Pine Needles, Lookout Mountain, Tennessee
Late frost clings to tree
Hope for woodland flowers and sun
Blue Jay sings from pine
Late frost clings to tree
Hope for woodland flowers and sun
Blue Jay sings from pine
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They press us to our own wilder energies. – From the text
The author of Crow Planet is fond of the term “zoopolis” defined as a place where human and wild geographies meet and mingle. Examples of this intersection of the human and wild geographies abound in her writing and on the grounds of her suburban home in Seattle. Perhaps the overarching symbol in this book is “Charlotte,” a fledgling crow with a broken leg. The bird appeared on her lawn one morning. Haupt is an experienced wildlife rehabilitator, so she took action. She took in the fledgling, fed it appropriate foods, splinted the leg, and returned it to the lawn. The parent crows witnessed her actions and dive bombed her during the capture and the return. She briefly addressed the issue of naming wild animals, but without apology she named the crow. The crow parents did not continue their attacks on her after that day, which is surprising. She cites literature documenting the memory and continued animosity of crows toward those who have captured and banded them and toward those who have approached too close to their young. “Charlotte’s” parent crows, atypically, go about their business and peacefully coexist with Haupt and her family. As Haupt continues her narrative of the zoopolis, she cites numerous written sources of information, from scientific and naturalist writings as well as words from the literary sphere. Her sources include poets Emily Dickinson and Ted Hughes, and scientists Aldo Leopold and Edward O. Wilson. Her chapter titles reflect the chapter titles of Henry David Thoreau’s seminal work, Walden, titles such as “Reading,” “Walking,” “Dwelling,” and “Helping,”. In her investigations of the zoopolis, Haupt is well aware of the damage done to the natural world by human works. She also points out the importance of preserving wilderness areas both for the integrity of the biosphere and for the inspiration humans gain from them. She also points out that, just as humans have invaded the natural world with concrete and buildings, some creatures have thrived near our dwellings. Some invade our homesteads even as we are invading theirs. Haupt exhorts us to bring our concerns for wild nature to bear not only in the wilderness, but close to home where we have the greatest impact for good or ill. The Spring of my Life
Kobayashi Issa Translation by Sam Hamill Reviewed by Ray Zimmerman The poet Issa is beloved throughout his homeland and Japanese schoolchildren commit his poignant nature poems to memory. Adults appreciate his humor, and scholars decry the self-pity which shows through his work. The winter fly I caught and finally freed The cat quickly ate - Issa For this reviewer, the poetry of Issa represents a triumph of the human spirit. The events of his life transcend sadness to reach the heights of pathos and tragedy. His mother died when he was but two years old, and his grandmother took over the responsibility of child rearing. She sent him to study poetry with a local scholar at an early age. When he reached age eight; his grandmother died and his father remarried. His stepmother abused him. Mother I weep For you as I watch the sea Each time I watch the sea - Issa He left home for Edo (now Tokyo) at age twelve to study poetry and Zen, and became a homeless scholar on the streets. After many years as an itinerant poet, he returned home to nurse his dying father. In his fifties he married a much younger woman, but all of their children died at an early age. The final child died due to care by an incompetent nurse, shortly after the death of the mother. He married again in his sixties, but he and his pregnant wife moved into a shed after their house burned. He died there, and shortly after, the wife gave birth to a daughter who lived to continue his line. The Spring of My Life is haiban, a book of narrative prose with haiku, in the same tradition as Narrow Road to the Interior (Basho). The following passage illustrates this point. “Visiting my daughter’s grave on July 25th, one month after her death. The red flower You always wanted to pick -- Now this autumn wind” Among the sad verses are many hopeful ones, truly beautiful, like the following: The distant mountains Are reflected in the eye Of the dragonfly Issa is rated among the three great masters of haiku, along with Basho and Buson. The book, The Spring of my Life is a classic. Translator Sam Hamill included not only the full text the book, but also 250 haiku selected from the many thousands attributed to Issa. It is well worth the read. A Rule for Writers While pondering the many useful rules put forth in Strunk and White’s little volume The Elements of Style, I encountered this short commentary on the word nature: Nature should be avoided in such vague expressions as “a lover of nature,” “poems about nature.” Unless more specific statements follow, the reader cannot tell whether the poems have to do with natural scenery, rural life, the sunset, the untracked wilderness, or the habits of squirrels. Having great respect for the authors, I thought I might change the title of my forthcoming book of poems and essays, Nature is my Muse. I then realized that the junior author of The Elements of Style, E. B. White, also penned the beloved children’s classics Charlotte’s Web, and Stuart Little. Both books are generally placed in the broad category of nature literature. Without apology, I have decided that my book will retain its title, and I leave the potential reader with an assurance. Will the included poems and essays have to do with “natural scenery, rural life, the sunset, or the habits of squirrels?” Yes they will. They might even have to do with that Cardinal I hear singing as I sit on the porch and type this brief posting. Written at Open Mic at The Well
April 11, 2016 Like roses blooming Among desert thorns Some poems come forth In hardest times Among desert thorns The moon blesses us In hardest times Even among sorrows The moon blesses us Some poems come forth Even among sorrows lLke roses blooming |
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