MY HAIKU LIFE, UNLEASHED

This winter, while I basically hibernated due to cold weather, icy sidewalks, and Covid restrictions, I managed to achieve a momentous personal goal.

When the pandemic started in March 2020, most every activity I had engaged in – working in the town clerk’s office, yoga and exercise classes, socializing with old friends and new over coffee or lunch, frequent Amtrak trips to New York City to visit my Manhattan-based family – was unceremoniously cancelled. My very last outing was lunch at the Wenham Tea House with my friend Mary Sheehan – and then the screen went dark.

The initial weeks and months were a shock to the system, but I am not a stranger to change. When my husband Paul died in 2013, the foundation of my life crumbled. The future seemed unimaginable – and bleak. In my bereavement group, I wrote like a madwoman about my experiences as a caregiver and then as a new widow. I was traumatized and my writing was fraught with emotion, totally unfiltered.

Over time, I rebuilt my life from the bottom up, and beyond. In the current crisis that wears on, I told myself that if I could heal from a devastating loss, then I had it in me to face this one too – and learn from it.

To fill the huge blocks of unscheduled time, I began to read, then tried my hand at writing, haiku poetry. I scoured the library catalogue and delved into the study of the Japanese Masters: Basho, Buson, Issa, Chiyo-Ni (a Buddhist nun), and Shiki. I enrolled in workshops and presentations online, connected with others who shared my passion, and just wrote, wrote, and wrote some more. I researched various online and print journals and eventually found the courage to submit. I remember how I danced around the living room when I received my first acceptance!

Fast forward to the present, when, with David’s technical expertise and cover art, I published my first volume in print and put it up on Amazon: a collection entitled Cotton Moon.

If you had told me when I retired from law practice at the end of 2016 that I would identify myself first as a blogger, then as a haiku poet, and next as a published author, I would not have believed you. It’s chancy enough to predict the weather for the week, much less the arc of a life.

The real joy of retirement has been the release from a demanding schedule and weighty responsibility, making room for my creative self – which I did not even know existed – to emerge triumphant. An uncompleted task from my law practice is shredding decades of case files and documents filling my ranch house basement. On occasion I come across an appreciative note from a client or a nasty letter from an adversary. Knowing that there is now a safe distance from those extremes, and that they no longer affect my well-being, has been remarkably freeing, allowing me to make surprising and fulfilling choices.

Cotton Moon is divided into twelve chapters, starting with the fall season because that has always marked the beginning of my year – born at the end of August, opening of school, Jewish New Year soon after.

Following are the chapter titles with one poem from each (haiku themselves do not generally have titles):

Autumn Unfolding

dripping with honey

the bee-color

of hot cornbread

Winter’s Turn

blizzard tonight

somewhere in the whitened wind

the moon

Emergence

spring thaw . . .

the glint of coins

I lost in winter

Beach Afternoon

home from the beach

pounding sand off the seats

of grandpa’s Buick

Cotton Moon

whirling carousel

I launch my toddler

on a flying horse

Tribe

grandma’s thick waist

holding up

the family tree

Skyward

mom’s fine china

the gold rim

of an eclipse

Falling Out

tea leaves . . .

not settling

for just anyone

Broom Clean

ranch house basement  m i l e s   a n d   m i l e s  of storage

Journey

the eternal life

of my husband

starlight on his stone

Goddess

Venus de Milo

the mother

of all broken women

Gathering Again

re-opening

the server remembers

my standing order

I hope that you, my readers, enjoy this sampling from the 128 haiku that comprise the twelve chapters of Cotton Moon. To close, I am including the following new poem that is not in the book but recently published in Stardust Haiku Journal:

morning scent

of lemongrass . . .

her washed hair

— Barrie Levine

NOTE: for those who are interested, my book is available in print on Amazon. Just type in cotton moon barrie levine and you will find it, with a further description, more sample pages, and an About the Author.