I discovered a new form of poetry last month called The Cherita at Celestine’s blog Reading Pleasure, a gifted Haiku poetess; the Cherita was created byal li. Rather than using prose, I am telling my story with two Cherita followed by a Troiku which is a new form of haiku created by Chèvrefeuille. I name my haibun a troibun since troiku is the core.
I have just discovered the Cherita (A haiku/tanka inspired form created by ai li on June 22, 1997. Now this must have been calling me to pay attention. I had noticed a few of Celestine’s beautiful contributions both on Facebook and on her blog Reading Pleasure and she write the cherita as if she is singing ever so softly. She does have a way with words and metaphors that I truly admire.
Now the reason, I am more drawn to this form after reading the source of this(Celestine is generous enough to highlight after each postin), my mother’s birthday was June 22nd…that is one majour attraction; in 1997 I made a majour move away from family and friends, starting a new single life. And, lastly, the word Cherita is the Malay word for “story” or “tale” and I have been looking for a way to write les histoires ranconté by my grand-maman.
So I am going to try and write a cherita more often in my Daily reflections similar to what I have been doing in Waka (haiku, tanka, haibun). Thank you, Celestine, for sharing this form with your readers.
So for my first try I am simply going on a tale spin (not tailspin) but for my first time, this is a “spin off of tales” raconter (told) by my grandmother. Des histories Grand-maman m’a racontait autour de la table de cuisine avec une bonne tasse de thé. (Stories my grandmother shared at the kitchen table over a good cuppa tea).
Cherita #1
no sterile beginnings for me
twisting and turning
in a hurry to see your face
in the comfort of home
two generations holding me
my first bain d’amour
Cherita #2
Grand-maman was the town mid-wife. Doctors called upon her to stay the long hours, usually at night while expectant mothers were in labour. My grandmother would phone the doctor just when the mother was dilated enough so the doctor had little wait time to deliver the baby.
We would hear all sorts of stories about how some households were sometimes ill prepared for the birth of a 2nd, 3rd or 4th child. Growing up in a predominantly French Canadian and Catholic town, the church encouraged procreation and condemned birth control.
If you wanted to receive absolution for your sins at confessions and the priest got wind of avoiding copulation for fear of getting pregnant, you would have to forgo absolution for your sins on that day.
an unhappy husband hummed and hoed
needs not having been met
he actually told on his partner!
with a sign of the cross
tongue wagging on how to behave
his wife was not given absolution
Grandmaman told us this story how she found a way to get around “not refusing” her husband but still not being exposed to the chance of getting pregnant.
Ma Tante Rose comes for a visit every month
Sometimes this relative makes
unexpected stopovers
no one would question
that extra layer
husbands simply sigh and roll over.
Cherita #3
hot summer night
sitting by the riverbank
cicadas and bullfrogs compete
shrill of the musique à bouche (harmonica)
stepping and jigging to the beat
cutting through the thick
Grand-Papa bringing life
summer air
Cherita #4
finding perfection out of imperfect moments
There is something so ordinary
and yet so extra-ordinary
sitting
with family
on hot summer nights
no rules of behaviour
young or old
everyone’s engaged
telling tales of this and that
laughing and singing
foot tapping for sure
Suzanne has asked us to write about the Road to the Holy Grail, and quotes from “Reflections on the Art of Living” edited by Diane K Osbon:
“What the Holy Grail symbolizes is the highest spiritual fulfillment of a human life. Each life has some kind of high fulfillment, and each has its own gift from the Grail… It has to do with overcoming the same temptations that the Buddha overcame; of attachment to this, that or the other life detail that has pulled you off course… In the Grail legends, the land of people doing what they think they ought to do or have to do is the wasteland.”
I am not sure if I have interpreted this well but have tried interpreting a journey to engulfment.
***
So much time seems to be wasted when we all seem to think that time is plentiful. Is it? Really? In the past decade, she has returned to her path of spirituality. Usually strife and hopelessness draws her there and in time, she feels at peace. She is astounded at how often she rereads a passage of wisdom and spiritual growth twenty to thirty years later as if it were the very first time. What does that mean?
There are times when she was in her early twenty’s she may have digested words intellectually rather than emotionally. That is the only answer that makes sense to her. Life happens and too many times attachment to things and persons cloud our vision but the path is always there, waiting, forgiving and embracing.
Nothing can be rushed…it is not like spring cleaning with a power wash but letting yourself go and be. Emptying your mind and allowing to be filled with light.
meditating visions of white doves inviting her home
From On the Road, Suzanne has chosen the following quote to inspire us to write in our favoured waka form.
“As we turn every corner of the Narrow Road to the Deep North, we sometimes stand up unawares to applaud and we sometimes fall flat to resist the agonizing pains we feel in the depths of our hearts. There are also times when we feel like taking to the roads ourselves, seizing the raincoat lying near by, or times when we feel like sitting down till our legs take root, enjoying the scene we picture before our eyes.” – Soruyo
Thinking back when her children were little and stress had a way of creeping into the household. So often she would pack up a blanket, a healthy lunch and off they walked (her son biked) and she pushed the stroller for the younger one to the fort by the rapids. It was a mile to get there or 1.6km and if the children had behaved, they would walk to the wading pool half a mile away and maybe get a sundae at MacDonald’s across the street. The road taken then was to “stay above float” and it happened to make everyone content.
Sometimes, at the end of the day when the children’s father returned from work, they would plan a family bike outing, but before, she would take a “mommy run” to check on her bike she would say. What she actually did was ride very fast, wind blowing in her face, removing the “dust of her day” and by the time she was by the rapids, she was cleansed and became a person. She was not a mother, a wife, a daughter, a woman, a friend, a volunteer, a counsellor…she was one simple person.
roar of the rapids inhaling every woe announcing hope water splashing at her feet droplets giggle with joy
Once the stress of the day had dissipated into the current, washed away and moving on to the basin of the river, she felt lighter. Her shoulders rose naturally and she sat with her spine straight without a thought in the world…no dreams were necessary…
rolling white caps just sitting – not wanting contentment infused
Tournesol dans un Jardin 