From the relative wordiness of prose poems to the relative silence of haiku
We’re really into winter in the northern hemisphere now. There’s no denying it. Sure, we had those unseasonably warm days, then a bit of rain and snow and so on. Back and forth, as if winter were a guest standing at the door, unsure whether it should enter.
But it looks like those rare mellow afternoons when you could leave work without zipping up your coat are over. In NE Ohio, we broke out the snow blowers and the snowplows. Kids started scraping together the bit of snow that stuck. Some places got enough snow for herds of giant snow-people and some got only enough for scrawny, toddler-sized snowmen. One in our neighborhood looked a bit off-kilter, as if it couldn’t decide whether to be a snow-person or a snow-dog.
Speaking of dogs, you really know it is winter when you have to wash your dog’s feet after walking around the neighborhood. That’s to get rid of the salt and chemicals that are on the roads and sidewalks. Bad for the dog’s feet, and we sure don’t want him licking that stuff off.
Then we got the big snowfall all over the colder parts of the country.
We measured the snow yesterday afternoon at fifteen inches on the back deck, then it snowed some more after that. We didn’t go measure it again.
The big snowfall wouldn’t be so bad, but then the temperature dropped, too. So it was just under 7 degrees Fahrenheit when I went out last night (or early this morning) to look at the lunar eclipse. And about 4 degrees when my husband took the dog out, this morning.
Side note: I made an attempt at some eclipse photos but unless I am surprised when I get them into my computer, they’re nothing much to look at. The combination of cold, clouds, the moon being practically overhead, and not having perfect equipment for the conditions all worked against me. I’m very impressed with other photos of the eclipse that I have seen this morning — the best seeming to come from one of these conditions:
- Relatively warmer places. I’m looking at you, Florida and Texas.
- Finland, or other famously cold places. Where, apparently, they have adjusted their tolerance and their equipment to manage in the cold.
- Expert, if not professional, photographers.
Winter’s advantage: silence
So it’s really winter. It’s not great, maybe not as much fun as other seasons, or at least more inconvenient. But it does have the advantage of silence.
Silence is something winter does well, especially when it is snowing. It’s as if the falling flakes absorb sound. Why?
That’s because they actually do absorb sound. (Ha ha, you thought I couldn’t turn this into a science lesson? Perhaps you underestimated me!) Snow flakes themselves tend to be soft, so absorb sound rather than reflect it. And snow on the ground, unless it is all crusty and frozen on top, also tends to have a lot of air space that absorbs sound instead of letting it bounce off.
In other words, snow is a great soundproofing material.
Don’t believe me? Check the internet for support from meteorologists.
What’s that got to do with poetry?
The last two weeks’ poems have been prose poems. What’s at the other end of the spectrum of poetic forms? One could argue it is haiku, based on the brevity of the form. In fact, like many haiku, this week’s poem doesn’t even have a title, so I’ve used the first line of the poem to refer to it.
Haiku are famously reflective poems, poems that rely on stopping time briefly to encapsulate a moment, a mood, a feeling. A Zen-like appreciation of great relevance expressed in simple detail.
Like when you are walking your dog and realize you are walking in someone else’s footprints–and instead of thinking about the literal footprints, you are reminded that you are always following in someone else’s steps, no matter what you do. One detail leads to larger realization and appreciation of the world.
Of course, not every haiku reflects so obvious a realization as what I just described.
Often, it is the fleeting moment captured which has a sense of value, precious because it is fleeting, because it is experienced, and not something which can be held in the hand. Yet, if it was experienced in mindfulness, perhaps that experience can be recalled, if not relived, in the haiku.
Silence, falling snow
Silence, falling snow
Surprised by the light of the moon
Quiet accumulates
If you enjoyed Silence, falling snow
You’ll find more of my poems on this blog or in the collection Stars Crawl Out From Their Caves, which is available in both ebook and print.
Today is the Martin Luther King Jr. memorial holiday in the U.S. Here is the link to my 2018 post on this holiday.
Missed a poem of the week? Links to prior weeks are on this page.