The real butterfly becoming a skin-deep sign of the inner person, or psyche? Much to contemplate regarding process in this one. Skillfully done, Polona.
Wow, I really admire this.
What a fresh and original take on the traditional kigo of a butterfly in haiku. The poet has turned inward, and the poem she is preparing to write takes shape, mysteriously, marvelously, until like a chrysalis she brings forth her poem. For me the inks are the coloured inks of a woodblock print butterfly. But so mysterious is this process, and so beautiful the product, that the awestruck poet almost cannot recognize herself as responsible. It is the ink that has rendered itself into the words, into the image, through a process, a life-force, almost separate from herself. And the result is stunning.
What I also particularly like is the remarkable invocation of a sensual experience that for me captures something like what I imagine is the prickly and painful experience of a transforming caterpillar. The current cultural fad for tattoos, which several readers have alluded, involves repeatedly injecting ink under the skin through needles. My own skin crawls at the thought of those needles, and so like a caterpillar I writhe until the poem takes it beautiful final shape.
March 19th, 2013 at 1:05 pm
Tatoos and the imaging and transformation of the self…I really dig this haiku.
March 24th, 2013 at 2:40 pm
much appreciated, Ross. thank you
March 21st, 2013 at 4:29 am
Very beautiful, Polona!
March 24th, 2013 at 2:40 pm
many thanks, Dawn :)
March 22nd, 2013 at 4:47 am
aha! my favorite haiku poetess. lovely as always :) — SMA
March 24th, 2013 at 2:41 pm
thank you, Scott!
March 22nd, 2013 at 2:30 pm
The real butterfly becoming a skin-deep sign of the inner person, or psyche? Much to contemplate regarding process in this one. Skillfully done, Polona.
March 24th, 2013 at 2:45 pm
appreciate your insightful comment, Lorin, thank you.
btw, my skin is ink-free although i did contemplate getting a tattoo at some point :)
April 1st, 2013 at 5:06 am
Wow, I really admire this.
What a fresh and original take on the traditional kigo of a butterfly in haiku. The poet has turned inward, and the poem she is preparing to write takes shape, mysteriously, marvelously, until like a chrysalis she brings forth her poem. For me the inks are the coloured inks of a woodblock print butterfly. But so mysterious is this process, and so beautiful the product, that the awestruck poet almost cannot recognize herself as responsible. It is the ink that has rendered itself into the words, into the image, through a process, a life-force, almost separate from herself. And the result is stunning.
What I also particularly like is the remarkable invocation of a sensual experience that for me captures something like what I imagine is the prickly and painful experience of a transforming caterpillar. The current cultural fad for tattoos, which several readers have alluded, involves repeatedly injecting ink under the skin through needles. My own skin crawls at the thought of those needles, and so like a caterpillar I writhe until the poem takes it beautiful final shape.