I googled 'Shushiri poem', first hit yielded the lovely print-illustrated
scroll-able _Japanese Haiku_ by Peter Beilenson. Here're some poems from
the 66-page book:
p 66 ANON:
I have known lovers ...
the nightingale ...
I will sleep content
p 61 ISSA:
Buddha on the hill ...
from your holy
hangs an icicle
p 47 ISSA:
I must turn over
beware of local
p 42 TAIGI:
Rash tomcat lover ...
of that rice
stuck in our whiskers
[and, as if in response:]
p 49 SHIKO:
Oh sorry tomcat
knights of love
have knocked you out
p 19 BASHO:
Under cherry trees
soup, the salad,
fish and all ...
seasoned with petals
p 18 HOKUSHI:
Ashes my burnt hut---
blooming on my hill
Lovely! I think Patrick must be a reincarnated Japanese poet.
Thanks again, Cindy and Kasper, for your kind comments.
2008/9/11 Cindy Lee <[log in to unmask]>
> An old, old thread, but I found the avocados and the poem lovely too, and
> researched the poem.
> It is, apparently, a Haiku by Shushiri.
> -----Original Message-----
> From: Poetryetc: poetry and poetics [mailto:[log in to unmask]] On
> Behalf Of Peter Ciccariello
> Sent: 31 August 2008 02:24
> To: [log in to unmask]
> Subject: Re: this poem, like me, no name....yet
> I found this to be quite beautiful Judy, and the unknown poem well worth
> - Peter
> On Sat, Aug 30, 2008 at 5:33 PM, Judy Prince
> <[log in to unmask]>wrote:
> > I'm feeling quite sad, remembering a friend who died a couple years ago,
> > and
> > other things.
> > Just cutting up veg for a lovely salad, and every time I score the "meat"
> > of
> > a soft avocado, I recall her showing me that trick: cut the avocado in
> > half, take out the smooth round "seed", then with the knife make cuts
> > lengthwise and then widthwise in the fruit of the avocado, and with a
> > spoon,
> > scoop it all out, leaving the avocado skin quite bare of its fruit.
> > I'm not, like so many of you brilliant folk whom I admire, one who can
> > quote
> > texts and poems and poets' names and sources; so those few lines I've
> > memorised must have some special meaning that I don't even quite
> > understand.
> > Muriel, my avocado-scoring friend, had spoken this poem to me some 30
> > years
> > ago. I don't know the title or the poet, nor have I seen it in print.
> > Here
> > it is, as she said it to me:
> > "Dead my old fine hopes
> > and dry my dreaming
> > but oh iris----
> > blue each spring"
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