Haiku Master Basho

Matsuo Basho is the Japanese saint of Haiku. Of samurai heritage, he lived in the 17th century and had an enormous following. His complete works, consisting of 1011 haiku, have recently been collected and translated by Jane Reichhold and can be found in Basho The Complete Haiku (Tokyo: Kodansha International, 2008).

It is my humble intention to also write 1011 haiku, one each day. I began in August 2009 and by my estimation, should finish in May 2012. Traditionally haiku was concerned with nature, but today our "nature" has changed. New technology has replaced the winds of nature as the force in our times. What was a rock is now a computer key. What was a cherry blossom is now a world wide web of information. What was light, is now the speed of light. Haiku is about finding an essence, thus these writings will seek to find the essence of our lives today.

A note for the reader: an important aspect of haiku is that the reader can put as much of herself/himself into the piece as the writer. If a haiku is good it will become your meaning not mine. Wish me luck! When the project is complete, if only one of the 1011 haiku approaches the skill and mastery of Basho, I will be satisfied.




Monday, May 31, 2010

Nu Haiku 293

How low, rebirth as
a worm in a cod's white flesh,
waiting to be caught.

Nu Haiku 292

Technostress. Too much
tech, too plugged in, too many
results, sites, info.

Nu Haiku 291

E-ba, e-ba, e-
ba. Ink haiku, as printer
pushes out paper.

Nu Haiku 290

Tens of thousands of
Gulf oil wells three miles down and
draining out the earth.

Nu Haiku 289

Real estate agents
circle like jackals on this
city savanna.

Nu Haiku 288

Meditation legs
uncurl, branches bent back, caught
under wooden trunk.

Nu Haiku 287

Torn clothing, chain-chain,
American Idiots'
suburban swagger.

Nu Haiku 286

There is nothing in
nothingness that can't be found
everywhere, nowhere.

Nu Haiku 285

Dalai Lama laughs
at nothingness, emptiness.
Old tiger roars loud.

Nu Haiku 284

Blackberry Buddhas
take photos of the Dalai
Lama speaking deep.

Nu Haiku 283

Men pee like dogs on
New York City streets. Growling
police give summons.

Nu Haiku 282

Fifty friends for the
fifty years gone. Collected
with care, eyes open.

Nu Haiku 281

Ipad silver swan,
200,000 apps and
counting. Apple cult.

Monday, May 17, 2010

Nu Haiku 280

Plaza palms swaying.
Afternoon tea, cucumber
sandwiches, cream scones.

Nu Haiku 279

Supper under stars,
surrealist poets recalled,
scallops, morels, cream.

Nu Haiku 278

Dusk creeps into rooms
taking all light except glow
of computer screen.

Nu Haiku 277

White peonies bend
into themselves like paper
napkins, bin waiting.

Nu Haiku 276

Jet-lag settles like
volcano dust on folded
brain. Obfuscation.

Nu Haiku 275

Earth's black blood bleeds bare
into turquoise waters of
the Gulf. Cry murder.

Monday, May 10, 2010

Nu Haiku 274

Pyjamas, tea, phone,
blackberry, email, tweets. Noon
swallows morning. Gone.

Nu Haiku 273

Mothering Sunday.
In the wombs of creation,
wonder being born.

Nu Haiku 272

Brown sparrow fly now
into gray light softening,
tomorrow waiting.

Nu Haiku 271

Whale tours cityscape
in False Creek. Glass and metal
towers greet brother.

Nu Haiku 270

Water spout calls air.
Remembering ancestors
gray whale returns home.

Nu Haiku 269

Old folks shrink into
small animals with time: mice,
meerkats, bandicoots.

Nu Haiku 268

Heat hammer on South
China Sea never lets smell
of sea water rise.

Nu Haiku 267

Ipod buds fall from
ears, suddenly sound of wind
in grass, waves on rocks.

Nu Haiku 266

Pink azalea tree
makes old woman want to cry,
happy. Beauty buds.

Nu Haiku 265

Times Square bomb. Propane,
SUV, gas, wire, fireworks.
Independence Day.

Nu Haiku 264

Taxi man checks out,
meter dead, won't answer phone.
Stubborn mules kick hard.

Nu Haiku 263

Old woman plays with
wooden blocks and crayons. Smiles,
childhood easy now.

Nu Haiku 262

Garbage man walks out
behind growling work truck, face
melts-oncoming car.

Nu Haiku 261

Crimson flashes on
side of glass building, gift from
breath of setting sun.

Nu Haiku 260

Black and white plumes rise,
tumble, turn to gray miles high
above spewing earth.