jornales

for a moment of joy or moments no one pays for, i give myself a ‘jornal’. this makes me rich. try it.

some of my spring haiku with French translation by Serge Tome@tempslibres.org

 gray spring dawn-
the shiver of daffodils
in my bones

aube grise de printemps –
le frisson des jonquilles
dans mes os

this cold-
Sakura cherry blossoms
on my window

ce froid –
fleurs de cerisiers Sakura
à ma fenêtre

this sunless spring day
chickadees chatter on-
my indecisions

ce jour de printemps sans soleil
les mésanges discutent –
mes indécisions

                                        watching rain
                                                    drum beat on window pane–
                                                                                              the deaf cat

                                                                                   il regarde la pluie
tambouriner sur la vitre —
le chat sourd

spring fever–
shoots among the lilies
she can’t name

fièvre de printemps —
des pousses parmi les lys
qu’elle ne peux nommer

tempslibres.org

June 13, 2012 Posted by | haiku, poetry | , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , | 6 Comments

My voted and zero haiku in the Feb Shiki kukai: a self-critique (Or what’s a mirror flashing as signal in the copse all about?)

February Shiki kukai

kigo (spring fever) – 5 pts.

spring fever—
shoots among the lilies
she can’t name

free format (mirror) 0 pts.

mirror
flashing in the copse—
signal she missed

What? A vague haiku, the kind no one should send for a kukai, but at least it wasn’t to a haiku journal, hence, it didn’t waste a minute of an editor. Yet when I wrote it, the image and the ‘moment’ seemed quite clear; it haunted me later though–what if the kukai pariticipants have no idea of the practice I recall in my teens? That’s so long ago, decades ago!

Decades ago when ‘secret loves’ ruled teenage lives and parents had eagle eyes and iron hands (sorry for the cliche); my growing up years in the Philippines, when the ‘mirror flashing in the copse’ served as a secret signal for assignations. Telephones would reach our town generations after I left–farther away into the future when cell phones and ohhh, facebook that has since taken away the thrill of getting caught halfway through the ‘verboten’ (an old HIgh German word for ‘forbidden’ that sounds so archival these days) love-pledges and assignations.

In my early teens, conservative upbringing by families who lingered on the fringes of a now-weakened colonial past treated girls as if we were all novices for a convent. For example, even on weekends, no prowling the streets for me because someone for sure–as my father, especially, drilled into my mind–waited to entrap my eyes, hiding in bamboo groves, in a copse of wild goat-berries or behind hefty trunks of aged acacia trees. Girls, like me and my friends, invented cunning ways to give in to the hunter’s trap. So that’s what the mirror/ flashing in the copse is all about–we used it to send signals though the more inventive among us, could frame words and phrases. Of course, because when and who does the signalling and for whom could hardly be confirmed, part of the thrill would lie in the surprise–but then, it could be missed as whoever awaited could have dozed off, hence signal she missed.

Conclusion? My free format entry wasn’t a haiku but a ‘micro story’ perhaps. Here’s the rest of my mirror haiku from which I chose what I sent that could have fared better.

mirror—
she stares
at her stare

mirror-
she sees her flaws
in his eyes

mirror
her mother’s lips
pursing like hers

March 4, 2011 Posted by | critique/self-critique, haiku, poetry | , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , | 8 Comments