July 31 (Red Poppies)
red poppies
the child sounding out
the obituary
Red Dragonfly
haiku. poetry.
Month: July, 2010
July 31, 2010
July 29, 2010
July 29 (Greediness)
greediness
and black wings
summer kitchen
July 28, 2010
July 28: 1-3: American Sentences, sort of
A few weeks ago Angie Werren, in one of her comments, pointed me to a fascinating essay about American sentences, which she writes a lot of on her wonderful blog feathers. I don’t know if these strictly qualify, but I’ve been enjoying writing some as a break from haiku — sometimes trying to think in three carefully balanced lines is more than I can handle when my brain is especially fried. I just want some nice, normal English syntax. But, you know, poetic…or at least as close as I can get on four hours of sleep.
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1.
The birds have stopped calling warnings now that the fledglings are gone.
2.
My sense of wonder is growing again — is this middle age?
3.
Waiting for my son, I see that he’s dancing to a song I don’t know.
July 26, 2010
July 26: Shared Water: a renga
A month or so ago I wrote about renga (or renku), the form of collaborative linked verse from which the haiku evolved. Everything I’d read about it fascinated me and I was itching to try it, so I issued an invitation for renga partners. Steve Mitchell of Heed Not Steve was the only one brave (or crazy) enough to take me up on it. This means that Steve was the only one who got to have the fun of spending the last month emailing renga verses back and forth with me as we tried to master the notorious intricacies of renga link and shift.
See, here are the most basic rules of renga: each verse should link to the verse immediately before it — should connect to it somehow, say in subject or tone or viewpoint or just linguistically, as for instance when one word suggests a variety of meanings that can be played on in different ways. It should also shift completely from the verse two before it — should have nothing in common in the ways I just mentioned. You’re also, technically, not supposed to repeat significant words (nouns, verbs and the like) in the course of a renga. And you should try to cover as many different subjects as you can in the course of a renga — to create a little microcosm. By the time you get to about verse 18 of a 36-verse kasen renga, the type we attempted, these rules are starting to drive you (and by “you” I mean “me”) out of your mind. In a good way, of course.
Steve and I, both complete newcomers to this form of poetry and a little intimidated by the whole thing, elected to take the (relatively) easy route of using one of Jane Reichhold’s ready-made seasonal kasen renga forms — in this case, the one for summer. These specify for each verse who should be writing it (with two people writing, you more or less switch back and forth each verse, except when you don’t), how many lines it should be (you alternate 3 and 2 line verses), and what the subject matter should be. Jane’s forms are loosely based on the great Basho’s kasen renga rules: the renga moves through the seasons, making a couple of complete cycles of the year, and contains a certain number of references to moon and blossoms and love. You can entertain yourself trying to figure out which verses are which in our renga.
Steve was lots of fun to work with — I enjoyed trying to figure out how the heck each new verse he sent me was supposed to link to the verse I’d just sent him. Links can be very subtle and devious sometimes. We both kept notes on each verse we wrote — how we linked, what we were thinking as we wrote it and how we saw it fitting into the renga as a whole. I’ll link at the bottom to a separate page I’ve created with all our notes, so if you feel like reading them you can.
The overall impression a renga should leave is not of a neatly ordered landscape, as in a traditional Western poem with a unified theme, but a sort of whirlwind tour of the world via several different modes of transportation and with a constantly changing group of travel companions — moving like lightning from one subject to another, from one kind of weather to another, from one mind to another. For this reason, they can be challenging to read if you’re not used to them — but once you start to get the hang of it, they are exhilarating. Or at least I think so. Hope you do too.
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Shared Water
a summer kasen renga between Steve Mitchell and Melissa Allen
June-July 2010
balmy blue lakes
shimmering dry heat
shared water
organic milk on the strawberries
the shortcake dissolves
copper strands
entwine the land
quaint bitumen
bright socks on her needles
she watches the people on the bus watch her
playing parlor games
unmindful as the moon peeks
through the drapes
bleached plastic pumpkins
holding a seance on the lawn
stalking through frosty grass
the cat leaps
on the tail of a leaf
the young boy makes a muscle
dad gives a low whistle
biology class picture
the children
divided by sex
anonymous in the dark
feral peafowl invade the trees
the third day of fever
he writes a poem
about the war
those brothers interred
their silence accuses
the moon
through a row of icicles
flashes of insight
on the roads a glacial crawl —
fly away Snowbirds!
andante
their conversation waltzes
to the music
light steam in his nose
hot tea hides his fortune
bright pink sweater
the unexpected shyness
of the blossom
iridescent hummingbird
faster than gravity
the soothing cool wind
so brief
windows left open
under the microscope
the fruit flies are born and die
(ME) gnashing ego
believes (ME) its own truth
fear (ME) and (ME) death
half asleep, waiting for the sound
of the false teeth being brushed
the a.c. hums
our summer lullaby
the meter spins
fish reeled from the river
silver-clad for the boating party
dressed for dinner
“Where’s your new brooch?”
she pins it on
cuttings from the jade plant
he returns her Polaroids
the oak tree
with enduring scars
carved initials
Moscow beer line —
passing the communal cup
moonlit haze
I think I hailed this cab
it looks amber
goosebumps on her arms
he rushes through the painting
cold autumn rain
she counts the money
one more time
fragile sand dollars
half-buried by the surf
the oily sea
punishment from the gods
for digging too deep
wool coats forgotten
a reprieve from the frost
damp violets underfoot
trying to imagine
cactus flowers
the riverbed mesquite
imagining water
*
You can look over here if you’re interested in reading our notes about our writing process.
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(And if you’ve made it this far and you are intrigued by renga, I hereby issue another invitation. Ashley Capes of Issa’s Snail, a renku site, who has done a whole lot of writing and coordinating of this fascinating kind of poetry and really knows what he’s talking about, has kindly offered to organize a renga for readers of this blog to participate in — leave a comment if you are interested in participating.)
July 25, 2010
July 25 (Feathers)
feathers
scattered over the carpet
unanswered questions
July 22, 2010
July 22: 1-2: The Technique of Humor
(See this post for an explanation of what’s going on here.)
Jane:
“This is the dangerous stuff … [b]ecause one has no way of judging another person’s tolerance for wisecracks, jokes, slurs, bathroom and bedroom references.… Very often the humor of a haiku comes from the honest reactions of humankind. Choose your terms carefully, add to your situation with appropriate leaps, and may the haiku gods smile on you.
dried prune faces
guests when they hear
we have only a privy”– Jane Reichhold, Haiku Techniques
*
Me:
Hmmm … okay, here’s the thing. My sense of humor tends toward the … obscurely satirical? Wait, is that just a synonym for “not funny”? Well, you can judge for yourself.
1.
For my first effort at humor I set out to write a haiku that would encompass as many stereotypes about Japan and haiku as possible in seventeen syllables (5-7-5, of course).
origami cranes
sipping tea on Mount Fuji —
white cherry blossoms
2.
For my second effort I felt like making fun of haiku poets. Yeah, all of us, cawing away, trying to impress our significance on the world …
Basho, Issa,
and the rest of us —
a convention of crows
Had enough yet? Can’t say I blame you. But come on, are they really any worse than Jane’s privy joke?
(And don’t forget my invitation!)
July 18, 2010
July 18: 1-2: The Techniques of the Paradox and the Improbable World
(See this post for an explanation of what’s going on here.)
Jane:
The Technique of the Paradox:
“One of the aims of playing with haiku is to confuse the reader just enough to attract interest. Using a paradox will engage interest and give the reader much to think about. Again, one cannot use nonsense but has to construct a true (connected to reality) paradox. …
climbing the temple hill
leg muscles tighten
in our throats”
The Technique of The Improbable World:
“This is very close to paradox … an old Japanese tool which is often used to make the poet sound simple and child-like. Often it demonstrates a distorted view of science – one we ‘know’ is not true, but always has the possibility of being true (as in quantum physics).
evening wind
colors of the day
blown away
or
waiting room
a patch of sunlight
wears out the chairs”– Jane Reichhold, Haiku Techniques
*
Me:
one blue egg
the shape of a bird
in my hand
dizziness
clutching my pen
to keep from falling
July 17, 2010
July 17: 1-3 (Heat)
the heat index
the argument
subsides
July heat
wishing the grass
had a cool side
phlox droops
over the sidewalk
heat rises
July 16, 2010
July 16 (Waiting Till Dark)
waiting till dark
to take in the laundry
fireflies
July 15, 2010
July 15 (The Fan Breathing)
the fan breathing
we assume the positions
of warriors
July 14, 2010
July 14 (Bastille Day)
Bastille Day
waiting for the storm
to begin
July 13, 2010
July 13 (The TV Switched On)
the TV switched on
the crickets’ song
loses meaning
July 12, 2010
July 12 (A Bowl of Pink Stones)
a bowl of pink stones
she lifts her arms
to be examined
