[Mike Todd]

Lee—

Thank you. Your reply is illuminating.

[Henrietta kelly]

Originally posted by Christy Reno:


black tree white skies
filmed framed packed
to fly away.

I like the 2nd one without the bird word better. I know itchanges the outcome by it gives a study of the person

[Henrietta kelly]

Stephen

Editor's Thought Pieces

while reading them I found the advice being given is true for all poetry.

I was punching the air and saying yesss! at last.

[Lee Gurga]

Originally posted by Henrietta kelly:

Lee "Salmon Gum" is the name of the tree."we also have ghost gums in like vain)
The trunks are polished and reflect the light in a deep salmon colour from light to dark-- the leaves are deep green and waxy also, and all you see driving past is flashes of light. Truly I find it hard to stay on the road.

The red centre is just that. The centre of Australia. Think of it as the core of the earth. It is our generator in this great southern land.
kangaroos ranges in size from a small mouse size to seven foot tall, a jumping machine that can gut you in one. They roar like a lion, but can also make very nice pets, boots, coats and dinner; if one is so inclined to try it.
back to the drawing board. I don't think I will have much luck translating the images.. ! maybe a holly tree would work with the leaves—but not the trunks-- never mind~~ henie

Henie, Good morning! Thanks for the primer on local flora and fauna. Your poems highlight the fact that when one uses images with which the readers may not be familiar it might be helpful to provide some notes for them.

[Mary Meriam]

full moon
for all - civil partnership
for some

[Lee Gurga]

Originally posted by David Rosenthal:

The whole issue of kigo, season words, or seasonal references is very controversial. As I said in the Open Mic thread, I have ducked out of many heated discussion on the matter. As a haiku writer, I have shifted positions in the debate more than a few times, and I have finally decided to be comfortable not making up my mind how I feel about it. Earlier in this thread, you said, "The seasonal image is important, but not always necessary if you have some other element to add depth or interest to the poem." I wonder if you could say more about that, and about the whole issue of seasonal references in haiku.
David R.

OK, David, I will see what I can do. I will begin with my favorite quote about the use of the seasonal image in haiku. It is from the article on haiku in the 1984 edition of the Kodansha Encyclopedia of Japan:

"In a poem where the seasonal theme fulfills its true evocative function, there must be a reciprocity between the season which expands the scope of the haiku and creates the atmospheric background of associations . . . and the specific scene which points out a characteristic yet often forgotten aspect of the season and thus enriches our understanding of it."

To me this is one of the ideals of haiku: to point out a characteristic yet often forgotten aspect of the season and thus enriches our understanding of it. This, I believe, is one of the greatest gifts a haiku poet can offer to the reader. Here are a couple of haiku that I think achieve that ideal:

plum blossoms falling
the gardener softly singing
in my father’s tongue Sandra Fuhringer

winter eve—
moonlight flooding the crater
of each acne scar Ken Hurm

winter twilight
the distant ring
of someone else’s phone Lori Laliberte-Carey

While the inclusion of a seasonal image in haiku might be considered an historical accident, what haiku poets have done is used this image to make haiku and unique and powerful genre of poetry. Here is Basho's student Kyoriku, quoted in Haruo Shirane's wonderful book, TRACES OF DREAMS: "My approach can be compared to placing the (seasonal)topic in a box, climbing on top of that box, and viewing heaven and earth from that perspective (105)." After reading this, one might well ask, 'why would anyone not want to use a seasonal image?'

But, of course, are there are other things that one might use in a poem to give one a view of heaven and earth. I believe Steve C. mentioned Ban'ya Natsuishi earlier. He has been working toward a wider acceptance of non-seasonal "topics" in haiku, images that can add the same view of heaven and earth that seasonal images do.

My current approach is to look at a haiku from the perspective of tying three things together. This can be articulated in several ways. Here are two that I hope will help you to see what I am getting at:

universal < particular > human

or perhaps

realm
of
the
spirit
realm of the senses
realm
of
the
heart

I hope this has gone some way toward answering your question, David. Haiku can, of course, be many things. After all, it originates as a kind of "playful verse." I like to play, too, and often do play with haiku, humor being an important part of haiku. But the haiku that touch me most deeply connect the realm of the spirit to the realm of the heart through the senses. And many of the best haiku make this connection through the senses with a seasonal image.

[Lee Gurga]

Originally posted by David Rosenthal:
Here is the second "question." Are these questions? (I hope others aren't too annoyed by my multiple posts.)

I also think this question and the Buson story are particularly interesting given the history of haikai and extemporaneous linking verse, about which I know very little.
David R.

David, I thought your second question was going to be harder than the first, but it is much easier. I try to avoid unqualified statements, but here is one: Revision is an essential part of the haiku art. Period. Lee

[Stephen Collington]

Originally posted by David Rosenthal:
More on craftsmanship in haiku. I read this story somewhere -- Stephen, maybe you know where I might have heard this, or if it is even "true." Buson apparently told a student that the key to writing haiku was something like using everyday images to get beyond everyday experience. The student asked how to do this, and Buson said "read the Chinese poets."

Hi David,

I meant to get back to you on this earlier, but as you might guess, I've been chasing many rabbits at once here. Anyway, your quotation from Buson is legitimate, and indeed quite famous. It is also, I suspect, rather misunderstood. Besides a few selective snippets, I couldn't find a full translation on line, or in any of my English print sources (I would have sworn that Blyth would quote it somewhere--he probably does, I just can't find it). So here is the relevant passage from Buson's "Preface to Shundeikushu," as hastily translated by yours truly:

I once visited Shoha at the Spring Mud Hut in the west of the capital. Shoha asked me about haikai. I responded, 'Haikai uses commonplace language (zokugo) to depart from the commonplace (zoku). Departing from the commonplace while using the commonplace, this "method of departing from the commonplace" is most difficult. The saying of a certain Zen master about "listen to the sound of both hands" is a kind of haikai Zen--indeed, equivalent to the method of "departing from the commonplace."' Shoha immediately understood.

Yet he asked again, 'The master's theory of "departing from the commonplace" is very profound. But isn't it the sort of thing that one has to struggle through on one's own, studying the problem without cease? Is there no short-cut to becoming united with nature and departing from the commonplace, knowing neither self nor other?'

I answered, 'Yes, there is. Study Chinese poetry. You yourself have long excelled in Chinese poetry. There is no other way.'

Shoha seemed doubtful. Hesitantly, he asked, 'Chinese poetry and haikai are rather different in their ends. And yet, you say to leave off haikai and study Chinese poetry. Isn't that taking the roundabout way?'

I answered, 'The Painter has a theory of "eliminating the commonplace." This is what it says: "In eliminating the commonplace, there is no other method than this: study many books until the spirit of letters rises up in you and the spirit of the (common-) marketplace subsides. In studying, this is what you need to observe." So, to eliminate the commonplace in painting, it urges you to drop your brush and read. All the more, then, how can one say that it's a long way round from Chinese poetry to haikai?' Shoha understood right away.

Preface to Shundeikushu (Collected Verse from Spring Mud Hut), in Yosa Buson-shu, Shincho Nihon koten shusei, pp. 333-4

There's all sorts of interesting, counterintuitive stuff going on here. Indeed, some might balk at it as terrible advice. Painters should read poetry? Chinese poetry? Whatever happened to "sketching from life"? And what precisely is "departing from the commonplace" anyway?

A couple of points. First of all, the word "commonplace" is slippery. We're apt to think of it as the opposite of "extraordinary." But for Buson, the more likely option perhaps is "elegant." Indeed, the "commonplace language" of the first paragraph might as easily be translated "slang," the actual meaning of zokugo in modern Japanese (though it's always important not to read modern meanings into old texts). Anyway what Buson is urging is perhaps something along the lines of Wordsworth's championing "the real language of men" in opposition to a stagnant, traditional poetic diction of "birds and flowers." That said, he also clearly means something more as well.

And what about that "certain Zen master"? Some might point to that line as evidence of the importance of Zen to haiku . . . but if you look closely, you'll see that Buson is saying that Zen is like haiku, not the other way around. That's not a rejection of Zen, of course--but it should give us all pause. (Incidentally, according to the footnotes in my Shincho edition, the Zen master in question is Hakuin. And "the sound of two hands," despite appearances, is not the famous "sound of one hand clapping" thing. Rather, it's two hands not clapping. Go figure.)

Anyway, the upshot of all this is a muddle. Buson urges Shoha to return to the commonplace to depart from the commonplace, and he sends him off to look for clues in Tang Dynasty Chinese poetry! The puzzle of what precisely is intended here is ripe material for a dissertation or two--though my own feeling is that it probably was never intended to withstand such scrutiny. What I think does emerge as certain, however, is a view of haikai (haiku poetry) that's worth taking seriously coming from a source like Buson--a haikai that is (a) unbeholden to any theory of "naive naturalism" yet committed to finding material (for transcendence!) in the "commonplace"; (b) friendly with, but cheerfully independent of, Zen-style spiritualism; and (c) shamelessly--I repeat the word, shamelessly--"literary."

My question to Lee is . . . Is Buson off his rocker, or what?

Steve C.

p.s. I hope to post some links about renku and haikai to the Resources page in the next day or so. Oh yes, and a note: The Painter was a collection of painting theory popular in Buson's time.

*

p.p.s. Editing back. Cross-posted with Lee. I second his endorsement of Shirane's _ToD_. It's an excellent source for understanding the cultural and literary milieu that gave birth to haikai.





[This message has been edited by Stephen Collington (edited October 16, 2008).]

[Robert Pecotte]

Stephen,

Thank you for hosting Lee Gurga on Distinguished Guest; I got my first real taste of Haiku when he visited in 06 and am very grateful for the experience.

Lee,

Here are some Haiku that I have put together in the recent past (some very recent, some in the last year or so.) Please dissect away and help me improve my hold on this most difficult art. Bad Haiku are easy to write, ok Haiku are a little more difficult, good Haiku very hard in deed and excellent Haiku…

mother’s lawn;
fallen apples
brown and red

long day…
the cat stretches
and ignores me

snowflakes
seen through the windshield
people in rags

winter night—
shadows shiver
around the barrel

green pears
mottled brown
lunch bags

early autumn…
the sound of leaves falling
in my office

Indian summer
a robin perches
on the headstone

Easter lilies—
the last trumpet falls
without a sound

night sky
it's just you and me
little bug

October rain
again this grey wet
phlegm on my chin


Thank You!

Fr. RP

[Michael Cantor]

Welcome back, Lee, and thanks very much for your dedication and energy. Your last visit was enormously stimulating, and this one shows every sign of being at least as fruitful.

An airport somewhere
The candidate and his wife
Flags flags flags flags flags

we share a table
translucent rice noodles
spring rain shimmers

company outing
under the cherry blossoms
a manager snores

tie and jacket off
drunken company party
he has pissed himself

New England autumn
running backs slide through the rain
cheerleaders tumble

six miles of sand
the summer people are gone
beach dogs race the surf

the special needs child
carried to each campaign stop
a special trophy




[This message has been edited by Michael Cantor (edited October 16, 2008).]