Book of Days
BOOK OF DAYS: A POET AND NATURALIST TRIES TO FIND POETRY IN EVERY DAY
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September 22: The sea's a metronome
Kristen Lindquist
Despite the chill
I keep my window open
so waves lull me to sleep.
September 21: Morning Star
Kristen Lindquist
September 20: Monarch chrysalis
Kristen Lindquist
September 19: Night bells
Kristen Lindquist
Buoy bell ringing
in the heavenly temple
of ocean and stars.
September 18: Monhegan: Butterflies
Kristen Lindquist
Butterflies lift off
of every patch of flowers--
yes, I remember.
September 17: Sounds like spring
Kristen Lindquist
End of summer--
in the backyard
phoebe calling again.
September 16: Early morning, sound of feathers
Kristen Lindquist
I hear wings flapping
but fall back asleep
too tired yet for the divine.
September 15: Just before dawn
Kristen Lindquist
Just before dawn
a single crow caws--
I'm not the only one awake.
September 14: On the trail
Kristen Lindquist
That feeling of freedom
and ferns for toilet paper--
peeing in the woods.
September 13: Translation
Kristen Lindquist
I spent this rainy afternoon working through a book I bought in Quebec City: a French translation of Japanese haiku by contemporary poet Mayuzumi Madoka. The book is arranged in four seasonal sections, with each haiku and its explication by the author on facing pages. I read through Spring and into Summer, fascinated by the nexus of several languages: the original Japanese, the French translation, my attempt to piece it together in English, and the universal poetic sensibility, which renders a good poem timeless in any language. It feels like a good exercise to play with words, image, and feelings in this way; I found myself longing for a retreat to submerge myself in this world for several days to see what might come out of it for my own poetry.
Here is my halting translation of one of her spring haiku:
Amplified
by the toll of the temple bell--
this spring twilight.
__
Rainy afternoon--
I can almost hear the fog horn
or a temple bell.



