The Seashell Game - Round 2

[David Lanoue]

A reminder: the important thing about a Seashell Game, a concept borrowed from Basho, isn't so much who wins but the reasons that the judges give for their decisions--giving us insight into what constitutes a good haiku for them.

This match gives us the chance to judge and think about, side by side, two of the haiku that have generated the most discussion when I have presented them in workshops. One is by San Francisco poet Fay Aoyagi:

ants out of a hole--
when did I stop playing
the red toy piano?

And the other is by Colombian poet Umberto Senegal:

En el candil cadáveres   
de zancudos. Alguien solloza
en la habitación.

mosquito corpses in the lamp
someone sobbing
in the room

I presented and led a discussion of Fay's haiku at the Haiku North America Conference in Ottawa, August 7, 2009--at a session titled, "Reading the New Haiku." In a revised edition of this workshop, presented for the Southern California Haiku Study Group in Pasadina, July 17, 2010--Umberto Senegal's haiku joined the line-up, sparking lots of talk. Most recently, in the session, "Reading the New Haiku 3" at the Haiku Society of America South Regional Meeting in Hot Springs, Arkansas (November 6, 2010), once again these haiku were considered and explored. Since none of these discussions were recorded, they exist now only in the memories of participants. One nice thing about our Seashell Game is the fact that our ideas, feelings and associations generated by these two contemporary haiku will be preserved in writing.

So, between now and Feburary 6th, please VOTE for one haiku and (most importantly!) give your reasons for choosing it. And tell your friends to join in. The more voices, the more perspectives, the better.

I won't vote, but I certainly have my own ideas about these haiku. This time, I'll save my impressions for later in the discussion.

Have fun!

[John Carley]

ants out of a hole--
when did I stop playing
the red toy piano?

Fay Aoyagi


En el candil cadáveres   
de zancudos. Alguien solloza
en la habitación.

mosquito corpses in the lamp
someone sobbing
in the room

In the lamp corpses
of mosquitos. Someone sobs
in the living room.

Umberto Senegal


Probably around the time William Carols Williams left the red wheelbarrow next to the chickens, Fay.

Personally I prefer Umberto Senegal's poem. I find it structurally interesting. And far more direct.

Sorry for not formally registering a vote in round one folks.

Best wishes, John

[Peter Yovu]

These two poems present a strong contrast in the "what", or more to the point the "how" of haiku. Aoyagi's gives  a great deal to think about—to puzzle over. Senegal's gives a great deal to feel. It is not that each is totally devoid of the what and how of the other, but sufficiently that I wonder if some readers will find this challenge somewhat diagnostic, revealing the 'kind" of haiku they prefer.

I'd like to say a few thing about each, if only to find out what I think/feel.

Some haiku create a tension by both inviting and resisting interpretation. A poem which is easily "grasped" will be easily manipulated, or made to serve our own purposes. A poem which evades our grasp, or allows itself to be grasped only to just as soon slip away, will maintain its own integrity and life. Seems to me this describes Aoyagi's poem, and in a different way, Senegal's as well.

The first line of Aoyagi's is both evocative and provocative: it's both concrete and abstract at once, depending on how you tilt your head. The word "hole" – its meaning, and even the sound of it-- is impossible to grasp—it is an absence. What is it an absence in?  The ground? A tree? The unconscious?
And yet "ants",  very present and real, emerge, and the poem then by a process of rapid association, "leaps" (see the discussion under David Grayson's "Mystery") to another place entirely, to an inwardness propelled by the question. Though the particulars are hers, they are not private. They are puzzling, but not exactly mysterious.

By inviting thought, the poet draws us into her world. Feeling may follow when we realize this. One interesting point: she says the red toy piano rather than my red toy piano. A great deal may be deduced—no—felt—by this choice. Thought gives way to feeling, to empathy, even if we are not quite clear what we are feeling.

Senegal's poem, is, I suppose, more direct. And yet, though it doesn't present a puzzle, it does present a mystery. (The latter begins with thought; the former begins with feeling).
I would say that Aoyagi's poem keeps a certain distance yet invites us to come closer into her reality. An observation—an event-- takes her, and us, into her personal history. Senegal's keeps a distance as well. It may or may not be strictly autobiographical. It originated, I'll surmise, with a feeling for which he found a powerful correlation. Something about this invites us deeper into ourselves. It may be as simple as the use of archetypes and feeling-words such as "corpse" and "sobbing"—the body responds to these before the mind does.

"...corpses in the lamp" is marvelous, and may give a clue, if one wishes to interpret, what the sobbing is for. All right, I won't be coy: if "lamp" is an archetype for mind—for rational mind—one might intuit that "someone" is feeling the pain of a life where reason has trumped feelings, saps the blood and makes corpses of them—until that pain finally breaks through in sobs. That sobbing may allow  "someone" (you or me) to break free from the "room"-- from whatever keeps us held in.

Thanks, David, for the challenge, but I cannot choose one over the other. A half vote for each.

[Lorin]

ants out of a hole--
when did I stop playing
the red toy piano?

Fay Aoyagi


En el candil cadáveres   
de zancudos. Alguien solloza
en la habitación.

mosquito corpses in the lamp
someone sobbing
in the room

In the lamp corpses
of mosquitos. Someone sobs
in the living room.

Umberto Senegal

"A half vote for each. " - Peter

8) I'm tempted to do the same, Peter, but I don't want David tearing his hair out should too many of us follow suite.

Two poets observe small insects; the ants are alive and moving, the mosquitoes are 'corpses'. (I have read Fay A's haiku before, and also her explanation of it and others' interpretations: I have not read Umberto S's haiku before)

Both lots of insects are there, as a concrete image in each poem and both images can lead to metaphor - ants coming out of their hole (I do see a real ant-hole, such as I see all too often right outside my kitchen door in the brick paving which I set in sand decades ago) are live things emerging from 'the underworld', thus a 'leap' to Fay A's memory of a specific toy piano, 'buried' until now, and the question about time. How much time has passed between then and now? Other questions about hidden or forgotten incremental processes of change, to oneself, one's body and one's life are sure to follow if we reflect on this.

Umberto S's mosquito corpses in the lamp, such small and light-weight corpses, dried out so quickly by the warmth of the lamp. I see a plain funnel-type lamp glass, such as in a kerosene or tilly lamp. I wondered at first why we could see the mosquito corpses but only hear 'someone sobbing in the room', assuming that both 'lamp' and 'someone' were in the same room, but John's addition of 'living room' made me realise that the 'I ' of the poem, the poet/ observer, is probably out on the verandah...at any rate, not in the same room with the sobbing person. So there I am in the night, hearing someone sobbing in a room and gazing at mosquito corpses in the lamp. I do nothing, just sit there hearing and seeing. I don't try to find out who is sobbing, I don't go in and try to console the sobbing person. I might know very well who it is, in fact, but I might need to distance myself in more ways than just absenting myself from the room. (especially if I am a man of a certain generation) What has happened? One can speculate, prompted by the association of the perennial attraction insects have for lamp flames to use it as a metaphor for human love relationships. But I don't feel to make too much of that, because if it's there, it's only background. What is there in the night is evidence of many small deaths in the lamp glass and inconsolable sobbing from inside a room, and they are related because I witness both and because death and mourning are always related, and inevitable. So I sit there and am also encapsulated in something... the great sadness of the night.

Well, these two haiku work differently for me, as I've just found. 'ants out of a hole' works primarily for me via an intellectual approach, though it might imply feelings or emotions. I usually would prefer this sort of poem, because I'm not keen on the sentimentality with which feelings or emotions are so often conveyed (when they are) in EL haiku. But Umberto Senegal's haiku, quite unexpectedly, leads me into a state of feeling which goes beyond the personal or the sentimental. This is quite an achievement for such a short piece as a haiku!

So I vote for 'In the lamp corpses'.

[Mark Harris]

One of these poems is translated and one not. Despite David's efforts, I worry my ignorance of Spanish might handicap Senegal in this match-up, and that makes comparison difficult for me.

Both poems are colored by melancholy.

Aoyagi's is kinetic, brimming with life, and contains a recognition of how age, if we are lucky enough to live so long, will sap and then take away our energies. Ants emerging from their nest is a sign of spring. The poet's done a wonderful job, imo, of noticing how the insects flow as a group and individually move with herky jerky movements evocative of the stop and start and slow and fast of a child's piano playing (I think also of the compositions of Erik Satie). When did I stop playing the toy piano? / when did I first recognize my mortality? / when did I become more interested in Kurosawa epics than disney romances?


Senegal's is almost motionless, a meditation and foretelling. Has a loved one died? The implication is there, I think, for the reasons Lorin gave. Sometimes when a loved one dies the desire to bring them back vies with a desire to join them, which makes me think of the mosquitoes who joined those who went before them (most likely carrying the blood of humans in the house) one by one by one. Is Senegal (or the persona he's adopting) listening to the sobbing or is he the one sobbing? Who is the unspecified someone (alguien)? Anyone, everyone? My mother sobbing in the room would change the meaning, as would the choices of son, wife, brother. For me, his choice creates a remove that makes sense in the context of Latin American literature haunted by loss and disappearance. Gabriel Garcia Marquez and Ariel Dorfman come to mind. I'm sorry to say I'm not familiar with Columbian poets who might serve as better examples.

I will vote, but need more time to mull the choice over.

[SusanD]

Hey, Peter Y., your close reading is enticing!

Umberto's haiku seems to present a narrative. As with a film that I turn on midway, there is plenty of the story [behind the haiku] that I do not know, but I do catch the mood--and to me it is decidedly Buddhist. The impermanence of all life--from tiny insects to humanity and beyond--is immanent. All forms of life are vulnerable to illness, suffering and death. Perhaps there is a macro/mircro lens on this scene: human suffering catching the ear, even as the papery corpses accumulate by the lamp. Life forms of all kinds are living and dying, largely without fanfare. Amazingly [Lorin, yes], this scene suddenly expands--wow!

In Fay's haiku, the ants emerging from a hole seem industrious--as if they are setting out to forage for food or territory. Wondering when she stopped playing the toy piano [amazing the toy piano's resurgence in contemporary music!], Fay may be asking herself when she put aside whimsical piano playing--the fanciful "as if-ness" of child's play--for the acquiring of skills that will prepare her for equivalent foraging. This self reflection may be a musing about the place of creativity in a person's life. Is more foraging [work] perhaps needed, or the exact opposite; to balance the predominance of work, must attention be given to the free toy[ing] that is so essential to the creative process? Possibly one of the of the many subtexts of this beguiling haiku.

I, too,would like to vote for both! But if I choose only 1, it will be the reflective musing of Fay's haiku.

[chibi575]

A reminder: the important thing about a Seashell Game, a concept borrowed from Basho, isn't so much who wins but the reasons that the judges give for their decisions--giving us insight into what constitutes a good haiku for them.

This match gives us the chance to judge and think about, side by side, two of the haiku that have generated the most discussion when I have presented them in workshops. One is by San Francisco poet Fay Aoyagi:

ants out of a hole--
when did I stop playing
the red toy piano?

And the other is by Colombian poet Umberto Senegal:

En el candil cadáveres   
de zancudos. Alguien solloza
en la habitación.

mosquito corpses in the lamp
someone sobbing
in the room

I presented and led a discussion of Fay's haiku at the Haiku North America Conference in Ottawa, August 7, 2009--at a session titled, "Reading the New Haiku." In a revised edition of this workshop, presented for the Southern California Haiku Study Group in Pasadina, July 17, 2010--Umberto Senegal's haiku joined the line-up, sparking lots of talk. Most recently, in the session, "Reading the New Haiku 3" at the Haiku Society of America South Regional Meeting in Hot Springs, Arkansas (November 6, 2010), once again these haiku were considered and explored. Since none of these discussions were recorded, they exist now only in the memories of participants. One nice thing about our Seashell Game is the fact that our ideas, feelings and associations generated by these two contemporary haiku will be preserved in writing.

So, between now and Feburary 6th, please VOTE for one haiku and (most importantly!) give your reasons for choosing it. And tell your friends to join in. The more voices, the more perspectives, the better.

I won't vote, but I certainly have my own ideas about these haiku. This time, I'll save my impressions for later in the discussion.

Have fun!

I've tried not to read the replies of other voters and the following represents only original feelings (although some influence became inevitable as is my habit to move my scan bar down the page).

I vote for:

En el candil cadáveres   
de zancudos. Alguien solloza
en la habitación.

(Bable Fish translation: In the oil lamp corpses of mosquitos. Somebody sobs in the room.)

There are two Englished paraverses, yet, I like the Spanish.  I'm put off a bit by the punctuiation, though.

In the English paraverses presented in this forum I think it important to note "oil lamp" and "living room" (poetic license in "living room" as the Spanish "sala de estar".  These phrases have cultural layers that may add nuance to the reader.  In the case of "oil lamp" brought back camping trips and mosquito hums in many childhood adventures and places.  The ambiquity in Umberto Senegal's words, opens to interpretation many elements of scene and sense: oil smell (coal oil? a oil used in the old coal oil or kerosene), the yellowish color of the light from the mantled wick flame, the smell of "cremated" mosquito, the sobs in the "living" room...(and on and on). I think this a masterful poem, indeed!  The scene is opened to setting interpretations: romance or injury or murder or ... (and on and on).  All this could've been settled and somewhat resolved if the author had given more information as to circumstance, but, the poem expands exponentially without that information.  Perhaps, that the intent of the author?  Although, in the traditional haikuish vein, I feel, to honor that tradition, perhaps, a note of scene setting may have been easier on this reader's brain <<wink>>.

[N.M. Sola]

My vote is for the haiku by Mr. Senegal. Having been at the Hot Springs session, I have had ample time to mull over the haiku by Mr. Senegal. Actually, I had heard it many months before and from that moment, it has never been far from my thoughts. I know that seems like an overstatement, but it is true. What I love about this haiku is the evocation of both sight and sound, a haiku tradition dating back to at least Basho and his old pond, if not further. And like old pond, the sound seems to be distant from the image. In many ways, this poem reminds me of the film "Wavelength" by Michael Snow, which consists of a slowly zooming image on a picture while the sounds off camera hint at something else. Since the Hot Springs conference, I've realized that this could be a film, something like a moving haiga. Also, the mystery regarding the sobbing needs no explanation, just our acceptance of the moment.
If a Norwegian elk hound and an Andalusian dog procreated, the haiku by Fay Aoyagi would be the result.

[Mark Harris]

To N. M. Sola: you lost me with that last comment about dogs. Care to explain?

[John Carley]

I think it important to note "oil lamp" and "living room" (poetic license in "living room" as the Spanish "sala de estar".  These phrases have cultural layers that may add nuance to the reader

Yes, always a problem Dennis. The understanding of what consitutes a 'living room' changes according to social class in this country (Britain), and between north and south. I believe that in North America 'living room' it is closer to what the British call a Parlour or Sitting Room. I wondered at the difference between South American Spanish and European Spanish too: 'room' pure and simple is just as soon 'cuarto' on this side of the empty fish pond. Whilst I agree the 'habitacion' will also translate pure and simply as 'room' there is also the sense that this is the 'most generally inhabited part of a house' which, in my register of English, is 'living room'!

Best wishes, John

[Lorin]

Dennis, I didn't think to try a googled translation, but I felt sure it was a kerosene lamp or the like...the sort with the clear glass that sits over the flame. Otherwise how would one see the mosquito corpses? And that's why I saw the poet/observer (who became myself once I began to feel my way into the poem) out on a verandah, or somewhere outside in the night. Thanks for that confirmation. So now I googled 'el candil' images, and sure enough:

http://mobemento.files.wordpress.com/2009/08/candil.jpg?w=500&h=375

...on the complete page, these words under it: "A la luz de un candil"

Thanks for the Fish!  :)

Melissa, your observation that ""habitacion" is the word most commonly used to refer to a hotel room in Spanish speaking Latin American countries." is interesting. It adds to the sense of distancing  operating in this haiku. So it could be an anonymous motel room, or one's own 'habitation' that one feels the need to objectify, to regard impersonally for some reason. This distancing is enhanced formally by the two separate statements being separated by a full stop (a period,for you) A distancing which becomes, ultimately, impossible. This is a huge strength of the poem, one that puts me in awe of this poet's mastery of his craft.

Mark, if I may offer a clue to N.M. Sola's comment involving the Andalusion dog  :) It's the title of the classic surrealist film, Un Chien Andalou/ The Andalusion Dog, a collaboration between Bunuel and Dali. (It has a scene with a match-cut between a razor blade and eye in it that I could never keep my eyes open to watch completely)

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Un_Chien_Andalou

- Lorin

[Mark Harris]

Mark, if I may offer a clue to N.M. Sola's comment involving the Andalusion dog  :) It's the title of the classic surrealist film, Un Chien Andalou/ The Andalusion Dog, a collaboration between Bunuel and Dali. (It has a scene with a match-cut between a razor blade and eye in it that I could never keep my eyes open to watch completely)
- Lorin

Thanks Lorin, I'm familiar with the classic surrealist film. I know what you mean about that scene--you must watch it sometime without shutting your eyes :)  There were ants involved, as I remember.

I thought N.M. Sola might be hinting at a further meaning. A misreading on my part, perhaps.

[Lorin]

"There were ants involved, as I remember." - Mark

So there were!  8)

Norwegian Elkhound Property laws:

http://images6.cpcache.com/product/196292776v5_480x480_Front.jpg

- Lorin

[John Carley]

The "someone" distances the narrator/writer from the sobbing

Indeed. And there the question of translation raides its warty little head again because 'alguien' is arguably a little more generic than 'someone' meaning rather 'someone/anyone'.

For me mid line full stop (period) emphasises the rather harsh tone of the poem.

Best wishes, John

[Mark Harris]

 The "someone" distances the narrator/writer from the sobbing.  The effect of this sobbing that emenates from a nameless, unseen entity is, I think, a sense of generalized sorrow that could encompass all the woes of the world.

I know, from information David posted on the blog, that Senegal practices Zen. Perhaps inspired by that knowledge, my mind has been wandering between his poem and images of Guanyin, a personification of compassion revered as a goddess or deity in many parts of the world and by people of different faiths. Tibetan Buddhists know her as the bodhisattva Tara. The Japanese know her as Kannon. Guanyin is the Chinese name, which comes from the Sanskrit, and I use it here because it's the one she/he is most frequently known by.

Guanyin means (roughly) "one who perceives the sound of suffering". I think we might have heard by now if Senegal's a bodhisattva :) and I'm certain he's not. However, he would be familiar with the ideal of compassion as manifested in Guanyin.

this from Wikipedia:
"In the Mahayana canon, the Heart Sutra is ascribed entirely to the bodhisattva Kuan Yin/Kwannon. This is unique, as most Mahayana Sutras are usually ascribed to Shakyamuni Buddha and the teachings, deeds or vows of the bodhisattvas are described by Shakyamuni Buddha. In the Heart Sutra, Guanyin/Avalokitesvara describes to the Arhat Sariputra the nature of reality and the essence of the Buddhist teachings. The famous Buddhist saying "Form is emptiness, emptiness is form" comes from this sutra."

Perhaps none of the above pertains to our discussion, but I think it adds insight to Senegal's haiku, and a way of perceiving that's elicited, in some of us, deep emotion.