Whorl

Leaf 398 – Looking Forward

 

As the ‘400 Leaves’  project draws to a close, thoughts start to turn to new forms and rejuvenation …

 

 

Fur-flecked whorl

of a fern

waiting to unfurl.

 

 

 

Photograph Credits: Noel Nesme & Dom Sch-veg-man / Pexels

Rainless Night

Leaf 388 – Reflections

 

Kawase Hasui - Moon over the Arakawa River, Akabane (1929)

A poem written around this time last year in Tokyo.

 

 

Thunder rolling

through –

rainless night.

 

 

 

Nightingale

Leaf 382 – Art Inspired

 

Joseph Severn - John Keats (c.1821) National Portrait Gallery

Sometime in May 1819, while living in Hampstead, John Keats wrote his ‘Ode to a Nightingale.’ (See also, Leaf 11 and Leaf 12).

 

 

Amid beechen green,

summer sings o’er

the Vale of Health.

 

Long gone,

but echoing still –

light-winged song.

 

Dreams passing on,

soft incense drifts

through the boughs.

 

 

 

This sequence of linked verse was originally written and posted on Bluesky in response to a #dailyhaikuprompt: 'nightingale.'

Inner Sanctum

Leaf 361 – Reflections

 

To my mind at least, magnolia trees bursting into bloom herald the true onset of Spring each year. The magnolia in the two accompanying photographs is in Hampstead, near Keats Grove. Curiously, due to their longevity as a species, magnolia trees are pollinated by insects, such as beetles, rather than bees.

 

 

An ant in its

inner sanctum

– flowering magnolia.

This poem was originally written and posted on Bluesky in response to a #haikuchallenge writing prompt: sanctum.

Photographs by Tim Chamberlain

First Sign of Spring

Leaf 347 – Art Inspired

 

Kaii Higashiyama - Sign of Spring (1988)

A seasonal haiku, hailing renewal and rejuvenation, inspired by Kaii Higashiyama’s ‘Sign of Spring’ (1988).

 

 

Pale buds

growing greener

– first sign of spring.

 

 

 

Westminster Chimes

Leaf 327 – Looking Back

 

Paul Rafferty - Big Ben After Rain (Portland Gallery)

For two years, between 2021 and 2023, I lived just around the corner from Westminster Abbey and the Houses of Parliament. It was an eventful time to be living there – with the Queen’s Platinum Jubilee; the Queen’s funeral; the King’s Coronation; plus, a quick succession of Prime Ministers, hurriedly coming and then, just as quickly going. During that time too, after a period of silence which had lasted several years, the restoration of Big Ben was finally completed.

 

 

Mirroring the pavement’s

wet sheen –

Westminster chimes.

 

 

 

Iridescence

Leaf 320 – Art Inspired

 

Hasegawa Senzan - Iris and Dragon Fly

This poem was in part inspired by Hasegawa Senzan’s painting, ‘Iris and Dragon Fly’ (19th Century), but also by visits to the well-known Iris beds at Koishikawa Korakuen and Meiji-jingu, both in Tokyo.

 

 

Iridescence

alighting

on a blue iris.

 

 

 

Kawase Hasui - Irises at Meiji-jingu (1951)

In Clover

Leaf 300 – Reflections

 

Mana Aki - South Wind [南の風 Minami kaze] (2000)

I think this poem speaks adequately enough for itself …

 

 

Content

with three leaves –

in clover.

 

 

 

 

This poem was originally written and posted on Bluesky in response to a #dailyhaikuprompt: 'clover.'

Photograph credit: Jaded in Japan

Making A Day Of It

Leaf 274 – Looking Back

 

Ronald Lampitt - August (1958)

I have always loved watching birds. This linked verse poem (of twenty haiku, and one closing tanka) is an attempt to distil a day of avian activity in an English suburban back garden, hopefully incorporating a subtle feel for the seasons progressing from Spring to Autumn as well.

 

 

MAKING A DAY OF IT

 

Making a symphony

of the early morning sun

– dawn chorus awakes.

 

Making a grub

wriggle in its beak –

a wren checks its route.

 

Making a big splash

in the bird bath –

house sparrows.

 

Making an ungainly mess

under the bird feeder

– a wood pigeon.

 

Making a quick sortie

down to the lawn –

a blue tit bobs.

 

Making a menace –

a couple of shady crows,

calling to collect.

 

Making a dash

across an empty patio

– a pied wagtail passes.

 

Making quiet progress

amid the leafy hedge –

a dunnock on the hop.

 

Making its song heard,

top of the apple tree –

a great tit hollerin’ the blues.

 

Making a clean sweep

a couple of swifts –

scything the sky.

 

Making a blackbird

lose its mind –

ginger tom, unfussed.

 

Making the gardener’s fork

turn its advantage –

cock robin.

John Leigh-Pemberton - Bullfinches (1967)

  

Making a royal review

in plum-hued plumage

– a pair of bullfinches.

 

Making its descent

upside down –

a nuthatch knows.

 

Making a kaleidoscope

take wing – goldfinches

flocking through.

 

Making a racket

at the top of the conifers

– magpies conferring.

 

C.F. Tunnicliffe - Magpies and Larch

 

Making a flurry –

dust bathing

sparrows.

 

Making a stately visit –

two collared doves,

cooing.

 

Making a melody

crisp ‘n’ cleanly clear –

a chaffinch conducts.

 

Making the laundry line sway

– long tailed tits

simply passing through.

 

Making a runway

for Mr & Mrs Mallard –

the river over the fence.

 

Making a snail

come out to dinner –

a song thrush shells out.

 

Making a flash of colour,

quickly catching an eye –

a jay, fast moving.

 

Making no sound at all

– an owl (eyes shut)

awaits the moon.

 

Making light and dark

ripples through the air –

starlings moving as one.

 

Making all aware

of evening’s onset –

a blackbird clucks

again and again

again and again.

 

 

 

C.F. Tunnicliffe - Yellow Catkins

 

Watching a Warbler

Leaf 271 – Looking Back

 

This poem was actually prompted by seeing a firecrest, rather than a warbler. I saw it startlingly close-up, flitting about the bushes and then disappearing up a tree in my old hometown, and at the time it stopped and seemed to look up at me with as much curiosity as I must have been looking back at it. I changed the species in the poem partly for phonetic reasons, but also because – well, “firecrest.” – Listen to it! – Firecrest is quite a striking name for such a small species of bird, and so I feared, in this instance at least, ornithological authenticity might derail the poem.

 

 

Watching a warbler

watching me –

eyes flit silently,

short hops jumping

from bush to bush.

 

 

 

 

Photograph credits: Alexis Lours/Wikipedia & RSPB

Careful Paws

Leaf 268 – Looking Back

 

John Leigh-Pemberton - Hedgerow (1979)

Written in response to a #vssdaily prompt (trail) on Bluesky. I had in mind those animal trails which you often find at field boundaries, small rounded openings in hedges and the faint traces of paths through grass pastures or cereal crops which suggest it is a regular route for foxes or other sorts of unseen wildlife. In this case, I was picturing a field I know at the edge of Salcey Forest in Northamptonshire.

 

 

Careful paws –

scenting trails

from hedge to forest.

 

 

 

 

A Walk in the Woods

Leaf 263 – Reflections

 

Alexandra Buckle - Summer Tree Glow (2019)

Nature has a special way of awakening all the senses.

 

 

Walking in the wood,

cool earth beneath

my bare feet.

 

 

 

 

Dandelions

Leaf 245 – Reflections

 

Helen Whistberry - Dandelion Clocks

This poem makes a neat pairing with the sunflowers in Leaf 239.

 

 

Wishes sailing

wither on the wind –

seeding future suns.

 

 

 

 This poem was originally written and posted on Bluesky is response to #whistpr: 'wish', and #dailyhaikuprompt: 'seed.'

Pine Shade

Leaf 237 – Looking Back

 

Tsuchiya Koitsu - Spring Rain at Matsushima (1936)

I first read about Matsushima on my second trip to Japan and a few years later I actually managed to go there and stay for a night or two (see here). It is very beautiful. I hope I might get a chance to go there again someday.

 

 

Cool shaded

pine grove –

Matsushima in mind.

 

 

 ***

On Matsuo Bashō’s visit in 1689:

 

His brush held still,

lost in admiration –

Matsushima.

 

Kawase Hasui – Futagojima Island, Matsushima (1933)

These two poems were originally written and posted on Bluesky, each in response to a different #dailyhaikuprompt: 'pine grove' & 'pine admiration.'

Hanami

Leaf 208 – Garden Poems

 

Yoshimoto Gesso - Cherry Trees above the Water (c.1930s)

花見 ‘Hanami’ is literally the Japanese word for ‘flower viewing’ (花 hana = flower; 見 mi  = looking, viewing), or more commonly it is used to describe the very popular custom of people gathering in large groups and picnicking under cherry blossoms in the spring.

 

 

Benches arranged

for hanami – empty

except for one.

 

 

Utagawa Hiroshige - Cherry Blossoms
on the Banks of the Tama River (1857)

Morning Haze

Leaf 121 – Reflections

 

Living in West Tokyo, we are extremely fortunate to have a largely unobstructed view of Mount Fuji from our balcony. Views of Japan’s most majestic mountain are generally at their best in Spring and Autumn. I find the seasons offer contrasting reflections. There’s often a soft, calm serenity to the early morning views seen in springtime, with the sun rising in the east, behind our home. In Autumn, at the other end of the day, the sunset views can be awe-inspiringly spectacular, watching warm reds and fiery golds rising from the mountain itself while the sun sets behind it in the west. I first fell in love with Mount Fuji long before I saw it with my own eyes. An exhibition, titled “100 Views of Mount Fuji,” curated by my friend and former colleague, Tim Clark, at the British Museum in 2001, really sowed the seeds of this fascination. It inspired me to try my own hand at painting the mountain (see here). Nowadays I still try to capture something of the mountain’ s likeness, but I do so more simply through my camera lens, imprinting directly from the palette provided by the living, shifting sky and the solidified mass of the sacred mountain itself. The view from our urban balcony always reminds me of a print by Hagiwara Hideo, titled “Biru no tanima ni,” which translates as: ‘In the Valley between the Buildings’ (c.1977-1986); a woodblock print which was used as the poster image advertising the exhibition at the BM. The following haiku is an attempt to capture something suggestive of that simple association.

 

Hagiwara Hideo - Biru no tanima ni (British Museum)

 

In the morning haze,

floating above the rooftops

– Mount Fuji.

 

 

 

 

 

Photographs by Tim Chamberlain

Old Edo East Sea Road

Leaf 103 – Looking Back

 

Utagawa Hiroshige - Tōkaidō at Hakone (1833)

See also, Leaf 62 & Leaf 63.

WALKING THE TŌKAIDŌ AGAIN – A TRAVEL HAIBUN, 5th MAY 2009

 

We set out very early this morning, taking the train from Shinjuku to Hakone-Yumoto, where we caught a local bus up to the village of Hatajuku. From there we joined the old Tōkaidō (East Sea Road) at the point where two old distance markers still stand. These are two sets of low circular stone walls, each surmounted by a mound of earth, and each with a small tree growing from the summit; one placed on either side of the old paved road, opposite one another.

 

Because this is the Golden Week holiday, Hakone-Yumoto was bustling with a great many people, most of whom have come to stay at the onsen ryokan (hot spring inns). The Tōkaidō, however, was much less busy. We passed or walked in line with a few other couples, small groups, or families at times, but mostly on our own. When I first walked this stretch of the Tōkaidō it was the middle of winter and I neither passed nor met another soul until I had reached Moto-Hakone – and this was from starting out on foot from Hakone-Yumoto itself.

 

Six years since –

so freshly scented,

the old wooded road.

 

The weather today was overcast, as it was when I walked here five or six years ago, only this time, it was much warmer and humid with it. Not long after midday a mist rolled down from higher up in the mountains. It passed between the tall tree trunks (hinoki and sugi), like a ghostly haze, illuminated by the light which penetrated the dense canopy of green leaves above, creating a beautifully serene and enchanting atmosphere. It began to rain with large drops of moisture falling from the tall greenery towering above us. The stones of the Tōkaidō became wet and slippery underfoot, we had to make our way with care so as not to slip or fall. Along the way, when we were nearing the end of our walk, we stopped at a popular tea house for some refreshments and a short rest.

 

The old Amazake-Chaya

– as busy as

the rain outside.

 

Old Hakone (c.1920s)

When we later reached Moto-Hakone and Ashinoko (Lake Ashi), Fuji-san was entirely hidden from view by cloud – just as it was when Matsuo Bashō passed by this way, and just as it was when I came here before in 2003/2004. Since then, the bus station has been modernised, and continuing down the tall cedar-lined part of the Tōkaidō to the Hakone Barrier (sekisho), a kind of wayfarer’s Customs post, we found that the Barrier itself has been reconstructed on its original foundations, just as it was in the Edo period, when Bashō would have walked through it. After savouring a lunch of hot soba noodles and mountain vegetables we took a look around the Barrier buildings and the small museum there before walking back to the bus station, where in 2003/2004 I’d met Emi Miyamoto, a Shinto pilgrim and tanka poet who had been travelling around all the Shinto shrines hereabouts on a New Year’s holiday pilgrimage.

 

At the sekisho

– no sword,

only my pen!

 

We took the bus back down to Hakone-Yumoto and strolled around the shops there in the pouring rain until it was time to board our train and head back to Tokyo.

 

Past times revisited

– the old Tōkaidō’s stones,

changing and unchanged.

 

 

Felice Beato - Tōkaidō (1825)

-------------------------------------------------------

This haibun contains my first attempt at writing a haiku in Japanese. Although it is really an attempt at translating a haiku written in English into Japanese, consequently it doesn’t quite work. It is a 5-7-5 haiku, but the syllable count is slightly off centre (6-6-5), and it is missing some of the more usual elements of haiku; plus I think the Japanese-usage is probably a little off kilter too. But for what it’s worth, here it is:

 

甘酒茶屋  人に満ちる  外も雨

あまざけちゃや  ひとにみちる  そともあめ

Amazake-Chaya | people filled (with) | outside also rain

 

Or:

 

The old Amazake-Chaya

– as full (or busy) as

the rain outside.

 

Colour photographs of the Tōkaidō by Tim Chamberlain, 2004 & 2009