Farewell to another great poet, Franz Wright (1953-2015). I posted this one several years ago and it still haunts me. If you have an extra moment, here’s another of his affecting works that I put on this blog last year.
P.S.
I close my eyes and see
a seagull in the desert,
high, against unbearably blue sky.
There is hope in the past.
I am writing to you
all the time, I am writing
with both hands,
day and night.
“Employ everyday speech to transcend everyday speech,” wrote Yosa Buson (1716-1784), the Japanese poet and painter who was a disciple of the haiku master Matsuo Bashō (1644-1694), and a striking writer himself. Today, I realized that in the seven years I’ve had this blog, I’ve yet to post the transcendent simplicity of haiku. So let’s amend that. Here are a few Buson haikus from the wonderful Tavern Books collection.
In winter rain
every place
looks like its past.
–
In the haze of the moon
arm my only pillow
this sudden fondness for my life
–
Some stars
although it’s not yet dark shining
over scarred fields
–
Deer in the rain
three cries
then nothing
–
Weary old willows
how long the road will be
when you are lost from sight
_
translated by Franz Wright
This Franz Wright (1953-) poem renders me speechless.
“Did This Ever Happen to You”
A marble-colored cloud
engulfed the sun and stalled,
a skinny squirrel limped toward me
as I crossed the empty park
and froze, the last
or next to last
fall leaf fell but before it touched
the earth, with shocking clarity
I heard my mother’s voice
pronounce my name. And in an instant I passed
beyond sorrow and terror, and was carried up
into the imageless
bright darkness
I came from
and am. Nobody’s
stronger than forgiveness.
live in the layers 