Damn, I am sometimes intensely homesick. Bhead wrote this week about the fine art of Drunken Ninja Haiku, which is kind of like the Japanese tradition of 百人一着 which means One Hundred Poets, One Poem. B and Miss Spelt and some other poetical genii would sit around with the help of cider or beer, produce Anglo-haiku extemporaneously, the way Fujiwara no Narihira and his posse used to do.
Oh, and we used to do the single-vowel poetry challenge. Bhead played guitar or blues harp or whatever, and we had to make a poem using only one vowel sound. Demented fun.
Back before Dubyah made being Iraqi illegal, we used to join Sobey and some other folks at the Bagdhad Cafe on Commercial Drive, drink tea, play accordion, guitar, little axe, what have you, and B would go all Allan Ginsberg on us.
Next spring, we bang wrench on whatever bits of scrap metal we find out behind the warehouses on 1st Avenue, I make myself a banana seat special, and we ride downtown high on the sweet whackiness that was, is our wold of memories and realities and familiarity in the strangeness. Then we'll go for a cup of coffee at Turk's, busk in the Grandview Park and scare the chidlren with accordion music. Howzat?
Good post.
Posted by: Urit | October 29, 2008 at 07:31 AM