I have been writing a series of micropoems recently. And so here is a chance for you see what I've been up to--some of my haiku and epigrams featured on Twitter, and collected here for the first time. I add fresh haiku frequently, and often post the new ones at the bottom of the page.
I start off this page of new poetry with a poem about the full moon.
dark cat come lap this full moon
A newly revised translation of this haiku by my friend and colleague Sara Van den Bossche is coming in the near future.
More haiku from recent weeks:
The miller laughed soundlessly, all those seasons of chaff.
I thought you touched me but it was the rain
Soapsuds across the carpet where you left the bath to watch him leave
The tiny blue vein in the eyelid of the woman reading braille
I answer the question you never asked a little better each time
And here are more:
Awake early I tiptoe through the pearls where your necklace broke
The old, rippled window panes gently slicing passing traffic
Eyelashes all over the sidewalk—brush fire.
I have not heard from you for so long you sit in every room
I dine with the blind emperor. He asks if the melons were ripe on my way. To my shame I lie, unable to describe such beauty.
I cannot bring myself to break the skin of this orange, warm from your touch
We learned the local dialect, the moue that meant no, and the baby talk that ordered men into chains.
And more:
Ah shy mouse adept at sudden absence
it is your unexpected presence that alarms us now
and makes us wish you home
(for Raheleh Rezaei)
Orpheus, which of this silence is your song?
In the language of vultures, carrion and love are the same word.
The surgeon touches the scar. You hear him before he asks: remission how long?
The hot breeze—that one. That's the tiger leaning in.
Sunlit buildings, many cities in one, and in one of these worlds you are at peace.
Angela's back, wearing a shrink-wrap T, drinking yak from the bottle and asking for you.
I have often started off my novels with a short poem, and a dedication to Sherina. (Sometimes I have thought of them as the for-Sherina poems.) So this interest in short-short poems is not entirely new.
Here is an example, from The King's Arrow.
Blue water
red bird--
I could never
forget to tell you.
From my novel The King's Arrow (Viking)
