Vista View Mar 2003

Vista View Online	Bamboo Rain By Rev. Lee Rosenthal
March 2003 *Feature Articles* Bamboo Rain Full Newsletter PDF [462 KB]	This selection of contemporary haiku poems in English are part of a book written by Rev. Lee Rosenthal entitled, Bamboo Rain. They were first jointly published in Kyoto, Japan by the International Association of Buddhist Culture and Nagata Bunshodo in 1986. To seize life while it is flowing, we need only breathe deeply. So too, are we nurtured by the air we breathe. Surrounding us, yet within us, we grow by the power of air, and by exchanging breath, we share this life with each other. By breathing deeply of these unworthy poems, you share the breath of my life. For myself, writing haiku is realizing the interconnectedness between all living things. It is a manner of expression through which I may affirm this connection. In truth, this relationship affirms itself by its own dynamic action, and so, I become a participant of the process only. Reading haiku is , perhaps, hearing with another’s ears, seeing with another’s eyes and feeling with another’s heart, and then realizing, beyond reason, that there never was a dichotomy between writer and reader — both become an integral part of this process by which we lead each other to understand that, indeed, we have never been leading at all. These poems were written over a period of years as simple expressions of the imprints on my heart and mind at the time. They were written as a simple diary to myself, and reflect the joys and sorrows that balance my life. The instances have passed, but the traces they leave for me in these few lines, create new moments for reflection. As I change, the poems change with me. Yet, they belong to us all, for their source is this life we are now sharing. Please be free to breathe deeply with me.
	If I linger here, I may see the floating leaf Strike the target moon. Old woman’s cupped hand — Holding back the sun’s rays from Sleeping baby’s eyes. Delicate lace web. Binding walls of concrete, yet Frail to the touch. The old man, strolling. Footsteps slowed by the full years, Hands resting on hips. Her grandchild gone, Obachan makes me breakfast — Perhaps missing him. Oh some break this is! Pausing from work to dance, and Now we’re shov’ling coal! Hole in temple roof. The rain no longer enters, But the pigeons do! Somewhere in Japan, There is now a family Showing my picture. The grey-haired ones, paired. Sharing so much of their lives, Even their shirts match! I placed a hand on An old wooden cabinet, And touched a loved one. Window without screen. The ripe plums growing outside, So easy to pick!	Wailing in the night, The chorus of sirens stir Peaceful, rambling thoughts. Ha, the same hairdo! Manicured poodle, lady — Leather leash between. Oh poor, tiny fly— Teased by seeing your freedom Beyond the glass wall. Strange, dirty city. Once so far away and cruel, It is now my home. Such a foolish game. You’re sitting by the window, I play I don’t see. Mounds of grass and trees. Birds in flight, cattle grazing, Beneath ocean fog. Longing to meet you, Yet comforted from afar I keep you in dreams. How silly of me To fear for the blind woman Because it is dark. Sobbing baby’s cry. Passengers turning to stare. Father’s soothing voice. In my tiny room, Winged insects, able to fly, Prefer to stay still. Empty piano bench. Seeing it, realizing, I too will be gone.

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