Haiku is a noble yet tiny poetic form. It combines natural imagery, brevity and ancient timelessness, and was made famous by the seventeenth-century master, Matsuo Bashō.
Here’s his finest-
Under harvest sun- stranger
To bird, butterfly
Along the road to Mount Asama,
The autumn wind.
Ssh. In the next room
See. Gorgeous natural imagery including the flower, butterfly, autumn wind and snoring prostitutes.
We’re the same, you and me. While there’s lots to celebrate in this fine, bursting world, big gaps have opened up.
Time to plug these, for everyone’s sake.
As I see it a dangerous cultural chasm exists with the shameful lack of ancient Japanese poetry promoting the unreconstructed joy that is the humble beer fridge.
Thanks to them internets old mate Greg and I ended this tragic chapter last night while in different parts of our nation, watching distinguished haiku inspiration, Animal House.
Thinking haiku: think toga party and Bluto Blutarsky.
I suggest you print the following and put ‘em up on your beer fridge, alongside the kids’ finger-paintings. The sense of peace and artistic bliss will be all yours.
And then crack open a Kirin lager and toast our old mate, Matsuo Bashō.
Under moonlit night
Stubby holder on white shelf
Beer fridge empty
Actually not so empty
Thirsty as buggery
Beer fridge dies
Within and without, light’s off.