Poetry ~ Waka
Jazz Fest turns in
crowds in smoky jazz bar
night is still young
jammin’ until five a.m.
listening to Vic Vogel
~
smokey bar
sultry jazz oozes
amber’s heat
© Tournesol ’15
Vic Vogel Trio with Dave Turner (Montreal Jazz Festival)
I feel a bit silly after writing my love of spring weather and embracing that “feel good” ambiance on my way to work this afternoon…hence the tanka, Love is in the air. As I stepped out tonight to come home at 22:00, this is what I saw…I felt like writing a poem starting with SNOW is a 4-letter word but decided to turn this into an opportunity and write a more thought-provoking “free style” haiku for this haiga festival.
scribbles a haiku
sunnyside of sidewalk
now lost in snow
~
now lost in snow
mind slips in overcast
too spent to resume
blow blow, let the wind blow
weary brain may recover
© Tournesol ’15
(tanka)
radiant sunshine
snowbanks shrink
city streets are grey
March winds blow debris
love is in the air.
© Tournesol ’15
My muse and I playing scrabble…
(haiku)
snowflakes
kiss my nose
I sneeze
snowflakes
kiss my face
frisson
(tanka)
snowflakes
kiss my face,
sun glows
dripping down my chin
brightness blinds me
(haiku)
snow melting
reflecting golden sun
in the puddle
© Tournesol ’15
What a pleasant surprise to see our poet, extraordinaire, filling in for Chévrefeuille today. Paloma not only writes beautiful poems, haiku and other Japanese forms, she goes into depth with each “prompt”…she truly takes her homework seriously and I have learned so much reading her creations and the added information and lovely music videos she chooses so well and that add flavour and warmth to her posts.
For today, we return to our featured poet, Fuyuko Tomita
Sansan to/ sosogu asahi no/fuzukue ni/ nokosu mikan no/ uta zo samishiki
How lonely I would be
left behind on my desk
an unfinished poem
in the glorious morning sun
© Fuyuko Tomita
(Note that the Japanese version is in five lines – but – as she explained to Chévrefeuille in a separate post – the English version is slightly different. She is translating her poem so as to keep the spirit of the original, more so than the structure of the original.) I love that idea! Occasionally I will compose a haiku or tanka in French or in English and feel confined when following the form when the meaning can be compromised.
Here is our interim host, Paloma’s response to this prompt:
at the bird feeder
three cardinals are squabbling –
a love triangle?
the poem that nudges my ribs
is fading with the laundry
© Paloma
**********************************************************************
I commute to and from work on public transit and most of my thinking and composing is done walking or waiting for the Métro or the bus. I have a mini notebook I can hold in the palm of my hand and I scribble haiku when I am still standing or sitting but when I am walking, the words seem to dribble even more. I try to remember when I get to work or home but most often the thought may be there but “that verse” or “ that line” is somewhere floating and I am left waiting for my muse to conspire…she comes when she IS ready…
(tanka)
shuffling home tonight
words spill recklessly
her muse takes over
she waits expectantly
just the hum of a laptop
© Tournesol ’15
The first time I heard the honey toned voices singing along with an acoustic guitar, I was a block away sitting in a small Jazz lounge called Le Jazzons. Very low key place it was where I sat next to Victor Vogel as he jammed with other musicians after hours during the Montreal Jazz Festival. As I walked out the bar I heard the music coming from rue St Denis and saw a crowd at the front of a bar I was about to soon visit and fall prey to its charm.
The closer I got, I could hear why there was a crowd where they were singing along, most swaying and moving their hips to the music inside.
Blues is the type of music that I personally feel has no discrimination. I suppose Jazz is the same but in Montreal, I noticed more people of all walks of life packing into this small Bistro à JoJo on rue St Denis every night of the week. Oh, you can sit in afternoons too to listen to open jamming but after ten in the evening the place is hopping. It holds less than 100 patrons, so it is not rare to see people on the sidewalk listening to the music. This was a place I heard so many French and English people singing and talking together savouring the blues here.
posée au comptoir
sirotant une Maudite
le Blues m’apaisent
Manhattan reminds me a bit of Montreal (on a much smaller scale) in that it is an island, drivers are aggressive and honk their horns a lot and it is a city of music and food. Well to me anyway. Driving off the island to get on any bridge is similar to Montreal when there are twelve lanes that merge onto three lanes and they do it day in, day out as we do here too. So on a much smaller scale I do see similarities…I think NY has a better nightlife in all areas and that is where we differ here. We have a slower pace lifestyle and unlike our Canadian mega city, Toronto who follows more NY style rush rush rush…we have kept a bit of our ancestor’s mode de vie, vivre et laisser vivre.
weekend gig
island of many lights
stringing the blues
serenade on the Hudson
under midnight blue skies
© Tournesol ’15
* La Maudite is one of many beers brewed in Chambly, Québec by UniBroue. Chambly is the town where my children were raised. La Maudite is a stronger beer at 8% alcohol and Unibroue has other beers up to 10% however my favourite is La Blanche de Chambly at 5%; it is a wheaty beer tasting more like a Belgian beer.
budding heart,
kissed by a butterfly
then I woke up
silken strokes from reveries
momentary bliss
© Tournesol ’15
© Tournesol ’15
Walking home last night at the Métro Bonaventure Station, it was later than usual. It was passed eleven for I usually see several homeless persons lying on the marble sidings soaking up their last minutes of warm slumber. Between eleven and one in the morning, I am not sure if the police alert them of the time or if they have internal clocks but it was after 23:40 and I only noticed one man sitting by the door where late commuters rush off to catch their busses off the island of Montreal.
People kept walking by and the man was not holding out his cap nor mumbling anything as is usually the case when we go by some homeless persons…he looked so tired. I felt bad no one was stopping…true it was late and many were coming home from work…not all late evening travelers are revelers.
I sat down for a moment putting down my backpack, rummaging through the mess looking for my change purse, searching for change to give to this man. I rarely carry money but change, mind you, here in Canada means $1 and $2 coins along with the quarters, dimes and nickles…we got rid of our pennies. Good I found enough to get a coffee and soup at Tims perhaps {I must pick up some coupons from Tim Horton to have handy}.
The man looked at me and I could not see he had a smile {without my glasses} but I did take a few photos} that I had noticed only after seeing the photo. As I walked passed him, stopped to give him my coins, he thanked me so kindly with such a nice smile…the same smile I saw later on that photo.
Such a worry for the homeless people this time of year…last night it was dipping to below 20C and it snowed all night…a nightmare for anyone stuck outside in this bitter cold for more than an hour.
© Tournesol ’15/01/16
marking the end
she flies up above the clouds
hail of a prelude
a dove joins them in the heavens
angels, our guides from above
~
marque de la fin
elle vole au dessus des nuages
éloge d’un prélude
une colombe les rejoignent dans le ciel
les anges, nos guides de là-haut
© Tournesol ’14
Tournesol dans un Jardin 