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July 7 - 21

Summer heats up in this episode of Growing Heat. Join Alexis and Kit as they appreciate cumulonimbus clouds, get ready to celebrate a star festival and bask in the resplendence of some very special flowers.

Listen and subscribe on Apple and Spotify.

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Growing Heat
Spotify Companion Playlist

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Poems Featured in this Episode

A Boy’s Song by James Hogg

Where the pools are bright and deep,
Where the gray trout lies asleep,
Up the river and o'er the lea,
That's the way for Billy and me.

Where the blackbird sings the latest,
Where the hawthorn blooms the sweetest,
Where the nestlings chirp and flee,
That's the way for Billy and me.

Where the mowers mow the cleanest,
Where the hay lies thick and greenest,
There to trace the homeward bee,
That's the way for Billy and me.

Where the hazel bank is steepest,
Where the shadow falls the deepest,
Where the clustering nuts fall free,
That's the way for Billy and me.

Why the boys should drive away,
Little sweet maidens from the play,
Or love to banter and fight so well,
That's the thing I never could tell.

But this I know, I love to play,
Through the meadow, among the hay;
Up the water and o'er the lea,
That's the way for Billy and me.

*

the well bucket
taken by morning glories:
water borrowed

— Chiyojo (Tr. Hiroaki Sato)

*

morning glories --
in the evening, they let us
admire their buds

— Tagami Kikusha

*

from the morning glory’s
blossom
midsummer begins

— Issa

*

Somewhere where the lotus blooms, 
the breeze wafts its fragrance, 
clarifying the water of the pond of my heart.

— Fujiwara no Teika (tr. Hiroaki Sato)

*

The Lotus by Ryokan
English version by John Stevens

First blooming in the Western Paradise,
The lotus has delighted us for ages.
Its white petals are covered with dew,
its jade green leaves spread out over the pond,
And its pure fragrance perfumes the wind.
Cool and majestic, it raises from the murky water.
The sun sets behind the mountains
But I remain in the darkness, too captivated to leave.

*

The Parasol by Emily Dickinson

The parasol is the umbrella's daughter,
And associates with a fan
While her father abuts the tempest
And abridges the rain.
The former assists a siren
In her serene display;
But her father is borne and honored,
And borrowed to this day.

*

in the cloudburst
an enormous morning-glory
has bloomed! 

— Issa

*

mountain water
shows off
a sudden downpour

— Issa (Tr. Chris Drake)

*

Blow, winds, and crack your cheeks! Rage! Blow!
You cataracts and hurricanoes, spout
Till you have drench’d our steeples, drown’d the cocks!You sulphurous and thought-executing fires
Vaunt-couriers to oak-cleaving thunderbolts,
Singe my white head! And though, all-shaking thunder,
Strike flat the thick rotundity o’ the world!
Crack nature’s moulds, all germens spill at once
That make ungrateful man!

William Shakespeare

*

The Hawk by Paul Hamilton Hayne

Ambushed in yonder cloud of white,
Far-glittering from its azure height,
He shrouds his swiftness and his might!
But oft across the echoing sky,
Long-drawn, though uttered suddenly,
We hear his strange, shrill, bodeful cry.
Winged robber! in his vaporous tower
Secure in craft, as strong in power,
Coolly he bides the fated hour,
When thro' cloud-rifts of shadowy rise,
Earthward are bent his ruthless eyes,
Where, blind to doom, the quarry lies!
And from dense cloud to noontide glow,
(His fiery gaze still fixed below),
He sails on pinions proud and slow!
Till, like a fierce, embodied ray,
He hurtles down the dazzling day,—
A death-flash on his startled prey;
And where but now a nest was found,
Voiceful, beside its grassy mound.
A few brown feathers strew the ground!

*

The Butterfly's Day by Emily Dickinson

From cocoon forth a butterfly
As lady from her door
Emerged — a summer afternoon —
Repairing everywhere,
Without design, that I could trace,
Except to stray abroad
On miscellaneous enterprise
The clovers understood.
Her pretty parasol was seen
Contracting in a field
Where men made hay, then struggling hard
With an opposing cloud,
Where parties, phantom as herself,
To Nowhere seemed to go
In purposeless circumference,
As 't were a tropic show.
And notwithstanding bee that worked,
And flower that zealous blew,
This audience of idleness
Disdained them, from the sky,
Till sundown crept, a steady tide,
And men that made the hay,
And afternoon, and butterfly,
Extinguished in its sea.

*

drinking tea alone
every day the butterfly
stops by

— Issa

*

morning-glories
softly floating...
in the teacup

— Issa

*

All night the crickets chirp,
Like little stars of twinkling sound
In the dark silence.
They sparkle through the summer stillness
With a crisp rhythm:
They lift the shadows on their tiny voices.
But at the shining note of birds that wake,
Flashing from tree to tree till all the wood is lit —
O golden coloratura of dawn!—
The cricket-stars fade slowly,
One by one.

*

The cool breeze
Crooked and meandering
It comes to me

— Issa

*

Huge trees are many,
Their names unknown
The voices of cicadas

— Shiki

*

Big rain
big moon
cicada in the pine

— Issa

*

Birds were few
And waters distant
The sound of the cicada

— Buson

*

The bamboo leaves rustle,
And sway under the eaves.
The stars twinkle
Like gold and silver grains of sand.
The five-color paper strips
I have written them.
The stars twinkle,
Watching from above.

*

At Tanabata,
Worshipful hearts
Are all as one;
The threads of prayers
Are all our own, each and every one!

— Minamoto Yorimasa

*

The melons are so hot
They have rolled 
Out of their leafy hiding

— Kyorai

*

The melons look cool
Flecked with mud
From the morning dew

— Basho

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