addressing the psychological aspect of literary craft as it applies to haiku and senryu
Headset
(((three)))
Even More Mood:
Wabi, Sabi, Empty
BY Paul Watsky
an empty elevator
opens
closes
—Jack Cain
(The Haiku Anthology, p. 21. All poems quoted below are from this source.)
Orwell in 1984 dwells on the theme that it’s hard to generate a thought, especially an abstract one, without a word to match the concept. By the time native English speakers reach adulthood it’s likely their culture will have grounded them in the meanings of faith, hope, and charity—fortunately so, because without words for those philosophical categories it would be lexically cumbersome to converse, and maybe even think, about them. Consider the intelligent, articulate horse, Gulliver’s master in Houyhnhnm land, who, unfamiliar with the term lie, must fall back on a periphrasis: the thing which is not (Jonathan Swift, Gulliver’s Travels, New York, The Modern Library, 1958, p. 195). Wabi and Sabi, words deeply embedded in Japanese Buddhism, including Zen, have no exact counterparts in English, and hence a plethora of verbose definitions, which struggle to capture their connotations:
Intrinsic to Zen is the notion of (as Suzuki calls it) “eternal loneliness,” or
Sabi…which can mean many things to many different people:…the contented
loneliness of the Zen monk, meditating in the mountains;…the natural order
of existence; the idea that we are born alone and must face life accordingly. There
is no sadness in this, merely acceptance… Wabi, or poverty—sometimes actual,
financial poverty—sometimes in a spiritual sense…has more to do with the
acceptance of such a fate than a dwelling on its problems. It is similar to the
Buddhist notion of “non-attachment.” (Wabi Sabi for Writers, Paul Elliott)
Unlike with English usage, where faith, hope, and charity don’t transpose well from the ethico-religious to the aesthetic register, wabi and sabi, are highly compatible with Japanese aesthetics:
The Japanese aesthetic [derives from]…a set of ancient ideals that include wabi
(transient and stark beauty), sabi (the beauty of natural patina and aging), and
yugen (profound grace and subtlety)….. In the Buddhist tradition, all things are
considered as either evolving from or dissolving into nothingness[—]…not
empty space,…rather, a space of potentiality…. Over time [wabi and sabi
converged until…unified into Wabi-sabi, the aesthetic defined as the beauty of
things “imperfect, impermanent, and incomplete.” (from Wikipedia)
Elaborately nuanced mood signifiers without English equivalents, wabi and sabi defy us, the heirs of a post-medieval humanist tradition that splits apart aesthetic and religious values, to transpose their subtleties into our poems.
Although our individual nouns and verbs seem unequal to the task, some adjectives, despite their generally well-deserved bad reputation for weakening style, at least partially lend themselves to the purpose. Empty, for instance, which serves as a descriptor in several realms, including the esthetic, qualifies if matched with apt subject matter. Furthermore, the word is attractive because it’s been less doggedly exploited than dark—only nine instances in The Haiku Anthology (pp. 4, 21, 23, 70, 153, 154, 215, 273, 283), compared with dark’s 29.
The wonderfully textured tone of the following haiku by George Swede combines aesthetic appreciation with a Buddhistic acceptance of life’s transitory nature:
Long train
horizon sun flickers through
the empty cattle cars (p. 215)
This haiku nevertheless grants leeway for readers to experience sadness over the fate of the cattle, who probably went to premature and unpleasant ends, but tonally it remains far more neutral than the following angrily ironic Eric Aman piece, where the concepts of heaven and earth are starkly opposed:
Winter burial:
a stone angel points his hand
at the empty sky (p. 4)
The sky’s emptiness powerfully refutes and rebukes what the angel presumes to represent, and depending on our belief systems, some of us will feel angry along with the poet, others, at the poet. The Buddhists among us, however, may conclude he simply failed to comprehend or never read those scriptures which communicate the doctrine of non-attachment.
The essential suchness of wabi-sabi is closely approximated by Margaret Chula’s
sudden shower
in the empty park
a swing still swinging (p. 23)
Transient and stark beauty, indeed, and tonally straightforward—without the slightest steering of mood—similar in that way to the elevator haiku, and hence functionally close to aspects of Japanese aesthetics, but we should note the subject matter carries a lesser emotional load than does death.
We can see the powerful tonal effect of a kigo in the following poem, which I first will present without it:
home
my childhood desk drawer
empty
In the above we already encounter the culturally-loaded home, which, especially when paired with the associatively-charged childhood, conveys a flavor of sentimental longing, yet the haiku’s energy level receives a further, exponential, boost when it is read as its author, Michael Welch, intended:
home for Christmas:
my childhood desk drawer
empty (p. 273)
Xmas trumps the wabi-sabi spirit, and the poem steers us towards themes of retributive justice by means of the distinctly occidental allusion to an empty Xmas stocking. The speaker implies that he experiences whatever caused the drawer to become empty as a punishment. Do you smile at the irony, laugh at the poet’s predicament, or sigh nostalgically? Everything depends on your own associative tendencies. But that word empty, redolent of the void, really is full—of possibilities.
❦
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Headset (((two)))
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Headsets addresses the psychological aspect of literary craft as it applies to haiku and senryu. Poetry elicits emotion and associations from readers by means of subjectively potent rhetorical devices. Classic psychotherapy questions will be asked: “What’s happening here?” and “How do you (might one) feel about that?” Readers are invited to examine their responses, and poets to explore their purposes. Headsets is overseen by Paul Watsky.
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Right, there’s nothing wrong with asking questions. That’s healthy. I admit, I need to learn to ask why someone chose to say this or that, find out more of the background, and pause before giving my opinion. One might react to others assumptions, but not be aware of that they are making their own.
If we could all sit down, eat and drink together in a face-to-face discussion, there might be fewer misunderstandings. I have not detected anything said with a hostile intent on any of the sections of this Blog, strong opinions at times and ramblings, but not real hostility.
When I first came across the original Shiki forum that was started in Matsuyama, it was chaotic and even hostile at times, I can remember planning to quit several; however, it was part of the real world of the real, raw world and poets there found great connections and lasting friendships.
Even criticism that seems half-baked can contain half-truths. We often use the expression “haiku community.” Would there be less disappointment and more understanding if we met face-to-face? I don’t know. I’ve personally felt both at haiku conferences; however, the process of meeting in person or Online is always worth it in many ways. It’s worth the small disappointments and hurts that come our way, if we allow ourselves to learn from them and bounce back again. As Mark said we “there’s much to learn here.”
“I think it’s great when someone asks a question of someone else, or of everyone. And why not? Why not ask if *this* is what was meant?
I find more and more that it is necessary to come to terms, if at all possible, with the nature of this medium, and to make one’s statements as real as possible to create some semblance of ground.” –Peter Yovu
I’ve been thinking about our current lull and what led up to it, and how to communicate how I approach these sometimes convoluted and interwoven conversations that are never quite that. The threads of our comments are sometimes picked up and sometimes not. At times, an unexpected answer arrives from an unexpected source, is what we want to hear or not, becomes a tangent that reveals another and then returns to topic changed. He or she who attempts to control the weave of our fabric will confront chaos and order both, voices from the ether, bodied or disembodied, with real or made up names. Yes I agree, we need to make our statements real, which meaning will be different for you Peter than for me. We have different experience, mind, body, and yet most of us come here with good will wanting to share and ready to ask and answer if we can.
I come here to learn, and there’s much to learn here.
There are openings in our lives
of which we know nothing.
Through them
the belled herds travel at will,
long-legged and thirsty, covered with foreign dust.
Jane Hirshfield, excerpted from “The Envoy”
Looking back over my posts, I see I’m guilty of talking over and around other’s posts at times. If I’ve offended in doing so, I regret my oversight. John mentioned earlier that he didn’t feel the timing was right and did not feel qualified to respond to Gabi’s post. Likewise, I am often reticent to contribute unless I have something distinctive and relevant to add.
Also (timing again) I’ve observed that some people become offended if they don’t receive a timely response to an inquiry. Don’t forget, our circumstances differ. Some of us are retired. Some are busy, sometimes up to the hilt, with jobs and families and handicaps of many varieties. For some, finding the time to post here is a luxury.
It’s possible, in the context of P. Watsky’s comments, that some of us are intrigued and simply desire more exposition before we plunge in.
Occam’s razor, I think, is more useful when applied to ducks than poems, which usually (Michael Welch’s included) contain layers of meaning.
There are numerous hazards, I am finding, inherent to a blog, even one as relatively sophisticated as Troutswirl. I doubt if any section of it has gone without a few elbows being thrown and caught in the ribs, sometimes lower.
In conversation occurring in the “real” world, a misdirection of tone can be quickly adjusted, assuming the good-will of the participants. Here, despite a lot of good-will, such misdirections, like the slight mis-hit on a golf ball, can veer wildly off the mark. Seems to be the nature of the medium to amplify and distort, maybe partly because it is so easy to project into it, in part because there is no solid and clearly shared, actual, ground.
Which sounds like a case for pulling back, but I’m making the opposite case, I hope. A case for responsibility essentially. For myself, I feel that if I post something, I need to make myself available to clarify, correct or expand on something I’ve said. I think it’s great when someone asks a question of someone else, or of everyone. And why not? Why not ask if *this* is what was meant?
I find more and more that it is necessary to come to terms, if at all possible, with the nature of this medium, and to make one’s statements as real as possible to create some semblance of ground. Maybe this is why I have repeatedly spoken about the body and apprehension of haiku on the feeling level before venturing into interpretation. But admittedly this is difficult: the interpreting mind has a greater vocabulary available to it than does the feeling mind. (I put it that way because both heart and belly have complex neuronal structures built in to them equivalent, in size, to certain lobes of the brain).
I came across something Eliot said: a poem “can communicate before it is understood”.
Paul W., I hope you continue “Headset”.
I will agree with you, Paul (Watsky), that “Everything depends on your own associative tendencies” when apprehending haiku. But I do think a core skill in the art of writing haiku (and, obviously, when reading them, too) lies with being sensitive to the *predominant* associative tendencies the poem’s audience will have. Your interpretation of my “home for Christmas” poem departed from what I believe is the predominant tendency, which was why I found it odd, and still do.
I welcome a psychological approach to interpreting haiku, and appreciate your focus on it. That sort of approach would seem to embrace an empathetic speculation about various possible meanings. I’m all for that, but there should be evidence in the poem itself for each meaning offered, or at least evidence in the biography, geography, gender, or other facts or associations relating to the poet’s name after the haiku (the haiku’s “fourth line”) or the context of where the poem appears. I found that evidence thin or missing in the notion of retribution or punishment (and especially the stocking reference, as I mentioned), and even if that “possible” meaning is explored, I believe it should be offered in (or after) the context of primary associative tendencies.
Emily Dickinson has a poem called “A Narrow Fellow in the Grass.” You can read it at http://www.online-literature.com/dickinson/824/, and read interpretations of it elsewhere online if you search for them. The standard –and obvious — interpretation is that the poem is about a snake. However, it’s not impossible to imagine that the poem is about a RAKE. Indeed, imagine the “whiplash” of stepping on a rake and having it jump up at you out of the grass that it “divides as with a comb” when you step on it. In high school, I wrote a paper (an intentional spoof) about this poem, making a case that it’s about a rake (the sort of rake pictured at http://www.hooverfence.com/tools/bow-rake-BR35.htm, not a leaf rake). I made no mention of a snake, deliberately, as part of my spoof. Yet the evidence for a “rake” interpretation was still clearly there in the poem itself, and not based on fantasy or excessive free association. This spoof worked, I believe, because of the predominant (even obvious) tendency to interpret the poem as being about a snake, even though the poem does not actually mention a snake (nor is a rake, of course). It seems to me that understanding this common associative tendency is essential for apprehending poetry, and of course central to apprehending haiku. My spoof paper would not have worked if I’d said it was about a mongoose (or whatever), because there is no evidence for that interpretation in the poem itself. I think we should be careful not to find mongooses in haiku where there really aren’t any.
I don’t mean to suggest, Paul (Watsky), that you found a mongoose in my haiku. Rather, I would just say that it’s useful to remember Occam’s razor (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Occam%27s_razor), which posits that the simplest solution is usually the correct one.
Michael
Thanks, John. No apology called for. Your comments have been constructive.
I’m a newcomer to the blogosphere, where the emphasize seems to fall on expressing disagreement rather than on dispensing positive reinforcement.
Re: “the sometimes thankless opportunity to serve,” my soldiering on will depend on how consistently thankless it feels to do the blog. I’m a costs/benefits ratio kind of person, and when I’m away from the office and/or my family obligations, I try to look after the hedonistic aspect of my personality.
Now that it’s clear to all that such an approach will not be innocuous, I hope you will continue, Paul (W.). I understand the urge to step back but hope you will accept the sometimes thankless opportunity to serve. If I have been among those who have discouraged you (not my intention), I apologize.
I’m grateful to Lorin for her post of 5/16, wherein she traces an associative process very similar to mine when I explored how Michael’s haiku worked tonally for me. She also highlighted a sloppy passage of mine: “The speaker implies that he experiences whatever caused the drawer to become empty as a punishment.” I would have been truer to my theme, and no doubt to the reality situation, if I’d written that for me the poem’s dramatic situation is suggestive of retributive justice. And shortly after my slip I did in fact say, “Everything depends on your own associative tendencies.”
I’m grateful for Jack’s first two posts of 5/18, and for the overall tone of Paul MacNeil’s comments.
It was not my idea to inflict “Headsets” on the haiku community. I was invited to undertake the blog, and I regard it as an experiment—not at this point a very promising one. My intention has been to write as a poet for fellow poets, as a poet who by dint of his work life and temperament inclines to think about the psychological dimension of experience.
My first three columns attempt to explore how haiku are evocative of mood, by means not only of what their authors consciously place there, but also by dint of unconscious factors such collective elements as tacit cultural and lexical influences as well as the idiosyncratic characteristics of readers. I imagined this, erroneously, to be an innocuous agenda.
I’m not only willing to shut down the blog or hand it off to somebody more in tune with its readership, I’ll probably decide do so unless it seems I can enjoy the process entailed.
Lorin:
Thank you for the connection. I’ll give it a read tomorrow, as it’s getting late here.
oops… wish I could delete that ‘death & resurrection’ bit. Duh! That’d be Easter.
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