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At the beginning of Robert Bly’s book, “Morning Glory,” he had a version of Basho’s short poem, Morning Glory.  Interesting how the different translators view it:

The Morning Glory also
The morning glory also
turns out
not be my friend
translated by Robert Hass

The Morning Glory
Ah! the morning-glory!
‘Tis not my friend, either.
translator unknown

The Morning Glory
Another thing
that will never
be my friend.
translated by Robert Bly


I’m watching out my office window where my neighbor is doing some very early spring cleanup:  picking up branches, raking winter leaves… he’s dressed in his hunting gear, though.  I don’t know if it’s any particular season, though; maybe he just wanted to be camouflaged in his front yard.  I’ve been lazy at writing lately, but I’ve been energetic at remodeling.  The ugly wallpaper in the basement is gone and I’ve scraped half of the backing paper away.  A little more money saved and I’ll have new hardwood floors.

I’ve been working on a poem about Medusa but mostly struggling.  I read a book of Robert Bly’s prose poems, “Morning Glory,” which made me think of re-working the poem into a prose format.  I’ve never written in that style before, but maybe it’ll break the log-jam I’ve been in with it.  I just hate it when I can’t get to the feeling I want with a poem.  I just keep dancing near it…

I guess if it was easy everyone would do it.