The Haiku Lesson December 18, 2012Posted by The Typist in Odd Words, Poetry, Toulouse Street.
Tags: haiku, T.S. Eliot, Wallace Stevens, William Wordsworth
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Haiku Lesson No. 1: Daffodils
A sudden daffodil host
banishes all gloom.
Haiku Lesson No. 2: The Waste Land
concrete monuments. We are
all hollow with death.
Haiku Lesson No. 3: Anecdote of the Jar
In Tennessee I
placed a jar upon a hill,
Haiku (gesundheit) August 18, 2011Posted by The Typist in cryptic envelopment, New Orleans, Pedestrian I, Poetry.
A maple leaf blows
Across the cool Fall asphalt–
Fixed to make it singular and a better (more particular, i.e. specific) haiku.
Cemetery in Snow December 11, 2008Posted by The Typist in New Orleans, NOLA, poem, Poetry, Toulouse Street.
Tags: cemetery, haiku, Snow
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New Orleans snow turns
old tombs white again. Later
rain repaints them gray
I spent yesterday in the chill drizzle photographing 231 tombs to collect names for a statistics project for my daughter. I wish I had been there when it snowed instead of trapped high up in the beige boxes of Place Sans Charm. The counting house gods also do not approve of posting to Poems Before Breakfast on company time, so this will go here.
Until this morning I didn’t know much of the history of St. Louis No. 3, except that it was built as a yellow fever cemetery. You can find a number of burials from 1878, presumably from the yellow fever epidemic of that year, along with quite a few from 1897 and 1905 when the fever also swept through the city
Google later confirmed that, yes, it is those Tujague’s and Galatoire’s who are buried at there, along with the members of many religious orders. There are the tombs of the Little Sisters of the Poor (who once begged door-to-door barefoot in New Orleans) and and the Missionary Sisters of the Sacred Heart, an order founded by St. Francis Cabrini.
Visited St. Leo’s masoleum but forgot to bring a cigar. Sorry, big guy.
Cherry Blossoms March 29, 2008Posted by The Typist in 504, art, cryptic envelopment, Dancing Bear, flowers, garden, home, Japan, New Orleans, Toulouse Street, Uncategorized.
Tags: 504, cherry blossoms, haiku, Holiday Innpressionism, Japan, New Orleans, NOLA, spring, Washington D.C.
Sleeping under the trees on Yoshino mountain
The spring breeze wearing Cherry blossom petals
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . ~ Saigyo
I deeply love New Orleans and live to see my first azalea or crepe myrtle in bloom, even if it getting too warm too soon by then. When I felt compelled to leave by personal and professional circumstance, I came to live for eight years in Washington, D. C. or thereabouts. The first real community of friends met online (out of the BBS world) was there, some of the finest people I’ve ever met. I spent some years walking the marble corridors of power until my feet gave out and I decided I had the wrong attitude for Washington: I work for my boss, but you other 534 assholes work for me. That is not the path to K Street.
I met my wife Rebecca there at the Warner Theater. I had come stag to see the Neville Brothers, she and her roommate to see the Nighthawks who shared the bill. We met in the smokers lobby buying a beer. Two years later we were married (in North Dakota, not Washington) and our first house together was on 4th Street N.E. Our daughter Killian was born in Washington and spent her first two years of life there.
Some of my fondest memories from that time are of Rebecca and I taking a bottle of wine down to the tidal basin (before the road on the city side was closed by the memorial FDR never wanted), where we could “crank Frank” (Sinatra) on the car stereo behind us, and sit on the grass under the cherry trees and watch the lights come on in the city over the water.
Not a spring has passed since leaving in 1994 when I don’t think wistfully of the cherry blossoms in bloom in Washington.
I nearly bought this next one online (and it wasn’t cheap) but it was already sold. Holiday Innpressionism is not really my style, but the scene was almost irresistible.
I think when the crepe myrtles bloom, I will take Rebecca into the park with a bottle of wine and we will crank Frank until the stars and mosquitoes come out.
We now return you to the unending Twilight Zone marathon that is New Orleans.