Sublime

denouement.

She would have liked a lotus, or China asters or the Japanese Iris, or meadow lilies—yes, she would have liked meadow lilies, because the very word meadow made her breathe more deeply, and either fling her arms or want to fling her arms, depending on who was by, rapturously up to whatever was watching in the sky. But dandelions were what she

By the seventeenth century the Japanese had brought this “wordless” poetry to perfection in the haiku, the poem of just seventeen syllables which drops the subject almost as it takes it up. To non-Japanese people haiku are apt to seem no more than beginnings or even titles for poems, and in translation it is impossible to convey the effect of their

In just three lines totaling seventeen syllables (5–7–5), a haiku presents a brief meditation in which the reader or listener is invited to participate, using imagery drawn from intensely careful observation.

‘Sansho the Bailiff.’ ”

“These sunflower seeds are good,” I said, taking a couple more. Kojima was drinking his bourbon and soda at a leisurely pace. I took a small sip from the glass in front of me. A flawless martini. I set down my drink with a sigh. The glass was cold, its surface ever so slightly frosted over. “The rainy season is almost here,” Sensei said. Right,

6. Every summer the lilies rise and open their white hands until they almost cover the black waters of the pond. And I give thanks but it does not seem like adequate thanks, it doesn’t seem festive enough or constant enough, nor does the name of the Lord or the words of thanksgiving come into it often enough. Everywhere I go I am treated like royalty,