Tuesday, September 20, 2011

Beyond Description

My default choice for a haiku’s format is one of three lines. And yes, as I mentioned earlier, I really like the one-line format. Remember traditional Japanese haiku was always written in a single vertical line. How it became nearly codified in English as a three line form makes an interesting history but one that I’ll have to research more.

Recently, I came across some really helpful advice by Canadian haiku writer, Betty Drevniok in her book Aware—a Haiku Primer.

Here are Betty’s suggestions on how to create good haiku, “Write in three short lines using the principle of comparison, contrast, or association." Betty believed that each of these techniques would become “the pivot on which the reader’s thought turns and expands.” And change rather than stasis gives haiku energy and relevance.

Reading her words, I thought that yes, too often, I have written haiku that simply describe and nothing more. There is no turn, no change, no leap into that exciting space where things collide, mingle, combust, give off sparks.

Here’s where I started with yesterday’s haiku:

at sunset
sunflowers beam
under the yellowing leaves

Yep, it’s certainly fall (at least in the poem), but yellowing has a “sick” connotation. And this gives nothing more than a quick verbal snapshot of the scene.

Next, I wrote:

at sunset
sunflowers beam gold
under the brass-colored beech

I like all the forceful b-sounds here but this also mainly describes and feels a bit forced besides. Plus the beaming gold is clichéd as well.

I decided I was concentrating too much on the color yellow. Not enough contrast here. Suddenly, I remembered the butterfly, I had seen earlier on my walk. The thought struck me, is this the last butterfly of the season? Finally I changed the haiku to:

how long
till the next butterfly--
sunflower light

There are arguments--pro and con--about revising haiku. Some in the mystical-catch-it-right- immediate school argue that a haiku should come fully-formed to you out of the cosmos; others--you can tell what camp I'm in--believe that like any other writing, there are the lucky and exceedingly rare "miracles." For the most part, revision, seeing the work anew, is an important and necessary part of the process.

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