Subj: Re: A little group to compensate for senior miscounting; more on KK
Date: 1/13/03 9:42:35 AM Eastern Standard Time
From: DaJoShap
To: DCLEHMAN
Let the breeze of So What
Blow through you, said the masters:
Now it does: And so?
Kenneth liked the Rules:
But preferred smashing them Smash!
Why count? Huh? Go Fish!
If I could love all
The way I worshiped Her once
I'd be a Saint Paul!
If I loved each Thing
The way I adored that Girl:
Spinoza would sing!
That's my Father—there!
No, just a butterfly re-
turning to its branch!
Op illusions
Are not haiku? What say you?
Everything's haiku
Black holes, flat screens:
Is a new word poetry?
Old snow falls slowly–
Don't tease me, young Dave!
Let's plop like Ken into pond
Make happy sound wave!
— DS, 1 / 13 / 03
Haiku Heaven
Date: 1/13/03 7:15:47 PM Eastern Standard Time
From: DCLEHMAN
To: DaJoShap
Even the master
of So What has off days, days
off, days of fire.
O for a muse of
fire on this green lake of
snow in the mountains.
We no can count but
why keep account of our
haiku transgressions?
A bird's eye disturbs
this winter landscape of hills
like white short stories.
On the other hand,
one thing's left to do, to say:
I've forgotten what.
[DL, 1 / 13 / 03]
Links of Snow
from David Shapiro to David Lehman
Snow to me, I say,
Is what bananas are to
Gabriel Marquez!
I thought snow useless
Until I saw a book sez:
Economic Snow.
A physicist cried:
Wake up, David, you never
Thought snow was useful!?
No, no, no., never
Have I ever thought that snow
Was useful! To skis
trees, warming flowers,
giving symbolists white hours–
SNOW IS NOT MONEY!
A snowman blinks, War.
Time of the empire, fat whore!
On the lawn, new snow!
*****
As if pardoned from
death by the Czar of all Rus:
he received her note!
Swifter than haiku,
deeper than Prospero's book,
E-mail like snow…Look!
–DS, 1 / 17 / 03
Music of Poetry, and Ginsberg’s Box Remembered
Violin on floor —
Haven't practiced in months now–
Hear planes in the air!
Mute violin there–
No more sound than Al's squeeze-box–
Practice haiku more-!
— DS, 1 / 18 / 03
Breakfast at Noon
from David Lehman to David Shapiro
Greetings from my hut
in Manhattan where I slept
late this cold morning.
Breakfast at noon, no
strings but a piano plays
"Shall We Dance" (Rodgers).
Yes, I still live back
in the fifties in Brooklyn
cheering the Dodgers.
— (DL, 1/ 18 / 03]
Borges: Baseball is a metaphysical game because it need never conclude
And I in NJ
I make the snowy commute
Over the nude bridge!
How I've ended there!
Baseball metaphysical–
It may never end!
I walked Weequahic Park ("wekwak”)
Now my family is gone—
Let's take mental walk!
— DS, 1 / 19 / 03