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Book of the Week: a hill without a name

lahaye_ahillwithoutanamecoverross la haye, like many a haiku friend we have known across the years, showed up one spring or summer or autumn/winter issue, lingered a few years, left a few notes describing his circumstances, gathered them into a collection like this one (Old Man Press, 1998), and then moved on. This is a perfectly normal process, but of all the normal processes in the haiku world, this is the one that has always struck me with the most sadness. At least in this instance we have a record of the brief encounter.

You can read the entire book in the THF Digital Library.

Do you have a chapbook published 2009 or earlier you would like featured as a Book of the Week? Contact us for details.

Haiku featured in the Book of the Week Archive are selected by Jim Kacian, following a concept first explored by Tom Clausen, and are used with permission.

spring stars my breath obscuring them
spring afternoon over the empty parking lot graveldust swirling
spring sunset the cardinal’s descended into descending into it
summer heat digging deeper and deeper and still chinking the buried brick
summer morning on the library floor leaving some rain i’ve taken in
summer morning blanketing the river misst the river is

This Post Has 2 Comments

  1. I didn’t have the privilege of knowing his work, but must have come across it over those brief years.

    .

    re:
    “…this is the one that has always struck me with the most sadness.”
    .

    I am so glad his book is here.

    .

    I wonder what relation Alicia Fernandez had with Ron or Ross La Haye, beyond the illustration?
    .
    It really is a magical book, and just shows how longer haiku (as seen by today) still gives a tingle of excitement.
    .
    .
    This has extra spaces and indents that won’t appear in my post alas…

    at the window
    again and again the fly
    bumping spring dusk
    .
    .
    fall morning
    cold wind running through
    the raccoon’s fur

    .
    .

    (For Rod Willmot)
    .
    winter’s depths
    cold lifting my
    razorblades again
    .
    .
    winter morning passing
    through Frog Station snow holds
    the sign the sign holds
    .
    .
    Back to Summer
    .
    summer morning
    blanketing the river mist
    the river is
    .
    .
    And Ross La Haye is too, an extraordinary talent, giving us an extraordinary book, thank you.
    .
    warm regards,
    Alan

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