re:Virals 504

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, hosted by Keith Evetts (managing editor) and Melissa Dennison.  In the seat today is Keith.  This week’s poem, chosen by Peter Yovu was:

   
Rained from the morning’s
Clear blue,
Settling on peony petals, too
Ash from Mt Asama.
— Tito (Stephen Gill)
  Modern Haiku 40:1, 2009

Introducing this poem, Peter writes:

In a conversation with the Kon Nichi Translation Group (Richard Gilbert et. al.) Kaneko Tohta says:

“Haiku arises with the (Japanese) language.”

He does not elaborate, and I cannot be sure exactly what he means, but he seems to be saying in effect that haiku is intrinsic to the Japanese language. Perhaps inseparable from it. One illustration: the 5/7/5 rhythmic pattern of haiku and tanka closely follows Japanese speech patterns. As I understand it.

I find it interesting that English language haiku has taken the direction it has. I’m not convinced it needed to. The direction basically, is to fit the English language into a Japanese language mold. An extreme example is the avoidance of the article, which even Lucien Stryk does in some of his translations. But in general, I think one thing that is lost in many (not all) ELH is a sense of musicality, ignoring that English is a stressed language, for instance. Japanese is not. And while some may argue that Pound’s “Metro” poem is not a haiku, it may be instructive to look at it a bit and see how effective it is in juxtaposing weak stresses with strong. Something not possible in Japanese.

What I end up asking is this: can there be (more of ) a conversation, a confluence, maybe a collison, between what “arises with the Japanese language” and what arises with the English?

Or more simply: can haiku arise from the English language? What would that look and sound like? I believe that though he may frame it differently, this is something Stephen Gill explores with his 4 line haiku.

Opening comment (Keith):

In these mellifluous four lines there is an element of remarkable surprise in that out of the blue something has fallen as if it had been rain; but as the last line explains, it is ash from a distant volcano. It has settled on everything, not sparing the beautiful peony. This prompts meditation on the volcano as a great elemental force of nature, the ‘creative,’ the indiscriminate.  A reminder of the thinness of the earth’s crust and what lies beneath; its tephra falling alike on lord or peasant, wheat or tare. Secondary cogitations might be: that other than the sages of Zen and of the Dao, humans do tend to discriminate between things, and value them differently; admiring and preserving some, disliking and discarding others.  And that ash can be an end and a beginning in the cycle of life. Volcanic ash is a rich source of nutrients, potash and trace minerals —in some places the main provision of nutrients for lush vegetation.

Elemental force in a haiku calls to mind several of Bashō’s zoka-oriented verses. Indeed he has one concerning Mount Asama:
ふきとばす石も浅間の野分かな
fukitobasu ishi wa Asama no nowaki kana
even stones blown away by Asama’s autumn storm!

Although the publication reference is 2009, Tito’s verse was written in 1982. The capitalisations along with the lyrical style hark to the earlier days of anglophone haiku, when poets steeped in English poetic and grammatic traditions were grappling with how to adopt/adapt form and aesthetics from Japanese haiku,  and render them more familiar to the anglophone ear.  The sweet end-rhyme is one manifestation of this.  It works neatly (my views of a year ago on rhyme in haiku are in the Footnote to re:Virals 455).

We are accustomed in anglophone haiku to seeing verses rendered in three lines. That is a convention, for which there can be good reasons, especially to do with asymmetry and with line-endings as ‘cuts’ or pauses in a language without cutting-words. But it is not one imported from classical Japanese haiku, most frequently written on a single line. However, lineation  has varied: see, for example, “Translating Hokku and Haiku” by Hiroaki Sato in Frogpond Volume IV Number 2 1981. There are precedents in Japanese haiku for a ‘rectangular’ structure parallelling four lines. Shiki’s pupil Kawahigashi Hekigotō (1873 – 1937) established a ‘New Trend School’ in which a pattern of four syllabic groupings was used, sometimes 5-5-3-5, sometimes to present two planes of view. Hekigotō and his colleagues and successors also broke away from the 17  ‘on’ in which the vast majority of haiku had been written. This week’s verse by Tito numbers 22 syllables.

In all, I suggest (in the manner of Denise Levertov) that while structure of some sort is important in framing a poem, it should be driven by content rather than the other way round. Here, the form and content work together well. The verse as a whole is pleasing to the ear, detached, prompts meditation, and in today’s context (see footnote on ‘Poetic Spell’) reappears as fresh, stimulating, and poetic.

Sudha Devi Nayak:

Raindrops from a clear blue sky like strings of pearls glistening on the edges of the peony petals interspersed with the ash of the volcano close by is Nature’s powerful statement. The beauty of the flower is not marred but it is nevertheless a painful reminder that great beauty does exist with the ugliness and the dross. The astounding grace of nature that gives us so much of joy and celebration can give us great tragedies with the tectonic shifts of the earth, overflowing rivers and devastating fires. A reflection of life itself where we encounter so much of goodness,grace and empathy as well as cruel indifference,callous conduct and and a complete lack of that”There but for the grace of God go I”. Yet we must plod on and try to realise that life cannot be understood in isolation but in cohesion-a commingling of pain and happiness..The ash settling on the flower does not diminish the flower but professes it’s grace – revelling in the raindrops and resilient to the flecks of ash.The wonderful haiku resonates with the questions of life.

Dan Campbell:

Ash Upon Petals: A Sonnet Critique of a Poem

From morning’s hush, where blue begins to break,
Descends the ash in veils of silver-gray—
It dusts the blooms, each leaf and petal wake
To touch of loss the wind can’t sweep away.

Mount Asama stirs in distant grace,
Its fury veiled, a plume without a sound—
The ghost of fire glides down the sky’s wide face,
And settles gently on the waiting ground.

The haiku catches all of this in one breath:
The fall of ash, the blossom’s slow collapse—
A brushstroke made in stillness, hinting death,
Yet filled with life that trembles in its gaps.

Three lines endure: the fragile, fading rose—
How beauty yields, and yet the garden grows.

Akira Kibi:

Rain, unexpected from the clear blue sky, the author remembers in the morning, he noticed a trace of ashes, perhaps travelled from Asama yama, staying on a peony petals, as if to greet him. The sudden change of weather yet, ashes remaining on the petals, the scene is fresh and the description vivid.

The late Martin Lucas:

…wrote in his article “Haiku as Poetic Spell” that this haiku by Tito … “is constructed indirectly, delaying resolution until the final line; with the unusual opening of a passive verb that is also marginally metaphorical. It has evident alliterative patterning—“peony petals”, “Ash / Asama” —and, crikey!, a rhyme. Tito, a.k.a. Stephen Gill, has been writing this style of four-line haiku for very nearly as long as Modern Haiku has been publishing, but very few have followed his lead, and outside his local circle in Kansai, Japan, this approach is almost entirely neglected. This is in many ways unfortunate, because this rich four-line style offers far more poetic nourishment than the clipped three lines of the international formula. If I had to speculate on the reasons for this neglect, I might suggest that in the very act of giving the poem such a defined beginning, middle, and end, the prized directness of haiku has been sacrificed. But I might also suggest that a rich four lines requires more effort from the writer and more effort from the reader, and in a creative community notorious for its short attention span there are too few willing to do this little extra work.”

Sosui (Nobuyuki Yuasa):

It was a pleasure to read this haiku written by Tito (Stephen Gill) in Tokyo back in 1982. I was living in Hiroshima at the time, and do not recall any news about this eruption of Mt. Asama. By a strange turn of fate, now Tito lives in Asuka, Nara prefecture, and I live in Takasaki, Gunma prefecture. From the top of the building where I live, I can see Mt. Asama—snow-capped in winter, soaring above flowering hills in spring, indigo-blue in summer, and ablaze with colours in autumn. I have been watching Mt. Asama for twenty years now, but no eruption. However, when I see the mountain against the evening glow, I can see dark streaks of smoke shooting up from its crater. As Emily Dickinson said, the mountain may be hiding a secret plan. From this point of view, Tito’s haiku is a warning. Poor peony petals—surely, they suffocated under the settling dust. What will happen in Tokyo if Mt. Fuji erupts is too horrifying to imagine. We will have a tragedy similar to, no, larger than Pompeii.

Sitarama Seshu Maringanti—dust thou art:

The Haiku of Stephen Gill is a description of how ash from the erupting Mt Asama settles on the delicate and soft petals of Peony flowers. It is a clear day with the sky as blue as ever. But the calmness of the morning gives way to an unexpected eruption of the nearby volcano – Mt Asama. The volcano doesn’t spew the usual steaming dark red lava. It is a one-on, one-off affair, it seems. Only the ash is spewed into the clear blue sky with moderate intensity. That morning the ash fell on everything in the surrounding plains. It is only incidental that it fell on the petals of the beautiful, tender peony flowers too.

The poet tells us through this Haiku about the occurrence of events over which all forms of life, notably humans, have no control. I see in the Haiku a subtle expression of Karma or fatalistic destiny of all life. ‘Dust thou art and unto dust shalt thou return’ appears in Genesis 3:19. H. W. Longfellow also reiterated this in his Psalm of Life.

Author Tito (Stephen Gill):

My haiku poem (haiqua) was written on 26 April 1982 in Ueno Park, Tokyo, near to where I was then living. I had read in the news that Mt. Asama on the Nagano-Gunma pref. border over 6o miles away, was in eruption… and I remember feeling the tiny pricks of the pale ash on my face and neck before noticing it settling. It was strange to find something falling from a blue sky. I also felt the impartiality of nature, as ash collected even on the king or queen of oriental flowers just as it did on the earth around or, for that matter, on everyone’s heads. There is also latent in the haiqua, I hope, an inkling of an enormous scale, not commonly found while strolling around in a city park.

Concerning the haiqua, or haiku in four lines: I like the slower delivery, verticality, greater ability to emphasize words, increased line juxtaposition possibilities (1:3,2:2,3:1), and richer musicality. Haiku should be spoken, too. It’s easier to cast a spell. I also compose in 2 and in 3 lines and 5 if aiming for a tanka; almost never in 1, though. There have been a few four-line haiku practitioners in Japanese, too.

I believe internal rhyme, alliterative effects, etc. are legitimate tools for the haiku poet, provided they come naturally and don’t seem contrived. Line-end rhyme is much rarer, for it often comes across as contrived, but rules are there for breaking. The proof of the pudding…

Thanks to all who sent commentaries. As the contributor of the commentary reckoned best this week, Sitarama Seshu Maringanti 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:

     
mangroves
the promised manatees
never come
—Agnes Eva Savich 
 Presence 81, March 2025

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.

Footnotes:

Bio:

Stephen Henry Gill, Haiku name: ‘Tito’. Born North Yorkshire, UK, 1953. Began writing haiku and haibun in English, 1972. Has continued without interruption ever since. Studied in Kyoto, 1974-75. Grad. of London Univ. (Jap. Lang. & Lit. 1979). Early 80s researching, translating, working in Tokyo; late 80s, radio scriptwriting for BBC (21 programmes broadcast, mostly about Japan, all featuring haiku/haibun). His ‘Insect Musicians’ won Sony Prize for Best Documentary, 1989. 1990s edited ‘Rediscovering Basho’ (Global Oriental) and served on the British Haiku Society Committee as national events officer. 1995 moved to Kyoto, working at both Ritsumeikan and Ryukoku Univs. Presently, lecturing on Haiku in English Literature and other topics at Kyoto Univ. Lives in the now-rural ancient capital, Asuka, Nara pref. In 2000, he founded Hailstone Haiku Circle, Kansai. Co-founder/judge of Genjuan International Haibun Contest (2012-21). Amongst his books, 1 Poet on Mt. Ogura, 100 Poems in a Day (haiku & tanka collection) and 100 Poets on Mt. Ogura, 1 Poem Each (bilingual haiku & tanka anthology, HSA Kanterman Prize for Best Anthology, 2011). Also, Stone Birthdays (in Japanese, illus., for children), Enhaiklopedia, Meltdown, Persimmon (Eng. haiku anthologies), From the Cottage of Visions (Eng. haibun anthology).

Interview: Presence #80, November 2024, pp. 94-100

Links: Hailstone Haiku Circle website Icebox (admin. ed., link in Bio above); Hailstone Haiku Circle instagram page (ed., featuring haiku videos).

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Received after the deadline from Akihiko Hayashi:

Since the dawn of history, Japan has been plagued by a lot of natural disasters such as earthquakes, tsunamis, eruptions, and typhoons. When disaster strikes, people lament the reality and rise up each time. The accumulation of such experiences may have led the Japanese to establish readiness and philosophical resignation.

This haiqua (4-line haiku) reminds us of such psychological transition, from sudden anxiety and disappointment (first two lines) to lamentation, distress, and resignation (last two lines). The last word “Mt. Asama” seems to symbolize the sacred and awesome “nature” that no one can control.

Here in Japan, peonies are often cited as a symbol of beauty. However, nature may lay violent hands even on the peonies. This is a harsh reality, but fundamentally all we can do is accept it.

While this haiqua depicts a sad and merciless moment (a small tragedy) in the ephemeral flow of time, but at the same time, by viewing the last word “Mt. Asama” philosophically or religiously, we can also sense a spiritual enlightenment, sublimated by resignation.

Received after the deadline from David McCullough:

The historical context of this fine haiku, an actual eruption that deposited ash on distant Tokyo, might be somewhat obscure for contemporary readers.
The weight of the verse seems to rest on the decision to leave ‘clear blue’ as a two-word line so that, surrounded by space, it swells into an enormous sky. For me, the addition of a rhyming ‘too’ in the third line somewhat dilutes the preceding phrase.

A suggested rewrite:

out of morning’s
clear blue,
settling on peonies —
volcano ash

Poetic Spell:

Introducing his seminal article Haiku as Poetic Spell, which remains cogent, relevant and recommended reading, Martin Lucas wrote of anglophone haiku: “from certain angles it now looks as if it has reached something of a plateau. This plateau is a position of conformity, complacency and mere competence.”

Lucas wasn’t the only significant figure to raise this sense of ennui and dissatisfaction at the time. Nor through the ages — that’s where Shiki came in, and before him, others every few decades or so; and after him, Blyth.

With apologies to the author, Lucas takes as an example:

Indian summer
the old fan slows
to a stop
—Lynne Steel, Modern Haiku 40:1.

Lucas continues: “Let’s be clear: it’s a good haiku. If it had been submitted to Presence, I would very likely have accepted it….It does what so many others are trying to do, and it has been selected for a best-of-issue award because it does it well. It is a good example of its kind; it’s the kind I object to. For one thing, it fits the formula too well. There it is—the well-worn seasonal reference, followed by the significantly juxtaposed foreground image.”

To Lucas’ comments I might add that the inscape of this verse is not a million miles off the well-known verse by Yamaguchi Seishi written in 1933, “in summer grasses / the locomotive’s wheels / slow to a stop“.

Readers might ask themselves what if anything has changed since Lucas’ article in 2009. Aside from monoku and the freer kind of verse in the likes of Heliosparrow, Noon and a few other publications, how do you react to the continuing conveyor belt of look-alike, think-alike verses in journals? Often verses on well-worn subjects, with little fresh insight, composed in accordance with a heap of conventions and over-used devices according to current “best practice” —as if writing poetry were like fire safety, wiring an electrical circuit board, or accountancy…

Discussion always welcome.