Quicksilver

When I started writing haiku I thought one just had to express an idea in three lines. I focused on one image. Now I see the nuance of comparing two distinct images. When that puzzle piece clicked into place, a new door opened up for me.

Recently, I went to North Carolina (NC) with my family for a vacation. I was thinking about haiku (and this group) while I experienced the tranquility of mountains. I have taken to heart really looking at the world and writing from my experiences, so this seemed like the perfect opportunity!

Although I swore I’d stay offline, I couldn’t help checking in with my haiku buddies. With Alan Summer’s help (although he explained that I don’t need to credit him, I can’t help but include his name) I penned this:

Lake Cherokee an echo in each breaststroke

I had started with:

pine trees line
an arm of Lake Cherokee
breaststroke echoes

then I got to:

Lake Cherokee
I can hear my breath echo

as I swim breaststroke

What do you think? Which do you like best?

Here are two more I wrote, inspired by my family and NC:

cold river water
peach juice drips from my baby’s chin
as she shivers

(When Camille was almost two, I wanted to introduce her to peaches. I found a wonderful orchard and picked a few juicy ones. I then took her to a local river I loved, which was very cold, and sat with her there, so it wouldn’t make a huge mess.)

empty bucket
blueberry picking
with my toddler

(As one might predict, toddlers want to eat blueberries, not collect them.)

As always I would love to hear your thoughts on these haiku. How would you edit them?

And if you have any haiku to share, which illustrate the concept of comparing two images, please post them here in the comment section.

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Quicksilver is a column on troutswirl, the blog for The Haiku Foundation, devoted to showcasing the questions, ideas, and evolution of a beginner to the art of haiku, Laura Sherman. Each installment will feature some of Laura’s new work as well as her ideas and thought-processes concerning them. It is hoped that readers will respond with reactions, ideas, and advice on her work and provide feedback on how she might develop and improve her craft.

One of the first things I learned about haiku is that each poem must contain a seasonal word. Sounded easy enough. I assumed that this was open to interpretation and that I could pick words that evoked different seasons for me.

As I studied further, I ran across the term “kigo.” Kigo is a Japanese seasonal word. These are set in stone. Students of haiku in Japan study a kigo dictionary, called a “saijiki,” to learn which words represent which seasons.

As I continued to explore this area I saw that some haiku poets branched from the kigo concept and sought seasonal words appropriate for their area. In a different discussion on Young Leaf #2 (here on troutswirl), I was intrigued by how seasonal words could vary depending on where you live in this world.

Lorin Ford pointed out that July is winter in Australia. I couldn’t believe that I hadn’t considered that before. Since I live in Florida, I never thought of it as anything but a summer word (a very hot, humid, sticky seasonal word).

I see there is a debate between the traditional kigo approach and the seasonal word concept (which is a bit more open to interpretation). I plan to study both approaches more and learn from each.

I do have trouble sometimes finding an appropriate kigo or seasonal word for my haiku. I know it isn’t a haiku without one.

I have been working on two haiku that have stumped me. For me “sandy” speaks of summer, but I know it isn’t a kigo. Does it work as a seasonal word?

returning—
my sandy footprints erased
webbed ones remain

Then the other has been with me for a while. I love going to the beach and watching the sun touch the horizon. It’s a special moment for me. It is also a little sad when the moment is gone and the sun has set.

red sun touches
distant aqua line—
deflating

So, for me both haiku speak of summer, but I suspect neither has a seasonal word. How does one “insert” a seasonal word without losing the poetry? I could make Line 1 of the second haiku: “red summer sun touches.” Or perhaps, “august sun touches,” which might infer that summer vacation is over as well. I prefer the original, but suspect it isn’t a haiku.

Can you help me sort this out?

What do you do when you write a haiku, which doesn’t contain a seasonal word?

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Quicksilver is a column on troutswirl, the blog for The Haiku Foundation, devoted to showcasing the questions, ideas, and evolution of a beginner to the art of haiku, Laura Sherman. Each installment will feature some of Laura’s new work as well as her ideas and thought-processes concerning them. It is hoped that readers will respond with reactions, ideas, and advice on her work and provide feedback on how she might develop and improve her craft.

I had originally thought that syllable count was the driving force behind haiku, but after studying all the comments from my first article, I see that I was mistaken. Haiku is about poetry first.

I took the advice of my mentors from this amazing group of writers and started writing down my observations of the world around me. I purchased a little notebook and opened a new Word doc within each of my active computers, so that when a haiku thought hit me, I could write it down.

Writing down fragments of haiku, unedited ideas, really helped me. Some of these turned into haiku, while others wait for further inspiration.

Whenever I tackle a new subject, I’ve learned to take things one step at a time. John Stevenson said it best when he advised, “I would start with a bit of advice about accepting advice: let it pass through you. However heavy the hand that offers it, whatever “authority” is behind it, let it go for now and give time time to work. I imagine this as a digestive process. However good something looks on the plate, there is only part of it that can be digested in such a way as to nourish one.”

For me learning is often a layered experience, where various nuances hit home at different stages.

I decided to focus on the poetry and the essence of the moment I wanted to capture. I tried not to be too concerned with structure, seasonal words, etc. It isn’t that I ignored the many elements we discussed, but I decided to work first on finding my voice.

Here are two poems I wrote after I had absorbed all of your advice, read wonderful haiku from others and then went out into the world and observed, writing notes in my little black notebook:

abandoned ship—
giggling playground for many
hermit crabs

wispy white lines
form characters—
summer sky haiku

Had I not been thinking with haiku, I might have missed these moments.

Did I succeed in sharing these moments with you? I would love to hear your thoughts on them.

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Quicksilver is a column on troutswirl, the blog for The Haiku Foundation, devoted to showcasing the questions, ideas, and evolution of a beginner to the art of haiku, Laura Sherman. Each installment will feature some of Laura’s new work as well as her ideas and thought-processes concerning them. It is hoped that readers will respond with reactions, ideas, and advice on her work and provide feedback on how she might develop and improve her craft.

For centuries now, Japanese haiku poets have been seeking out teachers to help them with their haiku composition. Since before Bashō’s time, groups have been founded around one poet/personality and their particular style of writing. Disciples and followers were created, and those poets followed their leader’s/master’s style and aesthetic beliefs concerning haiku, oftentimes passing those teachings and belief systems on to future poets and generations. In effect, lineages were, and have been, created. A web’s been formed. The tradition is still present in 21st century Japan. In addition, haiku in Japan, up until the beginning of the 20th century, was primarily a communal activity. For the most part, it still is.

This tradition is not the same in the west, or with English-language haiku. Beginner poets have certainly sought out advice from more experienced poets, especially editors and individuals whose work they’ve admired. But no tradition has been created wherein individuals become publicly acknowledged as “masters” who help students, or who judge and award points for their work. No disciples have been established in the English-haiku world, at least not to the point where they espouse the poetic beliefs of a single person. There are many reasons for this, and it would certainly be an interesting topic to research and explicate.

And so what does one do in the west if they are new to haiku? What did you do? How did you begin your journey? Most people, it seems fair to say, work things out individually, in solitude—through knowledge and ideas acquired from books and examples in collections, anthologies, and journals. For most enthusiasts and poets in the west, it is the Japanese “masters” of the 17th, 18th, 19th, and early 20th centuries themselves, who have served as their own teachers and guides concerning aesthetics and stylings.

What does one do though when they want advice on their work—on what they have created—in order to improve? The answer to this question has multiple choices and has expanded over the years, especially to the cyber world.

Readers of troutswirl (The Haiku Foundation’s blog) now have the unique, exciting, and tricky opportunity to help a newcomer to the English haiku cosmos. Her name is Laura Sherman.

How can we, as a community, as opposed to an individual, help Laura on her journey? What advice can we provide? How can we guide her? Thankfully, troutswirl has a huge variety of voices in its midst, voices from many different points of view concerning haiku. While the focus is on Laura, and her evolution as a poet concentrating on haiku, it will, at the same time, in many ways, be focused on us as a community. And so, what can we learn about our own preferences and expectations concerning haiku? How do we present our views to Laura? How do we couch them? Hopefully, this process will not only be a learning experience for Laura but for troutswirl’s readership as well, if not a large population of the English-language haiku community.

Quicksilver, or mercury, has been used for centuries as a precipitant to create gold. The process is called amalgamation, and it isn’t easy or necessarily always safe. Hopefully, our collective experiences, knowledge, and wisdom (culled from successes as well as failures and mistakes) will act as a bridge and allow Laura’s work, over time, to go from quicksilver to gold.
 
With all experiments comes a bit of danger, angst, frustration, and confusion, but also, and almost always, bits and pieces of clarity, and ways through to knowledge and understanding. Learning is not always immediate.

How many of us would have been brave or bold enough to allow a community of readers they’ve never met before to “have at” our first attempts? It takes a tremendous amount of trust and openness to do so.

So, kudos to Laura for opening up her haiku evolution, experiences, thought processes, and influences to us and to the world. Let’s make it a worthwhile, if not golden, experience for her. One we can all learn from.

Scott Metz

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I am new to the art of haiku and wish to explore this ancient art form. I am a freelance writer and chess coach, so the blend of syllable count and creativity really appeal to me. I am bold enough to give it a try, but I know that I have a lot to learn.

I went to the library and picked up a book and researched on the net, in an attempt to learn the basics. I quickly found that there are lots of different ideas about what makes a poem a haiku.

I began, as I imagine many do, with the common form of seventeen syllables, structured 5-7-5. I noticed that many poets later break from that, but was intrigued with the idea of working within that framework.

There’s only so much one can learn from a book. What I’d like to do here is to offer my experiences as a new writer of haiku, and hope to get some feedback from those more experienced than me. That’s why I’m reaching out to the members of The Haiku Foundation. I hope some of you will consider helping me on my journey.

From my brief study I know haiku traditionally should speak of seasons and that many involve nature. There seems to be a debate as to whether people should be included. Some feel people are a part of nature, but others feel they are an intrusion.

I also understand that there should be a break in the lines, so that there are two images. I see that this is done without punctuation, typically. That makes sense to me, as punctuation takes away from the simplicity of the art form. It adds complication where it isn’t needed.

I wanted to share a few of the first haiku I wrote and ask for your feedback:

slivers of lightning
shoot across the pitch black sky
lovers spotlighted

leaves of many hues 

pressed between worn white pages 

pared from parent’s limb

stems hang by a thread
dangling precariously
october puppets

I would love to know what works with these and what doesn’t. Both kinds of comment will help me improve.

Do these haiku communicate to you? Are there unnecessary words? Am I breaking any haiku rules? What am I missing?

Thank you in advance for your help!

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Quicksilver is a column on troutswirl, the blog for The Haiku Foundation, devoted to showcasing the questions, ideas, and evolution of a beginner to the art of haiku, Laura Sherman. Each installment will feature some of Laura’s new work as well as her ideas and thought-processes concerning them. It is hoped that readers will respond with reactions, ideas, and advice on her work and provide feedback on how she might develop and improve her craft.