12 September 2024 (half moon)
Kristen Lindquist
half moon
her sly smile visible
in the dark
Book of Days
BOOK OF DAYS: A POET AND NATURALIST TRIES TO FIND POETRY IN EVERY DAY
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Filtering by Tag: half moon
24 September 2023 (swaying)
Kristen Lindquist
swaying spruces —
a bleary half-moon
sinks into the sea
9 August 2019 (moon)
Kristen Lindquist
afternoon moon
improving the taste
of my sandwich
August 19: Plums
Kristen Lindquist
ripe plums
picked under a half moon
I saved you some
February 5: Haiku Workshop
Kristen Lindquist
I spent my weekend immersed in a workshop on Haiku, the Moon & Ekphrastic Poetry, taught by Gary Lawless at Maine Media Workshop. Our discussions were wide-ranging and inspiring, from the story of Gary's apprenticeship with Beat poet Gary Snyder and life-long friendship with Snyder's mentor Nanao Sakaki, to the evolution of the haiku form from more formal Japanese poetry, to names of the moon in various cultures, punctuated by a presentation from Jim Nickelson of his series of moon photographs, Adventures in Celestial Mechanics, and a visit to the book arts studio where another class was making letterpress prints.
These haiku arose from the weekend's experiences and conversations:
Half moon
split above bare trees--
six more weeks of winter.
Fossilized shark's tooth--
at a certain angle
it looks like a heart.
Nanao said,
No swear words in Japanese.
What the fuck?
Granite quarry--
reliquary
for his grandfather's sweat.
Fixated on
a severed chipmunk's head--
this floating world--
A poem, not really mine, that wrote itself from a classmate's story:
He stops to check
the wind--
mother's ashes.
Another poem, not mine, that wrote itself for Gary from a classmate's story:
Owl flies
in the headlights--
mating season.
This class was a gift from my parents for my 50th birthday, so this haiku by Issa, one of the big three classical Japanese haiku poets, spoke to me:
The moon and flowers
Forty-nine years
walking about wasting time.
--Issa
Found poems created from Jim Nickelson's presentation, some almost verbatim:
Too close to the moon
and the photos look the same--
the moon is the moon.
In square photo format
only so many places
to put the moon.
Pale moon, pale sky--
how subtle can you get
and still show the moon?
Astrophysics professor--
no homework on nights
of the full moon.
He remembers where
he was that night
but forgot the name of the moon.
Moon of Falling Leaves.
Moon When Eyes Hurt from Bright Snow.
Hunger Moon. Bone Moon.
These haiku arose from the weekend's experiences and conversations:
Half moon
split above bare trees--
six more weeks of winter.
Fossilized shark's tooth--
at a certain angle
it looks like a heart.
Nanao said,
No swear words in Japanese.
What the fuck?
Granite quarry--
reliquary
for his grandfather's sweat.
Fixated on
a severed chipmunk's head--
this floating world--
A poem, not really mine, that wrote itself from a classmate's story:
He stops to check
the wind--
mother's ashes.
Another poem, not mine, that wrote itself for Gary from a classmate's story:
Owl flies
in the headlights--
mating season.
This class was a gift from my parents for my 50th birthday, so this haiku by Issa, one of the big three classical Japanese haiku poets, spoke to me:
The moon and flowers
Forty-nine years
walking about wasting time.
--Issa
Found poems created from Jim Nickelson's presentation, some almost verbatim:
Too close to the moon
and the photos look the same--
the moon is the moon.
In square photo format
only so many places
to put the moon.
Pale moon, pale sky--
how subtle can you get
and still show the moon?
Astrophysics professor--
no homework on nights
of the full moon.
He remembers where
he was that night
but forgot the name of the moon.
Moon of Falling Leaves.
Moon When Eyes Hurt from Bright Snow.
Hunger Moon. Bone Moon.
October 10: Half moon
Kristen Lindquist
Moon half full and rising
over the gas station--
it's always something.
over the gas station--
it's always something.
July 4 - 6: In the North Woods
Kristen Lindquist
Another travelogue:
My husband Paul and I headed up to the North Woods for the long holiday weekend, staying two nights at the Appalachian Mountain Club's Gorman Chairbank Lodge and Cabins. This was hardly roughing it: our log cabin featured a comfy bed and wood stove, and we were served sumptuous, family-style meals (and drinks) in the main lodge, which also housed a sitting area/library and bright, clean bathrooms with hot showers--all running off-the-grid. We were grateful for this comfort, as it made the wet weather bearable.
The theme of the weekend seemed to be WATER. We drove up on the Fourth of July, saw a cow moose feeding in a pond on the way. Ate lunch in Greenville while watching rain fall on Moosehead Lake from inside a restaurant with a leaking roof. Then we hit the muddy dirt roads and drove east into the woods to the camp. Once there, Paul fished off the dock for a while. That night, we listened to the syncopation of raindrops on the metal roof of our cabin while loons called from the pond.
Saturday we'd intended to hike into Gulf Hagas, "the Grand Canyon of the East," via the Hermitage, a stand of very old white pines along the Appalachian Trail, just across the West Branch of the Pleasant River and below the gorge itself. Thanks to the continuing rain, however, that trail, which requires one to ford the swollen river, was closed. The AMC rangers didn't want anyone washing away downriver. So we hiked in the rain to the Head of the Gulf (the "start" of Gulf Hagas) via a longer, very saturated, slick trail. It was worth it. The rain eventually stopped and the drama of Gulf Hagas could be fully appreciated, as it was running full and high, serious whitewater. We slipped and slid our way along the rim past three different sets of falls (Stair, Billings, Buttermilk; didn't quite make it to The Jaws), then sloshed back up the trail across (and through) many pretty, gushing feeder streams, including a few streams that disappeared into holes in the ground to resurface a few yards downhill.
Rain spatters on leaves,
Buttermilk Falls churns--
we barely hear the wren.
Delicate things persist
amid the torrents:
ferns, lichens, bird song.
Undeterred by rain, us,
thrushes share wild flutesongs
across the wet trail.
Wild strawberries
at trail's end--
slugs found them too.
Last night the sky cleared over the pond just before sunset, touching the treetops with rich golden light. We indulged in hot showers and cranked up the wood stove, before enjoying a big turkey dinner in the Lodge. Before bed, Paul fly-fished in a nearby beaver flowage. Stars shone. High above the pond, the half moon danced closely with Mars and Saturn. Loons called across the pond. Life was good.
Today the river was still running too high for us to attempt a crossing to the Hermitage. So instead we hiked up Laurie's Ledge Trail to a viewpoint from which we could see spruce-topped mountains unfold all the way to Katahdin. Toads and frogs hopped along the still-wet trail, and thrushes and warblers sang amid the dense, leafy forest. We checked out nearby Little Lyford Lodge and Cabins, another AMC camp, then headed out of the woods. In Greenville, before we turned south for home, we enjoyed an excellent lobster crepe at a food truck, Cafe Crepe (which we were happy to learn is also in Freeport). All good adventures should end thus, with an excellent meal.
Garter snake suns
on our cabin step--
a simple valediction.
From atop a log
toad's golden eyes, staring.
So that's his magic...
Lunch on Moosehead Lake.
Next table, float plane pilot
sets up new charters.
My husband Paul and I headed up to the North Woods for the long holiday weekend, staying two nights at the Appalachian Mountain Club's Gorman Chairbank Lodge and Cabins. This was hardly roughing it: our log cabin featured a comfy bed and wood stove, and we were served sumptuous, family-style meals (and drinks) in the main lodge, which also housed a sitting area/library and bright, clean bathrooms with hot showers--all running off-the-grid. We were grateful for this comfort, as it made the wet weather bearable.
The theme of the weekend seemed to be WATER. We drove up on the Fourth of July, saw a cow moose feeding in a pond on the way. Ate lunch in Greenville while watching rain fall on Moosehead Lake from inside a restaurant with a leaking roof. Then we hit the muddy dirt roads and drove east into the woods to the camp. Once there, Paul fished off the dock for a while. That night, we listened to the syncopation of raindrops on the metal roof of our cabin while loons called from the pond.
Raindrops and fish rises
pockmark the water.
Across the pond, wren sings.
Even in heavy rain
fireflies flash
under the dark pines.
Buttermilk Falls churns--
we barely hear the wren.
Delicate things persist
amid the torrents:
ferns, lichens, bird song.
Undeterred by rain, us,
thrushes share wild flutesongs
across the wet trail.
Wild strawberries
at trail's end--
slugs found them too.
Last night the sky cleared over the pond just before sunset, touching the treetops with rich golden light. We indulged in hot showers and cranked up the wood stove, before enjoying a big turkey dinner in the Lodge. Before bed, Paul fly-fished in a nearby beaver flowage. Stars shone. High above the pond, the half moon danced closely with Mars and Saturn. Loons called across the pond. Life was good.
Today the river was still running too high for us to attempt a crossing to the Hermitage. So instead we hiked up Laurie's Ledge Trail to a viewpoint from which we could see spruce-topped mountains unfold all the way to Katahdin. Toads and frogs hopped along the still-wet trail, and thrushes and warblers sang amid the dense, leafy forest. We checked out nearby Little Lyford Lodge and Cabins, another AMC camp, then headed out of the woods. In Greenville, before we turned south for home, we enjoyed an excellent lobster crepe at a food truck, Cafe Crepe (which we were happy to learn is also in Freeport). All good adventures should end thus, with an excellent meal.
 |
| Backpackers bolder than us fording the waist-deep currents of the West Branch of the Pleasant River under the close eye of the AMC ranger one full day after the rain stopped. |
on our cabin step--
a simple valediction.
From atop a log
toad's golden eyes, staring.
So that's his magic...
Lunch on Moosehead Lake.
Next table, float plane pilot
sets up new charters.