re:Virals 575

“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 Alan Summers was:

   
dusk the call goes directly to voicemail
— Cherie Hunter Day
  The Heron's Nest Volume XX, Issue 2 (June, 2018)

Introducing this poem, Alan writes:

There is something about a 1-line haiku that can absorb us even quicker with its straight single line all the way through to the end. My technique of genre-switching for 1-line haiku, which I talk about in my book “modŏ – new & selected one-line haiku” is worth trying out! We can turn a haiku on its head from being a snippet of time to the opening or closing hook of an unwritten novel. Why try this out? It can allow readers to interpret the poem differently, not just as a micro-observation, but as an expansive narrative trigger. Here dusk is the expanse working with the double or triple play, of the literal with the sublime plus quasi-fictive poetic treatment. Is it dusk going to voicemail rather than the actual call. Is the author star-gazing, about to step out for an evening with friends and/or family. The timing of the call, whether the old landline or cellphone, will be noted and ignored. Why waste time when the atmospheric vista of twilight beckons.

More literal would be:

the call goes directly to voicemail dusk

or

the call goes directly to voicemail, dusk

Though we’d lose the multi-faceted layers, even though I like the first example, the magic of dusk should always come first.

Host comment (Melissa):

This is a one-breath, one-image monoku that focuses on a contemporary subject —the telephone, a behemoth of our age that often seems to dictate our daily lives. Disconnecting and leaving calls to go to voicemail, ah that sounds lovely doesn’t it?  I think it is something many of us dream about in this digital age. If only we could switch off and leave the world and all its chaos at the door. It is quite romantic, but I find that I never quite achieve this, I receive messages at all times of the day and I often find myself being tempted to take a peek.

I like this poem, I can relate to it, and in a mere 7 words it says so much about the modern world. What I particularly enjoy is the space it leaves for the reader, or ‘ma’, the Japanese aesthetic principle that when translated refers to a pause, gap or negative space. Rather than being a void this is understood as being a powerful presence. When I read Cherie’s monoku I find myself imagining various scenarios for instance the poet going out with friends, on a date, perhaps curled up in front of the fire with a good book (my preference), or with her hands in the soil, gardening while there is still some light. All of these are tangible things and experiences, something that we are losing in our over reliance on technology, including the dreaded mobile phone.

Finally, for me these words are about living, doing what is important to us in the here and now, and freeing ourselves from our screens.

Sudha Devi Nayak:

The sun has set, the day has drawn to a close, the haikuist here has switched off. She leaves her workplace where it is, after battling with files and calls and people and manoeuvring irate temperamental bosses. She has earned her liberation for the day, the peace she richly deserves.

She prizes her privacy, the time with her near and dear ones or even time with herself. This is me-time and no intrusion is welcome to mar the moment. This is the moment of redemption from the clamour and chaos, the wiles and conceits of the daily grind. No further claims on her time. She sinks into her chair of comfort, murmurs her prayerful thanks to the Powers that be, a sense of relief for the end of another grueling day.

Home is a haven, a defence of the self against constant observation, an inner life with quiet boundaries for thought and reflection.

The calls can wait meanwhile sitting pretty in the voicemail. She will deal with them and all that follows tomorrow. Like Scarlet O’Hara she tells herself “After all, tomorrow is another day.”

Peter Jackson:

Hello … hello…
Oh no .. it’s gone to to your answer phone again…
Please pick up …..
I’ve left so many messages for you.
I’m worried Ok?
I know, I know it’s my fault …. I made a stupid mistake and I’m sorry.
I promise never to do that again. OK?
Please, please call me.
I love you … Ok’

I don’t know what happened, ‘dusk’ and ‘directly’ suggest ending and absence. The rest is imagination and silence.

Urszula Marciniak:

Turning off our phone in the evening takes courage. It gives us time for the loved ones right beside us — though not for those a bit further away who might want to call, chat about everything, and feel less lonely. Nevertheless, such digital hygiene is important. It allows us to organize our thoughts and understand where we are heading, rather than simply following the lives of celebrities. In the quiet, it is easier to hear our own thoughts. We might write a haiku. We might learn something new about our family. It is worth a try — at least from time to time.

Radhamani Sarma:

Living in an era of advanced technology and modernized access to emails and and voicemails, recalling our messages which were recorded and retained in our absence. What is the dusk in Cherie Hunter Day’s one-liner and what is the connection between “dusk” and “voicemail”?

Seasons especially in America play a very prominent role in shaping man’s lives day to day. This one-line haiku conveys the spring and summer when people go to outdoor shopping, beach resorts and journeys and pleasure resorts .

Usually dusk is the time people return home, after day long absence, outdoor activity, baggage of purchases, parking cars in their slots, spending their time with grandchildren.

Here dusk could mean being away from home interacting with people, in shopping malls, as they love doing this.

But here as a contrast, in the absence of the attendants, digital recording devices receive and store messages; the person does not pick up the phone, the call directly goes to voicemail, the recorder. Back home at leisure, messages are attended by the owner of the devices. Here, time place and action – all are compressed in one single line. Dusk is alive, now in voicemail’s storage, for a short while in a state of numbness, or sedate calm. Machines like robots and voicemail can play wonders. Even in dusk, the inmates are busy-bees outside, dependent upon voice messages. Lurking dusk ‘til the masters wake up in the voicemail.

To conclude, voicemails or messages are midnight children or late-night servants or round-the-clock service. Man and machine in a tie up, a bond unbreakable unto the last — that is modern technology.

Dan Campbell—Who’s calling, please?:

What catches me first in “dusk the call goes directly to voicemail” is dusk. At this stage in life, I can’t read that word quite the way I did at twenty-five. Back then dusk meant the day was finally cooling off, dinner was coming, perhaps music, friends, somewhere to go. There was always tomorrow. Now dusk carries a second meaning I don’t have to manufacture. I am in the dusk of my own life. That sounds gloomier than I intend. I don’t regard dusk as a tragedy. I still want to learn things, write things, travel, listen to music,

Which makes the rest of the poem, the call goes directly to voicemail, less trivial than it might appear.

I remember rotary phones. I remember calling someone and letting the telephone ring six or seven times before finally hanging up. There was no voicemail, no “Do Not Disturb,” no electronic clues to interpret. Nobody answered. You tried again later.

Now “directly to voicemail” starts the mind working. Is the phone off? Is the person busy? Did they see my name and decide not to answer? Is something wrong?

Perhaps this is what I like most about the poem. In seven words it puts two kinds of time beside each other: dusk, which human beings have watched for thousands of years, and voicemail, which will probably become technologically obsolete before dusk even notices.

And maybe I am reading too much into seven words. At my age, however, you learn that an unanswered call can be utterly insignificant.

But you also learn that sometimes there will be no next conversation.

In my case, when my calls to someone go directly to voicemail, I wait a minute, I look out at the fading light.

Then I call again.

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

     
unsaid words
the last wren
of the day
— Crystal Simone Smith
  Modern Haiku, Summer 2024 

Footnote:

Cherie Hunter Day (born July 3, 1954, Morristown, New Jersey), has published haiku and tanka for over thirty years. She is an American writer, poet, editor, and artist. She served as Northwest Regional Coordinator for the Haiku Society of America, co-organizer of the Haiku North America 1997 conference, edited the Haiku Poets of Northern California’s journal Mariposa, and was an associate editor of The Heron’s Nest, a staff editor for the Red Moon Anthology series, and a Touchstone Distinguished Book Award panelist. She judged the Nicholas A. Virgilio Memorial Haiku Competition, the HPNC Tanka Contest and Rengay Contest, Mildred Kanterman Memorial Merit Book Award, Harold G. Henderson Award, and the Peggy Willis Lyles Haiku Award. Day is the author of seven full-length books and six chapbooks. Miles Deep in a Drum Solo (2022) and apology moon (2013) won Touchstone Distinguished Book Awards. beyond/within: A Collection of Rengay (1997), Early Indigo (2000), and for Want (2017) received Honorable Mentions from the HSA Merit Book Awards. A House Meant Only for Summer (2023) was shortlisted for a Touchstone Award. She lives in Auburn, New Hampshire. Miles Deep in a Drum Solo (2022) is the winner of the 2022 Touchstone Distinguished Haiku Book Award. She currently lives in the San Francisco Bay Area among seventeen thirsty redwoods.

Sean Murphy offered this as food for thought this week, by way of variations:

dusk the phone runs out of battery

dusk do not disturb

dusk the car enters a tunnel

dusk she blocks his number

dusk the spam filter does its job

dusk the decline button pressed by mistake

re:Virals is co-hosted by Shawn Blair, Melissa Dennison, Susan Yavaniski, and Keith Evetts (managing editor).

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