My sophomores, under the gentle tutelage of a wonderfully gifted student teacher, are distance learning about imagery, beyond the sort of rudimentary understanding that imagery is language that appeals to the senses, into a deeper knowledge that imagery plays on both the intellect and the emotions, that it is associative, that it often works best in juxtaposition to other images. So she’s having them write haiku. In my earlier experiences as a poet, a had a tendency to poo-poo the haiku, but in recent years I’ve come to a new appreciation, in part, because of a late, very late understanding of what we’re introducing to these 15 and 16 years olds now. So, ignoring the Napowrimo prompt for today, and ignoring, as Robert Hass gives us permission to do, the traditional 5-7-5 syllable count, I give you: haiku.
I
Hummingbird makes a nest
in the tree above my hammock.
Ignores the feeder.
II
Hummingbird makes a
loud clicking sound;
wakes me from napping.
III
Birds chirp, warble, coo
in the back yard.
The Hummer has no song
but buzz and click.
IV
At my brother’s house,
a red-headed hummingbird
accompanies our reunion.
V
Hummingbird knows
nothing nor cares about
our troubles with Covid-19.
VI
I saw this mother bird
fight off a finch;
the nest, safekeeping.
michael jarmer 