Snaps

  Bitter night/ the moon/frozen to one spot (vrb)

SNAPs ROOM Menu—

kicking off
another new new year–
last year’s left-overs

A new round of little word-snapshots for a short attention span should be up soon, gathered for Albuquerque’s 2023 Poets’ Picnic (see Weathergrams, below). Unless otherwise noted, they’re from: Virginia (vrb); Gita (gsb); Yours Crudely (either rb or left blank); &/or Gary Vaughn (gv).  

[More of vrb‘s can be found at www.virginiabodner.net. More of rb‘s show up here & there. More of gv‘s can be found in Only in New Mexico (haiku), a comprehensive guide to New Mexico’s past, present, food, places, plants & critters, from Amazon,  OldPlayaPress@gmail.com, &/or wherever else such a rare, priceless, print-on-demand masterpiece might be found.]  
~~~   ~~~   ~~~

Meanwhile, back at this website, in the wordsnap & weathergram collection: 

CONTENTS (below):

Skippable Welcome Mat (Intro)
Weathergrams (2019; 2017; 2018…)
Sunflower fields (recent offerings &/or finds) 
Inspiration Log 
Santa Fe In Absentia
Previews, Precursors &/or Reviews-in-progress (pre-postits) 
[Spitting Distance (Peninsula Geo-cosmology)]

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Welcome Mat: Welcome, birds, to the newly re-disorganized SNAPSHOT VIEWING AREA, featuring Wordsnaps for a Short Attention Span–momentary impressions, neo-hokku, nonu-haiku, senryu, renga, witty-bits, weathergrams, postits, pre-its  & assorted what-knots.

All were written “in-house,” using a broad definition for house that includes ecosystem, cosmos & assorted dimensions to be named “later.” Though parts, like this, are composed on the fly by Yours Crudely, bits & pieces by others may be included without the express written permission of organized baseball, as in reviews & translations of works from the (now long) gone.

Where dates are given, they usually come from the logbook at Inspiration, our creekside cabin in the nearby mountains, or the Poets Picnic in which they appeared as “weathergrams” (see below). Chronology is not the master here, & often disappears, with snaps in & out of sequence(s). Still, sections tend to move forward in time within each group, & the reverse from group to group, the more recent usually towards the top. (Otherwise, the most recent would be at the bottom–& you’d probably never get to read this.)

Groups with visual appeal, e.g., with photos, tend to levitate, remaining higher in appeal in “room” topography. Some sequences follow seasonal progression, others are more or less timeless. Though some influences may be obvious, appearing to follow customs, rules, & conventions of particular schools, forms or traditions may be considered more or less coincidental. 

Along with many so-called “contemporary haiku poets,” syllable count is given little attention, having always been a highly imperfect translation of the Japanese jion anyway. Nevertheless, in his dotage, Yours Crudely sometimes enjoys playing accountant even so, virtual tongue’s fingers tallying up prayer beads, in the same way he used to crop & mat photos to fit existing frames more or less pleasing in themselves (e.g., 5″x7″).

The effort to fill a syllabic form can easily detract from the Snap, however,  added padding more likely than improving the craft, whatever its exact size or shape (an issue discussed in more detail elsewhere). Still, “not following rules” is not a rule rigidly followed either.    

neglected orchard
photos after pruning
same as before

suckers run wild–
face to face in the tangle,
little bird & I 

curiosity
on both sides
wide-eyed surprise
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~21 iv 2019

Weathergrams: 

Each May, Albuquerque’s Open Space Department hosts a “Poet’s Picnic” at its Visitor’s Center with various groups & activities, including Weathergrams, short poems of ten words or less scripted on strips of paper by calligraphers (from Escribiente) & hung from branches for the coming year, with a small chapbook of selections.

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2023 chapbook:

2022 chapbook: 

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These aren’t photos of the Weathergrams themselves, but of pages in the annual chapbook, which have a bit of their own new calligraphy.

As shown at top of page also, here’s how Virginia’s 2023 pick appeared as an actual Weathergram:

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2019 is the 3rd year we’ve known about it & participated. It’s always a surprise to see what’s chosen & what the calligraphers do with them. (Will put these up if & when we see them, sometime after May 25.) Here’s what were selected from poets in our part of the alphabet (en route to the calligraphers):

rumbling through Triassic red 
train tracks follow
                              the open map

wild weather 
when poets gather 
to shoot the breeze
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~(gsb)

melting from within 
snowbank, icicles
…listener

beyond golds of fall
her turquoise stanzas— 
part of the hills again
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~(rmb)

on a blue page          the sky is written

wing to wing across
the purple night 
—a trail of stars
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~(vrb)

[Just got some photos of the calligraphy, and copy of the chapbook with some artistic contributions at another level. Will put up examples ASAP. –12 June 2019. Down the page are some from earlier years, with examples of the value-added calligraphy. Lower still are the fuller groups (of up to 10 each) we sent, from which these few were selected.]   

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–so black! so blue!
ravens swim
through morning sky

drift by drift
snowy owl slips
through yellow night

———-(vrb, Virginia)

bare branch willows
no resistance
to the low winter sun

coyotes on the plain
color of earth
fur of tufted grass

whirligig cosmos/
unwinding from within/
–origami mum

summer sky–
cloud birds stretch
between horizons

birds so loud
sky so bright
plums so sweet
~~~~~~~~~~~rb
===================================
2017 strips included:

when I call you say
I’m writing about loneliness
–call me back later

even among pines
some loneliness remains

tchip tchip tchip tchip
nuthatches fling out
chips of bark

———[vrb]

sunshine in
a fragrant rind–
backyard grapefruit

rickety bridge
my shadow falls through
without a splash

—-[Gita, gsb]

noisy water
noisy bees
noisy mind

blonde fields
first signs of spring
close to the ground
——————–[rb]
+++++++++++++++++++++++++++

For the 2018 deadline in Feb., the following were offered, meaning most were written in 2017 after ones sent for that year’s event. Lucy’s was from the logbook at Inspiration. Not yet sure what Gita might have submitted besides the two selected (above). Otherwise, here are all we sent. 

we went hiking
and swam in the creek
and found mushrooms        

————-[Lucy]

     —so black!   so blue!
ravens swim
the morning sky

+++++++++++++++++++++++++ 

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Sunflower field–scattered selections

through tangled branches
one loud bird is all it takes
to break the silence
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~(2018-6-30)

summer clouds
filled with light from above, cast
bright shadows under

growing louder,
thunder rumbles all around
while swallows frolic–
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~(2018-8-24)
 2′ in the river pool! (grb)
a full harvest of apples 
overflowing their bags (rb)
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~2018-10-4 +

silver chamisa
tufts of yellow bloom
on the paint-brush

2017: Santa Fe In Absentia (Non-Haiku North America) 

In the spring, a Haiku North America gathering took place in Santa Fe, with over 200 haiku poets from all over–the kind of grand shmooze that would have drawn me like a fly to a picnic or slug to a saucer of beer in the old days,  showing up in Basho’s hat (when I had the voice for it). However attractive it would have been (with old friends seemingly still going strong, plus meeting new ones), my larynx condition made even a brief visit impossible, so it was without regret I couldn’t go.

Given conditions, no regrets, but lots of memories. I could say been there/ done that, knowing I hadn’t, at least not this that, no two thats being the same, but enough Santa Fe gatherings for a lifetime even so, with scrapbook overflow–e.g., our 25th anniversary party with the Lambs; 4 x 4 renga (esl, Penny, Bill & I making 4 complete kasen on 4 yellow pads one afternoon & evening, with a Shogun break for dinner); Bill’s Renku North America tour (with LaFarge Library Basho & Saturday renga); the International Folk Arts Museum extravaganza Elizabeth wove together; plus all the various performances, readings, exhibits, openings & programs (including many of my own in whole or part, as well as quite a few of Victor deSuvero’s).

Some righteous sharing, indeed! Individual visits & adventures come running back like a tide that just keeps on coming or going–in waves beyond counting, and not just with the Lambs & Victor, though it’s them I tend to think of most driving past–or out of the haiku blue. I can remember further back, too, when Santa Fe seemed like a long, long way off, and far up the social scale from our more humble habitat 70 miles or so east, where mountains & plains meet. The distance shrank with time & better vehicles.   

For this year’s grand haiku gathering, Gary Vaughn attended opening day & one other, of about 4 in all, commuting from his home in Albuquerque, later sharing many of the materials. The following bit of nonsense was mostly in response to emails from him at the time, starting with the tongue-in-cheek question, “Are you on your way yet?” The second was in response to a picture he sent of a then empty room filled with tables covered with haiku books on sale from attendees.

A few verses here allude to the silent auction Gary described as including some little treasures donated by  Elizabeth’s daughter, one or two of which may even have passed through here en route to Elizabeth. Other esl treasures are also suggested, e.g., her “cry of the peacock       the crack in the adobe wall.” Besides being poet, editor & friend, Elizabeth was also a classically trained harpist, though in later years, her harp was mostly a silent, sculptural presence (until eventually passed on to Rosalind Simpson, who often played with Tom O’Conner, who’d become Gita’s oboe teacher).

As for my name-dropping scrapbook, I’m reminded of the Halloween program Tom put together at the Loretto Chapel, including a piece based on Poe’s “Masque of the Red Death,” by Gabriel Foure’. The piece began, just after the intermission, with the big chapel doors being dramatically pulled shut & bolted, locking everyone inside as in Poe’s story.

I had the privilege of hiding in the loft shadows, then descending the chapel’s famous wood-spiral staircase, generally closed to all, a caped figure emerging on cue from the music, to tell a condensed verse version of Poe’s tale, working my way down the stairs & striding the aisle, ha ha ha, to join the musical group as one more instrument. Far from haiku, but not so far from Santa Fe memories of the Lambs….

[“haiku north america“]

Are you on your way yet?
—Gary’s email asked

on my way—but not
that highway over the pass—
“wormhole tunnel ahead”

between sessions,
I browse the blank pages
of each scrap-book

more verses than
even you can shake
a big stick at, kendo-san

in my empty room–
not really sorry to be
absent without leave

been there, done that, ah!
had my full share of it all–
someone else’s turn

breathe New Mexico!
feel Elizabeth’s treasures
–cracked adobe earth

pieces of her heart,
stones her hands had held
were kept for just such a cause

bowl in a cupboard,
ashes in an urn, verses
in light & water

a silent auction
just my style to be called
“silent auctioneer”

my near-silent rasp
from sandpaper throat croaks
clumsy mime haiku

cat got your tongue,
or haiku debauchery–
licking up spilt milk

noteworthy sessions
absorbed in the thick of it
the value of words

from doll’s sake’ cup
my absinthe runneth over

when the balloon pops!
~~~~~I jump–

in the rush to wake
forgetting for a moment
where everyone went

up the mother ditch,
aceqia madre,
for a harp party

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I don’t imagine winners of the silent auction for turtle & frog would have seen her original thank-you card, possibly for same.

On the other side:

                         a tiny spider
                         lives by the nightlight
                          greetings at dawn      [esl]

That reverberates all the more considered as if a last poem, at a last waking.   ==================================================================

Well that should hold us for awhile. TIME OUT: ….

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TIME is inevitably a major element in both classical & experimental approaches–as it tends to be in photography also. Often relying on the momentary impression, a single moment of focused perception, one way records in words, the other in light (though sometimes vice versa, where lines illuminate or a photograph contains words). The connection between the haikai tradition & photography precedes the camera, as quickly brushed visual & verbal sketches had long gone  together in travel diaries to catch & pass along the spirit & character of places-in-time.

Ironically, fidelity to the moment (as if isolated from time) can end up having historical significance, transmitting portraits of place-time-&-experience across time, space & even changing languages. Whether we move through time or time through us, trails leave their impressions, as we leave ours. Not all snapshots are equally worth anyone’s attention, of course–& therein resides a good deal of the art, if any in selection, editing, cropping & arranging; sometimes framing & hanging; tweaking, turning &/or tossing, etc.

Selectivity begins in the field, choosing what to “frame & snap,” & then continues after in the “darkroom,” where much of the artist’s work takes place. For a photographer like Ansel Adams, that dance might produce half or more of the eventual impact, even with an inspiring landscape for starter. The same goes for one who frames & snaps in words. Sometimes, the first words noted are just right, & in the perfect order. More often sometimes of the sharpening & shaping takes place later, composing the elements, open-minded, with ear & heart tuned.

Thus two key aspects of most works of art may be called the given & the made. Whether the given is a landscape experienced, a form to fit expression in, or a conceptual riff with a humorous twist, the artistic exercise itself provides the maker its own return, a pleasure in the effort, in the striving to do the inspiration justice, for self & (in theory) others.

and the world stopped for
a millisecond, breathless
before moving on

A thought of this moment, transcribed while composing today’s introduction to the page, with essentially no perception of its own, may nevertheless be fit for making snapshots of the mind, the way snapshots of the brain reflect characteristics of the technology used for the scan–film camera, magnetic resonance, etc. The play between outer scenes & inner aspects of experience has long been a core part of the artistic territory, implicit in the resonance of what’s made & shared.

The most realistic visual representation reveals the technology that made it when looked at closely enough, or from certain angles. On the other hand, the most abstract composition can make a strongly tangible impact, whether the wildness of a Jackson Pollock or the profound jazz heart of a late Matisse cut-out. In one cliche’ the stain-smocked artist steps back from his canvas, holds his thumb out at arm’s length to squint & sight along; in another, she paints her thumb.

Some define haiku as a verse form template, others by subject matter &/or spirit. It’s a little like defining photography by format or size of framing, on the one hand, and more fundamental factors on the other. The one area of agreement, however, is the shared focus on brevity, short & sweet, preferably also snappy, a principle of the haiku tradition long before anything was called a haiku. Along with the fact of being a “showing,” not a “talking about,” came the recognition that “extra” gets in the way, muffling the impact.

That doesn’t prevent the hundred-page haiku, as a sequence or collection, although similar principles still apply at the larger scale, potentially maximizing the capacity of each addition to surprise while minimizing the clutter that muffles. A cluttered photograph may still work if that’s part of an intended subject, however, while spare photographs may be part of a cluttered exhibit, or a pile of prints, whether incoherent jumble or much of the same. Imagine all the “exposures” a photographer &/or editor eliminates in choosing ones to work with in a particular context! 

The impulse to make is often wound up from the start with the one to share. Both already imply SELECTIVITY. Ah! Something worth sharing with those we’re pleased to please–foods, films, books, descriptions of experience, experiences themselves, images, scenes, thoughts, snapshots, even poems…. Nor is there any way to articulate all the factors that can affect one’s criteria, except to note whatever makes something worth sharing may qualify.   

We appreciate SURPRISE, for example, in variety, craft, & response. We don’t want to limit our fruit-bowls to classical fruits already brilliantly represented by generations of still-lifers. Nor do we necessarily always want to serve all our nuts in porcelain bowls. Some representations, indigestible in themselves, may nevertheless be selected for their nuttiness, appearance of reality, &/or ability to provoke salivation; others for being most unrepresentative, least like its neighbors.

If some may be considered oriental haiku, others may prove themselves disoriental, or at least disorienting.
~~~Not all are equally short; not all are equally sweet.
~~~Some sport with nutty fruitcakes, & some have smelly feet.

Sorry about that. In the future, Yours Crudely will try harder to keep the perverse verse out of the poetry section. The fact that some rhymed lines can be equally short–& sometimes twice as pithy–as the word-snap neither qualifies nor disqualifies them as poetry (which, as you know, has remarkably low standards for qualification). It does put them in a different category, however, with a room of their own. [Hoping to add one shortly.–Yours Crudely]

Bemused by the range of modern poetry, as well as jewels from the past, I used to write the whole rhymed verse genre off as something other than poetry–comedy, perhaps, twisted wit & tongue play, punishment with a pay-off (the smile, chuckle, laugh &/or guffaw). And I often would stillwith selectivity coming down to context & the particular audience.

Along related lines, the reader gets to selects which pages to read when. While there may be considerable overlap among readers in materials that please, we don’t always want to mix our jazz & comedy, however funny the former or  rhythmically & melodically astounding the latter can be. Or our dance-hall ditties, bistro songs  & bamboo flute. Sometimes, perhaps, but not always. That’s the thing about criteria. They are full of worm-holes. sink-holes & pie-holes, & may also attract moths.

Basho proved it in the laboratory, taking each conventional “rule” & showing it was possible to write a zinger while flagrantly violating the letters of that law. Not that he claimed the underlying principle didn’t have value, or that he advocated rule-breaking as a practice. Only that rules have holes in them, while the true heart of the matter ultimately involves…the heart of the matter, i.e., beyond what words can’t legislate.

Arguably, the only core rule is what works. If what works in one time & place doesn’t do so well in another, well that goes with the territory, the nature of existence, not just poetry. What it takes for words to work obviously depends on the work being done, or the kind of play. In the end, as in the beginning, the real action takes place in the receiver’s experience, writer or reader, as the expression of that particular now transcends its clock.

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Later, gator–

P.S.: The idea that the poem has much of anything to do with working depends on a definition of work used in reference to a treatment. Did the exercise designed to blow your mind open in a new direction work for you, where the point is the experience? 

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There’s no getting away from the fact that the poem has 3 potentially primary venues–maker’s experience; artifact or work of art; reader’s experience. Both writer & reader focus their attention on the construct, its combination of represented content & aesthetic qualities reinforcing each other in the experience.

A writer’s focus on crafted object be therapeutic in itself, primarily the means towards personal effects, as in an active meditation. Even so, something else kicks in when the reader’s experience is considered–in the transition to editing. An editor’s job presumably involves mediating the transition from writer’s current draft to final draft, arrangement & production of the transmission vehicle, & the reader’s experience.

Whether arrangement & production ever take place, the writer may rely on the “editorial imagination” before any work gets shared–considering it more or less as if from others’ perspectives, if only to fine-tune, clarify, refine, condense, expand or otherwise improve with that end in mind. Some aspect of this function no doubt takes place whenever selecting among alternatives.

The creative flow needn’t wait for each part & element to be in its best or final form, however. Time moves on, and the maker may do best to come back more or less fresh at a later time–with editorial imagination & vision both more able to see what’s offered the way a new reader might…
[14 viii 2018/ rev. 23 v 19]

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PREVIEWS, PRECURSORAS, & REVIEWS-IN-PROGRESS:

THIS MIND
INTENTIONALLY
LEFT BLANK.

must’ve been a cold,
cold night–in refrigerator
broken water jars 

in empty mailbox
echoes of words only
thought passing by
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spring-like day–
all the groundhogs
out taking sunbaths              [rb]

groundhog day–
the poet high fives
his shadow                                [gv] 

Coming Soon?  Review of Gary Vaughn’s book, Only in New Mexico (haiku), Old Playa Press, 2017. Published in silence (with neither readings nor hoopla, no press release, no parade), it goes on sounding. As discovered, it’s bound to make its way to the top shelf of two otherwise distinct collections: books on New Mexico; modern American haiku collections.

Gary’s budding interest in the haikai tradition drew him to a program Elizabeth Lamb & I offered at the United World College in Montezuma, NM,  about 1985. An electrical engineer with at least one hearing aid patent at the time, his martial arts practice had already steeped him in many aspects of Asian culture. His feet on the ground continue to steep him in New Mexico,  its fauna, flora, fossils, artifacts & traditions, land of many ages underfoot.    

A friend of Shalako (having lived at Zuni when Heather taught there), he also helped lead the New Mexico Solar Energy Association for many years. To call that a Quixotic experience with public service company windmills might confuse the issue, but it did help take him all over the state, with sun, land & people, passing the renewable message on at schools & festivals.

As a student of the land he loves to walk, his adventures often involve direct experience of wildlife, geology, paleo-botany & archeology. Enlisting experts in his research, he’s played a major role in the unearthing & analysis of one of the oldest “Clovis-style” caches ever found. (I’ve seen his keen eye for artifacts at work, including when he spotted a large biface on a small ridge in Sapello once, where plains & mountains meet.) 

None of this directly touches what makes his stanzas snap, of course–maybe something at the intersection of open attention, integrity of character & perverse sense of humor, but they may suggest something about the deeper soil from which the work takes its bodily substance.  

Only in New Mexico can be considered the essential guide to the state. In five sections, each is full enough to qualify as a small book of its own, especially in haiku terms, where snapshots say more than the words used to make them. Richly illustrated (but cheaply printed), sections focus on the past (still here); the present (“if it didn’t exist here, no one would believe it”); along with the food, places, plants & critters (“watch your step…”).  

This first edition is available on Amazon. It deserves many more to come.[The actual review offers samples. Will try to get a draft up shortly.]     ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

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