a bit of birdsong before we start our engines — John Stevenson, Upstate Dim Sum – 2002/2
I am a fan of John Stevenson’s approach to haiku. I will not develop why here, but this verse explores one of the aspects I like about him. He writes in a way than most of us wouldn’t have thought to do. I think most of us would have written:
a bit of birdsong before we start our engines
Alan Summers mentions it, by writing:
a bit of birdsong // before we… start our engines
But it is this feature that needs to be insisted upon.
It is like there would be two cuts in the verse. One has to admit and realise how the power of the verse would collapse if it had been written that way:
a bit of birdsong before we start our engines
To stop L2 just after “we” creates a frutiful void. It creates a space where the reader can really wonder for just a milisecond, and that makes all the difference.
a bit of birdsong before we start our engines — John Stevenson, Upstate Dim Sum – 2002/2
Again, what is in essence expressed as a continuous sentence is given ‘just enough’ separation by line-breaks to slow a reader down so that more attention is paid to the words as they are read. It’s clear that there are at least two semantic elements in this verse. After a third martini I could even suggest there are three elements: birdsong, we humans, engines. It needs no formal cut marker. Just as “by” the job centre acted as a subtle indication of separation and juxtaposition in yesterday’s verse, in this one, “before” does the job.
This haiku, detached, observational, and with a trace of haikai irony like a sprinkle of lemon juice, needs little gloss. The ‘bit’ of birdsong (I read, at dawn) that we (I read, ‘almost all of us’) dismiss abruptly with the thunder of engines (I read, ‘the usual start of our human day’—the car, the tractor, the boat, the jackhammer, the vacuum cleaner, the washing-machine). The word ‘bit’ is charged with meanings. Such a brief thing, cut short. Poor birds!
Humankind in Nature indeed. The noise of engines, our song.
Another favourite haiku, and by a master in our times.
John Stevenson is an expert in making what appears to be just a single phrase into both a simple haiku, and writing, into more than just a de facto take on phrase/fragment or fragment/phrase.
I’ve studied him, reviewed him, and lent my knowledge for selection for My Red (Brooks Books). I have no wish to emulate him, it’s more his astute method of observation that I can relate to, and try to imbue my own work.
a bit of birdsong before we start our engines — John Stevenson, Upstate Dim Sum – 2002/2
I like to think it’s a single and rich clause that uses enjambment:
a bit of birdsong before we start our engines
I like how I can read it as above or as below:
a bit of birdsong // before we… start our engines
Though I don’t worry about, it’s just loaded with so much; it could start or end a short story or a novel because a reader can enjoy it as it is, bring back a memory, or take it on board for a few seconds, and reduce any risk of frustration or road rage. (smiles)
Yes.
John Stevenson’s lean, insightful verses, often salted with humanity, sometimes with discreet humour, are a joy. A big influence. Several of them are essentially single sentences. At either extreme of emotion:
her being dead goes on —John Stevenson, Acorn #29, 2012
and one that makes me laugh out loud whenever we go to our local farmer’s market:
my farmer’s market can beat up your farmer’s market —John Stevenson Frogpond 40.3 2017
Hasegawa Kai in one of his video presentations on ‘cutting’ observes that there are silent ‘cuts’ at the start and the end of every verse. It’s a nice way of seeing them: as ‘clips’ from lived experience. This HOTD is one. Between the snip at the start and the snip at the end, it flows…
Yes, agreed re silent cuts! And at the end of any line there is also an invisible ultra-short pause, not a rush. Even in single line haiku, not all are designed to be read at speed. (smiles)
It’s also how we write our “sentences” whether in a haiku, or a haibun, or other genres. We can’t all be Jane Austen, but we can take note.
a bit of birdsong
before we
start our engines
— John Stevenson, Upstate Dim Sum – 2002/2
I am a fan of John Stevenson’s approach to haiku. I will not develop why here, but this verse explores one of the aspects I like about him. He writes in a way than most of us wouldn’t have thought to do.
I think most of us would have written:
a bit of birdsong
before we start
our engines
Alan Summers mentions it, by writing:
a bit of birdsong //
before we…
start our engines
But it is this feature that needs to be insisted upon.
It is like there would be two cuts in the verse. One has to admit and realise how the power of the verse would collapse if it had been written that way:
a bit of birdsong
before we start
our engines
To stop L2 just after “we” creates a frutiful void. It creates a space where the reader can really wonder for just a milisecond, and that makes all the difference.
a bit of birdsong
before we
start our engines
— John Stevenson, Upstate Dim Sum – 2002/2
Again, what is in essence expressed as a continuous sentence is given ‘just enough’ separation by line-breaks to slow a reader down so that more attention is paid to the words as they are read. It’s clear that there are at least two semantic elements in this verse. After a third martini I could even suggest there are three elements: birdsong, we humans, engines. It needs no formal cut marker. Just as “by” the job centre acted as a subtle indication of separation and juxtaposition in yesterday’s verse, in this one, “before” does the job.
This haiku, detached, observational, and with a trace of haikai irony like a sprinkle of lemon juice, needs little gloss. The ‘bit’ of birdsong (I read, at dawn) that we (I read, ‘almost all of us’) dismiss abruptly with the thunder of engines (I read, ‘the usual start of our human day’—the car, the tractor, the boat, the jackhammer, the vacuum cleaner, the washing-machine). The word ‘bit’ is charged with meanings. Such a brief thing, cut short. Poor birds!
Humankind in Nature indeed. The noise of engines, our song.
Another favourite haiku, and by a master in our times.
John Stevenson is an expert in making what appears to be just a single phrase into both a simple haiku, and writing, into more than just a de facto take on phrase/fragment or fragment/phrase.
I’ve studied him, reviewed him, and lent my knowledge for selection for My Red (Brooks Books). I have no wish to emulate him, it’s more his astute method of observation that I can relate to, and try to imbue my own work.
a bit of birdsong
before we
start our engines
— John Stevenson, Upstate Dim Sum – 2002/2
I like to think it’s a single and rich clause that uses enjambment:
a bit of birdsong before we start our engines
I like how I can read it as above or as below:
a bit of birdsong //
before we…
start our engines
Though I don’t worry about, it’s just loaded with so much; it could start or end a short story or a novel because a reader can enjoy it as it is, bring back a memory, or take it on board for a few seconds, and reduce any risk of frustration or road rage. (smiles)
Yes.
John Stevenson’s lean, insightful verses, often salted with humanity, sometimes with discreet humour, are a joy. A big influence. Several of them are essentially single sentences. At either extreme of emotion:
her
being
dead
goes
on
—John Stevenson, Acorn #29, 2012
and one that makes me laugh out loud whenever we go to our local farmer’s market:
my farmer’s market
can beat up
your farmer’s market
—John Stevenson Frogpond 40.3 2017
Hasegawa Kai in one of his video presentations on ‘cutting’ observes that there are silent ‘cuts’ at the start and the end of every verse. It’s a nice way of seeing them: as ‘clips’ from lived experience. This HOTD is one. Between the snip at the start and the snip at the end, it flows…
Yes, agreed re silent cuts! And at the end of any line there is also an invisible ultra-short pause, not a rush. Even in single line haiku, not all are designed to be read at speed. (smiles)
It’s also how we write our “sentences” whether in a haiku, or a haibun, or other genres. We can’t all be Jane Austen, but we can take note.