re:Virals 571

“More difficult than making your own verses interesting is understanding those of others…” ―Shinkei (1406 –1475). Citing this, Onitsura (1661 – 1738) wrote: “…this should be a way in which a person is completely given over to training.”

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. In the host chair today is Melissa Dennison. This week’s poem, chosen by Carol Reynolds is:

   
robin on the fence—
are you the same bird I saw
when I was five?
—Robert Lowes, USA
   cattails, April 2024

Introducing this poem, Carol writes:

I chose this haiku as ‘Robin Redbreast’ has held a special place in my memory since childhood even though I had never seen a real one until I was in my 60’s. It was about 10 years ago when I was staying in country New South Wales. I saw a ‘robin on the fence’ and was childlike with excitement. Until then I had only seen them on Christmas cards in various settings, often perched on the railing of a snow-covered fence with a sprig of holly placed nearby. Christmas in Australia is at the height of our summer with not a snowflake in sight, but I think the romance of such Christmas card images captured my imagination. As a child I remember the popular song, ‘When the Red, Red Robin Comes Bob, Bob, Bobbin’ Along’ (written in 1926 by Harry Wood) and I wore Australia-manufactured ‘Red Robin’ brand socks.

I always believed those ‘snowy’ Christmas cards had come from foreign shores. I later found that the only species of robin with a truly red breast is in Australia and can be seen in regions that get snow, just not at Christmas time! I am not sure how old the haiku author is but Robins only live for around 10 years so it was possibly wishful thinking that it was the same bird he saw when he was five.

Host comment (Melissa):

Robert’s senryu has a playful feel, and it reminds me of poems by Issa, for instance

      That wren—
looking here, looking there.
      You lose something?
      I make my appearance,
I . . . the toad
      emerge from my thicket.

(translations by Robert Hass)

These are a couple of my favourite poems as they display a feeling of empathy with the non-human world. They are dialogical, helping to close the gap that often exists between ourselves and nature. I like to think thay are a little anarchic too, turning the human world on its head.

The next time we see a wren why not speak to it? Why not imagine what it might be like to be a toad? And why not ask when we see a robin whether or not it is the same one we saw as children? Of course it isn’t as we cannot step in the same river twice as Heraclitus tells us, but still it is nice to imagine, as our world is still full of magic and wonder and let’s embrace that.

As for the subject of this poem—the humble robin, it is often associated with Christmas. However, I have a robin that lives happily in our garden all year round. This year it has raised a family, and at least one fledgling has been accompanying it to the feed that I put out every day. I have had such joy watching this tiny speckled brown bird hopping around on the patio and flitting from buddleia to willow. This is not unusual, as robins are also UK residents. But not all robins are residents, and the European robin is a migratory species. Unfortunately life can be tough, and their journey is not without peril since this species is hunted and trapped along its migration route, in the Mediterranean across Italy, France, Syria and Cyprus. It is estimated that around 630,000 birds are killed this way each year. The impact we have on nature might be something to consider the next time we receive a Christmas card.

Alan Summers:

Of course as someone from the UK, a robin is most famous for Christmas cards from the Victorian era onwards, often pictured on a red Royal Mail postbox, and there has to be snow! Robin Redbreast is a strong seasonal marker for Winter because of the long history of being a star feature in many Christmas cards, be they Royal Mail snow-capped postboxes, a fence or on a branch.

Here, in this haiku, it’s most likely a North American migratory songbird also known for its bright reddish-orange breast and a cheerful morning song, though as stated in William Higginson’s Haiku World: An International Poetry Almanac, the robin means Spring in the USA (and Japan). Oddly enough, even if I read this as the European robin, it’s as powerful to me, as someone from England UK, as it might be to a reader from the USA, or even Japan!

Both the European robin (Erithacus rubecula) and Japanese Robin (Larvivora akahige, and historically called Komadori) could easily, at first casual glance, appear very similar. The ‘American robin’ (Turdus migratorius) however is very different in appearance! The American robin is the state bird of Connecticut, Michigan, and Wisconsin [USA] and has been depicted on a 1986 Birds of Canada series Canadian $2 note, and has a vital place in Native American mythology where red breast and flames are prominent. All three robins have these distinctive ‘red’ breasts. In Japan it’s a literary marker for waka and haiku to signal the official arrival of Spring; while in the UK its appearance might be deemed a strong literary marker for Winter and Christmas in particular, despite its most beautiful song almost all year round, taking a little break during their midsummer moult.

Wow, the poem exploded into facts, but from my perspective as a 5-year-old and all the way up to being a teenager, I was fascinated by birds and trees. And these robins of all geographical locations must surely be inquisitive birds. I love how the author’s robin might have been equally fascinated by the child, and perhaps it did revisit, in spirit, to see how and what he became as an adult.

Urszula Marciniak:

How much of the old robin (who, unfortunately, is statistically dead) is in the new robin? How much of the five-year-old is in me now? Can I see the world with a penetrating and honest eye?

I’m always surprised when I watch an old movie I once loved and no longer feel the same delight, even though I still like it and remember the soundtrack, even though I haven’t heard it in years. There are exceptions. Some things from the past still delight me. I feel like much of the child and his imagination is still with me, less than I’d like, but not bad.

While eating banana jelly, I’ll watch that black-and-white movie about a haunted castle. That’s a sensible plan for the coming weekend.

Everyone has their own robin from childhood. Do they remember to feed it?

Alan Harvey:

As a five-year-old kid, I did not know what a kigo was but I did know what a harbinger of spring was. We watched for the first robin in the spring on the front lawn. Robins are an iconic sign of spring where I grew up – a spring kigo, if I had known about seasonal references in haiku as a boy. Winter was showing signs of giving up and the streets were slushy and dirty. The days were getting longer and you could get hints of a summer in the future. Lowes’s haiku immediately took me back to those childhood days as intended. The surprise was when you saw the first robin of the spring on your lawn. It was always startling. And there is that sense of surprise reading this haiku. The wonder of seeing the robin and wondering if it’s the same one from last year returned to announce the spring.

Jennifer Gurney:

What a sweet, nostalgic poem, at first glance. The narrator appears to be a person of an indistinct age – could be 10, could be 50, could be 100 – looking back at their childhood memory of a robin on the fence. I can see the bird’s distinctive red and black coloring against the blue sky and atop the split-rail fence. The imagery is clear. I assume it is a male robin, because a female robin is brown like the rest of the female bird world in order to blend into her nest as camouflage and to allow the males to woo her with their coloring and song.

I have many fond memories of seeing this kind of bird through the years. Robins are commonplace and very uniform in appearance. I have probably seen thousands throughout my six decades on earth and all look the same. Since robins were one of my mom’s favorites, I associate the robin with her. As a sign that she is present. Luckily she liked a common bird, so I get to see her often. Especially when I am visiting areas where they are prevalent.

But there is something deeper in this tender poem. I believe the narrator might be seeing themself in this bird, through the years. And wondering about if they are the same person as they were when they were five. That whole looking-back-over-one’s life and wondering. I tend to do that more when I’m close to a birthday. Or they could be wondering about their connections throughout their life, as those close to them move away, die or become distant in other ways. This pondering of the narrator allows our own minds to wander as well.

The passing of time is very present in this short poem. And there is much room for the reader to step inside its three lines and wonder. It is a very effective haiku.

Dan Campbell:

I enjoyed reading the robin poem by Robert Lowes and his poem inspired me to write my own haiku about memories of a robin:

middle of the path
a robin will not budge
so I yield the road

Years ago, I was riding my bicycle along a bike path when I met a robin standing in the middle of the path. I expected him to hop aside as I approached, but he stubbornly refused to move. I slowed down, stopped, got off my bicycle, and walked it carefully around him while he remained exactly where he was. I will always remember the feathered traffic cop who made me get off my bicycle and go around.

Sitarama Seshu Maringanti:

I am an 80-year-old Indian but visit the US often to spend some time with my sons. I am very much familiar with the beautiful cardinals and robins of North America and know first hand how my grandchildren reacted with joy on sighting them in the backyards so very often. I have enjoyed explaining to my grandchildren about how these morning birds set up nests in the backyard trees to raise their young.

The haiku brings a wave of nostalgia about the chirping sparrows of my own childhood. These tiny birds were so friendly that when my mother sat to winnow the semi-processed rice paddy, they too arrived in twos and fours and partook of the bits of rice that landed on the floor. It was such a festival of chirps for us small children at the time, watching the sparrows. Alas! the sparrows have disappeared from the urban scene in India. Several reasons are adduced for their disappearance. But, when I watch the cardinals and robins in the US, my childhood memories of watching the sparrows at our doorstep and over the ripening rice fields return – sometimes to bring the joy of reminiscence and many a time a deep regret of witnessing a gradual erosion in the biodiversity in India and elsewhere. My grandchildren will hopefully carry their own reminiscences of the birds into their adulthood. I see Robert Lowes’s haiku as a reminder of mankind’s duty to preserve and sustain the diversity of nature.

Sudha Devi Nayak:

The haiku is nostalgia with a twinkle, a childhood reminiscence writ large in the book of Memory. We were all children once and we still carry the child within us and when we see a bird on the branch or fence we trigger a memory that takes us back to where we started, to that sense of wonder and awe, that pristine joy at seeing a feathered friend right on the fence in our front yard. The child is entranced in that moment, wholly, purely happy as only a child can be, the bird and the child in a halo of magic celestial light.

The poem celebrates a moment when the poet steps into his garden one early morning chancing on a robin on his fence. Suddenly he is transformed, something stirs somewhere and he asks in hushed whispered wonder “are you the same bird I saw when I was five?” Of course it was, he remembers home, he remembers the kitchen flavours wafting into the garden, his mother’s face framed in the window. Above all the bird. The bird and the associated memories resurrect a time when the 5-year-old carefree innocent lives life forever in the present. This is the memory that survives the fragility of all memory, what Milan Kundera says “the struggle of memory against all forgetting”. Memory is overpowered by forgetfulness, lost in care and cacophony but some memories survive the odds. And we ask ourselves, experiencing intimations of immortality “Whither is fled the visionary gleam / Where is it now the glory and the dream?”

The haiku is exquisite in execution, perfect in imagination, emotion recollected, and will resonate with us long after it is read.

Radhamani Sarma:

A poem depicting growth and recollection, beauty, poignancy, bird and human sentiments.  A marvel among bird species, the robin symbolizes good fortune and revival as the haiku writer envisages here.

Beginning in a conversational tone, in the first person, he infuses a peculiar curiosity, he visualizes the same old roof, the same old building where he stayed continuously, the same old garden undisturbed – memory revitalizes his recapitulation of the past mingling with the present. It begins with “robin on the fence” – and then a pause for readers to ruminate further. It looks as if he opines, “you have wings to fly, whereas I am crippled, cannot move, for age and several other factors play their own role”.

By mentioning “when i was five” he denotes his ageing factor, also as reflected in the bird; memory lives in the present. Season to season the robin migrates, but is it possible for the persona now? Questions remain.

Poets are seers, conversing with birds with a friendly approach to share and view their predicament, helplessness. Romantic poets are monumental example of this.

You do not have to be good.
You do not have to walk on your knees
for a hundred miles through the desert, repenting.
You only have to let the soft animal of your body
love what it loves.
Tell me about despair, yours, and I will tell you mine.
Meanwhile the world goes on.

― Mary Oliver, Wild Geese

Shannon Blood:

Ah! The disorientation of time’s passage. The first read of this haiku suggests a clever piece that hits familiar targets: structure, seasonal reference, and the consideration of a common everyday event. I can see the author stopping on a morning walk, watching the robin of today through a superimposed childhood memory. But wait! Pause a moment — is Robin a nickname for the child Robert? This question suggests a deeper connection between the haiku’s two parts. “On the fence” meaning indecision? Hesitation? Is Robert talking to himself, wondering about the child he remembers being, perhaps a more impulsive child, more willing to take a chance? There are certainly times in my adult life where I rue the loss of my child’s ability to lean into a world, into opportunities, experiences with hope, fresh eyes, curiosity and trust. A lovely poem, open to so many layers of interpretation.

Shalini Gupta:

It feels like the poet associates the bird with a memory in childhood. What was it we wonder? How does one distinguish a robin from another? Perhaps by the song? But still how? Also, given the short lifespan of birds it is unlikely that it is the same bird after a span of 3 or 4 years. Does the trill of the robin enrapture the poet? Also, birds choose strange nooks and corners to inhabit, such as window sills, in this case the fence. Or is it that the fence being referred to portends to a deep spiritual message of the bird perched between this world and the one above, the past and the future. A child being observant of a bird evokes a deep sense of intuition, awareness of nature or perhaps a fascination for these lively creatures. For me, this haiku is love for birds and nostalgia for one in particular rolled together. Adorable.

Kavita Ratna—go with the flow:

This ku brings in both nostalgia and contemplation. In its straight reading, it is a simple question, linking a feathered visitor and the poet by the possible memory of a previously shared experience. It marks the passing of time – as experienced by one of them – while the other has a time span that is aligned most closely to nature. It is also an attempt to re-create a past, from when the poet was a child – the way our history becomes alluring as we age.

However, in the manner ‘We never step into the same river twice’ (quote attributed to the Greek Philosopher Heraclitus) in the passing of time, even if they were the same person and the bird, because of the life experiences of the intervening years, neither would the same from those years ago…. This is a ku, deceptively simple on its first reading, that gains a subtle complexity with each fresh reading.

Robert Lowes:

I was reading haiku by Issa every morning—and under his spell—when I wrote this haiku roughly four years ago. In his work, Issa frequently engaged animals and insects in conversation, exhibiting a one-with-nature spirit. He gave me permission to follow suit.

I think the impulses behind my haiku are fairly obvious. Humans can tell each other apart, but they can’t distinguish one robin from another. To us, they’re look-alikes, akin to ants on the sidewalk, or large-mouth bass on a stringer. So when I spot a robin on a fence, I can experience the illusion that I’ve seen this same exact creature all my life, going back as far as I remember, maybe age 5. An eternal robin.

The question “are you the same bird I saw?” is one that comes naturally as I look at the entirety of my life from the vantage point of gray hair and retirement. The robin on the fence connects the older me to my 5-year-old self, in my mind, at least. Who doesn’t want to experience that sense of continuity? At the same time, the literal answer to the question “are you the same bird I saw?” is no. There is no eternal robin that’s accompanied me throughout my life. Similarly, my own self hasn’t been a constant, a 5-year-old in amber.

One more thing—the robin on the fence can’t give me an intelligible answer, an incapacity that tints my question with pathos. At least the robin can sing. That’s some consolation. And I can be grateful that many generations of robins have sung in my presence. But that’s another poem.

As I recall, I composed my haiku without much tinkering. Thank you, Issa, for encouraging me to risk talking to robins.

Thanks to all who sent commentaries. As the contributor of the commentary reckoned best this week, Kavita has chosen next week’s poem, which you’ll find below. We invite you to write a commentary to it. It may be short, to a maximum of 500 words (succinctness will be valued);  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. Please note that commentaries must be your own personal work.

Poem for commentary:

     
end of summer—
the sound of the waves
in my conch
— Geethanjali Rajan
  Icebox, August 2022
  (Also published in 'longing for sun longing for rain' by the author, Red River, 2023)

Footnote:

Robert Lowes is the author of two poetry collections: Shocking the Dark (Kelsay
Books, 2024), and An Honest Hunger (Resource Publications, 2020). Shocking the
Dark features 52 haiku. His poems have appeared in journals such as The New
Republic, Southern Poetry Review, Tampa Review, Modern Haiku, Frogpond,
Chrysanthemum, and Blithe Spirit. For more information, and links to his work, visit
robertlowes.com.

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