Showing posts with label editorial. Show all posts
Showing posts with label editorial. Show all posts

Wednesday, September 7, 2011

Editorial: Silly Words, Serious Words

This editorial is part two in our continuing battle over the nature of the haiku.  Read part one here.

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BRIAN MORTON:

I cut my teeth as a student-translator working on short, humorous, lewd poems by Catullus, and long, bombastic, epic poetry by Virgil.  I remember adults worrying whether the stray, horndog, jibes of an ancient Roman should really count as literature, yet decades later it has far more meaning to me than the Virgil does, although I won’t insult him either.  High minded satire has always managed to sneak into the artistic canon, but there is something about low-class buffoonery, even when honed to precision, that has always been suspicious... And well, High Coup Journal could certainly be accused of low-class buffoonery...

Japan has a long tradition of poetry in the form of short terse poems or stanzas.  The renga for example dates back to the 700s, and at first glance might be mistaken for a collection of haiku.  It begins with a tight stanza with a 5-7-5 syllable structure.  But the heart of renga is to be collaborative poetry.  One poet begins with a 5-7-5 verse and then the next add a 7-7 verse, and the next adds another 5-7-5 and so on, riffing and changing as they go.  The point wasn’t maximum impact in a minimum of syllables, but kicking off a process of taking turns and exploring, of coping with change.  By the 1600s, perhaps earlier, we get hokku or “starting verses,” the initial verses of a renga, start being used alone by themselves.  Here focused impact does seem to be a large part of the point and appeal.  Or we get haibun (poetry and prose together) and haiga (poetry and painting together), where the laconic poems, typically in hokku form, comment on the more flowing prose or painting around them.

Then in the 1890s, Masaoka Shiki decides that it is time to “modernize” this poetic tradition.  He coins the term haiku (an abbreviation of haikai no ku, or verse of haikai) as a replacement for the older term hokku, partly as an admission that most of these poems are not written to be the beginning of a collaboration.  But, he also codifies how he thinks haiku ought to be.  He thinks their essence is “cutting” (kiru), a juxtaposition between 2 words ideas or images with a strong “cutting word” (kireji) both connecting and separating them.  Things like the 5-7-5 structure, or the traditional seasonality reference, were secondary for him, part of the definition, but not really key to the essence.  He worried that far too much trite and hackneyed crap poetry was being written and published, and used the phrase tsukinami (literally, “monthly”) for this terrible phenomena, a reference both to monthly feminine flows, and to monthly magazines and poetry readings he loathed.  If we let Shiki guide our understanding of haiku in English, then it would probably be fair to say that a key feature of haiku is that they not be published in monthly magazines or presented at monthly poetry readings.  Shiki himself had no patience for silly hokku or haiku, advocating instead the shasei style, which thinks of haiku as sort of nature sketches in words.

But Shiki and his contemporary allies don’t really get to define haiku in English-- even though he coined the term-- because most of what we think of as haiku today in English wasn’t haiku in his sense: it only gets called haiku retroactively.  Basho, Buson, and Issa all wrote before Shiki’s change of nomenclature, and all three would have called their works hokku and would have disagreed with Shiki about what was central to the poems.  Heck, Buddhism (of several different styles) was a key feature of each of these three masters (and much of the earlier renga-hokku-haiku tradition), but it was something that Shiki felt haiku needed to gain distance from, as not in keeping with Japan’s modernization.

So when we acculturate this notion of haiku to a new century or a new language or continent what needs to remain the same and what can change?  Must we keep Shiki’s definition even when it doesn’t fit many of the classics we look to? Do we keep the 5-7-5 structure? The centrality of cut?  The seasonality reference?  The invitation to longer collaboration?  The link between man and nature? The ideological struggles between Zen Buddhism and Pureland Buddhism? Maybe we should build in Shiki's contempt for earlier Japanese poetry in the style or his preference for shasei-style... Nawh, poetry always adapts to the needs of the time and the society, while trying also to remain rooted in its own tradition.  So what are the parts of the rengu-hokku -haibun-haiku-etc. tradition that can still meaningfully speak to Americans on the edge of the 21th century?  Is the shasei style understanding that haiku is about "recording the essence of a moment keenly perceived, in which nature is linked to human nature" something that can still speak to 21st century Americans? SURE! Lots of that kind of haiku is still written and still read and still has power and meaning, and still seems to draw from its roots in Japanese poetry.  If anything, there is enough of that for it to seem overdone, it has plenty of venues.

So the bigger question is this: does silly, flippant stuff with minimal emphasis on season or man-nature themes genuinely draw from the Japanese poetry tradition of the renga-hokku-haibun-haiku line? YES! It is the heart of the poetic style called haikai no renga (unorthodox or comic renga, often abbreviated haikai), staunchly defended by Basho as being part of the poetic spirit (fuga) in the 1600s, and had plenty of practitioners in later decades as well.  For Basho, comic playfulness was essential for holding the right balance between being involved in the world and yet also in some sense detached from it.  Portraying the life of commoners, beggars, traveler, farmers, herbalists, was part of seeing the world with eyes searching for beauty, rather than seeking beauty in formalness and abstractions.

We have classics in the tradition, like Basho

now then, let's go out 
to enjoy the snow... until
I slip and fall! [1688] 

or

even while chopping
the dried herbs
she’s day-dreaming 

That last one is from Yaba, one of Bassho's students in a round of renga from 1693 on Street Hawkers. It has no seasonal reference, no connection between man and nature, no Buddhism on display.  Yet it records a precise moment via terse words, it explores the emotional depth of the moment, and does so partly via its flippant humor.

or again Basho (1685)

His go strategy 
comes to him
two days later 

Good Lord, change the reference to Mario Kart and that one could easily have come straight out of the High Coup Journal!

If you want to argue that High Coup publishes "unorthodox" haiku, no one will disagree. If you want to argue that they aren't really haiku at all, properly speaking, I will point to Basho who was actually DEIFIED by the Shinto bureaucracy, and let you battle with verse and fisticuffs against his shade.

If you want to argue that comic rengu existed but that hokku or rengu are not real haiku, and haiku should not be primarily comic, then you cut off your tradition with your own sword and deserve your humorless fate.  A common version of this argument is to argue that the comic stuff focusing on human foibles is "really" "senryu" not "haiku" as the Haiku Society of America does. This is a terrible misunderstanding. "Senryu" just means "poetry in the style of Senryu Karai" a particular 18th century Japanese poet.  Just because something is in the style of Senryu does not mean it isn't ALSO haiku.  Further, humorous poetry in the Japanese tradition is certainly going strong even before Senryu, as my Basho examples show. This would be as bass-ackwards as arguing that any humorous poetry in sonnet form should be called a "Shakespeare" and not counted as a sonnet at all, and that we must make a rigorous distinction between "Shakespeares" and "Sonnets" although of course admitting that Shakespeare himself wrote in both styles. Tommyrot! This is the spirit of overweening academia seeking to choke out what is living and vibrant in the traditions we have been handed by the multi-faceted humans that wrote before us.  In Japan, as in Rome or England, the great poets have worked with both silliness and seriousness.

If you argue, that the English notion of haiku refers to the orthodox haiku only, rather than drawing from the broader Japanese tradition, then you are simply misunderstanding the situation on the ground in American education, and who gets to decide the usage of terms in the US, as well as the body of 20th century haiku in English. We have no Academie Francaise to delineate normative meanings apart from usage, and you have already lost the battle on usage. Americans regularly use the American term haiku to refer to both serious haiku and silly haiku, and frequently admire BOTH.

Our society often disrespects humor and silliness, especially in high culture side of our society such as academia or the fine arts.  No one in showbiz doubts that comedy is as lucrative as seriousness, but real critical commentary on comedy is much rarer than for more serious artistic forms, and comedians and comedy writers rarely come to those professions through academic theatre or writing programs.  Even in philosophy, as I’ve argued elsewhere, silliness is one of the most underrated of virtues.  One reason is that silliness often subverts existing systems of authority, especially when authority is based more on hard work in the past (and thus credentials), than on ardent love of the topic (amateurism).  Thus, silliness can seem especially threatening to those who value professionalism.  So it makes sense that organizations who were fighting for respect for haiku, and for respect for themselves as professional poets, might want to distance themselves from the sillier side of the tradition, which might seem frivolous, low class or even (gasp) unprofessional.  Nonetheless, silliness is a classic strategy for creativity and coping, helping us to maintain creative tension between genuine engagement with the minutia of life, and detachment from our preconceptions about daily life.  In poetry, silliness of spirit is part of the balance between observation of life and insightful commentary that helps give our poetry depth.

Haiku in English today simply includes plenty of examples of both orthodox haiku focusing on exploring the poetic spirit through sketches of keenly perceived moments typically of human-nature interactions, and unorthodox haiku focusing on exploring the poetic spirit through wry wit typically commenting on common life and pop culture. Both of these American poetic forms are exploring the poetic spirit, and both are firmly rooted in the Japanese tradition of renga-hokku-haibun-haiga-senryu-haikai-haiku. And in English we frequently use the English term haiku as a short hand for the whole glorious multiplex tradition.




Dr. BRIAN MORTON is a homemaker and ex-philosopher, currently involved with the Terre Haute Street Poets.  His poetry has appeared in Subterranean, and a few other poetry mags long ago. His academic work on poetry has appeared in Literae: A Newsletter of Literature and Translation and the University of Idaho colloquium series.


Thursday, July 7, 2011

Editorial: 5-7-5 Does Not Make a Haiku


What's that, you ask?  What's that?  Why are we printing an editorial almost diametrically opposed to our mission statement?


Well, for starters, we here at High Coup Journal have been spoiling for this fight for a long time.  But we also want to foster alternate viewpoints, and so we'd like to start off Volume 2 of the journal with a polite but well-researched explanation of everything that is wrong with our lovely journal.  Mr. Boyer has proven to be a great sport about all this, and we encourage responses to this editorial, yea and nay.  Do some research of your own and dish it right back, and we'll be happy to print your editorial as well!

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This editorial is part one in our continuing battle over the nature of the haiku.  Read part two here.

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DAVID BOYER:

I would like to start by thanking Mike Miller for this opportunity. I’d also like to thank A. Jarrell Hayes. It was my comment on his post at Reddit that got this whole thing rolling. I clicked on the link he provided to the February issue and made the comment that what I was seeing really wasn’t haiku. I said it was more in line with senryu or zappai*. I don’t mean to lessen anyone’s enjoyment of this journal. I just need to stand up for the haiku tradition.

Haiku is one of the most amazingly powerful verse forms ever invented, but it’s in the unfortunate position of being poorly understood even though everyone thinks they are familiar with it. Part of the blame for this goes to our early education, where the overly simplistic 5-7-5 paradigm was instilled in all of us. I know I stared this way, and wrote 5-7-5 for a long time.

My interest in haiku took off when I bought a copy of The Haiku Anthology. It was a book full of interesting, vibrant poetry that I didn't have to sweat over, as with the T. S. Eliot or E. E. Cummings that I had been reading. When I started to really get into the anthology, it was a revelation. So many moments where my breath was taken away. You know that moment when you're reading a poem and something just clicks, you have an Aha! moment or maybe you get goosebumps? Haiku was able to give me that again and again. I also saw, for the first time, the breadth and depth of haiku. People wrote in 5-7-5, sure, but there was so much variety that I quickly realized the 5-7-5 structure was not really important.

Lee Gurga (an award-winning haiku poet, former president of the Haiku Society of America and former editor of Modern Haiku) writes in his Haiku: A Poet’s Guide: “A majority of people among both poets and the general public seems to believe that haiku poetry is synonymous with haiku form, and that anything written in the three-line form they remember from elementary school is automatically haiku.” He then goes on to quote the Japanese scholar Shigehisa Kuriyama, who says “The 5-7-5 pattern by itself does not make a haiku.”

Gurga also gives the Haiku Society of America definition of haiku in his guide: “A poem recording the essence of a moment keenly perceived, in which nature is linked to human nature. Usually a haiku in English is written in three unrhymed lines of seventeen or fewer syllables.” The “moment keenly perceived” is the important thing here. A haiku is the essence of a moment, the poetry of a moment, in just a few impressionistic brush strokes. In good haiku there is always more unsaid than said:

clearing out
their mother’s house
last leaves on the maple
--Jack Barry

This poem give us a picture of the end of things, just moments before the season ends, before the house is no longer really their mother’s house. But in those ends we can see a glimpse of a new beginning, perhaps. The tree that will grow new leaves, the house that may become a home for another family. This is from the most recent issue of Modern Haiku, Volume 42:2, summer 2011. A few more examples may help:

transit of Venus...
something struggles
in the orb weaver’s web
--Lorin Ford

It’s a very rare thing to catch a glimpse of Venus moving against the face of the sun, just as it’s a rare thing to see an orb weaver at work with its prey. Visually, we can see the two small orbs, Venus and the spider, moving against the much larger forms of the sun and whatever the spider has caught. Though nature is beautiful in its diversity, we feel the passing of time and shiver.

Christmas
at the Playboy Mansion
the plastic trees
--Gregory Hopkins

This one hardly needs an explanation. It’s a good showcase of how haiku poets use nature to talk about human nature, and how with subtlety you can say much more than with a direct statement. The poem would be much less of a poem if the poet had said something like

Christmas
at the Playboy Mansion
plastic trees and silicone breasts

This version gives too much away, it makes what was implicit explicit and destroys the poetry of the original.

from the big bang to my funny bone
--Christopher Patchel

I don’t know if I can do this one justice, but as T. S. Eliot so rightly said, “Genuine poetry can communicate before it is understood.” To me, this poem, with the laugh of a Buddha becoming enlightened, takes in the entire universe through the perspective of one small bone in one small human body. Banging your funny bone (and seeing stars, no doubt) is related to the Big Bang and suddenly the universe expands through this exquisite and ludicrous pain. That’s one of the real gifts of great haiku and great poetry: the sense of expansiveness, that there are larger things we are a part of. When you finish a great poem, regardless of the length, and you’re left with a wow on your lips or your mind reeling with possibilities and implications, then poetry has done its job.

a lightning-blasted pine in my pencil the black spine
--Peter Yovu

There is such powerful drama in this piece and such powerful peace. The blasted tree, a rough mirror of the pencil in the poet’s hand, which he uses to memorialize the same tree. And I think the rhyme (it’s quite rare to see rhyme work well in haiku) makes the poem sing.

panties tossed on the melon rinds wet in spots
--Chris Gordon

The heat of summer, and all that implies, comes through in every syllable. You almost feel a bit breathless reading this.

High Coup has printed some poems that I think are in the tradition of haiku. Each of the following are carefully and vividly presented scenes, and each leaves you wanting more, asking what else is going on or what led up to this:

from June 2011:
A white seagull floats
above the turbulent waves
of the parking lot.
--Michael Morris

February 2011:
Whispering tender
Terms of endearment in
My frostbitten ears.
--Megan Milligan

However, reading High Coup I find most of the poems are along the lines of little jokes or fortune cookie type sentiments, that tend to just stop at the end of the line, with little or no resonance.

William Higginson and Penny Harter in The Haiku Handbook say that writing a haiku is saying “It is hard to tell you how I am feeling. Perhaps if I share with you the events that made me aware of these feelings, you will have similar feelings of your own.” Haiku don’t tell you how to feel, they show you a scene and hope that you will come along.

In the end, what I’m trying to say (and what I say to myself every day) is, don’t limit yourself! Don’t settle for just writing jokes and a blind adherence to 5-7-5. Haiku can be so much more.




DAVID BOYER's haiku have appeared in Frogpond, Modern Haiku, Mayfly, Acorn, bottle 
rockets, Presence, Heron's Nest and other haiku journals. He was a featured poet in A New Resonance 5: Emerging Voices in English-Language Haiku.





* “A senryu is a poem, structurally similar to haiku, that highlights the foibles of human nature, usually in a humorous or satiric way. Many so-called "haiku" in English are really senryu. Others, such as "Spam-ku" and "headline haiku", seem like recent additions to an old Japanese category, zappai, miscellaneous amusements in doggerel verse (usually written in 5-7-5) with little or no literary value. Some call the products of these recent fads "pseudohaiku" to make clear that they are not haiku at all.” (From the Haiku Society of America.)

Saturday, May 7, 2011

Editorial: Why Do We -Ku?

You might assume that as the editor of a journal devoted to haiku—exclusively to rigidly formalist haiku with a snarky bent, at that—that I am primarily a writer of haiku.  A haikuist.  A haikuer.  A haikunik.  Pick a suffix as you will—I don’t think it’ll fit very well. 

My favorite poems are actually the exact opposite of haiku: epics.  Beowulf.  Don Juan.  The Canterbury Tales.  Vikram Seth’s novel-in-verse, The Golden Gate.  Perhaps a bit weird, eh?  Perhaps a bit weird to devote a journal to poems three lines long with seventeen syllables each when the poems you love the best are three books long with seventeen cantos each?

Agreed.  So why do I -ku?

I started to ask myself that question this past winter.  In February, I sent out an e-mail to some past High Coup Journal authors in search of insight, asking them to reflect on the problem for me.  Because if there’s anything I’ve learned in my short career in the literary universe, having other people do your work for you is the key to success.  Admittedly, some responses were more helpful than others:

I haiku because
spiders ingested my parents
this is how I cope.

--Jacob Glenn

(Let it be known that I in no way want to belittle Jacob’s suffering.  Descended from the brood of Shelob, last fell child of Ungoliant, giant spider attacks have been reported as recently as the 2941th year of the Third Age [or the 1341st in Shire Reckoning].  Do not think that the destruction of the One Ring and the fall of Barad-dûr will stop them: Shelob dwells in Torech Ungol still.)

More on topic, one author’s response was short, direct, and to the point:

I read and write haiku because I have a short attention span. I also like Japanese culture.

--A. Jarrell Hayes

Another author sent me a 2,038-word response to my question.  That’s 2,038 words written about a form containing 17 syllables.  This level of ludicrous awesomeness has officially earned Richard Stevenson of Alberta, Canada, his very own bottle of AWESOME SAUCE:

AWESOME SAUCE awarded for EXTREME ANALYTICAL AWESOMENESS:
Richard Stevenson 

I liked Richard’s response because he also managed to extend my question from “Why do you –ku?” to “Why would you –ku?”, as seen below:

…here's my question: How can this little art form be so popular -- indeed, I believe it's the most popular form of poetry on the planet, isn't it? -- and yet make no inroads into leading literary journals except those devoted exclusively to haikai poetry?  Maybe I'm overstating the case, but certainly most litmags in Canada won't touch haiku with a ten-foot pole. They tend to regard it as a five-finger exercise in syllable counting and straightforward pretty description for elementary school kids… 

--Richard Stevenson

I’d expected the other responses to trickle in slowly, but within a week I had nearly a dozen, and they kept coming for a month afterwards.  Since High Coup Journal is an e-journal, I wasn’t surprised that a few authors made the logical connections to Twitter and technology:

To protect against
Twitter-based mass marketing
Write obscure haiku

--Cal Clugston

…it's the perfect type of poem for the iPad age. (As a marketing guy, I cannot ignore this fact even though I myself can sit through a three hour movie and not get bored.)

--Henry Visotski

Some centered purely on the fun of hammering out a short poem:

Mainly I -ku because it's fun.  It's five-seven-five syllables of a smart aleck.  Who wouldn't want to -ku?

--Mitzi Sicking

Much as it might damage my art-snob credentials, I have to agree with Mitzi.  Part of the allure of haiku (to be specific, bad haiku—and to be even more specific, zappai) is that they’re so fun.  High Coup Journal originated as a little game at the Indiana State University Writing Center, where my fellow tutors and I passed around a few sheets of paper, collecting haiku as we waded through an endless sea of Nursing 104 papers.  (I promise you this: if I read another paper about why someone wants to be a nurse, I may put that someone in a hospital.)

Kaylin, Elise, Kaiulani, Caitlin Martin (who is currently my associate editor): why did we -ku?  Partially because we needed a silent way to poke fun at Pearcy.*  Partially because—to be honest—we were bored as hell and it was a witty little word-game to play.  And indeed, some of the other contributors to High Coup Journal zeroed in on the “exercise” aspect of the haiku:

I think I enjoy the symmetry of haiku. It requires an agile mind to create the wording and still conform to the pattern. It builds the ability to say a lot with few words.

--Mike Lushbaugh

One way the form builds this ability is through repetition, repetition, repetition:

Of course, as anyone who has fallen in love with the history of the North American English language haiku tradition will tell you, writing haiku is a lot like panning for gold: you write a helluva lot of these little suckers before you get any good, and the ratio of ore to gravel is about 1 to 100, if not 1 to 1,000! 

--Richard Stevenson (again)

I call this the “Russian Machine-Gun Effect”: accurate or not, if you shoot often enough, you’re bound to hit something.  Whereas bullets cost money, though, haiku don’t cost a thing.

For others contributors, the compression of the idea becomes the goal:

While there are many poetic forms I enjoy writing in, the haiku remains my all-time favorite.  I call the haiku, "a galaxy compressed in limited space."  It's wonderful training for writers who abhor revising their work!  Sometimes I will write a poem of, let's say, 30 lines, and then transform it to one of about 15 to 17 syllables. 
--Salvatore Buttaci

I’ve always phrased this aspect of form as “The Jell-O Mold Effect”: the ideas are molten and unstable before they are poured, but once you take the raw materials and give them formal support, they congeal into a more enjoyable end-product.  As any five-star chef or free-verse poet could tell you, the raw materials have to be good for the end product to be good.  But the form is the recipe. 


If you can't say it 
in seventeen syllables 
it ain't worth sayin'. 


--Darcy McMurtery

The raw materials need to be high quality, but they don’t need to be complex.  Haiku, like a recipe for coq au vin, can take simple ingredients and make something delicious:

I have a very concrete answer to that question. About nine months ago, Short, Fast, and Deadly did an all-Haiku issue ("for the love of God, no Haiku" is in their general submission guidelines) and, for some reason, it struck me to attempt it. I wrote two Haiku that day, one was accepted, and at that point it was one of my first acceptances. I very rarely sit down and attempt to write something specific, but that day I did.

A few months later I had some serious trouble writing anything, but I had fragments of things in my head I thought interesting. I decided if i gave them a rigid structure (like 5-7-5) and kept them short I could make somthing fully realized out of these fragments. I then wrote about a dozen Haiku in a few days. I found the necessity of structure stimulated my creativity. Four of those Haiku appear in High Coup Journal.

Then I stopped writing them. Occasionally I will have a shred of an idea, just something small and clever, and not have a bigger idea to write around it. Some die, some become Haiku.
I believe, at least for me, that Haiku is a small idea fully realized.

--John Tustin

So haiku can be a tool for capturing a fragment of an idea.  But some people find the restraints to be of a more pleasurable sort (if you’re kinky like that):

I "-Ku" because this particular form of poetry, at least in its classic incarnation, provides an interesting limitation. And as we've seen with music (The White Stripes) and film (any Hitchcock production), limitations can inspire intriguing results. Plus, the haiku is something you can take as seriously as you want. A silly one can be just as good - and fun - and a genuinely pretty one.

--Henry Visotski (again)

Perhaps the point of the haiku—especially the formal haiku—is the inspiring struggle against the restraint.  The restraint of form does not hold back emotion but rather creates it in the mind of the author, creating a level creative climax not possible in total freedom.  The oppression of the body of writing…

…mmmwait a minute.  I should probably stop writing too much more on this thought.  Whilst “sizzlin’ hot word-bondage” might be fun amongst consenting adults, even High Coup Journal has some dignity.

(But seriously, if you want me to write more on this thought, I can give you my private phone number.)

Aaaaaaaaanyway…

I got a lot of good responses to my question, and I want to thank everyone who contributed.  So why do I –ku?  Reading the responses and taking the time to reflect on it, I think maybe it’s because I love the epic.  The epic is the movie.  The movie is a series of still images sped up to create the illusion of motion.  Slow the movie down and the illusion fades into the still images truly at work.  Haiku is a single frame in the epic of life, a single snapshot pulled a hectic world, and regardless of whether it involves jumping frogs or cherry blossoms, the haiku is our world in atomic form.  As it was perhaps said best,

A bad haiku is
a poetic primal scream
uttered in three lines.

--Amy Harris




* Pearcy, you're a good man.  I wish you bolf a happy tomorrow and a happy lifetime.