Reactive Haiku 6

by mudrhetoric

Early fall –
the sea and the rice fields
all one green

I return to this idea of writing green. It sticks in my mind. Again from Bly talking about South American poets… Neruda? …the necessity of translation, the spaces of translation. I don’t know if he’s right, but I sometimes sit and ruminate on that thought. I mean what of Whitman? Eliot? Frost and Stevens? I mean don’t they know of writing green. But then I look at Neurda compared to Frost, and I think I see the difference, but if I’m honest I don’t.

All the voices in my head
are the same.

P.S. I meant to write about the blurring of vision and the sense of oneness. But I ended up here instead.