Sails is a section of troutswirl that is devoted to presenting questions for discussion and debate on the nature and possibilities of haiku. Sails will be overseen by Peter Yovu. For an introduction to this section, see Sails.

                                                                              • 1st Sailing
                                                                              • 2nd Sailing
……………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………….

You have probably noticed, under Viral 4.3 and Periplum #3, an ongoing discussion about a poem by Penny Harter, much of it centered around whether it is a haiku, a senryu, or something else. In this Sailing, I would like to continue and broaden the discussion somewhat. The central question is this: do these considerations help or hinder the understanding and/or enjoyment of a poem? In what ways?

As evidenced in the Viral and Periplum discussions, some people feel that the distinction is important. Others do not. But chances are, those who do not have studied the distinctions, and probably have even, for a while anyway, kept to them in their writing, or as guidelines for reading. Here then are two related question: how important is it for newer students to learn the distinctions and to practice them? How important was this for you?

This is an open forum of course, but I believe the most helpful approach here may be a personal one. If your imagination is best served by staying within certain bounds, it would be good to hear how that works for you. And similarly, if it is best served by testing the bounds, how does that work?

I feel it would be quite enlivening to see a poem or two which, like the Harter poem, may yield to us dimensions otherwise missed without this kind of examination. So please feel free to introduce (or re-introduce) to us such work. At some point, I may do that myself with a famous poem by Chiyo-ni. I hope looking at it in this light will be fun and perhaps instructive. But maybe I won’t need to.

Sails is a section of troutswirl that is devoted to presenting questions for discussion and debate on the nature and possibilities of haiku. Sails will be overseen by Peter Yovu. For an introduction to this section, see Sails.

Some of you may recall this question having been posed by John Stevenson in Frogpond (Volume XXVII:1, p 81). He was then Jim Kacian’s associate editor, and was shortly to take over as editor on his own. I believe this question, good then and just as good now, is a wonderful follow-up to our first question, “Why do you read?” John has given me permission to reprint here, modified only slightly, his introduction to the question, an introduction in which he elegantly provides his own response. I could not do better, or equal it, so here is what John wrote:

“There are a few books that I find myself reading periodically as a means of renewing my efforts to write true haiku. Some of them were written by poets who are still living and whose company is a great comfort. And some are the works of poets no longer with us and who may have departed before there was any opportunity to express my gratitude to them. This is the case with John Wills, and particularly with his 1987 collection, Reed Shadows. The book contains haiku of a consistently superior order, imbued with extraordinary restraint and uncompromising simplicity and directness. He seems to have faith in his readers and to leave them the task of discovering for themselves what he has experienced. This is a tonic after reading (and writing) so much haiku that tells more than it should. For [many years], I have read Reed Shadows at least once a year and I believe it has steadied me . . .

I would like to hear from [Troutswirl] readers on the subject of which haiku collections serve them in this way. Which individual collections of haiku have proven themselves a continuing influence and inspiration for you? What do you read again and again? Why?”

A dawn harbor, safe haven for sailors. The smell of salty rope, of tar, the sulfur of piled kelp, but also the bracing smell of the sea itself, a breeze coming in and sun now on the waves, liquid sparks, one might think, coming from the meeting of sky and sea. The horizon is close. There are a few boats on the water made of wood harvested from trees that once stood rooted in the earth. The breeze is a wind now. Sails are hoisted and unfurl like enormous leaves growing impossibly fast, mostly white or gray and few red. They belly out, taut as the necks of horses straining for freedom and the sailors fill with excitement, and maybe some hesitation. “Where are we going?” someone calls out, not really expecting an answer, but an answer comes: “Far away and maybe back again.” Laughter.

Where are we going with this section of troutswirl? I say we because, more than other sections which may stand alone without comment or participation and still provide sustenance to visitors, Sails cannot. It requires participation. You and I are literally the wind which will help carry this boat out on a voyage of exploration. And what will guide us? Our keen interest and involvement with haiku, as readers, writers, and scholars. It is this interest which naturally leads us to ask questions, to want to know more, or to challenge all-to-comfortable ideas and beliefs. Where, apart from its origins in Japan, does haiku come from? Is it poetry, and in what ways? As it has been compared so often to photography, is it a snapshot taken by a tourist in an exotic locale, or a carefully thought out and painstakingly printed photograph by someone like Ansel Adams? Can it be both, and variations in between? So many questions.

And so many ways of considering them, like yours and yours and yours. And so, metaphors aside, Sails is a forum where these and other questions central to haiku will be presented, and where you and I will have the opportunity to speak, briefly, at length, loudly, in a whisper, errantly, mysteriously, provocatively, gladly, tremblingly, excitedly, agreeing, disagreeing, but mostly I hope, respectfully, knowing that each voice is important. To respect, after all, is to look again, to be worthy of being seen as having value. In Sails we will be looking at many things, and maybe seeing a few of them from new perspectives, as if for the first time. Friends, shake out your sea legs!

Sails is a section of troutswirl that is devoted to presenting questions for discussion and debate on the nature and possibilities of haiku. Sails will be overseen by Peter Yovu. For an introduction to this section, see Sails.
………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………….

In interviews, writers are often asked: “Why do you write”? I don’t think I’ve ever come across the question: “Why do you read”? For us, the question is: “Why do you read haiku”? If you are a writer, do you bring a poet’s sensibility to reading, or something different? If you are that rare person who does not write but only reads haiku, please tell us what your experience is. If anyone wishes to tell the story of their first encounter with haiku, please do. What effect does it have upon you? What would you tell others to encourage them to read haiku (or perhaps you could change the question slightly and say how you like to read—while listening, for example, to Debussy, or to Led Zeppelin)? There are of course many questions within the question presented, and that will likely always be the case. And by the way, in a few weeks a new “sail” will be hoisted, but that does not mean this subject will be closed. In time, I hope, there will be an accumulation of many questions and many responses which may be visited and revisited at any time. Okay then, I look forward to what you have to say. I’ll drop a line or two myself at some point.