About
autumn wind
wondering about lilies
in a mountain pond
Tell me a writer who really gets a satisfying jornal, in Spanish a daily wage or its equivalent, and I’ll bare a spirit in constant bouts of doubtfulness. Does a writer earn more because of what he writes and how he does it? Or is a writer paid more or less because of who he is? Is it money or honor he expects to receive?
Ahhh … but money as wage, and praise or honor as reward would be too predictable, too common as Job lamented in the Book of Job. It is in these lines that read: “Is not man’s life on earth nothing more than pressed service, his times no better than hired drudgery? Like the slave, sighing for the shade, or the workman with no thought but his wages, months of delusion I have assigned to me, nothing for my own but nights of grief. Lying in bed I wonder, ‘When will it be day?’ Risen I think, ‘How slowly evening comes!’
Restlessly I fret till twilight falls. Swifter than a weaver’s shuttle my days have passed, and vanished, leaving no hope behind. Remember that my life is but a breath, and that my eyes will never again see joy.”
Not money but joy is the ultimate wage as the passage implies. And joy is not hard to earn for it is in everyday life if we have eyes to see, a nose to smell, fingers to touch, ears to hear–a heart beating. This to me, is how a writer earns a daily wage. His wages then take the guise of treasures his heart can transfigure into a universe of thought that taps into other hearts, that causes a swirl in the depth of other souls, or that makes wings to sprout on leaden heels.
Sometimes not joy but rueful, poignant moments are my pick. Take what I earned once: On my walk home in my neighborhood, I caught two clumps of snowdrops–such tiny blossoms smaller than fingertips that do not look up but shyly droop close to black patches on the ground winter has frozen. That afternoon in the frosty wind, they trembled as if ready to turn away and run but how could they? For that poignant moment on seeing the wintry rain beat on the fragile snowdrop–as if pushing it to go home now, go to sleep–I earned my jornal, my daily wage.
Once on summer walk, the crackle of dried leaves just hit me both like the laughter of children and sobs long suppressed. Neither one of them would resolve the dryness, but I recalled how each does bring tears: laughter for joy, sobs for healing that comes with the release of a dammed-up pain. My jornal that day came as two haiku.
Fall has since shortened the day and the heart begins to crave for lost space that it doesn’t even recall which or where. I feel that most treasures have turned into mush so much so I wouldn’t be able to sift them off the ground. Yet I caught the dying day yesterday–so glorious in the gold of autumn it opened a flip side of serene heaven. Blades of grass coated in diadems of rain that carpet the lawns render royal walks poor by imitation. A burst of red maple against an inky blue sky humbled me, a soul bragging about her skill to recreate beauty in words.
I suppose I’m taking Job’s reflections to heart. I’d rather not gloss over each day and look beyond what’s there, right before me, or else fragile as is my breath one day “my eyes may never again see joy” to write. With what then will I compare the eternal joy, the ultimate wage I await?
Yet for now, as other eyes hanker to make the invisible visible, I put a tag on some moments of joy. Like on seeing the snowdrops, I paid myself $200 as my jornal.
What could have been yours?
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jornales 
Nice one.
I changed ‘to’ in the last line to ‘the’ and liked it even more.
but at any rate, i enjoyed this one..
Oh, thank you, Dhyan! It works better and the image slides into the oncoming seethe of summer–indeed both spring wind and blossoms end. And thanks for coming by.
happy you find it a possibility too
and even happier to see the dialogue developing..
Thanks for coming back, Dhyan! And happy about the dialogue with Wrick developing–he does that, he opens conversations that hardle ever end. Do jump in if you’re inclined to.
As suggested by Dhyan:
it has to end:
the wind
the cherry blossoms
hmmmm…. i like both versions.
the second version, yes, both wind and cherry blossoms have to end. . . it feels separate tho.
the first version is more striking (to me). it grabs at my attention to look more closely and understand. and… the wind to cherry blossoms – that too has to end. yet i also see the scattering of blossom petals in the air – i like that – that is what will end too. i dont get that with the ending of wind. separate. from the ending of blossoms. as easily…
also i like the contrast between the two phrases of the first ku. rather than the separation of 3 phrases in the 2nd version.
tough choice tho. cool exploration.
I love how you take it apart, Wrick! Both have possibilities but you prove right with your explanations and choices that indeed, haiku as in all poetry is deeply personal.
This haiku has long been waiting to be written! On my walks these thoughts have long been bursting: The absolute beauty at the height of cherry blossoms ends in a wink. The wind has to come, blowing as if with a million pursed lips for each blossom to shed though this happens only on quieter days when the breeze brushes by almost like a feather-whisper. Toward the end of spring as in the past days, rain and wind in a mad dance conspire to cause first a blizzard of petals next a heavy drenching to push the blossoms to surrender bowed barely a petal left.
Yesterday evening, paved walks on my neighborhood made me feel more princess than her who just wed: as far as I could see, an iridescent carpet in cherry pink has been unrolled; I prepared for light steps on silken layers of still succulent petals exhilarated yet rueful how I tarnished each shred with every step.
This, too, this equivocal feeling that divides the heart soon ends, I know. So swift in fact, when on my turn toward our gate, flavors not perfumes from the lavender bush but of fish on the grill pulled my steps closer to the ground.
Thanks again, Wrick, for a deeply engaging exchange. Please do come by again.
aloha Alee9 – to be clear – i dont know that how i see it is right – it’s just how i see it. …and of course that can be changed.
the cherry blossom carpet you speak of – yeah, i like that too. here, there are what we call Shower Trees. these come in many colors. some are white. some yellow. some orange or pink and some mixed. with the lightest breeze these blossoms shower down as a gentle heavy snowfall might, and the circle beneath the tree – a round carpet of yellow or pink etc. stunning.
the time of this kind of showering is just coming into being. i’m hopeful that on some of my concrete fossil walks i’ll encounter these shower tree storms.
shower tree storm
yellow blossoms flutter
in the breeze
Hahah…yes, we’re clear on that–how you see it and how it can be changed. That’s the very nature of poetry and the source of its magic!
I love your Shower Tree and your haiku!
shower tree–
in the breeze a storm
of yellow blossoms
I love how you describe the circle the shower makes–I’ve seen that in camellias, how those heavy open-faced (in their fall) huge blossoms form a heavily-textured mantled around the tree. The way the camellia falls, by the way, reminds of how a woman bares all, causing a scandal. I think I used that phrase in one of my haiku or tanka–‘the scandal of the camellia’.
Back to the Shower tree. In the Philippines, it’s our national tree, the Narra that does rain on you golden (really yellow golden) blossoms when the wind riffles through the tree. Its a huge sturdy tree with a thick crown and it blossoms in clusters on each twig–rather fragrant, too! Its redolence and brilliance used to literally rain on me when I used to walk toward the gate of Intramuros (Walled City of Spanish Manila) where the government media office (where I once worked) hugged a wall. I relished those morning walks which I could describe as rained on as I waded through a shallow stream of perfumed golden petals–what fairy would not want to turn mortal for this. Of course, the cherry blossoms leave a more tender feeling. That of oucrse, is nothing but a memory.
the narra in bloom–
a blizzard of golden petals
drenches me
Do tell me when on one of your ‘concrete fossil walks’ you too, get rained on. Come back soon?
Lovely!
Thanks, MamaZen!
oh. yes.. – aloha Alee9 – . your shower tree ku. i like that very much. a lot more than my own.
i didnt feel i did the moment justice in mine. there is too much… over-used-ness in my last line – “in the breeze” – it is too common to be used as a last line (and may be not as such for any line). that is the risk i take i think when i shotgun haiku. sometimes i miss.
yours on the other hand… set’s up the yellow blossom line beautifully – it builds to it. . . so that getting there becomes the sudden brilliant blossoms in a surprise. i like that. i like that. a lot.
yes – excellent observation too – the delicate tender petals of fallen cherry blossoms vs the deluge of shower tree blossoms. yes, i like that too.
i have memories – of shower tree blossoms. . .
some are that circle of intense color beneath the tree around the trunk (i’ve seen this with mountain apple blossoms too – an intense almost neon pink-violet). some years it’s like that.
some years the wind blows it away in one direction. so that on one side of the tree near the trunk there is a clear curved edge to the blossom line. and on the other side the blossoms trail off and fade away like the tail of a comet.
i remember the first time or two i saw this kind of blossom carpet i wanted to find one of these trees in a park to photograph it. but i’d always see them along the street. i now know they are brief and only if conditions are just right. i’d come the next day to look and it would all be gone. an hour later – half an hour later – 15 minutes later – and it all may be gone until another year. swept away on a breeze. i now know better – it is where it is. all things and moments are like this. it is what it is where it is. and that is what makes it special – or one of the things. and i know if i get the chance – in the street will be awesome.
another memory. after my mother died. i visited and walked through the cemetery where she was cremated a number of times. there are a number of these trees in the cemeteries along the street in that area and i wanted to walk each because i felt close to her in those places. i still do.
one small older cemetery was up the road a ways. it was rainy with bits of wind but i decided to walk up the two or three blocks any way. suddenly as i walked the rain became heavy and i stopped in the semi-shelter of a stone wall.
on the other side of the stone wall a shower tree grew. it over hung the wall and street where i was standing. as i waited the storm out the shower tree let it’s blossoms come down. with each gust of wind or blast of rain – another shower of blossoms fell.
the pavement in the street being wet the leaves stuck almost instantly where ever they first touched. it was beautiful and i remained there for nearly an hour after the rain had let up just to watch and see.
it was one of those moments when i wanted to reach out to someone and tell them to look and see. i’m sure we all notice it. in the rain, the few people who passed by were in a head-down hurry to get out of what looked like more rain. for me, yellow being a color my mother liked very much, i like the memory very much too.
i wonder if narra – do you think that is the same tree? i dont remember the scent being so strong as you indicate. but it may be that in the stronger wind the scent is less noticeable.
if these conversations are good, i am delighted. you pay me a high compliment – never ending. bwahahahaha – i do ramble a lot. fun. and thank you for the beautiful memory explorations. as well as your beautiful haiku.
yeah. i’m sure if i get caught in a shower tree storm, even without a camera – i’ll make extra note this year. cool. and let you know too. aloha.
Wow!!! I love the whole thing to pieces, Wrick! May I use it to make a larger story here with our haiku, like a haibun on ‘shower trees’? No, the compliment is yours not mine! I love your utterly busy mind–it makes mine spin in spaces I wouldn’t recall going back to and what hidden gems do lie waiting to sparkle. Thanks again and please let me know it it’s alright for me to pull this comment for a new post.
aloha alee9 – yes. the bottom line for you to use this comment is yes.
although i’m not quite sure what you have in mind or exactly how you wish to use it, i think it would be fun to see what you do with it. so, yes. go ahead.
i’m not sure if i can help or not? if so, let me know.
also – just so you know. sometimes i save my comments. ones like this where i’ve rattled on about something that i like or that i think others might value (like in art discussions). i save the comments because i think i may do something with them some day. although what i’ll do is only a loose idea right now. so, just so you know. i too may use this comment at some point in some way.
whew. all that said. i take it that this will in some way be a collaboration. i like that. and if there is some way in which you’d like to collaborate on something – not necessarily this comment – but another work – let me know that too if it interests you.
to be clear… i’m not a greatly knowledgeable writer. so i do not always know the poetic terms, names and so on – on any form of writing – poetry or prose.
i do like to explore tho. so, if a collaboration of some kind appeals to you. let me know – especially if you have that ability to edit me into some kind of form that makes sense rather than just me rambling.
at one point i did look into – may be it was – haibun? where one poet leaves a line or two. and the next poet continues on. i’m not sure i fully understood it. or how to go about it. so you see, i’d need a helping hand in that way, if we were to do something more than what you are thinking about with this comment.
cool. and i look forward to what you do. and no worries if you get into it and realize it will not work – or if you realize you do not have time and so decide you can not do it at all. how ever it works out will be fine. – i would like to see what you do if that is okay when ever you are ready to show me.
cool again. have fun. and thank you for asking – aloha.
Thank you, Wrick! I love that you’re so flexible and linient! You allow me a lot of space to think of what to do with this wonderful exchange of ideas. Yes, I’ll email it to you as soon as I compose a good one. Thanks again!