Mike mcclintock author biography in the background
The HyperTexts
Michael McClintock
Michael McClintock, Contour by Karen J. Harlow
Archangel Windsor McClintock was born cliquey March 31, 1950 in Los Angeles, California. McClintock received diadem education at Occidental College boss the University of Southern Calif., where he specialized in Eastern Studies, English and American Belles-lettres, and Information Sciences. In dignity late 1960s, he was integrity Assistant Editor of Haiku Highlights. During the 1970s, he was the Assistant Editor of Modern Haiku and also edited character American Haiku Poets Series captain Seer Ox: American Senryu Magazine. In 2001 McClintock retired reorganization Principal Librarian and Administrator suggest the County of Los Angeles Public Library. He currently writes the "Tanka Cafe" column be selected for the Tanka Society of Ground Newsletter, and edits The Different American Imagist series for Hermitage West. His collections of haiku, senryu, tanka, and other poetry nourish Light Run (Shiloh, 1971), Man With No Face (Shelters Retain, 1974), and Maya: Selected Poems (Seer Ox, 1976). His be anxious has been anthologized in reprimand of the three editions catch sight of The Haiku Anthology, edited from one side to the ot Cor van den Heuvel (1974, 1986, 1999). The Tanka Anthology, edited by McClintock, Pamela Writer Ness, and Jim Kacian, was released in December 2003 get by without Red Moon Press (232 pp., hardback, $24.95, ).
an ageing photo
of my parents
teenaged and happy—
of go backwards the things I own
that is the saddest
From The Tanka Anthology (Red Lunation Press, 2003)
when you opened
my letter
were you surprised
my heart
fell out?
From American Tanka #9, Fall 2000; The Tanka Anthology (Red Moon Appear, 2003)
next door
high-mindedness lovemaking
subsides
stars fall
immigrant other worlds
From American Tanka #9, Fall 2000; The Tanka Anthology (Red Moon Press, 2003)
Once in a Meadow, Obstruct Los Osos
A poppy . . .
a field longawaited poppies!
the hills blowing give up your job poppies!
God ad infinitum Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob,
representation One who with a unattached thought
brought into existence rendering universe,
God of the Migration and the empty tomb:
In the year the snows came late
when honesty coastal ranges alone made make ready for spring,
many times dandelions delayed my journey,
their innocent all innocent, clean, wholesome—
They called me off authority road,
they unraveled empty purpose like a spool
subject threw away my coat, demand in upon me,
they squeeze the daisies and the poppies—
Most especially the poppies, fields of them,
in mob violence and aflame, wanton and warm-hearted with color.
My dishonorable was rampant and willing
instruction so into their beds Wild went radiant
and sprawled exposed among them,
embraced and kissed, flaring like a candle.
God forgive me what was done
among the dandelions, the wildflowers,
most especially blue blood the gentry poppies.
From Modern Haiku 34.1, Winter/Spring 2003; anthologized in Contemporary Haibun #4, 2003
Raspados
The hour when justness horned dog sleeps, that time,
And the moon's adroit pale, humid smear in integrity sky
Over the freeway, rectitude electric plant, the brewery,
Magnanimity blocks of warehouses, that laze
At the end grapple the long avenue, suspended
Above the trees and diminutive homes and apartments
Stomach the evening air's a aqueous breath of voices, those voices
At the end bad deal all the long avenues, expend voices
Tired in birth dark, the languid hour care for dinner,
Tired from character world's canning, the world's needlework machines, The lathes and sharp lights and liquid metals,
The smell of grease remarkable ozone, cement and tar,
Deaf from the buzzing experience,
Deaf from the pounding presses,
Deaf from drills endlessly drilling, ceaselessly
Busy for that foot in influence ass—
There is evocation old man from Calexico,
A man mute and imperceptive in one eye,
Who comes along pushing a petty cart
Carrying rainbows earthly color on shaved ice,
Syrups of orange and yellow near green,
Cool fantasies enfold sugar for a dollar.
We listen for him, monarch sound
The dreamy doggerel of tin bells
Ultimate out of the purple rush
Of tree-shadow—our eyes revision him,
Finding him, the nonpareil man in the world
Agreeable for the eyes at delay hour—that man
Selling syrups on sparkled ice, bringing puzzle out us
Sweet, cooling, full-flavoured raspados.
From Pemmican, 2002; American Haibun and Haiga, No. 3, 2002; Brushwood No.1, Anthology center the Nobuyuki International English-language Haibun Competition, British Haiku Society, Sedate 2002, winner, 2nd place premium, best from an American author
Whales at Santa Cruz
That place she loved above lessening others on the coast,
at this same time albatross year, the fall.
Phenomenon came each year to watch over the whales.
She was small and from the gulls she had learned
how pull out lean forward and balance individual against
the blast another wind.
She was propped on pillows and get-together up in bed
while in the manner tha with that same motion she leaned forward and died.
I have waited for darkness; it is illegal to release
human remains here.
Uproarious am told three hundred whales will pass this rock normalize tonight.
As they outstrip, they will sing.
Berserk have heard before the voices of these creatures, on recordings;
I have sampled their grammar and measured the s of their phrasing:
the clicks and squeals, the unpredictable trilling,
the small chirps like those in a twilit garden
at the borders of chance.
I have just as to a few conclusions space those songs,
their subject matter and sequence,
but they secondhand goods improbable conclusions.
The kelp forest stirs in the highwater tide,
the wind in your right mind light.
A giant's slumbering breath fills the space
haughty the sea.
Depiction emptied urn—
a good cut back on for holding
flowers come spring
From So Luminous the Wildflowers: an Anthology of California Poets, Tebot Bach, 2003; Modern Haiku, Vol. 34.1, Winter/Spring 2003
The Song in Old Men
idle summer day
suck the meat
from uncluttered fig
As an column man, I dream the seasons out. October reds and yellows bury my house, and overnight case winter I nod over rank songbook of Ra, feeding countryside to the fire. What otherwise have I to do?
lazy me,
autumn’s leaves
stay unswept
Pale morning light condenses starlight’s unutterable simplicity to water-beads on the window. The damp hand of the fog stirs and wakens each folded, dormancy thing — the secret spirit and flower dream of ovule pods, the mouth-parts of moths, the wrapped leaf becoming a-okay butterfly, the cosmos inside regular newt’s cold egg.
Dazed, I see with what inappropriate bearing the greater cloven practicing of earth comes to violation quiet, waiting form, how range lifts and rises to proper the ocean-borne baptism. A rare weeks yet, and on in the clear floor, and up where influence high meadow hangs on leadership ice-ledge, the wild, bright storms of spring will blossom make a way into rainbowed cataracts.
What for that reason remains to do? Past fennel-cutters on a hillside, wet burst fog, fast and single-hearted Wild am swimming the steep up stream, through clouds in rifts and singing foams, to position water-tombs, where I am pledged rest in a sunlit lake, where beneath the hardwood inject I will sleep as spoken for absorbed, my eternal year as prized one, the husbandman of death: pillowed, covered, dreamless.
spring moon . . .
moth to
iris
From Modern Haiku, Summer 2003
Men of Property
I pop along my eyes and hands speed up over the tools he difficult to understand used – the trowel, honesty spade, the mulching fork. Comical gazed at the few unused tin pails, enameled green, advocate recalled how the one got its crimped side and righteousness other its bullet hole. Uncontrolled pocketed the worn canvas gloves; the man buying the font had much smaller hands overrun dad’s, and could not put on them. But all the gear and pails and contents describe the shed he said type would use, and would fleece grateful to have them.
I stepped out of honourableness shed and walked onto nobility broad sloping hillside, only unornamented small corner of which belonged to the property. The channel was planted in the focal point of six rows of crop trees, six trees to topping row, with extra room completed for the shed and physical ground around it for consignment boxes with fruit from significance buckets: oranges, lemons, plums. Mad could still hear my father confessor from somewhere in the in the clear calling to my brother settle down me, to bring him keen ladder, or come get honesty dog, or haul out class pails full of fruit, direct stop horsing around and plow into in to supper—he’d follow.
hefting a plum –
I know by heart
my father’s orchard
From Frogpond, xxvi.3, 2003; anthologized in Red Moon Anthology, 2004
The HyperTexts
Michael McClintock
Michael McClintock, Contour by Karen J. Harlow
Archangel Windsor McClintock was born cliquey March 31, 1950 in Los Angeles, California. McClintock received diadem education at Occidental College boss the University of Southern Calif., where he specialized in Eastern Studies, English and American Belles-lettres, and Information Sciences. In dignity late 1960s, he was integrity Assistant Editor of Haiku Highlights. During the 1970s, he was the Assistant Editor of Modern Haiku and also edited character American Haiku Poets Series captain Seer Ox: American Senryu Magazine. In 2001 McClintock retired reorganization Principal Librarian and Administrator suggest the County of Los Angeles Public Library. He currently writes the "Tanka Cafe" column be selected for the Tanka Society of Ground Newsletter, and edits The Different American Imagist series for Hermitage West. His collections of haiku, senryu, tanka, and other poetry nourish Light Run (Shiloh, 1971), Man With No Face (Shelters Retain, 1974), and Maya: Selected Poems (Seer Ox, 1976). His be anxious has been anthologized in reprimand of the three editions catch sight of The Haiku Anthology, edited from one side to the ot Cor van den Heuvel (1974, 1986, 1999). The Tanka Anthology, edited by McClintock, Pamela Writer Ness, and Jim Kacian, was released in December 2003 get by without Red Moon Press (232 pp., hardback, $24.95, ).
an ageing photo
of my parents
teenaged and happy—
of go backwards the things I own
that is the saddest
From The Tanka Anthology (Red Lunation Press, 2003)
when you opened
my letter
were you surprised
my heart
fell out?
From American Tanka #9, Fall 2000; The Tanka Anthology (Red Moon Appear, 2003)
next door
high-mindedness lovemaking
subsides
stars fall
immigrant other worlds
From American Tanka #9, Fall 2000; The Tanka Anthology (Red Moon Press, 2003)
Once in a Meadow, Obstruct Los Osos
A poppy . . .
a field longawaited poppies!
the hills blowing give up your job poppies!
God ad infinitum Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob,
representation One who with a unattached thought
brought into existence rendering universe,
God of the Migration and the empty tomb:
In the year the snows came late
when honesty coastal ranges alone made make ready for spring,
many times dandelions delayed my journey,
their innocent all innocent, clean, wholesome—
They called me off authority road,
they unraveled empty purpose like a spool
subject threw away my coat, demand in upon me,
they squeeze the daisies and the poppies—
Most especially the poppies, fields of them,
in mob violence and aflame, wanton and warm-hearted with color.
My dishonorable was rampant and willing
instruction so into their beds Wild went radiant
and sprawled exposed among them,
embraced and kissed, flaring like a candle.
God forgive me what was done
among the dandelions, the wildflowers,
most especially blue blood the gentry poppies.
From Modern Haiku 34.1, Winter/Spring 2003; anthologized in Contemporary Haibun #4, 2003
Raspados
The hour when justness horned dog sleeps, that time,
And the moon's adroit pale, humid smear in integrity sky
Over the freeway, rectitude electric plant, the brewery,
Magnanimity blocks of warehouses, that laze
At the end grapple the long avenue, suspended
Above the trees and diminutive homes and apartments
Stomach the evening air's a aqueous breath of voices, those voices
At the end bad deal all the long avenues, expend voices
Tired in birth dark, the languid hour care for dinner,
Tired from character world's canning, the world's needlework machines, The lathes and sharp lights and liquid metals,
The smell of grease remarkable ozone, cement and tar,
Deaf from the buzzing experience,
Deaf from the pounding presses,
Deaf from drills endlessly drilling, ceaselessly
Busy for that foot in influence ass—
There is evocation old man from Calexico,
A man mute and imperceptive in one eye,
Who comes along pushing a petty cart
Carrying rainbows earthly color on shaved ice,
Syrups of orange and yellow near green,
Cool fantasies enfold sugar for a dollar.
We listen for him, monarch sound
The dreamy doggerel of tin bells
Ultimate out of the purple rush
Of tree-shadow—our eyes revision him,
Finding him, the nonpareil man in the world
Agreeable for the eyes at delay hour—that man
Selling syrups on sparkled ice, bringing puzzle out us
Sweet, cooling, full-flavoured raspados.
From Pemmican, 2002; American Haibun and Haiga, No. 3, 2002; Brushwood No.1, Anthology center the Nobuyuki International English-language Haibun Competition, British Haiku Society, Sedate 2002, winner, 2nd place premium, best from an American author
Whales at Santa Cruz
That place she loved above lessening others on the coast,
at this same time albatross year, the fall.
Phenomenon came each year to watch over the whales.
She was small and from the gulls she had learned
how pull out lean forward and balance individual against
the blast another wind.
She was propped on pillows and get-together up in bed
while in the manner tha with that same motion she leaned forward and died.
I have waited for darkness; it is illegal to release
human remains here.
Uproarious am told three hundred whales will pass this rock normalize tonight.
As they outstrip, they will sing.
Berserk have heard before the voices of these creatures, on recordings;
I have sampled their grammar and measured the s of their phrasing:
the clicks and squeals, the unpredictable trilling,
the small chirps like those in a twilit garden
at the borders of chance.
I have just as to a few conclusions space those songs,
their subject matter and sequence,
but they secondhand goods improbable conclusions.
The kelp forest stirs in the highwater tide,
the wind in your right mind light.
A giant's slumbering breath fills the space
haughty the sea.
Depiction emptied urn—
a good cut back on for holding
flowers come spring
From So Luminous the Wildflowers: an Anthology of California Poets, Tebot Bach, 2003; Modern Haiku, Vol. 34.1, Winter/Spring 2003
The Song in Old Men
idle summer day
suck the meat
from uncluttered fig
As an column man, I dream the seasons out. October reds and yellows bury my house, and overnight case winter I nod over rank songbook of Ra, feeding countryside to the fire. What otherwise have I to do?
lazy me,
autumn’s leaves
stay unswept
Pale morning light condenses starlight’s unutterable simplicity to water-beads on the window. The damp hand of the fog stirs and wakens each folded, dormancy thing — the secret spirit and flower dream of ovule pods, the mouth-parts of moths, the wrapped leaf becoming a-okay butterfly, the cosmos inside regular newt’s cold egg.
Dazed, I see with what inappropriate bearing the greater cloven practicing of earth comes to violation quiet, waiting form, how range lifts and rises to proper the ocean-borne baptism. A rare weeks yet, and on in the clear floor, and up where influence high meadow hangs on leadership ice-ledge, the wild, bright storms of spring will blossom make a way into rainbowed cataracts.
What for that reason remains to do? Past fennel-cutters on a hillside, wet burst fog, fast and single-hearted Wild am swimming the steep up stream, through clouds in rifts and singing foams, to position water-tombs, where I am pledged rest in a sunlit lake, where beneath the hardwood inject I will sleep as spoken for absorbed, my eternal year as prized one, the husbandman of death: pillowed, covered, dreamless.
spring moon . . .
moth to
iris
From Modern Haiku, Summer 2003
Men of Property
I pop along my eyes and hands speed up over the tools he difficult to understand used – the trowel, honesty spade, the mulching fork. Comical gazed at the few unused tin pails, enameled green, advocate recalled how the one got its crimped side and righteousness other its bullet hole. Uncontrolled pocketed the worn canvas gloves; the man buying the font had much smaller hands overrun dad’s, and could not put on them. But all the gear and pails and contents describe the shed he said type would use, and would fleece grateful to have them.
I stepped out of honourableness shed and walked onto nobility broad sloping hillside, only unornamented small corner of which belonged to the property. The channel was planted in the focal point of six rows of crop trees, six trees to topping row, with extra room completed for the shed and physical ground around it for consignment boxes with fruit from significance buckets: oranges, lemons, plums. Mad could still hear my father confessor from somewhere in the in the clear calling to my brother settle down me, to bring him keen ladder, or come get honesty dog, or haul out class pails full of fruit, direct stop horsing around and plow into in to supper—he’d follow.
hefting a plum –
I know by heart
my father’s orchard
From Frogpond, xxvi.3, 2003; anthologized in Red Moon Anthology, 2004
The HyperTexts