By Neal Whitman, Poetry Prof
It has been said that there are two kinds of people: those who put everything into two groups and those who do not. Someone quipped, “No, there are three kinds of people. Those who can count and those who cannot.” In any case, by my count, my June 21 Summer Haiku completed my first full cycle of seasonal haiku on Getting Something Read. As I stated in the first one, posted last autumn, I set out to use the “traditional” 3-line, 5-7-5 syllable count. I put “traditional” in quotation marks because often haiku in English is written in that form and is taught that way to schoolchildren. But, in fact, it is not strictly following the Japanese tradition which used a 3-line, 5-7-5 sound count. As explained to me, the Japanese language recognizes sounds, not syllables. For example, in English we pronounce the city, Tokyo, in 3 syllables, but in Japanese is it said in 4 sound units, which they call “onji.” So, when we write 5-7-5 syllables in English we are making a longer haiku. The traditional Japanese haiku also is shorter because they count the word used at the end a line, a “kereji,” which is considered a “cutting word“ that is, it cuts or makes a break. In English, we use a punctuation mark.
Beginning with the autumn 2009 haiku, I will depart from the 5-7-5 syllable count, and, on good authority. Basho, the great 17th century haiku master, told his students to learn the rules and break them. But, I will stick to the 3-line form. Many contemporary haikuists abandon the 3-line tradition. If you take a look at haiku written today, you will see one line haiku and even one word. Yes, here is one by Cor van den Heuvel:
tundra
Yes, that is it! For my haiku, I will keep the tradition of two things: one line for one thing and two lines for the other. The order is up to the writer, and the haikuist has to be quite thoughtful about what kind of pause is called for: comma, semi-colon, colon, dash, ellipsis, or no punctuation mark at all. The depth of thought given to the “pause” was a key element of the Pulitzer Prize-winning play by Margaret Edison, W;t. Professor Vivian Bearing, an expert on 17th century English metaphysical poetry (written coincidentally when Japanese poets were writing linked renga whose opening “hokku” became what we know now of as haiku) and now dying of ovarian cancer, recalls her mentor. E.M. Ashford, teaching her that, in John Donn’s “Holy Sonnet Ten,” the punctuation is deliberate. — “And, death shall be no more, comma, Death thou shall die.” Ashford explains: “Nothing but a breath” a comma “separates life from everlasting life.”
I encourage you to think about counts and pauses on Tuesday, July 28. On that day, I will be teaching a workshop, “Haiku for Everyone, for Anyone” at the Stebbins Institute, a week-long personal development program at the Asilomar Conference Center, a mile down the street from where I live in Pacific Grove on California’s Monterey Peninsula. No advertising here: the program is full and I already donated back my honorarium. I do mention it to invite you to do what we will be doing that day: take a haiku walk and get a sense of the “ah-ness” of the summer. On your walk, take note of two things you see that do not go together, but do go together. In combination, these two things give you a feeling. Write down one thing in one line and the other thing in two lines. Decide in what order they go. Punctuate the break between the two things with a pause that sounds right to you. Do not tell us the feeling.
Here is the miracle. Can readers “see” what you saw and, on their own, get the feeling you felt? This is rare, as expressed by my haiku:
snow in July
rare as unicorn
alone on a beach
Ink, Sweat, & Tears (summer issue, 2009)
I would welcome getting your haiku (neal@whitmanassociates.org) and also encourage you to submit it to Getting Something Read. Yes, there are more poems sent in than there is room for, but you never know. It just may be your day.
{ 3 comments… read them below or add one }
At the expense of looking like an idiot, I’m going to take a guess at what you saw. I think you saw a beached white whale in the rain. Snow in July, would be rain. White whale might be rare since it comes from northern seas. Since it was raining no one was around, therefore alone on beach. This is my first experience with Haiku, so don’t judge me too harshly. Am I missing the whole concept?
Sue
In my last comment I think I did miss the concept of Haiku, Here is what I have for a second thought. You were standing or walking in an empty place wishing for things that could never be for you.
My son Peter says that, the seasons you’re expressing are metaphoric of the phases in one’s life. The snow is a characteristic of old age or the winter of a person’s life. Therefore, the combination of snow with summer, which could be metephoric of youth and innocense, could be interpreted as the idea of possessing the knowledge and wisdom of old age, while still being young. The characterization of this idea as being as rare as a unicorn standing alone on a beach, suggests that this phenomenon does not occur in reality, but rather is only a concept that can exist in our minds and imaginations.
Sue,
I read your first comment, thought of how I would respond, and planned to do so in the morning. It has been a long day with out of town visitors. Then I read your second comment. Now, I thought: “What an interesting woman… and son. No need to wait ’til morning.” What is great about online journals is immediacy. So, here goes:
Re Your first comment which took a literal approach: No need to worry about getting “it” right or wrong. The reader gets the last word. In fact, the Getting Something Read staff sent me a ball cap awhile back emblazoned with the words, “Readers Rule.” And, they do. No two people read the same poem and no one person reads the same poem twice. Haiku is not a puzzle to figure out what the author “saw” and then “felt,” though it is a miracle when these coincide.
Re Your second comment that took a metaphorical approach: That is more in line with what I “saw” and “felt” on the beach –– a summer day when unaccountably I was alone. So, for that moment, I lived in an imaginary world. You and your son both entered the world I was in for that moment –– and that is a miracle. This still does not mean the more literal response was wrong.
I do not know where you and Peter live, but if either one of you ever visit the Monterey Peninsula on California’s Central Coast, let’s go for a walk along Monterey Bay. And, overlooking Carmel Bay, please be my guests for a tour of poet Robinson Jeffers Tor House as my guest –– I am a volunteer docent as I wrote about in my first GSR “Poetry Prof” essay of October 14, 2008 and again on January 1, 2009. At Tor House we will see the tooth of narwhal hanging on the dining hall wall –– Robin’s wife, Una, teased dinner guests that it was the horn of a unicorn.
On July 28, please go on haiku walk and send your haiku (Peter too) to me as a posted comment here for all to read or to me personally if you do not want a
public exposure of your private labor. Either way, you will get an response.
Amicus poeticae,
Neal Whitman
neal@whitmanassociates.org