Of Frogs and Boys
All seven daily haiku from Haiku Andy 01/02/23 - 01/08/23
If you've only ever heard one haiku in your life, odds are that was Bashō's frog poem:
the old pond the frog leaps splash
Why is this so famous? Think of it as a movie. Exterior shot of a pond, possibly in an ancient but well-known locale, like a popular park or stretch of woods. Zooming in closer reveals a frog at the water's edge, perhaps on a log or stone, who suddenly leaps as if in response to our arrival. Then the splash or, as it so frequently translated, "sound of water."
Setting. Figure. Action. Boom. Boom. Boom.
I grew up with a pond behind my house. Dragonflies. Weeping willows. The rich smell of green algae. And frogs.
Bashō perfectly captures that experience of walking around the pond, with frogs arcing suddenly into the water with a splash.
But I rarely walked carelessly around the pond. Even as a small child, I had learned how to catch frogs, to hold them in my hand, to commune with them.
The first thing was mastering how to be perfectly still, then how to move with perfect stillness. How to spot a frog sunbathing on the stones at the water's edge, despite its camouflage. How to lower into a crouch as slowly as the minute hand on a clock, one arm extending forward, and then... striking like a dart, fingers closing loosely enough to cage the creature. (A tight squeeze would simply hasten its escape.)
Catching a frog was always a giddy experience. First, the rush of success, then the rapture of encountering this alien creature in your hand, its throat pumping rapidly, slick limbs scrambling for escape (which they often found), how they smelled as if a part of the pond itself.
And, oh their eyes! The golden crystal texture of the iris, the bottomless black pupils, sometimes round, sometimes a slit.
I stared and they stared back, and something would pass between us. Then, after many long moments, I would open my hand, and for a brief moment, the frog would sit upon my palm as if upon a pillow, before suddenly arcing away and —
Splash.
Anyway, here are this week’s seven haiku, and their snail-mail destinations.
haiku 20230102 » Watertown, MA USA
fresh snowfall still some wonder left in this old child
haiku 20230103 » San Francisco, CA USA
birds flutter off as I fill the feeders -- ingrates
haiku 20230104 » San Rafael, CA USA
oh, christmas tree discarded on the sidewalk -- where's your tinsel now?
haiku 20230105 » Santa Rosa Beach, FL USA
nob hill storm warning the corner market low on wine
haiku 20230106 » Los Angeles, CA USA
dawn meditation the cat and everything else scratching at the door
haiku 20230107 » London, United Kingdom
green metal teapot still warm after the last pour rain against the roof
haiku 20230108 » Los Angeles, CA USA
guest room shower the bar of soap cracked
I suppose I could make some cheesy comment about hoping one of my haiku “made a splash” for you, but nah.
See you all next week.
And don’t forget, if you want me to mail you one of my haiku postcards, all you gotta do is ask.
Dawn meditiation did it for me. Kept cas most of my life.