Autumn in thirteen words

It’s the beginning of Autumn (at least in the Southern hemisphere). And to celebrate, I’m sharing with you my tiny Autumn poem, “Parachutist”, which some of you may have seen before.

It really is tiny. A single sentence in three short lines. If you know a little about poetry you might recognise it as a haiku—that amazing Japanese form-in-miniature, which consists of just five syllables in the first line, seven in the second line, and five again in the third line. That’s all. It’s a poem cut down to the barest essentials, and it’s a form I have grown to love.

In a way, I cheat. But then, so do many other modern poets. For, instead of keeping only to the five–seven–five syllables in three lines, we also add a title, as I have done. And the title actually helps a lot; it orients you towards a certain image, so that your mind is already engaging with an initial idea before the three lines begin. So really my poem is three lines plus an extra word. Read it again, and see how it all works together:

Parachutist

A leaf, unfastened,

launches itself on the breeze

for its one sky-dive.

I don’t know if this particular “take” on Autumn interests you. But I have found this idea of the once-only-ever fall of a leaf in Autumn very engaging. In a way, it’s taking the massive event of billions of leaves falling, and reducing it to the singular experience of one leaf. And for that one leaf, the moment of falling is momentous. It’s a once-only-ever experience, beginning with the leaf snapping from the tree, and finishing very soon afterwards with its landing on the ground. That’s why I like the idea of personifying it with the image of a parachutist. To me, it helps get across the idea of one momentous journey to the ground, which is then finished for ever.

You will notice that I think about images like this at some depth. A tiny part of nature can give rise to deep meditation on my part. Perhaps that’s why I write poems. Some people might find this odd, but I don’t really care. I prefer to think, and think deeply (and turn into a haiku), a single Autumn leaf than let this whole mighty season pass me by without a moment’s reflection.

This haiku, once written and committed to memory, allows me to revisit the moment again and again over the months and years in a way that I find special. That’s the value of haiku, as the Japanese discovered centuries ago. A haiku can celebrate a moment in nature that can then last a lifetime (or even, for the Japanese, centuries).

My “Parachutist” poem was published in a children’s magazine some years ago (Blast Off, May 2012), illustrated by Kim Gamble. I have since “published” it myself too online, with an illustration (pictured above) by my daughter, Cathy.

I like giving fresh life to poems if I can. I know this one only has thirteen words, but I still enjoy it. It helps put me in the mood for Autumn.

© Peter Friend, 2019. All rights reserved.