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[Nov. 5th, 2005|03:28 pm] |
When a poet's mind is perfectly equipped for its work, it is constantly amalgamating disparate experience: the ordinary man's experience is chaotic, irregular, fragmentary. The latter falls in love, oR reads Spinoza, and these two experiences have nothing to do with each other or with the noise of the typewriter or the smell of cooking; in the mind of the poet these experiences are always forming new wholes.
- George Elliot.
quoted from "breathmarks" by Gary Hotham. |
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| modern haiku: Gary Hotham |
[Nov. 5th, 2005|03:32 pm] |
on our way back -
nothing left in the sky
of the hawk's circles
дорога домой --
ничего не осталось в небе
от кругов ястреба |
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[Nov. 5th, 2005|10:23 pm] |
What mesmerizes me the most in Gary Hotham's haiku is his work with space and time. Everything is so real, you can almost feel the lacunae in the sky, in the water, in somebody's tracks left in the sand, in the autumn itself. I already posted some of his haiku in this journal, but here's some more from his little book "breathmarks". I wonder how that would be in Russian...
fog.
sitting here
without mountains
time to go -
the stones we threw
to the bottom of the ocean
this summer night -
she lets the firefly glow
through the cage of her fingers
outside the door
daylight
waits
to hear them
walking more slowly -
leaves falling
early in the night -
the stars we can see
the space for more
stalled car.
foot tracks being filled
with snow |
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