Leeches, Amoebas & Algae (Oh My!)

furuike ya...kawazu tobikomu...mizu no oto

stagnant pond...
a frog-leap into
water's sound

Matsuo Basho (1644-1694)
Translation version by DW Bender

Our (awesome) youngest grandson, who is in Middle School, has a new science homework project. He must blog what he's learned each day in science class. Currently the class is studying the inhabitants of a nearby pond: algae, amoebas, leeches and dragonfly larvae. His teacher even made a video of the field trip.

Mike was born with the gift of natural wit. Since he learned to talk, which was, developmentally, a bit late due to temporary hearing losses from constant ear infections, he's come up with hilarious, unexpected and perfectly timed quips. While his hearing was impaired, doubtless he was listening intensely in order to make sense of the world and his favorite cartoon shows. He's also extraordinarily smart; recent national testing put him in the top 2%, of his school peers.

the spring rain...
chalk equations washed
from concrete

haiku by DW Bender, 2002
Nightingale, June 2002 (revised 2008)

His mother, our daughter, is also funny, rather sarcastically so; a future "Maxine" in the making. Almighty Heidi assisted ScienceBoy in premiering his newborn blog. The first version of the homework-site was a creative hoot. And that's not just grand-maternal baby-book pride speaking. Both grandson and his mother are truly funny, unlike me, who loves to be inanely silly, but being more introspective, am not exactly a comic wit (and not even a brag-book holding grandma.)

His teacher wasn't amused, however, probably due to frustration with the genius's failing grades. This, due to his persistent and inherent 12-year long insidious streak of utter lazy-boned-ness. Science is his favorite class, led by his favorite teacher nonetheless. So, wisely deferring to his teacher, our duly chastened student changed the name of his blog from "I Hate Homework" to the more sensible, "Mike's Science Homework", toning down the bloggery humor to a more pablum-esque juvi-scholar mode. Still, I truly wish his teacher would have been more open to ScienceBoy's sharp sense of the comic, especially relating to the homework project. It would give that creative facet of the child further chance to blossom, enhancing his understanding of, and love for science.

spring loneliness
the inch of fathomless space
between two stars

haiku by DW Bender
"bottle rockets", Issue 7
& Simply Haiku 1-5, November 2003

Which brings up a point of concern. It grieves me when teachers don't realize, understand or encourage the complementary inter-connectedness of creative gifts to applied learning...and to the enjoyment of learning. Many throw discouragement toward those who might attempt to mingle the two, even if instinctively, as in the case of young students. Although most don't realize this concept, such talents are given not only for enjoyment. In fact, the entertainment factor, while equally valid and important in it's own right, probably developed as a secondary benefit. In the case of the gifted, the derived pleasure might simply be a motivational impetus. After all, we do many things, even things we wouldn't otherwise do, only because we find them pleasurable. I believe the precious creative gifts are, primarily, superior and inimitable learning tools bequeathed by the Creator, who, by sensible deduction, would surely desire us to use them for the good. What brilliant mental leaps can be made by children or adults when the love of music is applied to math, drawing to grammar, poetry to psychology, humor to biology, culinary arts to sociology or any number of combinations. So much potential. So many aborted and unborn bright synaptic fireworks. What unmitigated dulling down of the species! O ye wet rags! What are we thinking? How are we thinking? Are we thinking at all? (Deep, deep, deep grandmotherly sigh. Groaning.)

Brighten up. Take those Omega 3's. Better yet, let's remember how to intuit. Have some chocolate with the fish oil! Yes, Einstein, it isn't rocket science (or perhaps, actually, it is), yet it is as you have spoken: "Imagination is more important than knowledge." Fortunately, Mike's teacher is a person who cares very much about his students, and who is wonderfully talented and creative, himself. He makes learning fun. Even ScienceBoy's mother confesses she'd love to have been a student in his classes. So, there is hope that he'll indulge the wit when the wit gets serious with his grades. And I trust our grandson's love for his class and respect for his teacher will stimulate his left brain clear out of his mismatched right-brained lazy-socks.

shuncho ni...nagaruru mo ari...ya no gotoku

a sprig of algae...on spring tides....
.........shoots by...swift as an arrow

haiku by Sugita Hisajo [1890-1946]
translation version by DW Bender

==========

Meaning lies in meaning's absence. The mist / Is always almost just about to lift. / Nothing is truer. Dear, not even this / Candle can explain its searing twist / Of flame mounted on cool amethyst.—Excerpt from 'Sugar Dada', by J. Allyn Rosser

White Lotus

Original poem:

At dawn I asked the lotus,
"What is the meaning of life?"
Slowly, she opened her hand
with nothing in it.

DW Bender, 2005

See the previous (the following post in blog page order) post. The work-in-progress stanzas combined together, the poem, to date, would be something like thus:

White Lotus
DW Bender, 2008

At dawn I asked the lotus,
"What is the meaning of life?"
Slowly, she opened her hand
with nothing in it.

Receiving what is given,
She does not grasp to retain;
In the heart of the lotus,
what is ever lost?

Her cup overflows with light:
The cosmos rests in her palm.
When darkness settles on her,
she enfolds the sun.

At dusk, as her petals closed,
I whispered, "Why must we die?"
The lotus vanished, and all
turned into her dream.

Song of the Lotus, February 2008

At dawn I asked the lotus,
"What is the meaning of life?"
Slowly, she opened her hand
with nothing in it.

Debra Woolard Bender 2005
(published by permission Workman Publishing Company in the Smith & Hawken, Secret Garden Calendar, 2006: Month of April page)
First published by permission on Michael Garofalo's "The Spirit of Gardening" website, in the quotes section.

My above poem has been visiting my thoughts recently. Sunday morning, I awoke with stiches and thoughts forming towards one or more stanzas which would be a continuation. The finished piece could possibly be titled, "Song of the Lotus." Maybe not. "White Lotus" might be it.

The verse which follows, and which I wrote Sunday morning, comes from a dream I had several years ago. The dream seemed profound and beautiful, and has remained with me. In it, I was looking up into a dusk sky above my head. I gazed at seven or eight large ovoid bodies, still, pure white living objects (or beings, although, not with bodies like ours). These hovering forms were composed of petal-like shapes that silently transformed by way of folding and unfolding within themselves. Their movement (in my conception when waking) seemed like an elegant and more complex version of the child's origami 'fortune teller' finger game. Luminous, the pendant orbs were lit from within, like benevolent and awesome heavenly lanterns afloat aove the earth. Other people milled about. I wondered if anyone else was seeing them. On awakening, the only descriptive word-thought that entered my sleepily awakening consciousness was "white lotus." Although they were similar, they were also different than lotus flowers. They did look much like the blossom in this picture: White Lotus
And they also resembled, in some ways, the beautiful pendant kit lamps often created by Scandinavian designers, which are formed of geometric patterns and made of paper or plastic, such as these: Pendant lamp 1 Pendant lamp 2 . But the dream-lotus shapes were moving within, serene and living, their internal patterns morphing, shifting in pattern. More intricate and much more beautiful. Following is a verse which came from that dream. I didn't realate the images to death or ask that question in the dream -- but later, on Sunday, contemplating on the poem and the dream, the images, thoughts and questions arose in poem:

At dusk, as her petals closed,
I whispered, "Why must I die?"
The white lotus, deepening,
turned into a dream.

or alternatively:

At dusk, as her petals closed,
I whispered, "Why must we die?"
Floating away, the lotus (or: Descending, the white lotus)
turned into a dream.

*Lotus blossoms descend into the water at night, and reappear in the morning.

or:

At dusk, as her petals closed,
I whispered, "Why must we die?"
White lotus vanished, and all
turned into her dream. (I feel this is the right one)


One of the verses that arose from the thoughts, were these following words, which might become a middle stanza, while further stanzas which may arise later:

Her cup overflows with light:
The cosmos rests in her palm.
When darkness settles on her,
she enfolds the sun.

or alternatively:

Her cup overflows with light:
The cosmos rests in her palm.
When darkness comes, the lotus
embodies the sun.

*both "enfolds" and "embodies" are the right words, but I can use only one.

Written (or rather assembled) from that morning's thoughts, just now:

Receiving that which enters,
She does not grasp to retain;
In the heart of the lotus,
what is ever lost?

=====
Note to reader: Although I write poetry in Japanese genres, and I know that the lotus is a spiritual symbol in Asian religions (and in Hindu and Egyptian religion and mythology), these verses are not written out of any particular religious belief or practice (I'm Christian). They are written from the underwaters within.

January 23, 2008 - tanka

dream on, dear one,
only I am wide-awake
this winter night...
how silence gently seeps
around our limbs

DW Bender
tanka

and older modern haiga image: