Friday, February 5, 2016

The Martin Shkreli haiku

There he goes crowing
and smirking: the cockiest
cock on the dunghill.


– Leonard Blumfeld (© 2016)

Note
This one was prompted by this morning’s news on France 24, where it was said that Martin Shkreli might easily be America’s most hated man nowadays.

Sunday, January 10, 2016

The early morning dog haiku

Barking. The shrill kind,
a smallish yelp. Ecstatic
to have done a job.


– Leonard Blumfeld (© 2016)

Note
I hope this renders the facts as experienced from my early morning office: the yelp of a dog being walked somewhere in the vicinity. Saw neither the dog nor its walker. The job is my interpretation. Alas, many of these jobs can be encountered in the vicinity.

Monday, January 4, 2016

The Ansel Adams haiku

Oak tree, grassy hill,
fence posts in bottom foreground,
color, faded some.


– Leonard Blumfeld (© 2016)

Note
It’s a little known fact that the American photographer Ansel Adams (1902-1984), who is famous for his monochrome photographs of American landscapes, also experimented with color photography. This poem is a direct reference to one of his color photos, which can be seen online here. The first two lines actually consist of the photo’s matter-of-fact description at the Center for Creative Photography site.

Saturday, January 2, 2016

The photographable interior haiku


Oh how I'd love to
have a photographable
interior! Oh!

– Leonard Blumfeld (© 2016)

Notes
Welcome to this new year's first poetic product. It was triggered by looking at pictures of stylish interiors on tumblr. Sad to say, our interior at this point does not look like interior design mag material. It is as pictured above. And, contrary to some of those stylish pictures, it looks lived in...

Tuesday, December 15, 2015

Rude

"My internal monologue started ..."
"Keep it internal!"

- Leonard Blumfeld ((c) 2015)

Note
Inspired by some chatty piece I encountered in a blog a minute ago. After reading the first few words and glimpsing the length of it (considerable), I knew I would have no patience for these monologic outpourings of a literary soul.

Sunday, December 13, 2015

The alone at home haiku

Alone at home with
two hibernating turtles
and some silverfish.


– Leonard Blumfeld (© 2015)

Note
The truth and nothing but the naked truth. That’s all, folks, for now.

Monday, December 7, 2015

The all is well in the tv series haiku

Metal impact, tires
screeching, sirens, megaphone,
explosions and shots.


- Leonard Blumfeld ((c) 2015)

Note
This is what I heard from the living room below as an episode of Quantico or some such series was unrolling.

Tuesday, December 1, 2015

The situation in central Italy haiku

Wild pigs in the streets, 
trash scandal and regular 
bus service delays.

- Leonard Blumfeld ((c) 2015)

Note
Once again, nothing but the truth in a haiku. Today's newspaper, quickly perused at the breakfast bar, reported on wild pigs in the streets of Ostia. A photo graphically demonstrating the lack of garbage removal at Viale F. T. Marinetti was published in the press a few days ago. And the bus service has been sporadic, erratic or simply nonexistent. Supposedly because the bus drivers have not been paid in months.

Thursday, November 26, 2015

The undulation haiku

An undulation
through the wall – sufi music
or vacuum cleaner


– Leonard Blumfeld (© 2015)

Note
Again the truth and nothing but the truth as it happened a while ago. Considering that this musical event did not last very long and did not develop, I now suspect that it was indeed the vacuum cleaner run at low speed to pick up a specific moderate mess and not the alaap of an Indian music piece.

Wednesday, November 25, 2015

Work

I’ve been coming twice a week to clean this illustrious writer’s house – thirteen or even fourteen years it must be. He used to meet people, have interviews, appear on TV, particularly after the success of his one and only novel The Deserted Planet, which, as you know, also became a movie everyone went to see. That was probably about ten years ago. He had a big party to celebrate his 70th birthday – I was there to help out in the kitchen. Lots of VIPs – writers, the mayor, people from politics and cinema. His ex-wife, that well-known anchorwoman. And then a gradual decline set in, fewer people came, he stayed home most of the time. Eventually he would no longer go on his habitual hour long walks. And now, sadly, his speech is as jumbled as his thoughts. His niece is taking care of him now, is getting paid for it and in control of everything. And stingy. He’s become haggard because she skimps on his food – while treating herself to fancy meals downtown with her boyfriend. He moved in a year ago. The slick, lecherous type. Has his eyes glued to certain parts of me whenever he’s around. Once he told me, when handing me my money, “You know, Felicidad, I love Latin women. A lot. There is something so exotically sensuous and seductive about them.” I keep the job because of the old man, who mostly sits in the living room now, staring out of the window.

– Leonard Blumfeld (© 2015)

Written around illustrious, habitual and jumbled from 3WW.