Tanka Poetry)

noise & silence – “insert poetry everywhere anywhere here.” a poem by Donna Fleischer

insert poetry everywhere anywhere here.
by Donna Fleischer

Bar-do teachings say when the dead person walks into the sun, she sees no shadow;

when she looks into a mirror she sees no reflection; when she steps out of the stream

she has no footprints. In this way she learns that she is dead

continued at  Source: noise & silence

Solitary Plover Archive|Lorine Niedecker

hurt land

natural laws
limit

self-regulate, know
being becomes

dendrites stretch forth
explore through feeling
for

interre-
late, sustain

nothing
does not exist

 

Donna Fleischer
Solitary Plover issue 29 Winter 2019

 

Source: Solitary Plover Archive|Lorine Niedecker

First Known When Lost: Gifts

“October 6, 1940.  Late in the season as it is, a dragonfly has appeared and is flying around me.  Keep on flying as long as you can  — your flying days will soon be over.”

Taneda Santōka (1882-1940) (translated by Burton Watson), in Burton Watson, For All My Walking:  Free-Verse Haiku of Taneda Santōka with Excerpts from His Diaries (Columbia University Press 2003), page 102.

The passage is lovely in itself, but it moves into a deeper dimension when one considers the life of Taneda Santōka.  When he was eleven years old, his mother committed suicide by drowning herself in a well.  Santōka watched as her body was pulled from the well.  He attended Waseda University in Tokyo for a year, but was forced to leave due to a drinking problem, which persisted throughout his life. He married, but the marriage ended in divorce.  He entered into a business venture (a sake brewery) with his father, but the business failed.  After he unsuccessfully attempted to commit suicide by standing in front of a train, he was taken in by the head priest of a Zen Buddhist temple.  At the age of 43, he was ordained as a Zen priest.

After serving briefly as the caretaker of a temple, he became a mendicant monk, spending much of the remainder of his life on constant walking journeys throughout Japan, in all seasons — walking and walking, forever walking.  He survived by begging and by sleeping in cheap inns or, often, out in the open air.  But he maintained a loyal group of friends who came to his aid when times were most difficult.  And, through it all, he wrote haiku — lovely and moving haiku.  He died in his sleep at the age of 58.

Burton Watson appends the following note to the passage by Santōka quoted above:  “This is the last entry in Santōka’s diary, written four days before his death.”

*  *  *  *  *  *

As midnight approaches on New Year’s Eve in Japan, the bells in Buddhist temples are sounded 108 times:  once for each of the sins and desires that we should seek to rid ourselves of.  At this time each year I am reminded of a haiku:

I intended
Never to grow old, —
But the temple bell sounds.

Jokun (translated by R. H. Blyth), in R. H. Blyth, Haiku, Volume 4: Autumn-Winter (Hokuseido Press 1952), page 202.

So it is in this dragonfly World of ours, a World in which each year, each moment, is a gift.

Source: First Known When Lost: Gifts

 

late winter –

the dragonfly world

of a snowflake

 

– Donna Fleischer
from Under the Bashō

 

Dispatches Fall Update contents • 10.3.18 • Dispatches from the Poetry Wars

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Dispatches Fall Update contents by Dispatches Poetry Wars 10.3.18

 

Blood Resin

the butchers chainsawed
all the morning long as
we worked, mostly silent

in an indoor chemical carpet
labyrinthine office stream with
uniform pre-fabricated cubicle walls
too high to peek
over

sited within a road mazed gentrified industrial park
with work culture lunchtime picnic table perimeters
our neighbor, Otiz Elevator sponsors today’s Auto Show

contestants vote for best car, enter drawings
for prizes, while the oldies blare
out old Motown sounds

I sit with two tree stumps.
They bubble a viscous amber resin
from rings of phloem made long ago from
the wind and the earth and the rain in the quiet of
stars and sun and moon

the two pines –
a bird flies through
the space they were

 

Donna Fleischer
from 2 Poems

2 Poems by Donna Fleischer – Dispatches from the Poetry Wars 10.3.18

 

Donna Fleischer e Robert Chang Chien – vengodalmare

 

pulling the dark net
to his wee boat at dawn
September moon slips through

Donna Fleischer

ph. Robert Chang Chien

Haiku di Donna Fleischer

 

Source: Donna Fleischer e Robert Chang Chien – vengodalmare

Sukiyaki (Ue o Muite Arukou) – Kyu Sakamoto (English Translation and Lyrics) – YouTube

 

Ue wo Muite Arukō“ (上を向いて歩こう?, literally “I look up as I walk”) is an original Japanese song. ”The lyrics tell the story of a man who looks up and whistles while he is walking so that his tears won’t fall.” ~ Wikipedia

American kid

how did Japan enter your heart?

first whistling

Ue wo Muite Arukō with the record

also hiding tears

 

Donna Fleischer
We Are All Japan anthology, 2012

Bittersweet At No. 1: How A Japanese Song Topped The Charts In 1963