“What If the Frog Drowned”
“Interruptive Haiku” – Ancient Poetry Adapted for Modern Times
In the last few months, many introverts discovered that we thoroughly enjoyed the absence of an extrovert’s needs: we did not need to attend large gatherings, we did not need to leave home for work, and we did not need to make up excuses for our preferences. We could do things in our own quiet way. Some of us read poetry, channeling our inner Bashō as we virtually discussed his haiku about the moment a frog splashes into an ancient pond. And introverts just love asking questions about our poetry, such as – is Bashō’s sound of water a metaphor for a temporary existence and/or for an eternal existence? We also love using “and/ors” – they are just so goddam peacefully inclusive.
Then – BANG! Introverts were suddenly thrust back into the loud, bossy, bustling, and demanding world run by extroverts, where our contemplations are constantly interrupted, where we have to go back to thinking “me-first!” in order to survive, and where our attention span shrinks back down to exactly seventeen syllables.
And, sadly, in this brash rather than brave new world, who has time for poetry? Well, maybe it just has to be the right poetry for the time. Just as the haiku of Bashō contemplated a sound of water and revealed a calming insight into his life and times, we need to have haikus which reflect our new life and times – very short poems which abruptly punctuate our contemplations of existential angst with needy narcissism. Six of these poems – termed “Interruptive Haiku” – are printed here in bold and were written in the ancient haiku style because, well, there may not be an “I” in poetry – but there is in haiku.
What’s Left in a Forest
Beneath dying trees,
Birds flutter, falling like leaves –
I forgot my shoes.
A Moment Is a Drop of Mist
Footsteps in the fog
Locate prey; nothing is safe –
lost my new watch.
Our Children, Our Mirrors
Games on the playground
Become crimes in the boardroom –
I text my daughter.
Creating Santa Has Cost Us
“I’m done,” said the sun,
“I won’t come out tomorrow – ”
I like Christmas lights.
Just Refill the Bowl
Journeys are circles,
Endings become beginnings –
I ate Cheerios.
You may believe that contemplating the metaphor of circular bowls emptied of circular cereal (created around nothing) will not yield insight into the pattern of life’s journey, or that a discussion of the meaning of shoes forgotten in a forest could not be as profound as a discussion of the meaning of a splash of water – but what if the shoes and/or the trees were metaphors for emptiness caused by neglect? Or what if...
The Ultimate Interruption
What if the frog drowned?
And the real metaphor is –
I gotta go. Zoom.
Rick Doehring
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