Sometimes a wild god comes to the table.

 

See ART below

Sometimes a wild god comes to the table

by Tom Hirons

Sometimes a wild god comes to the table

He is awkward and does not know the ways

Of porcelain, of fork and mustard and silver.

His voice makes vinegar from wine.

When the wild god arrives at the door,

You will probably fear him.

He reminds you of something dark

That you might have dreamt,

Or the secret you do not wish to be shared.

He will not ring the doorbell;

Instead he scrapes with his fingers

Leaving blood on the paintwork,

Though primroses grow

In circles round his feet.

You do not want to let him in.

You are very busy.

It is late, or early, and besides…

You cannot look at him straight

Because he makes you want to cry.

The dog barks.

The wild god smiles,

Holds out his hand.

The dog licks his wounds

And leads him inside.

The wild god stands in your kitchen.

Ivy is taking over your sideboard;

Mistletoe has moved into the lampshades

And wrens have begun to sing

An old song in the mouth of your kettle.

‘I haven’t much,’ you say

And give him the worst of your food.

He sits at the table, bleeding.

He coughs up foxes.

There are otters in his eyes.

When your wife calls down,

You close the door and

Tell her it’s fine.

You will not let her see

The strange guest at your table.

The wild god asks for whiskey

And you pour a glass for him,

Then a glass for yourself.

Three snakes are beginning to nest

In your voicebox. You cough.

Oh, limitless space.

Oh, eternal mystery.

Oh, endless cycles of death and birth.

Oh, miracle of life.

Oh, the wondrous dance of it all.

You cough again,

Expectorate the snakes and

Water down the whiskey,

Wondering how you got so old

And where your passion went.

The wild god reaches into a bag

Made of moles and nightingale-skin.

He pulls out a two-reeded pipe,

Raises an eyebrow

And all the birds begin to sing.

The fox leaps into your eyes.

Otters rush from the darkness.

The snakes pour through your body.

Your dog howls and upstairs

Your wife both exults and weeps at once.

The wild god dances with your dog.

You dance with the sparrows.

A white stag pulls up a stool

And bellows hymns to enchantments.

A pelican leaps from chair to chair.

In the distance, warriors pour from their tombs.

Ancient gold grows like grass in the fields.

Everyone dreams the words to long-forgotten songs.

The hills echo and the grey stones ring

With laughter and madness and pain.

In the middle of the dance,

The house takes off from the ground.

Clouds climb through the windows;

Lightning pounds its fists on the table.

The moon leans in through the window.

The wild god points to your side.

You are bleeding heavily.

You have been bleeding for a long time,

Possibly since you were born.

There is a bear in the wound.

‘Why did you leave me to die?’

Asks the wild god and you say:

‘I was busy surviving.

The shops were all closed;

I didn’t know how. I’m sorry.’

Listen to them:

The fox in your neck and

The snakes in your arms and

The wren and the sparrow and the deer…

The great un-nameable beasts

In your liver and your kidneys and your heart…

There is a symphony of howling.

A cacophony of dissent.

The wild god nods his head and

You wake on the floor holding a knife,

A bottle and a handful of black fur.

Your dog is asleep on the table.

Your wife is stirring, far above.

Your cheeks are wet with tears;

Your mouth aches from laughter or shouting.

A black bear is sitting by the fire.

Sometimes a wild god comes to the table.

He is awkward and does not know the ways

Of porcelain, of fork and mustard and silver.

His voice makes vinegar from wine

And brings the dead to life.

–– Tom Hirons at Coyopa - Tom's book, Sometimes a Wild God, which contains this and many other FINE examples of his wordsmithing is available via this link ---> http://shop.hedgespoken.org/products/sometimes-a-wild-god Please support artists & their work!

–– ––ART: Illustration by Janne Pitkanen & concept & photography by Harri Halme. 

From the album cover The Spirit of Ukko by Finnish metal band Kiuas.

–– Title track –  "The Spirit of Ukko."  

Lyrics ––

Greetings, we are here tonight

To bring the flames of Ukko to your hearts

On this black night the stars are aligned

These ancient fireworks play their parts

Born from the dark to light a flame

What once had died shall rise again

Winds sweep the snow, resurrecting songs of darkness

Born from the cold to light a flame within our hearts

Winds sweep the snow, resurrecting songs of darkness

Born from the cold, now it's celebration time...

... The spirit of Ukko will burn with us tonight!

Let's bring back the good old times

When the true gods used to reign the northern skies

For centuries they've been away

But the memory and spirit still remains

Videos –

Studio: https://youtu.be/FowajLNzreE

Live: https://youtu.be/M9X1SUmyHyg

Kiuas - The Spirit of Ukko (live)

new at what it is: red leaves, autumn wind update

---

---

updated presentation of a photo from last year
> what it is: red leaves, autumn wind update

---

original: what it is: red leaves, autumn wind

red leaves align
with force of wind
all the buddhas shout

---

---

see also

• whats more: autumn wind (not exactly haiku?)

俳句
Haiku (haikai verse), plural haiku, is a form of Japanese poetry, consisting of 17 moras (or on), in three phrases of 5, 7, and 5 moras respectively. Although haiku are often stated to have 17 syllables, this is inaccurate as syllables and moras are not the same. Haiku typically contain a kigo (seasonal reference), and a kireji (cutting word). In Japanese, haiku are traditionally printed in a single vertical line and tend to take aspects of the natural world as their subject matter, while haiku in English often appear in three lines to parallel the three phrases of Japanese haiku and may deal with any subject matter.

• what it is: Fall in Mixed Woodland, Mendocino County

---

Genjo Koan

---

---

enlightenment

"...Enlightenment is like the moon reflected on the water. The moon does not get wet, nor is the water broken. Although its light is wide and great, the moon is reflected even in a puddle an inch wide. The whole moon and the entire sky are reflected in dewdrops on the grass, or even in one drop of water..."

[Aitken & Tanahashi translation] - SIT-A-LONG with JUNDO: Genjo Koan XXVIII

---

Genjo Koan is perhaps the best known section of Eihei Dogen’s masterwork, Shobogenzo (Treasury of the True Dharma Eye). See whats more: The Ino's Blog: Study Hall - Shobogenzo

---

---

all things

first verse of Genjo Koan -

"As all things are buddha-dharma, there is delusion and realization, practice, and birth and death, and there are buddhas and sentient beings.

As the myriad things are without an abiding self, there is no delusion, no realization, no buddha, no sentient being, no birth and death.

The buddha way is, basically, leaping clear of the many and the one; thus there are birth and death, delusion and realization, sentient beings and buddhas.

Yet in attachment blossoms fall, and in aversion weeds spread."

Genjo Koan @genjokoan.com

---

Genjokoan | Tricycle

"The text we’ve chosen to study this period and the subject of Enkyo Roshi’s weekly online talks at tricycle.com is Genjokoan (Actualizing the Fundamental Point), perhaps the best known section of Eihei Dogen’s masterwork, Shobogenzo (Treasury of the True Dharma Eye). As he does throughout his work, here Dogen focuses on the oneness of practice and enlightenment and on the expression of Buddha-nature through wholehearted practice free from dualistic thinking—including thoughts of attaining enlightenment."

As all things are Buddha-dharma, there are delusion, realization, practice, birth and death, buddhas and sentient beings. As myriad things are without an abiding self, there is no delusion, no realization, no buddha, no sentient being, no birth and death. The Buddha Way, in essence, is leaping clear of abundance and lack; thus there are birth and death, delusion and realization, sentient beings and buddhas. Yet in attachment blossoms fall, and in aversion weeds spread.

To carry the self forward and illuminate myriad things is delusion. That myriad things come forth and illuminate the self is awakening.

Those who have great realization of delusion are buddhas; those who are greatly deluded about realization are sentient beings. Further, there are those who continue realizing beyond realization, who are in delusion throughout delusion. When buddhas are truly buddhas, they do not necessarily notice that they are buddhas. However, they are actualized buddhas, who go on actualizing Buddha.

When you see forms or hear sounds, fully engaging body and mind, you intuit dharma intimately. Unlike things and their reflections in the mirror, and unlike the moon and its reflection in the water, when one side is illumined, the other side is dark.

To study the Buddha Way is to study the self. To study the self is to forget the self. To forget the self is to be actualized by myriad things. When actualized by myriad things, your body and mind as well as the bodies and minds of others drop away. No trace of enlightenment remains, and this no-trace continues endlessly.

When you first seek dharma, you imagine you are far away from its environs. At the moment when dharma is correctly transmitted, you are immediately your original self. When you ride in a boat and watch the shore, you might assume that the shore is moving. But when you keep your eyes closely on the boat, you can see that the boat moves. Similarly, if you examine myriad things with a confused body and mind you might suppose that your mind and nature are permanent. When you practice intimately and return to where you are, it will be clear that nothing at all has unchanging self.

Firewood becomes ash, and it does not become firewood again. Yet do not suppose that the ash is after and the firewood before. You should understand that firewood abides in the phenomenal expression of firewood, which fully includes before and after and is independent of before and after. Ash abides in the phenomenal expression of ash, which fully includes before and after. Just as firewood does not become firewood agaiμ after it is ash, you do not return to birth after death.

This being so, it is an established way in Buddhadharma to deny that birth turns into death. Accordingly, birth is understood as no-birth. It is an unshakable teaching in the Buddha’s discourse that death does not turn into birth. Accordingly, death is understood as no-death.

Birth is an expression complete this moment. Death is an expression complete at this moment. They are like winter and spring. You do not call winter the beginning of spring, nor summer the end of spring.

Enlightenment is like the moon reflected on the water. The moon does not get wet, nor is the water broken. Although its light is wide and great, the moon is reflected even in a puddle an inch wide. The whole moon and the entire sky are reflected in dewdrops on the grass, or even in one drop of water.

"The depth of the drop is the height of the moon"

Enlightenment does not divide you, just as the moon does not break the water. You cannot hinder enlightenment, just as a drop of water does not hinder the moon in the sky. The depth of the drop is the height of the moon. Each reflection, however long or short its duration, manifests the vastness of the dewdrop, and realizes the limitlessness of the moonlight in the sky.

When dharma does not fill your whole body and mind, you may assume it is already sufficient. When dharma fills your body and mind, you understand that something is missing. For example, when you sail out in a boat to the middle of an ocean where no land is in sight, and view the four directions, the ocean looks circular, and does not look any other way. But the ocean is neither round nor square; its features are infinite in variety. It is like a palace. It is like a jewel. It only looks circular as far as you can see at that time. All things are like this.

Though there are many features in the dusty world and the world beyond conditions, you see and understand only what your eye of practice can reach. In order to learn the nature of the myriad things, you must know that although they may look round or square, the other features of oceans and mountains are infinite in variety; whole worlds are there. It is so not only around you, but also directly beneath your feet, or in a drop of water.

A fish swims in the ocean, and no matter how far it swims there is no end to the water. A bird flies in the sky, and no matter how far it flies there is no end to the air. However, the fish and the bird have never left their elements. When their activity is large their field is large. When their need is small their field is small. Thus, each of them totally covers its full range, and each of them totally experiences its realm. If the bird leaves the air it will die at once. If the fish leaves the water it will die at once.

Know that water is life and air is life. The bird is life and the fish is life. Life must be the bird and life must be the fish. You can go further. There is practice-enlightenment which encompasses limited and unlimited life.

Now if a bird or a fish tries to reach the end of its element before moving in it, this bird or this fish will not find its way or its place. When you find your place where you are, practice occurs, actualizing the fundamental point. When you find your way at this moment, practice occurs, actualizing the fundamental point; for the place, the way, is neither large nor small, neither yours nor others. The place, the way, has not carried over from the past, and it is not merely arising now. Accordingly, in the practice-enlightenment of the buddha way, to attain one thing is to penetrate one thing; to meet one practice is to sustain one practice.

Here is the place; here the way unfolds. The boundary of realization is not distinct, for realization comes forth simultaneously with the mastery of Buddha-dharma. Do not suppose that what you attain becomes your knowledge and is grasped by your intellect. Although actualized immediately, the inconceivable may not be apparent. Its appearance is beyond your knowledge.

Mayu, Zen Master Baoche, was fanning himself. A monk approached and said, “Master, the nature of wind is permanent and there is no place it does not reach. Why then do you fan yourself?”

“Although you understand that the nature of the wind is permanent,” Mayu replied, “you do not understand the meaning of its reaching everywhere.”

“What is the meaning of its reaching everywhere?” asked the monk again. Mayu just kept fanning himself. The monk bowed deeply.

The actualization of the Buddha-dharma, the vital path of its correct transmission, is like this. If you say that you do not need to fan yourself because the nature of wind is permanent and you can have wind without fanning, you will understand neither permanence nor the nature of wind. The nature of wind is permanent. Because of that, the wind of the Buddha’s house brings forth the gold of the earth and makes fragrant the cream of the long river.

Written in mid-autumn, the first year of the Tempuku Era [1233], and given to my lay student Koshu Yo of Kyushu Island. Revised in the fourth year of the Kencho Era [1252].

From Enlightenment Unfolds, ©1999 by San Francisco Zen Center, edited by Kazuaki Tanahashi. Reprinted with permission of Shambhala Publications, Inc., shambhala.com.

Genjokoan | Tricycle

---

thezensite: English Translations of Genjokoan

8 translations of Dogen's GenjoKoan by Aitken, Abe, Waddell, Jaffe, Nishijima, Cook, Cleary, Masunaga, and Stevens.

---

Genjokoan: The Question of Our Lives | White Wind Zen Community

first verse of Genjo Koan -

"When all things are seen as Awakened Experience then enlightenment and delusion, practices, life and death, Awakened Ones and sentient beings can be clearly discerned. When the vast expanse of experiences are met without self then there are no enlightenment, and no delusion, no practices, no life, no death, no Awakened Ones, no sentient beings. The Way of Awake Awareness transcends nothing or something. Thus, there are delusion and enlightenment, life and death, Awakened Ones and sentient beings. However, it is like this: despite our grasping flowers wither, despite our irritation weeds flourish."

---

---

links / see also

• Dogen Zenji

Dogen Zenji, the founder of Soto Zen School as well as of Daihonzan Eiheiji, was born on January 2, 1200 CE. This was during the Kamakura Period of Japanese history, the year following the death of Minamoto Yoritomo. It is said that his father was Koga Michichika, a government minister, and that his mother was Ishi, the daughter of Fujiwara Motofusa. Presumably, young Dogen Zenji lived in comfort. However, at the age of thirteen, he climbed Mt. Hiei, and the next year he shaved his head and became a monk. It is said that he became a monk because he felt the impermanence of the world on his mother’s death when he was eight years old.

• whats more: The Ino's Blog: Study Hall - Shobogenzo

"(lit. 'Treasury of the True Dharma Eye') The term Shōbōgenzō has three main usages in Buddhism: (1) It can refer to the essence of the Buddha's realization and teaching, that is, to the Buddha Dharma itself, as viewed from the perspective of Mahayana Buddhism, (2) it is the title of a koan collection with commentaries by Dahui Zonggao, and (3) it is used in the title of two works by Dogen Kigen..."

• Shōbōgenzō (@Wikipedia)
• Shobogenzo links (@"Hey Bro! Can You Spare Some Change?") (top of right column)

• whats more: more about Zen & Buddhism
• whats more: The Ino's Blog: Counting To Nine | Zen Mind, Beginner's Mind
• whats more: apocalyptic buddhism | Kalachakra | to become a buddha | beginner's mind | peace action

• whats more: buddha art
• whats more: diamond sutra art
• whats more: dharma wheel art

---

-!- buddhism zen dogen shobogenzo "genjo koan" -!-

---

what can a fish know of fire? | Kōan

when i think a question,
i think that i can know an answer;
but what can a fish know of fire?

---

公案
The kōan is a fundamental part of the history and lore of Zen Buddhism.

A koan consists of a story, dialogue, question, or statement, the meaning of which cannot be understood by rational thinking but may be accessible through intuition. One widely known kōan is "Two hands clap and there is a sound; what is the sound of one hand?" (oral tradition attributed to Hakuin Ekaku, 1686–1769, considered a reviver of the kōan tradition in Japan). The word koan, the name by which the practice is known to the West, comes from the Japanese pronunciation of the Chinese characters (公案).

Direct pointing at the mind of man, seeing one's nature and becoming Buddha.

Hakuin Ekaku (白隠 慧鶴?, January 19, 1685 - January 18, 1768) was one of the most influential figures in Japanese Zen Buddhism. He revived the Rinzai school from a moribund period of stagnation, refocusing it on its traditionally rigorous training methods integrating meditation and koan practice. Hakuin's influence was such that all Rinzai Zen masters today trace their lineage through him, and all modern practitioners of Rinzai Zen use practices directly derived from his teachings.

Scroll calligraphy by Hakuin Ekaku (depicts Bodhidharma). Caption: Jikishin ninshin, Kensho jobutsu: “Direct pointing at the mind of man, seeing one's nature and becoming Buddha.”

Kōans originate in the sayings and events in the lives of sages and legendary figures, usually those authorized to teach in a lineage that regards Bodhidharma (c. 5th–6th century) as its ancestor.

Kōan is used both as a meditation device and as an expression of Enlightenment (satori)– a radical experiential insight into the nature of things and the self alike.

悟

• Satori is a Japanese Buddhist term for enlightenment that literally means "understanding". In the Zen Buddhist tradition, satori refers to a flash of sudden awareness, or individual enlightenment, and is considered a "first step" or embarkation toward nirvana. Satori is typically juxtaposed with the related term kensho, which translates as "seeing one's nature". Kensho experiences tend to be briefer glimpses, while satori is considered to be a deeper spiritual experience.

निर्वाण

• Nirvāna is a central concept in Indian religions - the state of being free from suffering. The word literally means "blowing out" — referring, in the Buddhist context, to the blowing out of the fires of greed, hatred, and delusion.

見性

• Kenshō is a Japanese term for enlightenment experiences. It is most commonly used within the confines of Zen Buddhism.
Literally it means "seeing one's nature" or "true self." It generally "refers to the realization of nonduality of subject and object." Frequently used in juxtaposition with satori (or, "catching on"), there is sometimes a distinction made between the two in that some consider satori to be qualitatively deeper. Kenshō itself has been said to be "...a blissful realization where a person's inner nature, the originally pure mind, is directly known as an illuminating emptiness, a thusness which is dynamic and immanent in the world." Kenshō experiences are tiered, in that they escalate from initial glimpses into the nature of mind, on to an experience of emptiness, and then perhaps on to Buddhahood.

Kōans reflect the enlightened or awakened state of such {enlightened} persons and sometimes confound the habit of discursive thought or shock the mind into awareness.[citation needed] Zen teachers often recite and comment on kōans, and some Zen practitioners concentrate on kōans during meditation. Teachers may probe such students about their kōan practice using "checking questions" to validate an experience of insight (kensho) or awakening. Responses by students have included actions or gestures, "capping phrases" (jakugo), and verses inspired by the kōan.

着語
Jakugo
A Capping Phrase (着語/箸語 jakugo?), or 下語 (agyo?) of a kōan is a proof of solution of the case riddle, but not the solution itself. In Zen Buddhism, kōan is used both as a meditation device and as an expression of Enlightenment (悟り/覚り satori?) – a radical experiential insight into the nature of things and the self alike. A capping phrase is supposedly an articulation of such enlightening experience, most of the time in verse.

V. Sōgen Hori describes the process of the kōan training as follows:
"Rinzai monasteries in Japan vary in the way they conduct kōan practice, but in the Myōshin-ji–Daitoku-ji branch, when a monk has passed a kōan the Zen teacher will instruct him to bring a “capping phrase” ... The monk selects a verse or phrase that expresses the insight he has had while meditating on the kōan. He searches for this capping phrase in one of the several Zen phrase books that have been especially compiled for this purpose. If the monk continues into advanced stages of the Rinzai Zen kōan curriculum, he will receive further literary assignments: the writing of explanations in Japanese, called kakiwake 書き分け, and the composition of Chinese-style poetry, called nenrō　拈弄... The research and writing required to complete kakiwake and nenrō writing assignments can consume considerable amounts of time during the later stages of a monk’s stay in the monastery."

A kōan or part of a kōan may serve as a point of concentration during meditation and other activities, often called "kōan practice" (as distinct from "kōan study", the study of kōan literature). Generally, a qualified teacher provides instruction in kōan practice in private.




In the Wumenguan (Mumonkan), public case #1 ("Zhaozhou's Dog"), Wumen (Mumon) wrote:

"...concentrate yourself into this 'Wú'... making your whole body one great inquiry. Day and night work intently at it. Do not attempt nihilistic or dualistic interpretations."

無
Wú (Chinese traditional: 無, simplified: 无 pinyin: wú ) - Mu in Japanese/Korean, is a negation which has been translated variously as "not," "nothing," "without," "nothingness," "non existent," "non being," or evocatively simply as "no thing." [neutrality is disputed]

Arousing this great inquiry or "Great Doubt" is an essential element of kōan practice. To illustrate the enormous concentration required in kōan meditation, Zen Master Wumen commented

It is like swallowing a red-hot iron ball. You try to vomit it out, but you can't.

As part of the training of teachers, monks, and students, kōan can refer to a story selected from sutras and historical records. They may consist of a perplexing element or a concise but critical word or phrase (話頭 huà-tóu) extracted from the story. It may also refer to poetry and commentary added to the story by later Zen teachers.

---

Links --

@Wikipedia -

Kōan | Jakugo
Zen Buddhism
Hakuin Ekaku | Bodhidharma
Satori | Nirvāna | Kenshō

External links -
The Gateless Gate - 48 Zen kōans compiled in the early 13th century
Book of Serenity A collection of 100 kōans, originally compiled in the 12th century

see also:

•   "...about Zen & Buddhism"

•   "autumn wind (not exactly haiku?)"

•   Zen Playlist at YouTube

autumn wind (not exactly haiku?)

a new poem

Autumn Wind

red leaves align with force of wind all the buddhas shout

reflections, and a bit about Haiku - with edited notes from Wikipedia

red leaves align force of wind all the buddhas shout

not exactly haiku?

It depends on how you count it up. Most people think that a Haiku consists of 17 syllables; but, this isn't right. What is counted is actually "mora," which are not the same as syllables.

In contrast to English verse typically characterized by meter, Japanese verse counts sound units (moras), known as "on". Traditional haiku consist of 17 on, in three phrases of five, seven, and five on, respectively.

  does it add up?

...maybe if I had included "autumn" in the phrase "with force of {autumn} wind," then it would add up? - and perhaps it would even meet the 5,7,5 moras/phrase scheme somehow? I don't know how some words would be counted. For example, would "leaves" be counted as 2 mora?

俳句
Haiku (haikai verse), plural haiku, is a form of Japanese poetry, consisting of 17 moras (or on), in three phrases of 5, 7, and 5 moras respectively. Although haiku are often stated to have 17 syllables, this is inaccurate as syllables and moras are not the same. Haiku typically contain a kigo (seasonal reference), and a kireji (cutting word). In Japanese, haiku are traditionally printed in a single vertical line and tend to take aspects of the natural world as their subject matter, while haiku in English often appear in three lines to parallel the three phrases of Japanese haiku and may deal with any subject matter.

音字
Onji is an obsolete Japanese word used in English-language discussion of Japanese poetry to mean the phonetic units counted in haiku, tanka and other such poetic forms. Known as "morae" to English-speaking linguists, the modern Japanese term for the linguistic concept is hyōon moji (表音文字) while the normal Japanese term in the context of counting sounds in poetry is "on". On (音) is Japanese for "sound" and ji (字) is Japanese for "symbol" or "character".

An English syllable may contain one, two or three morae.

Although the word "on" is often translated as "syllable", in fact one on is counted for a short syllable, an additional one for an elongated vowel, diphthong, or doubled consonant, and one more for an "n" at the end of a syllable. Thus, the word "haibun", though counted as two syllables in English, is counted as four on in Japanese (ha-i-bu-n). In addition, some sounds, such as "kyo" (きょ) can be perceived as two syllables in English but as a single on in Japanese. A word that illustrates both these issues is "Tokyo" (とうきょう), which is perceived as having three syllables in English (To-ky-o) but four moras in Japanese (To-o-kyo-o).

kigo & keriji

...and I guess the words "align" or "shout" should qualify as kireji (cutting words); and I leave "red" in association with "leaves" to count as the reference to a season (kigo), so maybe its not so bad either way.

季語
Kigo ( "season word") is a word or phrase associated with a particular season, used in Japanese poetry. Kigo are used in the collaborative linked-verse forms renga and renku, as well as in haiku, to indicate the season referred to in the stanza. They are valuable in providing economy of expression.
切れ字
In Japanese haiku a kireji, or cutting word, typically appears at the end of one of the verse's three phrases. A kireji fills a role somewhat analogous to a caesura in classical western poetry or to a volta in sonnets.

Depending on which cutting word is chosen, and its position within the verse, it may briefly cut the stream of thought, suggesting a parallel between the preceding and following phrases, or it may provide a dignified ending, concluding the verse with a heightened sense of closure.

red leaves align
with force of wind,
{and} all the buddhas shout

red leaves align,
{while} with force of wind
all the buddhas shout

"red leaves align
with force of wind,"
all the buddhas shout

haiku in english

But then, of course, this isn't in Japanese either; and while I wasn't really trying to write haiku according to rules in the first place, one might want to explore Haiku in English as a topic. In any case, it is the way it turned out and so it is what it is!

English haiku do not adhere to the strict syllable count found in Japanese haiku, and the typical length of haiku appearing in the main English-language journals is 10–14 syllables. Some haiku poets are concerned with their haiku being expressed in one breath and the extent to which their haiku focus on "showing" as opposed to "telling". This is the genius of haiku using an economy of words to paint a multi-tiered painting, without "telling all".
Or as Matsuo Bashō puts it, "The haiku that reveals seventy to eighty percent of its subject is good. Those that reveal fifty to sixty percent, we never tire of."

---

Translating back and forth between English and Japanese

Here it is in Japanese from Google Translate (three lines with no punctuation) -

• red leaves align
with force of wind
all the buddhas shout

赤は合わせ葉
風の力で
すべての佛が叫ぶ
Aka wa awase ha-fū no chikara de subete no hotoke ga sakebu

- and google translate sends that back to English as

Red Leaf suit
Wind power
All Buddha cry

Hmm. Any help with this appreciated :) Gomen nasai - my Sanskrit it seems, even as limited as it is, proves to be much better than my Japanese!

Again using Google Translate, I come up with these variations -

• red leaves align with force of wind, and all the buddhas shout

紅葉は、風の力に合わせ
すべての佛が叫ぶ
Kōyō wa,-fū no chikara ni awase Subete no hotoke ga sakebu

Autumn leaves,
according to the force of the wind
All Buddha cry

• red leaves align, while with force of wind all the buddhas shout

赤は、整列の葉
風の力を持つすべての佛が叫ぶ中
Aka wa, seiretsu no ha Kaze no chikara o motsu subete no hotoke ga sakebu naka

The red leaves of alignment
All of the Buddha
with the cry of the wind power

• "red leaves align with force of wind," all the buddhas shout

赤い葉は、風の力に合わせ"すべての佛が叫ぶ
" Akai ha wa,-fū no chikara ni awase" subete no hotoke ga sakebu

"Red Leaves, according to the force of the wind," shouted all the Buddha

---

秋の風
Aki no kaze
Autumn Wind


red leaves align
with force of wind
all the buddhas shout

---

---

See also

---

whats more: what can a fish know of fire? | Kōan

what it is: Fall in Mixed Woodland, Mendocino County

---

Updated presentation, December 3, 2011

---

what it is: red leaves, autumn wind update