Birthday Wishes: Haibun

I think of my dad today and how he admired Tony Hillerman’s novels, mysteries involving the Navajo Tribal Police. Once he wrote Mr. Hillerman a letter and received a gracious reply. It’s been twenty years now since my father died. He’d be ninety-nine today—perhaps he’d have new favorite books and authors. He was a man filled with passion—for food, women, art, history–and for his children and grandchildren. He thought we were the best and brightest, no question. Though he expected all to wait upon him–courtiers of the court of Lee–yet—he was generous with love, presents, and hundreds of restaurant meals. He was always proud of me and assigned my first book to his history classes. (Sorry). I wish my dad was still here to read my words. I love you, Dad. I miss you.

 

yellow-green stems grow

vivid blooms in summer’s heat—

then red-gold leaves fall

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

This is for open link night at dVerse, where Lillian is hosting. I’ve given a nod to National Book Lovers Day in my Haibun.

 

 

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Unfinished

“I took a nap and wept for no reason”

~ Jim Harrison from Songs of Unreason

 

My sisters and I

sat at my father’s deathbed

he, though unconscious, raged–

we held a vigil through the night,

waiting for the dawn,

and light

to see him released,

the raging ceased.

I napped then

for days it seemed

dreaming

I heard his voice,

crying when

I realized

it wasn’t real,

but love

disguised.

 

This poem is for Day 13 of Jilly’s 28 Days of Unreason, using Jim Harrison’s poetry for inspiration. I guess this is an early Father’s Day poem.

 

 

Words and Deeds

Monday Morning Musings:

“but looking through their eyes, we can see

what our long gift to them may come to be.

If we can truly remember, they will not forget.”

–Miller Williams, “Of History and Hope”

“Manliness consists not in bluff, bravado or loneliness. It consists in daring to do the right thing and facing consequences whether it is in matters social, political or other. It consists in deeds not words.”

–Mahatma Gandhi

 

On Halloween,

a holiday based on Celtic and Christian traditions,

Americanized by collecting and eating as much candy as possible,

we see a Swedish movie

followed by dinner at an Indian restaurant

where the Diwali candles

from the celebration the night before are still on display.

(Multi-culturalism at its best.)

In the near-empty theater,

two women choose the seats directly behind us to talk—

throughout the movie,

fortunately, not too loudly.

The plot of the movie is familiar,

the curmudgeonly old man turns out to be not-so-curmudgeonly,

but the way the story is unveiled, and the acting itself

make it fresh.

We care about this man

who does not know how to show his emotions,

except through anger, scorn, and impatience,

His father did not cry or show much emotion either,

though he loved his son,

love shown by teaching him how to repair Volvos

and how to behave decently while cleaning train cars.

Ove, the old man, learns to love again, even while planning suicide,

helped by a pregnant Iranian refugee,

he learns again the bonds of friendship.

Both words and deeds are important.

 

We go to another movie about a man.

This time without a father, poor, black, gay

living with his drug-addicted mother.

It could full of clichés, but instead,

it is a bleak, but perhaps hopeful movie,

a poem of a movie, lyrical, with magical cinematography,

a great score, and wonderful performances.

The camera lingers on faces and places in this

coming-of-age story,

focused completely on its characters,

though it deals with universal themes,

and moonlight and the healing power of water.

Three different actors portray the main character in three episodes,

as the boy, known as “Little,” the teen, Chiron, and the man, “Black.”

The film never preaches or moralizes,

but the theme of what it means to be a man is central.

He is bullied because other kids sense he is gay, different,

not one of the pack.

A local drug dealer becomes his father figure,

a strong man, who does evil, but also acts with kindness.

a mixed, flawed being.

Little/Chiron/Black’s friend admits to “wanting to cry” but not actually crying,

because boys don’t cry, but he is also tough and tender.

My husband says to me, “I didn’t want the film to end.

I want to know what happened after the end.”

I agreed.

 

We walk around Old City,

I see this sign

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Sign written on a trash can in Old City, Philadelphia

I wonder about it

This message to the world.

 

I think about a candidate who uses his position of power

to spread hate, to bully and denigrate people.

It seems obscene here, walking past these historic buildings,

where men and women have fought

for freedom and liberty.

The “Founding Fathers,” not perfect men,

some held others in bondage,

but still, they gave us a foundation

that it troubles me to see trampled

by ignorance and hate.

It took courage for them to sign the document, declaring independence.

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I think of my own father,

not a perfect man either,

a man who enjoyed his power as a man,

he was the prince of his family,

his mother and sisters doted on him,

and he enjoyed having women wait on him,

yet he thought his daughters—and granddaughters—

could do anything,

be anything they wanted.

And yes, I saw him cry.

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My dad and I when I received my Ph.D.

Women are not better than men

and men are not better than women

white is not better than black

black is not better than white.

Love is love is love is love is love is love is love.

Girls and boys,

need to know

need to learn from history,

the good and the bad

to remember, so that they will not forget,

so none of us will forget

to strive

to dare

to fight

to show with words and deeds

to do the right thing.

 

We saw A Man Called Ove.  And we saw Moonlight.

Don’t forget to vote. #LoveTrumpsHate