haikuhaikuhaikuhaikuhaikuhaikuhaikuhaiku

Just finished reading through all the submissions to South by Southeast for the upcoming issue and emailing my input to our main editor, Steve. Some excellent poems in the submissions. I was going to say that it seemed like an even better batch than usual, but I can hear myself saying that before. So apparently each time I'm just re-impressed by what people send -- it's humbling and inspiring.

I normally dislike meta-poems of any kind, but after reading so many haiku and senryu, I'm not sure I can get my brain onto any other subject before bedtime...


finished reading --
all my thoughts form
in haiku rhythms

A Cage interlude

Today we received this wonderful book at my library. The subtitle is "John Cage's Complete Watercolors," but it's specifically about work he did at the Mountain Lake Workshop in southwestern Virginia.

The book is especially significant to me because my friend and collaborator (mentor, even) Stephen Addiss was involved with Cage's work at Mountain Lake Workshop. Wearing my other hat as the book artist behind blue bluer books, I've been neck-deep recently in producing 2 editions of an artist's book based on some of Steve's haiku. It's called stitching speechless. Given Steve's close relationship with Cage -- who in turn was HIS friend, collaborator and mentor -- our artist's book owes much to him, right down to the random methods we use to burn parts of certain pages, and to draw on them with smoke.

So for me, the book mentioned above was the perfect serendipitous find today to keep the flames burning to continue making progress on stitching speechless. (Please stay tuned to my blue bluer books blog for continued updates on that progress...)

Over here on "no more moon poems", though, today's poem is inspired by Cage's smoke-and-watercolor paintings in The sight of silence:


caught
on paper

smoke
is permanent

water
solid

the rocks
hollow
and empty

You say tomato...

Here's another take on an image from several days ago. This couplet edges into non-haiku territory in rhythm and excess, but what the hell...



picking the last flurry of tomatoes,
admiring the burgundy mum about to burst



If I want to think of it in haiku terms I'll hyphenate the whole thing and call it one long season word. An adjective describing the verge between late summer bounty and early fall bounty. Or better yet, call it an adverb since seasons are always on the move and never static...

Versions

Several quick takes on one image.

* * * * * * * *


first fox
I've ever seen
watches
from behind
the gravestone


* * * * * * * *


summer gloaming --
from behind the gravestone
a fox


* * * * * * * *


acorn underfoot
in the cemetery
the fox turns to look


* * * * * * * *


somewhere
aren't they
spirits?

darting from the graveyard

a fox

two crickets

Even though it has warmed back up the past couple of days, there was a chilly snap last week that made a definitive break with summer. There may still be hot, humid patches, but at least some portion of each day reminds you that autumn is a-comin' in.

The onset of fall and the sound of crickets through the window tonight have reminded me of this haiku from when I was first beginning. I believe it appeared in South by Southeast in the late '90s, but I'm not 100% sure and haven't been able to find a back issue to give a more specific credit.



last night
two crickets --
tonight one

final tomatoes

final tomatoes --
I admire the budding mum
about to explode


The first version of this haiku continues the trend of the past couple of days -- it sticks to a 5-7-5 syllable count. Whereas the past couple of haiku have fallen into that form naturally, though, this one feels more forced to me. I'd be more inclined to edit it down into something shorter like:


last tomatoes --
the burgundy mum
about to burst


I'm not completely sold on either version yet -- this'll be one to keep tinkering with...

Haiku from photographs IV

Like yesterday's haiku, this one is also inspired by a photo in Chase Jarvis's book The best camera is the one that's with you:



under the streetlamp
the bicycle balances
on its own shadow



It's a strange coincidence that both yesterday's and today's haiku happen to fit the 'traditional' 5-7-5 syllable pattern of haiku. I (and many other people who write haiku in English) usually don't stick to that rule. For one thing, the idea of 'syllables' in English does not match up exactly with that of onji in Japanese. Onji are shorter and slighter, so that 17 English syllables usually end up being much bulkier than 17 Japanese ones.

For that reason many haiku in English tend to be shorter than 17 syllables -- something like a 3-5-3 rhythm, or just short free verse. There's a feeling that haiku should strive for maximum simplicity, using only the words necessary to express what the author needs to say rather than satisfying formal requirements.

Of course there are also practitioners who feel that the formal requirements are, well, required if you want to call a poem a haiku. Clark Strand has a wonderful book called Seeds from a Birch Tree in which he makes the case that the formal discipline is an essential part of the haiku way.

As you can tell if you've read my haiku on this blog, I'm not that disciplined (to put it in a negative light); or rather I'm more interested in seeing what happens when you customize the formal elements in each new poem to fit the idea behind it (to give the positive spin). Every once in a while, though, if I'm writing the idea down and it's nearing that 5-7-5 form, I'll massage the words to make them fit.

That's what has happened with the past two entries. There are certainly syllables in each poem that I could cut away, but nothing feels forced or artificial in them and I enjoy their rhythms enough to think that they can carry the extra bulk.