re:Virals 487

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 Dan Campbell, was:

four to hug it giant redwood
- Carolyn Hall, Modern Haiku, 55.1, Winter-Spring 2024

Introducing this poem, Dan writes:

In these six words, there’s a distillation of awe and the scale of both the natural world and human connection. The phrase “four to hug it” evokes not just a sense of physicality, but of ritual and collective endeavor. It is no casual embrace; it is a grappling with immensity. We see the four bodies encircling the great trunk, arms stretched wide, straining yet united. This gesture of unity becomes almost sacramental, an act of both reverence and resistance against the inevitability of human smallness.

Opening comment:

A visual image to which one can relate immediately.  Plain language.   A seasonless haiku — or for all seasons.  I did wonder whether “giant” was necessary: indeed, when Dan first put this verse forward, he omitted the word ‘giant’ (corrected by Carolyn).  It does make plain that this is four (people) joined together rather than four sequential huggers; but the forestry usage is simply “redwood” for the taller but slimmer redwood, and “giant sequoia” for the sequoia with its huge girth.  The whole gives a sense of community and fellowship encircling the precious tree.

Half a century ago, one of my uncles, a sociable wisecracking fellow keen on drinking, smoking, and card games, in later life upped and left my aunt and joined a rural community of tree huggers.  This raised eyebrows in our family, steeped for generations in the labouring culture of the factory, the music hall, and the football pitch.  But now, I think of him in a different light.  ‘Tis never too late to recant.

Although I adore plants, and have planted and cared for trees, and sometimes addressed them, I’ve never hugged one except to put a tape measure round it.  I guess some inhibitions remain too deeply embedded.  Hence, perhaps, the giggles when Carolyn and friends embraced their redwood — see the poet’s own comment below.  And yes, this pleasing short verse has a subtle tint of that warm, human, gentle haikai humour that I’m not alone in valuing. See the Footnote.

Linda Ludwig:

Six words and a forest comes alive. The great Redwood Forest in California where giant trees dominate the scenery. I haven’t personally been there but remember reading about the giant trees, before we took better care of them. Pictured was a great tree that had a tunnel carved out and a car was driving through it… and hopefully like this poem we hug them now.

This poem quite simply lets us know that it takes four people to hug this tree. This monostich is brief but succinctly relays the size and reactions it bring about. Being a tree hugger I really appreciated its majesty and long life history.

Nancy Brady:

Reading this monoku simply and in a straightforward manner, I see a family visiting some of the National Redwood Forests and/or Sequoia Forests in northern California as my family did in the 1960s. I remember being awestruck by the size of some of the trees. To say they were large is an understatement. Immense is probably more like it.

Whether it was a Sequoia or a Redwood, (and after looking up the difference, it must have been a Sequoia), I also remember there was a tree that had a large enough trunk that a tunnel was carved out to be driven through (as Dad did).

A family or group of four people stretching their arms around a tree of this size would be like hugging a tree. I could easily see this occurring as an act of joy or appreciation for the trees themselves.

Those who want to protect the environment are also called “tree huggers” (and not necessarily meant in a positive manner depending…), and yet the term comes from a Hindu sect which originally wanted to protect their village trees from being destroyed for a palace. Literally, they were hugging the trees and being killed for it. Does this monoku refer to those brave men and women, too? *

Possibly, but the sight of four people hugging a huge tree certainly brings to mind protecting a resource that gives us oxygen, which we couldn’t live without. Personally, that makes me want to go out and hug a tree.

* I was not aware of this history of the first tree huggers until I looked it up. My utmost appreciation to Carolyn Hall for writing this monoku because otherwise, I might never have known how the term tree hugger came to be.

Ranice Tara:

Carolyn’s monoku is simple, meaningful, and evokes a personal connection with the spirit of Mother Nature. Every reader might be able to explore their own “the Way of the tree.” The cumulative effects of each positive learning and introspection may help curb the harmful effects of indiscriminate patterns of human activity. What would be one’s action when seeing a tree? The act of hugging is inclusive, true meditation, and also seems to be the beginning of michi or tao. A beautiful ku about tree conservation. It calls for the formation of a human chain in every part of the world.

Melissa Dennison:

I love trees. Sitting writing this commentary I can see a stand of them at the bottom of the garden. One Ash and two Sycamore. I watch the sun rise change the colour of their limbs every morning. They feel like friends. And to me they seem big, but they fade into insignificance when I think of a giant redwood. These trees are epic both in size and in age. Just imagine how long it must have taken to grow so big. Amazing. And yet, a species that was once common across America and Eurasia, that has roots reaching back into prehistory is now threatened by man made climate change.

When I read these 6 words, I am struck by all of this, by the giant redwood’s size, majesty and awe, and also by its vulnerability.

If I try I can just about get my arms around the trees in my garden, but it takes four people to hug a giant redwood.

This haiku is eloquent in its simplicity, it says so much. As well as all the above, there is a playful element here, as hugging trees is fun, it engenders a childlike joy at the wonder that is nature. How amazing life is, and what a story we all belong to.

Let’s hope the giant redwood endures, and that in centuries to come people are still attempting to hug them. Wouldn’t that be great?

Jennifer Gurney:

Carolyn Hall’s redwood monoku is evocative. Initially I saw four humans hugging around one redwood. But then my mind transformed the image into four redwoods hugging the sky, the earth, all of us. I am writing this on inauguration day, when climate change is being struck from the White House’s agenda. My heart aches for the redwoods and for all of us. Having experienced their magic as a child on a trip to California, they have lived in my heart for decades now. Standing tall and wide in the forest. Seeing into the future from their canopy, high above the chaff of the world. Impervious to the world’s flaws. Outliving generations upon generations of us. Perhaps I can take comfort from the redwoods, and from Hall’s powerfully succinct poem. Just what I needed today.

Carol Reynolds:

I could not read this monoku without feelings of reverence and humility which I am sure anyone who has ever stood in the presence of a giant redwood would feel. With the words ‘four to hug’, the writer provides perspective to those of us who have never had that privilege. Giant redwoods are known as the world’s tallest tree and live for thousands of years. In this case only four people are required to hug the tree suggesting it has many years to grow to its full potential. Older and bigger redwoods need more than four to hug!

Passed down from my father, a small piece of red cedar etched with the words of the poem ‘Trees’ by (Alfred) Joyce Kilmer, hangs on the wall leading into my office. The words of this poem have been etched in my mind since first hearing it during my early school years. I have had a life-long respect for nature and particularly trees. They have provided mankind with so much and continue to do so.

If only trees could talk they could have imparted their knowledge to us over the years and why we needed to sow what we reaped. We are finally realising the value of trees goes way beyond the need for creature comforts to the future existence of life on earth.

These six words provide so much scope for further reading and reflection which was perhaps the intention of the writer.

Rupa Anand—Ah, a poem on trees!:

Ah, a poem on trees! This poem speaks to me on many levels.

A simple, matter-of-fact, brief one-liner, in just six words it captures the relationship between humanity and nature effortlessly. The imagery is direct and emotional, without going into sentimentalism. I see a zen-like rhythm. It is not self-centred, not elaborate, not clever. It shows me something.

Renowned for being the tallest trees in the world the fact that it takes four humans to encircle and hug a giant redwood, is indeed humbling. And yet, we humans erroneously imagine and believe that we harness nature to our will and command. When in fact, we destroy the planet through wilful greed and avarice.

From this poem, I learned that it lies in our interest to safeguard the Redwood (or any other tree) and imbibe those very qualities it symbolises – longevity, wellness, safety, communication, & wisdom.

From the internet, I learned that coastal redwood forests store three times more carbon above ground than any other forest type. They don’t just capture carbon, they hang on to it. Old redwoods are highly resistant to decay, meaning that even dead or fallen trees will store carbon for centuries. Therefore, they are powerful allies in combating climate change. All the more reason to hug that redwood tighter.

Author Carolyn Hall:

Sequoia sempervirens, commonly known as the coast redwood, are among the largest and tallest trees in the world. Fortunately we live relatively near Armstrong Woods, home to the 310 foot high Parson Jones Tree and the Colonel Armstrong Tree, which is estimated to be over 1,400 years old. They are magnificent. It’s no wonder they bring out the “tree hugger” in us. Awe-inspired, we attempted to hug one of the largest trees. It took four of us to encircle it. Though the act was silly (we giggled a lot), our emotions were serious. As with all tree huggers, we were expressing the need to protect and preserve these trees for all time.

Thanks to all who sent commentaries. As the contributor of the commentary reckoned best this week, Rupa 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, criticism, 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:

Earth Hour
I am 
moonlit
—Sankara Jayanth Sudanagunta
 haikuKATHA, Issue 39, January 2025

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Footnote:

Carolyn Hall’s short bio:

Originally a Minnesota girl, I pulled up stakes and moved to San Francisco in the early 1960s. After a checkered career including stints as a histology technician, graphic designer, and copyeditor, at age 58 I penned (and published) my first haiku and was immediately smitten with the form and the way in which it opened my eyes to the world around me. With Laura Bell as my patient haiku tutor, I became utterly hooked on leaf buds, meadows, streams, and the evening sky. Even if I should never write another haiku, it would be impossible to close my eyes to the world of nature that haiku has gifted to me. For that I am forever grateful.

I was editor of both Acorn and Mariposa. I am author of seven award-winning haiku collections.

—
Humour:

Dour Shiki wrote that humour has no place in haiku. You can still find that view among some pundits these days.  I disagree.  I’m not alone.  I flagged up Susumu Takiguchi’s essay “The Importance of a Sense of Humour in Haiku” not long ago, but well before that, R.H. Blyth wrote that “humour is latent in every good haiku.” It is “some indispensable element without which haiku can hardly exist, some poise of the mind, some balance of conflicting elements from which arises that pleasure whose peculiar quality causes us to give it the name of humour.”

“… humour is closely allied to brevity; humour has the tendency to shorten our verses; it deletes the bombast; the isolated beautiful phrase finds itself unwanted. On the positive side, it shows us the double, paradoxical nature of things, the meaninglessness of their meaning; it lets us see the pathos of the universe…

“Humour also is a unifying principle, since it is possible, and even desirable, to laugh or at least smile, however grimly, at all things without exception.”

But not “humour that is not the humour of nature,” as Blyth put it.  I call it warm, gentle humour.  Some might suggest that other kinds are perhaps reserved for the ironies and satires often found in senryu. However, there are in the tradition many (very many) seasonal haiku about the likes of pine mushrooms and clams that have indubitable double meanings, usually of a sexual nature. There are many too, notably by Issa, that are definitely haiku but that satirise the likes of local bigwigs.

All of which shows yet again the problem and sometimes the pointlessness of trying to tie haiku and senryu down into neatly labelled packets, rather than sitting back, relaxed, detached, admiring the extensive scope and variation of a genre that in its spirit parallels life itself within a tiny frame.