The palette of the subtle links
From the transparent light glimmers passing through the transparent wings of the dragonflies, that hold all the sun colours, to the yellow of the corn grains, or to the white sails in a port, the haiku book Fruit stones by Paula Bârsan is an integral album of image transposed into words.
The primary light of the solar colours can be set very well beside the starry fluidity of the night with its blue and black shades.
I loop once again
the cord of my skintight dress –
The Law of the Sun.
It is a love haiku from the book Fruit stones by Paula Bârsan and the girdle (cord) of the dress is a kind, a short version of an obi.
Obi is an obligatory belt of kimono worn by Japanese women. Its colour, shape and size, the drawing of the tissue, the fabric from which it is made, are in keeping with the season, the age of the woman, or the ocasion of an event, or a walking in the park...
But, regardless of these all, under an obi there are five to seven cords, as a symbol of the sun colours. To take them off is like to five to seven rotations of the sun, with a profund intimate sense.
The haiku quoted above speaks about a specific solar obeisance and the cord winding once again creates a new link. A passing thought remembers me, and only for the poetical sense of this idea, a well known haiku by the Japanese poetess Hisajo Sugita (1890 - 1946), from ,,History of Haiku / Ten haikuists and their work” by Ryu Yotsuya:
“I take off the dress hana-goromo.
Its varied braids twine
Round my body.”
Many years away two poetesses meet through their haiku writing on the same thing, but in a different manner. As a garment, an obi, a cord, belt, girdle, has its own hidden poetical meaning.
The haiku written by Paula Bârsan is a painting haiku. The cover of her book Fruit stones, with its streakes of colour, is an “painted echo,, spreading in the book on each page. A breath of continous light, linear or with meanderings, from time to time overlaps in a time loop, and so its temporal knot becomes a short poem, a haiku like this:
A sheaf of baloons –
one by one, old thoughts gather
in the knot of cord.
The subject matter of this book is a pivot of the seasons, time and colours. The old and new ones are lightly found in the images, in the note of a melody, in the song of a mermaid, or in the nostalgic music of a clarinet. Through its order of the seasons, the time is a continuous light flux, and from “the silver tray of the grandmother” to the water colour of the passing life, it pivots the “wheel-hour”.
The tinges of colours and the links between them ask a sight-reading and a special understanding. I wonder how it would be painted the following haiku with its tinge of dark grey, out of sight in the black of the night, and yellow of the corn cobs:
An empty trap left
near by the sweet-corn harvest –
mouses in the night.
It is a haiku of the colour shades, or contrast colours, but also a haiku of the contrast between a full thing and a void one.
The images, pictural up to “the infinite of the melting”, the germinative colours from the fruit stones fructify in the all haiku poems. They are keeping the verbal time and the present action caught in a haiku moment and start the echo of an ephemeral moment. Poetical cords and ribbons are undoing by themselves, and a “soft star” from a cracked earthen pot is overflowing in a passing moment.
Clelia Ifrim