flooded with moonlight

you might wonder or even assume that i continue to print poems by pound and williams and lorca and dickinson et al because they've always been my favorites, but i'd barely read any of them before (and i did read poetry; i edited a literary magazine for fifteen years). no, it's because this imagist movement of poetry was the english language version of japonisme.

"In America in 1912, the most common and popular poetry was called genteel because it was very well-behaved. Take, for example, this poem by Richard Watson Gilder.

The Woods that Bring the Sunset Near

The wind from out of the west is blowing
The homeward-wandering cows are lowing,
Dark grow the pine woods, dark and drear, —
The woods that bring the sunset near.

Around 1912 in London, some British and American poets led by Ezra Pound started a poetic movement called imagism. These poets reacted against genteel poetry, which they saw as sentimental, soft-edged, and emotionally dishonest. Instead, they advised, in Ezra Pound's formulation,

1. Direct treatment of the ‘thing,
’ whether subjective or objective.
2. To use absolutely no word that did not contribute to the presentation.
3. As regarding rhythm: to compose in sequence of the musical phrase, not in sequence of the metronome.

In 1913, Pound added the following advice for aspiring imagist poets:

4. An 'Image' is that which presents an intellectual and emotional complex
in an instant of time.
5. It is the presentation of such a 'complex' instantaneously which gives the sense of sudden liberation; that sense of freedom from time limits and space limits; that sense of sudden growth, which we experience
in the greatest works of art.
6. It is better to present one Image in a lifetime than to produce voluminous works.
7. Use no superfluous word,
no adjective which does not reveal something.

8. Don't use such an expression as 'dim lands of peace.' It dulls the image. It mixes an abstraction with the concrete. It comes from the writer's not realizing that the natural object is always
the adequate symbol.
9. Go in fear of abstractions. Do not retell in mediocre verse what has already been done in good prose.

Imagist poems were influenced by Japanese haiku, poems of 17 syllables which usually present only two juxtaposed images. This poetry strives to suggests more than its literal meaning, yet avoids overt figurative devices like allegory and even metaphor." 1

see what you think:

"Mañana", dated 7 August 1918 in Fuente Vaqueros,
from Libro de Poemas:

But the song of water
is an eternal thing.
It is light turned into song
of romantic illusions.
It is firm and soft,
mild and full of heaven.
It is mist and it is rose
of the eternal morning.
Honey of the moon which flows
from buried stars.
What is the holy baptism
but God turned into water
to anoint our foreheads
with the blood of his mercy?
For some good reason Jesus
was confirmed in water.

For some good reason the stars
repose upon its waves.
For some good reason Venus
in its breast was engendered

Federico Garcia Lorca (1898–1936) 2

Midnight. No waves,
no wind, the empty boat
is flooded with moonlight.

Eihei Dogen (1200-1253) 3

(and in case you were wondering if lorca could be a reincarnation of dogen, i have provided a helpful aide.)

come may

THE LOCUST TREE IN FLOWER

Among
the leaves
bright

green
of wrist-thick
tree

and old
stiff broken
branch

ferncool
swaying
loosely strung—

come May
again
white blossom

clusters
hide
to spill

their sweets
almost
unnoticed

down
and quickly
fall

Among
of
green

stiff
old
bright

broken
branch
come

white
sweet
May

again

William Carlos Williams

五月雨をあつめて早し最上川
Samidare o atsumete hayashi Mogamigawa
The Mogami River, gathering rain of May and even more rapid

Matsuo Bashō

the wave, part IV

AT POPHAM BEACH

Haze of wave spume
towards Small Point,
Seguin Island Light like
a whale's spout--
maybe life washes itself here,
cools off.
It never comes clean.
See all the sails up
and full in the windy parade of skin
and sand and brine.
Soon the rocks will pluck
each wave's feathers.
Soon the beach
like the moon, waning,
will be 1/8th its size.
somewhere else --
maybe Ireland -- the tide
will bottom out then.

For now the sun
blesses the bodies at home in theirs,
and those less so,
to ruin and ruin's aftermath --
whatever that is --
and the waves rolling in,
little snowplows,
nimbus in miniature; how
the beach fishhooks east,
one child -- is that mine,
or some spirit I was one more
usher of? -- face up, arms and legs
scraping a temporary angel in the sand.

© 2008 Thorpe Moeckel

PRELUDE

I know only the bare
rocks of today.
In these lies my brown sea-weed,—
green quartz veins bent through the wet shale;
in these lie my pools left by the tide—
quiet, forgetting waves;
on these stiffen white star fish
on these I slip barefooted!

Whispers of the fishy air touch my body;
Sisters, I say to them.

© 2008 William Carlos Williams

PROJECTOR

Light takes new attribute

and yet his old
glory
enchants;

he shows his splendour
in a little room;
he says to us,
be glad

and laugh, be gay;

waves sparkle and delight
the weary eyes
that never saw the sun fall in the sea
nor the bright

Pleiads rise.

© 2008 H.D.

BLANDULA, TENULLA, VAGULA

What hast thou, O my soul, with paradise?
Will we not rather, when our freedom's won,

Get us to some clear place wherein the sun
Lets drift in on us through the olive leaves
A liquid glory? If at Sirmio,
My soul, I meet thee,
when this life's outrun,
Will we not find some
headland consecrated
By aery apostles of
terrene delight,

Will not our cult be founded
on the waves,

Clear sapphire, cobalt, cyanine,

On triune azures,
the impalpable
Mirrors unstill of the eternal change?

Soul, if She meet us there,
will any rumour
Of havens more high
and courts desirable
Lure us beyond
the cloudy peak of Riva?

© 2008 Ezra Pound

(not the first time the wave has shown up here -- check it out -- this time inspired by quiche's fascination with it.)

she may be princess of haiku but she's also the queen of the mums

1819

.開山は芭蕉さま也菊の花
kaizan wa bashô-sama
nari kiku no kana

the sect founder
is Great Basho...
chrysanthemums

Issa describes the devotion to chrysanthemums -- raising and admiring them -- as a Buddhist sect, whose "founder" (kaizan) is none other than the great haiku poet, Matsuo Bashô.

Translation © 2008 David G. Lanoue

My eyes which had seen all came back,
 Back to the white chrysan- themums.

Issho (ca. 1688)

Translation © 2008 Asatarō Miyamori

(comb from the wonderful barbaraanne's comb blog)

So deep into autumn
their fellow flowers
are all gone—
if the frost would only hold off,
leave me the incomparable chrysanthemums!

Saigyō (1118–90)

Translation © 2008 Burton Watson

POEMS AFTER DRINKING WINE

I built my hut beside a traveled road
Yet hear no noise of passing carts and horses.
You would like to know how it is done?
With the mind detached, one's place becomes remote.
Picking chrysanthemums by the eastern hedge
I catch sight of the distant southern hills:
The mountain air is lovely as the sun sets
And flocks of flying birds return together.
In these things is a fundamental truth
I would like to tell, but lack the words.

T'ao Ch'ien [or T'ao Yuan-ming Ch'ien T'ao ] (365–427)

Translation © 2008 James Robert Hightower

I built my hut in a zone of human habitation,
Yet near me there sounds no noise of horse or coach.
 Would you know how that is possible?
A heart that is distant creates a wilderness round it.
I pluck chrysanthemums under the eastern hedge,
Then gaze long at the distant-summer hills.
The mountain air is fresh at the dusk of day:
The flying birds two by two return.
In these things there lies a deep meaning;
Yet when we would express it, words suddenly fail us.

T'ao Ch'ien [or T'ao Yuan-ming Ch'ien T'ao ] (365–427)

Translation © 2008 Arthur Waley

FOUR POEMS WRITTEN WHILE DRUNK

1
Fortune and misfortune
 have no fixed abode;
This one and the other
 are given us in turn
Shao Ping working
 in his field of melons
Was much as he had been
 when Lord of Dongling.
Cold and hot seasons
 follow one another,
And the way of man
 will always be like this
The intelligent man
 sees that it must be so.
Having gone so far
 he will not doubt again,
But from that moment
 every day and evening
He will be happy
 holding a cup of wine.

2
The Tao has been lost
 nigh on a thousand years
And people everywhere
 are misers of their feelings
Though they have wine
 they do not dare to drink it,
And think of nothing save
 keeping their reputation.
All the things that make us
 care about our lives —
They are surely compassed
 within a single lifetime
And how much can that life
 amount to after all —
Swift as the surprise
 of pouring lightning,
Fixed and circumscribed
 within a hundred years —
Hemmed and bound to this
 what can we hope to do?

3
I built my house near where others dwell,
And yet there is no clamor of carriages and horses
You ask of me. “How can this be so?”
“When the heart is far the place of itself is distant.”
I pluck chrysanthemums under the eastern hedge,
And gaze afar towards the southern mountains
The mountain air is fine at evening of the day
And flying birds return together homewards
Within these things there is a hint of Truth,
But when I start to tell it, I cannot find the words.

4
In the clear dawn
 I hear a knocking at my gate
And skirt on wrong way round
 go to open it myself
I ask the visitor
 “Pray, sir, who may you be?”
It is an old peasant
 who had a kindly thought,
And has come from far away
 bearing a jug of wine,
Because he thinks I am
 at variance with the times
“Sitting in patched clothes
 under a thatched roof —
This will never help you
 to get on in the world!
All the world together
 praises that alone,
So I wish, sir, that you too
 would float with the muddy stream”
“Old man, I am deeply
 grateful for your words,
But your advice does not accord
 with my inborn nature.
Even if I could learn
 to follow the curb and reins,
To go against one's nature
 is always a mistake
Let us just be happy
 and drink this wine together —
I fear my chariot
 can never be turned back.”

T'ao Ch'ien [or T'ao Yuan-ming Ch'ien T'ao ] (365–427)

Translation © 2008 William Acker

on the wings of a big orange fish

ATAVISM


I was always afraid of Somes's Pond:
Not the little pond, by which the willow stands,
Where laughing boys catch alewives in their hands
In brown, bright shallows; but the one beyond.
There, when the frost makes all the birches burn
Yellow as cow-lilies, and the pale sky shines
Like a polished shell between black spruce and pines,
Some strange thing tracks us, turning where we turn.

You'll say I dream it, being the true daughter
Of those who in old times endured this dread.
Look! Where the lily-stems are showing red
A silent paddle moves below the water,
A sliding shape has stirred them like a breath;
Tall plumes surmount a painted mask of death.

Elinor Wylie

I think it would help to understand the common theme that runs throughout all the art and figurines that we are posting. To do that I think we need to appreciate the culture and legends that produce a universial image of carp, and by extension, the image of koi. As westerners, it is our tendency to look at koi and then look deeper into carp and then come to an impass as to why some things in koi are the way they are? If we start at the 'other end' that is, within the fabic of the culture that created the nishikigoi, we can begin to understand more about the symbolic aspects of koi and how subjective judging includes power, strength, grace and 'presence'.

A carp is a symbol of struggle and endurance. And that symbolism leads to success and reward of life. The Chinese and later the Japanese, who adopted much of Chinese culture as their own over the centuries, observed that carp struggle up stream and never seem to give up that drive. From this a very wide spread fable of the carp that , against all odds, swims up the mighty river of China to the dragon’s gate. The Dragon gate is the area where the river ends and the mountain’s heavy water flow begins. The carp struggles and never gives up and eventually transcends the head waters and reaches his goal. The reward is to become the dragon, a very wise and all powerful creature.

You can see how this worked in the minds of ancient people. The carp is scaled ( like the dragon) fish and seems on a mission as it swims against the current. Dragon myth are common and well loved figures in Asian cultures, from India to Japan. They symbolize many things to the different cultures but always wisdom and power are included in the image.

Carp not only scaled like a dragon, they are also scaled like armor. And this is why Samurai loved keeping wild carp and why carp flags are a symbol of manhood and man’s struggle for success in life.


By the way, this is how and why the serious Japanese keeper sees large , really feminine full bodied koi, as powerful and more of the male image than the female.

So who are these riders on these giant koi? A monk, a boy, a scholar and a warrior. Each is a fable. Mostly from Chinese religions and most are folklore or parables. The monk is on a quest for enlightenment and is taken to the bottom of the sea by a giant carp and shown the wonders of a magical underwater city . The warrior is symbolism of the armored warrior who will not give of the struggle and win by endurance. The scholar is an Chinese figure of several fables that flies on the ‘wings’ of a flying carp in search of wisdom. And the boy, is on a journey to manhood and success in life. This then ties into ‘Boy’s day’ in Japan , the release of live carp into the waters as a symbol of the young boy becoming a man and reaching his goals in life- success, riches, good health etc. 1

wild swans

THE WILD SWANS AT COOLE

THE trees are in their
autumn beauty,
The woodland paths are dry,
Under the October twilight
the water
Mirrors a still sky;
Upon the brimming water
among the stones
Are nine-and-fifty Swans.
The nineteenth autumn
has come upon me
Since I first made my count;
I saw, before I had well finished,
All suddenly mount
And scatter wheeling
in great broken rings

Upon their clamorous wings.
I have looked upon
those brilliant creatures,
And now my heart is sore.
All's changed since I,
hearing at twilight,
The first time on this shore,
The bell-beat of their wings above my head,
Trod with a lighter tread.
Unwearied still, lover by lover,
They paddle in the cold
Companionable streams
or climb the air;
Their hearts have not grown old;

Passion or conquest, wander
where they will,
Attend upon them still.
But now they drift
on the still water,
Mysterious, beautiful;
Among what rushes
will they build,

By what lake's edge or pool
Delight men's eyes when I awake some day
To find they have flown away?

William Butler Yeats

begin to awaken

SPRING AND ALL

By the road to the
contagious hospital
under the surge of the blue
mottled clouds driven from the
northeast—a cold wind.
Beyond, the
waste of broad, muddy fields
brown with dried weeds, standing and fallen

patches of standing water
the scattering of tall trees









All along the road the reddish
purplish, forked, upstanding, twiggy
stuff of bushes and small trees
with dead, brown leaves under them
leafless vines—

Lifeless in appearance, sluggish
dazed spring approaches—

They enter the new world naked,
cold, uncertain of all
save that they enter. All about them
the cold, familiar wind—


Now the grass, tomorrow
the stiff curl of wildcarrot leaf

One by one objects are defined—
It quickens: clarity, outline of leaf

But now the stark dignity of
entrance—Still, the profound change
has come upon them: rooted they
grip down and begin to awaken

William Carlos Williams
[1923]