The quote haiku

Can quote Dylan. Can
quote Cohen. Can quote Springsteen.
Cannot quote myself.

– Leonard Blumfeld (© 2018)

Note
It’s true – I can quote from an infinite number of songs by the people named above, plus a zillion others, like Joni Mitchell, Richard Thompson, Neil Young, Gianna Nannini, Gianmaria Testa, Labordeta, Chavela Vargas, Amparo Ochoa, Soledad Bravo, Ralph McTell, Cyndi Lauper, etc., but I cannot quote from any of the poems I’ve written, even though they must number in the thousands by now. Well, except from one of my first ones, written in German when I was around ten, about some flower I claimed to have found deep in the forest.

101

My new book is out!

Leonard Blumfeld, 101

Contains 101 short poems (haiku and fibonacci)

From the cover text:

Leonard Blumfeld, a character sprung from a story by Franz Kafka, is the part of me that can take virtually any prompt, look at anything around, think of anything or anyone and make a poem out of it – be it humorous, deadpan, philosophical, silly, absurd or reticent. Many of these dash-down instant creations take an appropriately short form – like the haiku and fibonacci assembled here. They are poems about mundane events, such as enduring bad weather or looking at the meager contents of a fridge, about artists like John Singer Sargent or Amedeo Modigliani; they invoke music, like the poems based on classical Indian ragas, digest books read or comment on news events.

Can be ordered from Amazon.de or any bookstore in Germany. ISBN: 978-3844290943. Amazon.de also ships to countries outside Germany. The e-book version and printed version are also available directly from the publisher in Berlin.

Signed copies are available upon request and can be shipped internationally (please leave a comment).

No fury like one scorned

So you don’t like my gift?
Well, let me tell you
that a lot of others
have liked my gifts,
and they were smaller
than this one I gave you,
less smelly, less offensive,
less aggressive, not
nearly as loud and dirty.
So I’ll tell you what
you can do with this gift
of mine you don’t like –
you can throw it
in the nearest ditch
and kiss me good-bye
forever, you jackass,
see if I give a toss.

– Leonard “Giver of Gifts” Blumfeld (© 2012)

Posted as a 'gift' for Poets United.

My Nature Haiku

Damn Nature! Why does
it include mosquitoes, a-
phids, gnats, bats and moths?

– Leonard “Loves Nature” Blumfeld (© 2012)

The call at Haiku Heights was for haiku on Nature. Not to be taken all that seriously – in fact, I quite like bats.

Last day in May, 2012

They're certainly chirpy out there,
sitting on their branches
and communicating for the sheer hell of it
(or so it seems to one
who doesn't speak a word
of their language),
while there's no communication at all
in this office, with everyone
staring at their screen quietly
and firing off the occasional typing staccato.
I wonder what they think about us
when they peer inside.
What a boring existence, they might say,
with not a chirp or twitter.
We have no clue what it's all about,
but we certainly are fitter.

– Leonard "Impersonator of Sparrows" Blumfeld (© 2012)

Meow!

“And the cat came back,”
said the Colonel
Sanders-type Italian
dressed properly
for the Parigi visit,
viz. Basque beret and
long Gréco-style scarf

Up on the balcony
across the street
from the café two
French boys were
showering cat &
caboodle with loud
imaginary bullets

While I was sitting
there sipping
the most expensive
expresso ever, taking
the mental notes that
did elicit this snide
little poetic chit

– Leonard “Been to Paris Again” Blumfeld (© 2010)

Written belatedly for napowrimo #18, meow!

All the things observed here truly happened – except that I rearranged them a bit for better effect. Similarities with living persons are definitely intented.

You are more than spring

Sweet lilac flowers appear on the tree but once a year;
Your breasts bloom for me every day; you are more than spring.

My desires shone brightly like chestnut shoots;
You brought them out into the sun. We sit under a roof of foliage,
Smiling at each other in the luscious shade.

Longing has scarred me like a tree struck by lightning;
Now your bees are with me, and my eyes overflow from your honey.

Max Dauthendey (1867-1918)

From: The Eternal Wedding. Love Songs (1905)

Copyright © of translation by Johannes Beilharz 2009.

The original German is here.

Posted for Totally Optional Prompts and Color – this poem is full of colors, even though none are mentioned.

Grey June day

It's a grey day out there
with grey feelings

Was there ever anything real?
What's real is this tepid weather

come from somewhere up north,
possibly Iceland

Feelings iced over,
so to speak

I myself am grey enough
not to be noticed

– Len "Grey" Blumfeld

An uninvited guest from up north for Totally Optional Prompts. All à propos and razor-edge-of-time, including the fact that a child I like a lot did not appear to see me at all this morning.

New Year’s Eve Cinquain

To A.B.*

May you
be happy with
the choices you make for
the year to come, no matter what
they are.

* whose choices most likely won’t include hers truly

My first attempt at a cinquain upon instigation by Totally Optional Prompts. The specialty of this one are a few run-on line endings. All in all, this might not be my dearest wish, but it’s wishing someone happiness by doing what she considers to be the right thing with any self-interest on my part removed. And that might not be the worst to wish for somebody.

– Len “On the Brink” Blumfeld (© 2008)

Definition of the form
A cinquain is a short, unrhymed poem consisting of twenty-two syllables distributed as 2, 4, 6, 8, 2, in five lines.
(Definition by Linda Jacobs at Totally Optional Prompts)

A walk in the snow, ca. 1975

The merest quiver of air
scatters powdery crystals

Tenderness of rosy cold blush
on Evelyne’s cheeks

– Leonard “Nostalgic Mood” Blumfeld (© 2008)

Remembered upon instigation by the 3WW words blush, quiver, tenderness.

Faute de photo

Faute de photo,
faute d'art
faute de poème
je pose ici
les coleurs seules
pures et simples:
pourpre et orange

– Leonard "Franglais" Blumfeld

Sitting in an Internet cafe in Oxford and not having access to photos, art and (temporarily) poetic inspiration, this posting of the colors "pure and simple" occurred to me for Inspire Me Thursday's Purple and Orange.

The color fib

Red,
white,
blue, green
hue. Yellow,
cinnabar, maroon,
cyan, ocher and pink pink moon.
Anthracite and black,
but there’s im-
minent
li-
lac.

– Leonard Blumfeld

Colors with admixture of Nick Drake's Pink Moon song and the coming of spring in lilac.
A perfect fit for One Single Impression's "color" prompt.

The I should not be writing fib

I
should
not be
writing this,
I should be working.
That is the message of this fib.
In fact, you should prob-
ably not
be read-
ing
this.

– Leonard “Reluctant Workhorse” Blumfeld

Nothing terribly new or revolutionary, I'm afraid. More along the lines of same old.

For those relatively few of you who've read this before and are surprised that it has changed shape: I added the lower half of the diamond just now, feeling that something was missing.

A green light day

I
love
it when
lights turn green
as I cross and things
go my way. No red lights now, please.

– Leonard Jaywalker Blumfeld (© 2007)

Cautionary note
One green traffic light a day doth not make (as a single swallow a summer doth not make) ...

I am another

Je suis un autre
– Arthur Rimbaud

I
am
anoth-
er, one with
cruel blue eyes, with
cool hardness. “Who are you?” – I could
not tell at that mo-
ment. Anoth-
er had
come
in.

– Leonard Blumfeld (© 2007)

A Kenneth Patchen Love Poem for Poetry Thursday

Oh now the drenched land wakes;
Birds from their sleep call
Fitfully, and are still.
Clouds like milky wounds
Float across the moon.

Oh love, none may
Turn away long
From this white grove
Where all nouns grieve.

– Kenneth Patchen

(from "The Love Poems of Kenneth Patchen", City Lights Books, 1966)

Posted for one of the last Poetry Thursdays to take place.

Note
To readers not familiar with this great and underrated American poet and novelist, I recommend the Wikipedia page on Patchen as a start.

The merest touch of her

Poetry came by again last night
to drop something off.

I spend too much time
without Poetry but don’t

want to be too insistent
in calling her over.

What did she drop off?
A locket I can’t seem to open.

But I’m not worried. It
sits on my desk with

a silvery half-smile
and reminds me of Poetry.

– Leonard Blumfeld

Note

This is my belated contribution to Poetry Thursday's invitation of August 2.

I was working hard on inspiration (see previous entry To squeeze tears out of a rock) and found it in a line read on Poetry Thursday itself:

“Poetry keeps me company and sings me lullabies. Poetry is making moments, little moments, into brushstrokes.”

The final there's nothing to say fib

When
there
is noth-
ing to say,
there is nothing to
say, and that's final. That's it.

– L. Blumfeld

Need I say more?