Much will be written and spoken regarding the recent tragedy of murder and mayhem in Arizona. The words that I bring to the subject matter little. A discussion has begun about toning down the political rhetoric which I am certain does influence mentally unbalanced, gun-happy people. Of course a defensive position has already been taken by the perpetrators of hate by saying that their words were only meant metaphorically. It should be well understood, though, most of the nuts with guns don’t know what a metaphor is. Can there be a more civil discourse? I doubt it. One of the sensible media people, Jon Meacham, said there is a class of people who depend on conflict for their living, not conflict resolution.
…
A few months ago I joined the Tanka Society of America, a group which specializes in the art of writing this ancient five-line form of Japanese poetry. TSA is a group of about 200 dues paying members, and when I recently looked over the membership list I was surprised to discover that I am its only member in North Dakota. The organization publishes “Ribbons,“ a very respectable journal that features member-written poems. I received the latest edition a couple of days ago and found within its pages three poems I had submitted.
midnight
the Soo Line train waits
at a crossing
engine-idle and frog-croak
blend in harmony
The section of the journal where this one appeared called for poems to exhibit a sense of loneliness. I remember laying in the upstairs bedroom of the farm west of Sheldon and hearing this on a summer night through the open window. The railroads, Soo Line and NP, crossed a couple miles west of the farmstead and, as I understood it, had to stop to verify that another train on the other track wasn’t bearing down on them. On a still night the sound of the diesel engine’s idling came across the fields, and I imagined it blending with the frogs in the creek just west of the buildings.
…
hard rains
in Vermont
flood fields -
pumpkins floating
in the Winooski River
Last fall we took a long bus tour through the northeast. While we never experienced any heavy rains we drove through an area in Vermont where crop damage had occurred. As we cruised along I looked out the bus window and saw this unusual sight - a crop of pumpkins floating against a dam in the river.
…
this daylily
blooms once and dies
but then
another bud opens. . .
my sons, their sons
Mary grows a wide variety of flower species in her gardens, one of them being daylilies. It is such a popular flower in this city that a local group held a national daylily convention here last summer. After learning that this flower has the particular characteristic of each bud’s lasting just one day, I began thinking that this natural metaphor begged to be written.
