I remember Allen Ginsberg saying that Kerouac’s best writing was his haiku (or did I imagine that?). This book is somersaultingly fabulous, though many of the poems fail:

My friend standing
in my bedroom –
The spring rain

The ones that succeed, however, are as valuable as a purebred Samoyed:

Looking for my cat
in the weeds,
I found a butterfly

August in Salinas –
Autumn leaves in
Clothing store displays

A balloon caught
in the tree – dusk
In Central Park zoo

No one could write American like Jack.

Why I read this: I like the size of the book, how it feels to hold in my hand, and it is easy to carry around because it's light. That being said, I was drawn to this book sitting on top of the pile of books in my friend's apartment, and I know I sound totally millennial, but Kill Your Darlings made me interested in reading more works by the Beat Generation. And, even though I'm not in touch with poetry, I enjoyed writing haiku in elementary school. So, this book piques my interest.

My thoughts: I think Kerouac doesn't always follow the "rules", but that's okay because I didn't read this for academic purposes or any intellectual-driven reason. Honestly, I just found it very soothing. I would read this before work because I found the format relaxing on the eyes (around 2 or 3 poems per page, minimalistic) and the content was both amusing and calming. In particular, I liked how endearing Kerouac is towards his pet:
Trying to study sutras,
the kitten on my page.
Demanding affection.

and,

Full moon of October - The tint mew
of the Kitty

I don't really know the story behind the works, but sometimes Kerouac sounds kind of lonely and sad. Here's the last poem in the collection:
The other man, just as
lonesome as i am
In this empty universe

I like Kerouac's sense of humor:
Do you know why my name is Jack?
Why?
That's why.

And I find it funny that Kerouac can be petty. One of the notes at the end explains that Kerouac's barnyard imagery was a response to a critic who thought that "Beat Generation" should be renamed "bleat generation," since "bleating is a monotonous sound... and I think the writings of this group are more effective [as a sleep inducer] than the long-recommended prescription of counting silent sheep as they jump over a stile" (page 191).

It's good, these poems hold a special place in my heart.

Edição portuguesa: “Livro de haikus (Poemas escolhidos)” da Flâneur, Março 2023

Bebo o meu chá
e digo
Hm, hm

I drink my tea
And say
Hm hm

Não o diria de forma mais eloquente!

Jack Kerouac é um autor que não me desperta interesse, mas não resisto a uns belos haikus, sejam de que nacionalidade forem, e nestes “Poemas Escolhidos” há vários do meu agrado.

Ao sol
as asas da borboleta
Qual vitral de igreja

In the Sun
the butterfly wings
Like a church window

****************

A mosca,
tão solitária quanto eu
Nesta casa vazia

The fly, just as
lonesome as I am
In this empty house

*****************

Todo o dia a usar
um chapéu que não estava
Na minha cabeça

All day long wearing
a hat that wasn’t
On my head

Kerouac is a better travel writer than a haiku master, but the attempts are admirable enough; my favorites:

In my medicine cabinet
the winter fly
Has died of old age

Missing a kick
at the icebox door
It closed anyway

This is a perfect example of "if you write enough stuff some of it is going to be good." I didn't like most of the haiku in here, but I thought it was fascinating sensing the setting around Kerouac as I read them. I got a feel for the time passing when he stopped mentioning Autumn and switched to Winter, and as he changed from talking about the full moon to the new moon. I could tell what he valued based on how many poems were about the moon, or his cat, or jello, or what stood out to him based on how many were about flowers or flies. It almost felt like a character study that relied entirely on inference. Furthermore, someone had marked certain poems in the copy I had, so I also got to see what that reader valued. Basically I'm overthinking and the vibes were impeccable

,,Luskni prsty
zastav svět!
- leje čím dál víc."

Ak niekto išiel do tejto knihy očakávajúc niečo revolučné napriek tomu, že kniha velmi výrazne naznačuje, že ide o haiku západného bloku, tak sú tie vaše jednohviezdičkové recenzie asi čiste vašou chybou. Tu sa nejedná o nejakú brutálne kultúrne bohatú zbierku plnú melancholických básní o starovekej Číne, tu sa jedná o trojveršové neforemné myšlienky beatnika s životom asi tak kľudným ako desať detí v elektrickej ohrade pred obchodom s cukríkmi a tak zmyselným ako výroky Gogola v delíriu. Tieto básne zachytávajú kľudnejšie momenty jeho života, kde sa tento zhon na chvíľku pozastavil a dovolil mu rozjímať - archivácia čohosi takého mi teda príde skutočne úchvatná. Na druhej strane, ako som povedala, napriek väčšinovému odpúšťaniu si diskutovania o forme v kontexte beatnikov je to až príliš neforemné, do bodu kde niektoré básne znejú až prehnane amatérsky.

Ale myslím, že to spozoroval aj on sám. Skúsil, spísal...a vrátil sa búrať medze prózy, presne tak, ako predtým.

Great read for the beach.

Most people only know of Jack Kerouac as the author of On the Road, but this book demonstrates that he has skills in other areas too. Kerouac’s haiku often stick to the traditional form of 5-7-5, but he does sometimes experiment too, and often with eastern forms that he discovered through his forays into Buddhism and other eastern religions.

I only have one real gripe with this book – the writing itself is pretty epic, and I really enjoy the way that Kerouac invokes nature and natural themes in to his writing, in the fine traditions of the oldest of the old haiku writers. That said, I’m pretty sure that the plural of ‘haiku’ is ‘haiku’, and so I do get kind of annoyed by that.

Overall, though, it’s a delightful little book, and one that you could fit in to your pocket fairly easily. What’s more, it’s the sort of book that you can dip in and out of, although I have to admit that I read it from cover to cover because that’s the kind of reader I am.

so…. where can I sign up to join the fan club of Kerouac’s haiku? I mean WOW - after On the road I never would have tought this man could express so damn much in seventeen syllables

3.5

"The new moon
Is the toe nail
Of God"

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