It's become I think kind of a cliche and literary criticism
that what poems are about are really other poems.
And that behind every poem is lyrics,
a kind of shadow poem or a grandfather poem or precursor
poem or whatever the spectre poem, whatever the term is.
Well this poem is explicitly about another poem, about --
explicitly about an explicit poem and it's about a haiku.
It's about-- And the little 17 syllable Japanese poems.
And since I've written this poem, which
was a little while back, I've become very hypersensitive
to 17 syllable sized comments.
And one of my favorite poems has a very helpful title.
It's called-- it's by Thomas Gray
and it's called "Ode On the Death
of the Favored Cat Drowned in a Tub of Goldfishes".
And that's 17 syllables.
You wonder how has the time to count these things.
But all the lyrics to moonlight in Vermont are 17 syllables.
Pennies in the stream, falling leaves a Sycamore.
You can count it out yourself.
A friend of mine noticed that a sign on a train.
The sign is a haiku.
It's: Attention. When the train is not stopped,
it will be constantly moving.
[LAUGHTER]
Which has a bit of a bewildering haiku like effect in addition
to the 17 syllable requirement.
But the best accidental haiku I heard
was when I was about to give a talk on poetry
at a college at Penn State.
It was, and I was going to start by talking about haiku.
And as I was walking along the campus
kind of putting my thoughts in order, I passed two students
and as we passed one said something to the other,
and I counted it out.
I had haiku on the brain.
And what you said, I thought it was pretty close
but it was exactly 17 syllables.
And I'll say her haiku for you, I'll count it out for you.
She said, it was--
"when he found out, he was like Oh my God.
And I was like Oh my God."
[LAUGHTER]
Not a great haiku.
Not exact.
But the poem is a different thing.
And it's called "Japan" and it comes in three line stanzas
so it has a sort of a haiku like appearance to it at least.
"Japan".
"Today, I passed the time reading a favorite haiku saying
the few words over and over.
It feels like eating the same small perfect grape
again and again.
I walk through the house reciting it
and leave its letters falling through the air of every room.
I stand by the big silence of the piano and say it.
I say it in front of a painting of the sea.
I tap out its rhythm on an empty shelf.
I listen to myself saying it then
I say it without listening then I hear it without saying it.
And when the dog looks up at me, I kneel down on the floor
and whisper it into each of his long white ears.
It's the one about the one ton temple bell
with the moth sleeping on its surface.
And every time I say it, I feel the excruciating pressure
of the moth on the surface of the iron bell.
When I say it at the window, the bell is the world
and I am the moth resting there.
When I say it into the mirror, I am the heavy bell
and the moth is life with its papery wings.
And later when I say it to you in the dark, you are the bell
and I am the tongue of the bell ringing you.
And the moth is flown from its line and moves
like a hinge in the air above our bed."