of a wren
This perfect miniature poem is by John Rowlands who lives at Tremadoc, just a few miles away from the National Writers' Centre of Wales (Ty Newydd, Llanystumdwy) where I spent last weekend. John Rowlands kindly donated a copy of his book knots of sand (Alba 2017) to each of us on the course.
When I told a friend of mine I was going on a haiku weekend she said "primary school poetry", but I'm pleased (and relieved) to say that I discovered from our tutors, Philip Gross and Lynne Rees, that there is much more to haiku than the juniors' classroom.
I had always thought of haiku as being in the 5/7/5 syllable format. This came into English from the classical Japanese form of 5 characters followed by 7 characters followed by 5 characters. But Lynne pointed out that the characters were written vertically and they were not necessarily single syllables. As well as words they could represent punctuation or instructions in how to speak the poem.
The weekend was titled Journeys into Haiku in Verse and Prose. Haiku provided a spring-board for our writing, rather than a straight-jacket. We didn't have to stick to syllable counting or to three lines - we were aiming for that elusive moment conveyed in very few words.
We began with Lynne's "haiku generator". We were given two pages of found phrases from poems and invited to combine them in pairs and see what emerged:
the room reflected in a window
homesick now for middle age
I knew that at some point there would be a renga - a kind of verbal tennis with two or more participants (in our case three - maybe a different sport would be a better analogy?). I started off with
captured in a moment
trapped in wood
inspired by the hare carved on a wooden beam in the Ty Newydd dining room. Our poem travelled a circuitous route via river, sea and slate, children and old men, to end with Philip Gross's final couplet:
the hare set running in the wood
is running still
Haiku can be opened out into a longer poem - we were given the example of Billy Collins' poem "Japan", a meditation with variations on Buson's 18th century haiku
on the temple bell
a moth has settled
and is sleeping
We were encouraged to experiment with combining haiku and prose (haibun) - a form in which the distillation of the poetry and the clarity of prose can complement each other. An afternoon walk down to the Dwyfor estuary was a great time to gather material (both linguistic and physical - wool, driftwood, feather, stone). This is my first draft:
path to the shore
step through the gate
follow the blue path
pebbles lie on the shore
The stock fencing divides the landscape into little postcards of blues and greens. Earth square makes me think of the carousel of colour charts in a paint shop where they will mix any shade as requested. The fence has smaller squares near the ground to keep in the lambs and larger squares to keep in their mothers. Stands of wool catch on the wire and spiders thread nets over the airy spaces. In winter the sea flings storm-fulls of bladderwrack against the wire.
And that's as far as I got.
On Saturday night we had the usual participants' reading. I read my traditionally formed Shetland haiku, entitled "Island" (we never discussed whether haiku should have titles). (I should point out that "boost" is a place to draw up a boat out of the water.)
stone boost by the shore
boat's bow across earth's fiddle
sea in a man's eyes
salt water hones stone
sound-washed air blows in the sun
a woman leaves home
As there were twelve of us it was a good opportunity to read round my "Kalends" haiku. Here is July:
as you climb the path
heather purples the hillside,
clothes the lonely stones
A most inspiring and enlightening week-end at Ty Newydd. Thank you, Lynne. Thank you, Philip.
On Twitter Lynne has tweeted some lovely pictures of the weekend together with her exquisite prose fragments: go to @hungrywriting