rt is in the air, literally and figuratively.

L’arc de Triomphe has just been wrapped in 25,000 square meters of recyclable silvery-blue polypropylene fabric and 3,000 meters of recyclable red polypropylene rope, following the vision of Christo and his partner Jeanne-Claude.

I can hardly conceive of such a scale of this wrapping. And this magnificent act of wrapping will come undone in early October. One interpretation is that by putting a monument “under wraps,” even if briefly, it calls attention to its iconic nature, while remaining playful and ephemeral.

And it occurred to me that this change does bring a new way of seeing to this monument, built by Napoleon and housing the tomb of the unknown soldier underneath with its eternal flame. And I thought that something new like this is a way of cleansing the palate, something the French do with sorbet in between courses so that your taste buds are fresh for each new taste delight. Art does that too. Right?

HAIKU
Lest it all sounds a bit complicated, I wanted to present some haiku as a way of rinsing our minds, so to speak, and allowing us to appreciate the few words and the occasional picture that make up a haiku.

My French students and I worked very hard on each of these poems, to give coloring to the poem, a mood, if you will; to feature something from nature, and to offer a turn. Think of each of them as a moment to cleanse your thinking and your feeling palate for the day.

CHANGING SEASONS

DARK NIGHT
Sunflowers growing
In the glittering darkness
Yellow stars; black sky.
Tristan Ameline

AUGUST
Yellow, bright summer
Blue sky, green-red poppy fields
Before mist, gentle rain.
Noah Largo

THE MOON
The beautiful moon
Lights the night like Broadway
But the stars are blind.
Capucine Anithore

SUMMER HAS LEFT
Gnarled willows
Cry their drooping leaves.
Winter is coming.
Ima Massey

SPRING SHOWERS
Long April showers soak
Smushy, dirty, brown, dull mud.
Pretty May blossoms.
Mahé Arcizet

WINTER MORNING
Heavy white branches
Small birds chirping
Vast lake crackling.
Roxane Parik

COUNTRYSIDE
Sad countryside pumpkins
Under dying leaves: red, yellow, orange.
A butterfly flies past.
Martin Cabeza

THE BOY
Abandoned boy in tears
Lonely, by a river.
Autumn’s yellow beauty.
Arsène Rénaud

SUMMERTIME SADNESS
Pebbly dull beaches
Bright red boats on windswept currents
Sea salt in jealous tangled hair.
Malia Cointot

WHITE AUTUMN
Golden and red leaves,
Covered with glittering snow.
Glad children.
William Wilson

WINTER
Bears hibernate
Snowy owls wide awake
Silent nights sweep past.
Juliette Frorup

NEW SPRING
Under the bare branches
Newborn cubs announcing spring.
Pleading small squeals.
Isabella Lillis-Parsons

THE WORST MONTH
Rain pours down.
Magical fire-works are ending
Time to go home.
Noah Greene

THE MOON’S BEST FRIEND
Over spring green hill
Bright full moon smiles upon
Yellow daffodils.
Nora Keloglanian

The quiet of the haiku can be stirring as well, like teaching, I suppose, when the river, so to speak, is flowing. (Many dams, dry patches, droughts, shallows that seep into the ground–that is teaching too.) But this really was a moment, together in this class in France, on the very top floor with the birds and iffy Internet. I can’t help but wonder where these students are; how they are.

GODOT
If the play Waiting for Godot were to be a haiku, I think it would be something like this:

GODOT? WHERE ARE YOU?
To the bare tree. The moon. Let’s go, they said.
Not moving. Nothing to be done.
New leaves.

Anybody else want to try? Godot as haiku? (Do not on your life intimate this project to Beckett scholars. Or his heirs, for that matter, who may well still be receiving royalties.)