re:Virals 481
Welcome to re:Virals, The Haiku Foundation’s weekly commentary feature on some of your favorites among the best contemporary haiku and senryu written in English. This week’s poem, chosen by Melissa Dennison, was:
gardener's gloves soaked with robin song and sage Marilyn Ashbaugh, Blithe Spirit, vol 34, no 1
Introducing this poem, Melissa writes:
I chose this poem as it is situated in the everyday, the domestic, perhaps even the mundane. It is down to earth. Gardening. I used to work as a gardener so this language resonates with me. And I love to hear bird song, whether that’s in the garden or on a walk. If you recall the Covid lockdowns, one surprise was how audible this song was. As a city person, without the traffic, in spring this was almost deafening. However, today the diversity of species that visit our gardens seems to be diminishing. And this haiku reminds us of the importance of other life forms in our lives, offering pleasure and enrichment.
My gardening gloves are often muddy, dirty or soaked, and Marilyn’s concept of gardening gloves soaked in bird song is quite novel and magical. In my mind’s eye I can see her happily hoeing or weeding, and collecting herbs whilst a robin sings on a branch nearby. Idyllic.
Opening comment:
The human hand in nature. This joyful little verse speaks to any gardener in temperate, seasonal zones.
On reading, I thought about:
— robins, and season. The North American robin is usually given as a spring kigo. The European robin, Britain’s favourite bird, is more frequently associated with the autumn and winter months when it is just about the only garden songbird singing. In reality, the European robin is seen whenever a gardener digs or plants, whether spring or autumn, when it comes within a foot or two, without fear of the gardener, to nab a worm or other small prey flushed out. Which illustrates, not for the first or the last time, the limitations of getting hung up on kigo if you want your haiku to reflect the realities you actually observe, and to have extensive reach in the anglosphere. But here, we have an American robin, and it is spring.
— sage, and season. Sage, as I grow it, dies back over winter, unless the winter is unusually mild, and takes several weeks to grow back in spring. We know the strong, earthy scent of sage and it’s a powerful choice in this haiku for its subliminal association with wisdom, too.
—synaesthesia. ‘Tis the fashion since Bashō to use sensory crossovers in haiku from time to time. One or two recent English Language poets use them rather often. Sometimes that can seem forced or overdone in the search for a little mystery or inscape, the peculiar inner nature of things. Here, I think that “soaked with robin song” does work (remember Basho’s ‘cuckoo song seeping through the vast bamboo forest’), along with “soaked with sage” which refers to its scent (that may be distilled as an essential oil).
—single sentence and cut or no cut. It’s possible to pause for a slight cut at the end of the first line, but really the verse is a single sentence or fragment thereof, with no grammatical nor semantic break. There are many precedents ancient and modern. The ‘cut’ is a very useful technique, widely applied. Yet you can still have a juxtaposition of separate elements without one, particularly when in search of an harmonious whole rather than disjunctive contrast. If rendered in Japanese, Marilyn’s verse might end with the trailing kireji ‘kana’ to add a little emphasis and, in essence, invite the reader to add their contemplation.
On reassembly this makes a very pleasing verse, effective in conjuring up the joy of gardening, a nurturing pastime where (as with haiku) there is an occasional, brief, deep satisfaction that makes persistence worthwhile. I have just taken delivery of new gardening gloves, for the fingertips of my old ones wore through.
Lakshman Bulusu:
This haiku has the kigo of spring or even summer when robins sing.. While a gardener tends to his plants at this time of the year, the melody of the robin’s song fuses with the slightly sweet undertone of the sage plant that gives a camphor-like aroma.
L1 describes the what the ethereal is by referring to “gloves” and at the same time has the undercurrent of “garden” a seasonal reference. L2 and L3 superimpose the permanence of season, that is, spring/summer, and sage – another seasonal pointer.
Metaphorically this might mean ethereal meets spiritual – as the gardener is immersed in his work, and perhaps pruning the sage bush, simultaneously a robin is singing, it is having a healing effect and infusing wisdom into the gardener. This way, a the sweet song of the robin alludes to a “spiritual awakening” of
the sage as if the gardener’s gloves are soaked with this duality.
Alan Harvey:
I was immediately drawn to Marilyn Ashbaugh’s craftmanship of this “gardener’s gloves” haiku. It contains the rich imagery of gardener’s gloves absorbing auditory sounds and olfactory smells. And I was also drawn to the alliteration of soaked, sage, and song along with the ending s-sounds in L1. This poem pivots on ‘soaked’. I can imagine a gardener anxious to be out in the garden on a pleasant day and tending to their precious plantings. My point of confusion with this poem is the seasonality. I feel a little split between a spring robin and summer sage.
Ironically, the robins in our neighborhood are currently collecting on the mountain ash for the berries down the street so they have no trouble with December. [neighborhood robins / flock to mountain ash berries / departure eminent] But I don’t associate robins with December even if they are here now. Why not have the gardener collect birdsong instead of robin song? I associate robins with spring but sage would just be getting planted in spring. The aroma of sage comes later in the summer and fall.
Using sage in this haiku recipe heightens the mysticism of the verse. It reflects the gardener’s reverence for the soil and plants. The indigenous people’s sacred use of sage has been appropriated by pop culture for its mystic values. The gardener is not only caring for their garden but also caring for self, family, and community.
Ashoka Weerakkody:
A clip from the 16 millimetre age of cinematography? The tiny reels helped capture nature’s wonders under most trying conditions and they were outstanding in bringing back new discoveries from outdoor adventures the whole world shared, thanks to the sheer ‘brevity’ of the truth they ‘spoke’ as pictures shew everything and hid everything. No human narration in a sound track, but the sounds of nature.
And so, on to the poem by Marilyn Ashbaugh. The treble of the ear piercing robin song and soothing aroma of sage bringing up an unexpected fourth dimension to a screenplay that cannot otherwise be ‘all inclusive’ since everything can’t be borne alone by the sound track etched to reproduce robin song, the third dimension. No technology has evolved yet to produce ‘aromatic’ cinema!
Yet in the end, the eye sees only the gardner’s gloves soaked… The wet, dripping presence of Nature is probably the theme here and that belongs to the season whenc the robin sings of the snow and winter cold and the sage does add the soothing balm to help it stay warm. They strike a balance so that the world may survive for another cycle, as has been ….
Amoolya Kamalnath:
An alliterative and lyrical haiku. Kind-of like a run-on sentence. The verse provides a whole sensory experience – involving almost all the senses.
A gardener’s gloves are as dirty with mud as they’re supposed to be but that’s not mentioned here at all. There’s a robin sweetly singing somewhere nearby. The gardener may be picking leaves of sage either for some traditional medicinal use or for using it as a herb in seasoning and/or cooking a meal for the day or night. Thus, there is an earthy, herbaceous and/or an aromatic scent. So there is a strong visual component along with added auditory, olfactory, and to some extent gustatory (can be felt or reminisced about), and of course, a tactile component providing the reader with a wholly sensory experience.
As sage is used to cleanse or purify the physical space in certain regions/customs, robin song can be said to be clearing one’s mind space and beneficial for one’s emotional well-being by bringing joy and peace.
Linda Ludwig—the senses that bring enjoyment:
The first line had me… gardening a pastime that I’m no longer able to enjoy myself. Gardener’s gloves, using them but preferring to feel the soil’s richness with bare hands; being outdoors and a connection between nature and oneself. The sounds of a robin’s song as it waits for fresh worms in the freshly dug loamy dirt. The smells of the herbal garden, the distinct smell of sage and perhaps rosemary and thyme.
The simple haiku encompasses in few words the senses that bring enjoyment to the gardener and the art of gardening.
Author Marilyn Ashbaugh:
Thank you so much for selecting and commenting on my haiku.
“As the garden grows so does the gardener” is inscribed on the first stone I placed in my new home garden. Clearing a small space for an organic perennial garden led to a horrible case of poison ivy. I grew to the realization that gloves are a necessity when brambles and ivy are involved. I buy a sturdy leather pair.
Every autumn, the gloves are retired to a back porch shelf until the first robin song awakens spring. One of the spring gardening duties is to trim back perennials to encourage new growth. Sage overwinters with its leaves and the cuttings carry its scent, and with it memories of the joys and challenges of gardening.
Thanks to all who sent commentaries. As the contributor of the commentary reckoned best this week, Linda has chosen next week’s poem, which you’ll find below. We invite you to write a commentary to it. It may be short, or of moderate length, academic, your personal response, spontaneous, or idiosyncratic. As long as it focuses on the verse presented, and with respect for the poet, all genuine reader reaction and pertinent discussion is of value. Out-takes are kept in the THF Archives. Best of all, the chosen commentary’s author gets to pick the next poem.
Anyone can participate. Simply use the re:Virals commentary form below to enter your commentary on the new week’s poem (“Your text”) by the following Tuesday midnight, Eastern US Time Zone, and then press Submit to send your entry. The Submit button will not be available until Name, Email, and Place of Residence fields are filled in. We look forward to seeing your commentary and finding out about your favourite poems.
Poem for commentary:
winter pine boughs the weight of a child’s why —Kelly Sargent LEAF Journal, December 2024
The Haiku Foundation reminds you that participation in our offerings assumes respectful and appropriate behavior from all parties. Please see our Code of Conduct policy.
Footnote:
Marilyn’s short bio is here in Haikupedia
Received after the deadline from Lys Browne:
“From the first line this haiku evokes, for me, a sense of the writing process itself. Her we have the artist as midwife delivering children/texts in a garden/nursery /study. The ‘gardening gloves’ become surgical gloves/ language the writer puts on for the delicate and intimate growing/ birthing/writing process. That the gloves are soaked ‘with birdsong and sage’ suggest dissolution of the eho in oneness with nature-and so the birth of the poem. The reader is finally left the song/ haiku which ultimately conveys a language beyond words and time. For me this haiku offers A powerful take on a universal theme.”
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A slight digression from single sentence to ichibutsujitate:
There has lately been some discussion elsewhere on ichibutsujitate. Some see these as “single image haiku,” some as “single theme haiku” and some as “single part (or sentence) haiku.” On the latter, Michael Dylan Welch in One Part Haiku gives a few examples of what he sees as ichibutsujitate, which have more than one image in them. Elsewhere, emphasis is placed on a single image, and elsewhere still, run-on sentences (although many masterly examples exist) are held to be anathema.
This is another illustration of confusion that can arise when there are attempts, however worthy, to establish rigid academic definitions in what is a flexible, organic, and evolving genre even in its home country. I wonder whether part of the problem, at least when anglophones puzzle over ‘ichibutsujitate’ in order to relate them to English, derives from the Japanese source? According to the Jisho dictionary, ichibutsujitate 物仕立て breaks down into:
ichi: one —
butsu: thing or matter 物
jitate: tailoring, sewing, (also preparation) 仕立て
I have also seen butsu given as “theme.” And I have seen the word ichimonosujitate referring to haiku, where mono is also thing or object. So it seems that the “one thing” can be “one object” (one image object), or “one theme or matter.” And for some, “one part.” I consulted ChatGPT, which has become far more sophisticated since our conversations about haiku two years ago. You might be interested in the verbatim conversation:
How would you translate ichibutsujitate
ChatGPT:
The Japanese term “一物直入” (ichibutsujitate) typically refers to a direct or straightforward approach, usually in the context of speaking or presenting something. The literal translation can be broken down as follows:
一物 (ichibutsu) — “one thing” or “a single object.”
直入 (jitate) — “direct” or “straightforward.”
So, the expression “ichibutsujitate” implies a direct or straightforward manner, often used to describe someone speaking or acting in a way that goes straight to the point without beating around the bush.
In practical terms, it could be translated as “straight to the point” or “direct approach.” However, if this term is used in a specific context (like a particular field or historical setting), its meaning might shift slightly. Could you provide a little more context?
You said:
in the context of haiku
ChatGPT said:
In the context of haiku, “一物直入” (ichibutsujitate) refers to the idea of directly presenting or focusing on a single image or subject, without unnecessary elaboration or abstraction. Haiku, as a form of poetry, often values simplicity and clarity, so this concept emphasizes the importance of presenting a single, vivid image or moment in a direct and unadorned manner.
Thus, in the context of haiku, “ichibutsujitate” can be understood as the idea of presenting one clear, striking image or moment without deviation, allowing the reader to experience it directly. It aligns with the minimalist approach of haiku, where each word and image has a clear purpose and impact.
A possible translation of the term in this context could be “direct presentation of a single subject” or “straightforward depiction of one thing.” The essence is to capture a moment concisely and authentically, with no excess or ambiguity.
You said:
would ichimonojitate be exactly the same thing?
ChatGPT said:
“一物直入” (ichibutsujitate) and “一物直入” (ichimonojitate) are actually quite similar but differ slightly in their nuances.
1. Ichibutsujitate (一物直入):
Literal Meaning: “One thing, direct entry.”
This term emphasizes the idea of focusing on a single object or concept, presenting it in a straightforward manner. It directly refers to capturing one image or subject without diversion or unnecessary complexity. This is the term that is commonly associated with haiku, as it encapsulates the idea of simplicity and directness.
2. Ichimonojitate (一物直入):
Literal Meaning: “One thing, direct entry.”
This term seems like a slight variation but can still be used in a very similar way. However, “一物” (ichimon) can sometimes be used to refer to an object or matter in a broader sense. There may be some subtle differences in meaning depending on the context, but generally, it also carries the sense of presenting a singular, focused subject in a direct and uncomplicated manner. It could imply a slightly broader interpretation of “thing” (like an idea or matter) rather than just a concrete object.
In practical usage, the two expressions could often be considered interchangeable, especially in the context of haiku, where the emphasis is on presenting a single, clear image or moment. Both terms promote simplicity and clarity in expression, which is central to the haiku tradition.
You said:
There seems to be no difference in the Japanese characters for both these expressions
ChatGPT said:
You’re absolutely right! I made an error in my explanation. Both “一物直入” (ichibutsujitate) and “一物直入” (ichimonojitate) actually use the same characters, and therefore the same term. There is no difference between them in terms of meaning or writing.
Both terms essentially mean “directly entering with one thing” and convey the idea of focusing on a single object or image and presenting it directly, without unnecessary embellishment. In the context of haiku, this reflects the simplicity and straightforwardness of capturing one clear image or moment.
So, to clarify, there is no difference between “ichibutsujitate” and “ichimonojitate” in this case—both refer to the same concept of directness and simplicity in presenting a single subject or idea. Thank you for pointing that out!
You:
Thank you.
And how would you translate these different characters?:
一物仕立て
ChatGPT:
The phrase “一物仕立て” (ichimotsu-shitate) can be broken down as follows:
一物 (ichimotsu): “One thing” or “a single item.”
This can refer to a single object, subject, or item, much like the “one thing” in “一物直入” (ichibutsujitate).
仕立て (shitate): “Tailoring” or “dressing.”
This refers to the act of preparing, tailoring, or shaping something. It can imply the process of creating or assembling something, often with care or attention to detail.
Combined Meaning:
When you put it together, “一物仕立て” (ichimotsu-shitate) can be translated as “the tailoring of a single item” or “the shaping of one thing.”
In Context (like Haiku or Art):
In the context of haiku or artistic expression, “一物仕立て” might refer to the careful crafting or shaping of a singular image or moment. It could convey the idea of presenting one focused image or subject, with meticulous attention, similar to how an artist or poet might carefully craft a piece of work centered around one theme.
Thus, this term would likely evoke the idea of not just presenting a single subject (as in “ichibutsujitate”) but also the idea of shaping or arranging that subject with intent and care, potentially to emphasize its significance or beauty.
You:
Some haiku commentators have referred to ichibutsujitate as “one part haiku”. They have given examples of haiku in English that are essentially one-sentence verses with more than one image in them, but no cut. Is that also a reasonable interpretation of “ichibutsujitate”?
ChatGPT said:
Yes, it is indeed a reasonable interpretation of ichibutsujitate in the context you’ve described. Haiku commentators who describe “ichibutsujitate” as “one part haiku” are focusing on its simplicity and directness, but they are also highlighting a more specific structural aspect.
In the traditional understanding of haiku, there is often an emphasis on two or three distinct parts, such as the kireji (cutting word) in Japanese or a caesura in English haiku, which divides the poem into two contrasting or complementary parts. However, the term “ichibutsujitate” emphasizes a kind of unified, singular expression—a single, direct presentation of one thing or image. When commentators refer to “one part haiku,” they are describing a type of haiku where:
There is no cut or pause (as typically seen in the traditional 5-7-5 structure with a kireji or caesura).
Multiple images or ideas might be presented in a single sentence or thought, but without the division that would normally signal a shift in meaning or a contrast.
This type of haiku might present a single subject or a sequence of thoughts, but it does so in a continuous, unbroken flow, as opposed to the more common haiku that contains a clear division between two or more parts.
So, “Ichibutsujitate” as “One-Part Haiku”:
Multiple images: The poem can feature more than one image, but they are connected or described in a seamless, unified manner.
No cut: The poem does not have the clear division you would typically expect in a more traditional haiku, where one part contrasts with or reflects on the other part.
Summary:
The interpretation of “ichibutsujitate” as “one-part haiku” works because it suggests a form of haiku where images or ideas flow together in a single, unbroken sequence. This reflects the directness and simplicity implied in the term, while also allowing for multiple images or thoughts within a unified structure. The absence of a “cut” or caesura is a defining feature in such poems.
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As the optician might say, dear readers: “Better, or worse?”
Comments (2)
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Interesting footnote.
Love that you caught ChatGPT out bullshitting!
Curious that people often argue over the names of things. In this case what ‘thing’ means.
Harrison: Thanks, and yes. AI is getting more like us.
Concerning form, I’m more interested in the wine than in the bottle…