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across the blue dome of the great basin mustang's eye





tinywords Issue 11.3 | 5 January 2012

Originally published in the XIII Calico Cat International Bilingual Haiku Contest, where it received an Honorable Mention.

unknown graves
in the morning rain
pilgrims' faces

Here is a tradition before recorded history:

Holding the water,
     held by it—
        the dark mud.
 
by William J. Higginson

Quote from: Don Baird on June 25, 2013, 11:37:44 AM
haiku are everywhere and it's the sudden moment of perception of it by me that begins my haiku.  Being aware of what is on my mind, what is in my environment, and what is in my imagination is key - to me.  The rest; well, that is the problem of how to write it - to portray what I experienced, felt, and understood. 

Sometimes as I mentioned above it's laid out as a gift already written for me...

I was working on a hot and muggy August day near the marsh at miserable Home Depot as a cashier in their outdoor part of the warehouse. I noticed to my dismay what looked like big white blossoms on the trees. I couldn't understand what I was seeing...

heat lightning
the tree's blossom unfolds
into an egret

Other times I have to dig and never find it...

Where do your haiku begin?

In many different places, one of which is this:

I am experiencing something that seems familiar as I've gone through it before and then suddenly I wake up in a cold sweat walking to work and hear something...

the sounds of mallards fall to the next pond

Honest!

Can the panel or anyone else, talk about how the four Japanese masters experienced hokku/haiku that the late William J. Higginson mentioned in his scholarly Haiku Handbook compared to the recent world-wide Gendai-haiku movement. I realize that there are essays that if put down page by page could pass the moon and continue to the early known visible galaxies. However, I thought it would be nice to talk about it in a casual setting.

Quote from: Julie B. K. on November 25, 2012, 10:12:26 PM
Touching back to devora's original question, I thought I should clarify why I found John's edit so powerful.

To me, Elizabeth Searle Lamb's original --

the blind child reading my poem with her fingertips

is a passive observation of the writer watching the child.  As a reader, we simply watch the child too, and the poem has no entry point.

However, John's suggested line break

the blind child --
reading my poem
with her fingertips

opens a door for the reader.  Both the reader and the blind child are reading the poem now.  Since the child can not read the printed word, the poem must be in raised print or Braille.  And since I can't read Braille, the blind child must use her fingertips to guide my fingers over the bumpy Braille.  Her hands over mine provide an unexpected, active experience.  The writer (and reader) marvel at the feel of the poem in Braille.  Perhaps the writer recognizes -- in a very concrete way -- that without the reader, her words lie dormant on the page.  Whether or not this meets the definition of a haiku, this poem expresses a beautiful, intimate moment.

So, were I to critique this poem, I would agree with John and say that it suffers from a missing line break.

For those who found the poem "flat", so to speak, I hope this helps.

Bear with me; it's interesting what you said, but the pivot in the 3-line poem L2 "reading my poem"   continued to L3 "with her finger tips" meaning the girl guiding Elizabeth's fingertips over the Braille as Elizabeth reads it shows room to explore.  However, with that understanding, doesn't it show in...?

(the blind child)  (reading my poem)   (with her fingertips)

the blind child reading my poem with her finger tips

Thanks for Your Patience,

martin

Quote from: Don Baird on November 16, 2012, 06:47:56 PM
Agree with you, Scott.  I haven't come across any true study of hokku where something like "show don't tell" is stated as a rule.  Basho was very clear however, that there should be much for the reader to do and that hokku, in particular, should bring about the unsaid just as much as the said (if not more so).  The reader completes the poem.

teetering grass . . .
just moments ago
a dragonfly

This hokku when broken down "teetering grass" absolutely states something and it does so clearly.  When moving on to the second part "just moments ago a dragonfly" you will see that it is another statement.  But, when combined, they produce room for the reader to enter and begin to ponder - to read/misread/continue to read for meaning.  There is significant "dream room" in this poem.  It is birthed from the pairing of L1 and L2/3 (toriawase) which leaves the reader in a resonant atmosphere of meaning(s).

朝顔は下手の書くさへあはれなり
asagao wa heta no kaku sae aware nari

morning glory:
even when painted poorly,
it has pathos

Tr. Barnhill
.
Written in summer of 1687 貞亨4年夏.
posted to facebook by Gabi Greve

This Basho hokku is paired excellently as fragment and phrase but seems to operate from a single subject instead of two.  It still works amazingly well in encouraging the reader to read and read again for meaning - dwelling in the resonance of the unsaid.

I believe when most critics say "it's a statement, show don't tell" they are actually referencing the poem as being complete in and of itself without the need of a reader to "fill in the blanks" so to speak.

the blind child reading my poem with her fingertips

-- Elizabeth Searle Lamb

This poem is what I call closed off (to me).  It is the classic statement versus showing - meaning that once you read it, there isn't anything left to do ... not even read it again.  There is no reading/misreading/reading again process that should exist in a haiku (hokku) that is paired well for resonance.

the blind child      reading my poem      with her fingertips      (not haiku meter either, s/l/s)

These are the three statements.  They remain that way with little to nothing for the reader to do but possibly imagine the scene itself - like a photograph.  So now, is this a shasei and therefore a haiku and not a hokku?  Is this a Shiki style haiku?  The answer to that could be a resounding yes.  ahhh ... so now we might know what Shiki stylists could be shooting for versus what Basho stylists are shooting for - definitive differences as to compositional aesthetics.  Shiki stripped the hokku to bare existence creating an accessible poem he referenced haiku.  Basho delved into writing hokku based on zoka and karumi ... with yugen, ma, kigo, kokoro and so forth which became a rich study of artful creation of hokku (something that seems to be missing from Shiki style haiku even when written well). The hokku engine is zoka; the haiku engine just might be image with kigo.

Then again,

example 1:

it's raining outside
the moon is full tonight
autumn clouds

example 2:

autumn clouds –
the full moon washes
from the window

#1 leaves much to be desired ... employing lines of imagery and descriptive writing but not much for the reader to do or place to enter the poem as a reader.  #2 consists of 2 primary statements but directly draws the reader into the poem's "left unsaid" area to ponder and enjoy.  The first one, once read, the reader is done.  The second one, the reader is left to "bounce around" the internal meanings of meanings - expanded or contracted more and less according to the reader's connection to the poem. It is a zoka engine hokku leaving much for the reader to do.

The Searle poem above has no apparent engine other than imagery.  Therefore, it is a statement with little for the reader to do (what I think is the definition of "statement" is when another poet uses the word in a critique). 

Just thinking out loud.  Not trying to be right; just sharing what I'm pondering in regards to the subject(s) at hand.

Don, I have cataracts and I read Searle's poem without my glasses like this:

the blind child  leaving my poem  in her finger tips

Honest...but other then not having the rhythm doesn't this have a little hokku in it?

Just trying to understand... ;D

Well, since Alan and Scott left theirs, I'll leave one:

this slum with a moon in every puddle

Publication Credits: Presence #43 (January 2011) ISSN 1366-5367; CARVING DARKNESS: The Red Moon Anthology OF English-Language Haiku ISBN 978-1-946848-10-2 (2011)

martin