Thursday, February 4, 2016

Elizabeth Searle Lamb and Miriam Sagan

Miriam Sagan and Elizabeth Searle Lamb 
    dream that is not a dream
     a conversation in haiku

When Miriam Sagan moved to Santa Fe, N.M., she found Elizabeth Searle Lamb also living there - well-known and honored haiku poets, they shared their love of poetry.  With Elizabeth’s passing, Miriam states ‘it was only after her death that she became my teacher’.  Here are two examples of Miriam’s poetic responses to unpublished poems by Elizabeth. . .

a crowd
in front of the polling place
my cane grows heavy
              ESL

old pilgrim
her silent staff
              MS

and, one more. . .

will i be able
when the time comes
to write my own death poem
              ESL

sorting her papers
wild spring run-off
in the mother ditch
              MS

a gracious, caring poetry endeavor from two friends, two neighbors, and two of our finest. . .

from Miriam’s Well
ISBN 978-1-893003-17-0


And!  also from Miriam’s Well:  (and I found everything about this creative co-endeavor fascinating)

The Dippers Do Their Part
    Michael G Smith
      Laura Young

Franz Dolp was an Oregon State University professor and poet whose effort and prayer created ShotPouch Creek, in the Oregon Coast Range, a wilderness artist’s retreat ‘aligned with salah, Arabic for prayer and its touching and connecting with others’.  Franz had an untimely death, yet his salah legacy lives and flourishes at ShotPouch Creek. . . one of many proofs is this lovely co-endeavor created at ShotPouch by Michael G Smith, haibun (a Japanese poetic form) and Laura Young, katagami (delicate Japanese-style stencils):






         Laura Young











                               Equinox


Spring Equinox. Daytime = Nighttime. The Earth tilts towards
summer without my effort. How will I spend this day on the land?
Overnight, a dozen sisters joined the lone skunk cabbage in the
flooded bottomland downstream from the cabin. Vines inched up
the metal roof, an inch here, an inch there. Pollen ripening, the
alder’s male catkins turned a deeper shade of pinkish-red eager t0 
burst and spread. I watch a Stellar’s jay catch bugs.

                           along the path
                      to the dead poets cabin
                       footprints in the mud

                      
                                                      Michael G Smith



Tama and Frosty, asking,
'and what about Mr Dolp?
Do we have a poem from him?'

we do!  and we will close
this post with one of his -


'and treats, of course'

yes, and treats for everyone. . .


             Something lies in the earth
             by the river
             in cold rock, the fallen leaves
             here where the river was,
             something in the dark depression of this earth


             waiting to be filled.

                                                       Franz Dolp

see you in a moment

ayaz daryl nielsen
                                           darylayaz@gmail.com
                                           (and/or)
                                           darylayaz@me.com                                         

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