Fate
Frost covers the grass
A week before the solstice
No snow has fallen
On the pathway through the park
An old man walks with a cane
Young lovers maintain
A sense of space around them
Among passersby
***
Graced by the waxing moon sky
Seen through the apple blossoms
A single lonesome
Sparrow looking for its flock
Hops from branch to branch
The forest is in a trance,
The drone of a steady wind
***
"How long has it been?
I'm glad that you could join me
On such a hot day."
She decides that it's O.K.
To share with her friend a dream
It was by a stream
That meandered here and there
And curved out of sight
***
Who knows where the fall leaves might
End up?, perhaps the ocean?
The tidal motion
Millenia of fine sand,
Slowly the sun sets
Standing on a parapet
A goddess sings songs of fate
Tuesday, December 9, 2008
Saturday, December 6, 2008
Attention: A Solo Junicho
Attention
Clouds in the distance
In the field filled with stubble
Some patches of ice
Before setting off for work
He scrapes the car windows clear
Time to get in gear,
It will be a busy day
There is lots to do
The building construction crew
Balancing on the high beams
She's amazed, it seems
He always knows what to say
To show he loves her
A gift of a new sweater
Days before the first cold breeze
The bright sun deceives,
It's lacking a basic warmth,
The November air
"Please do not bother, and spare
Me all your lame excuses."
He just refuses
To notice things like blossoms
On the apple tree
Moonlight, a common beauty,
Windows rattle in the wind
It happened again,
A dream of freedom and peace
It seemed very real
They partake of a fine meal,
A gathering of old friends
Clouds in the distance
In the field filled with stubble
Some patches of ice
Before setting off for work
He scrapes the car windows clear
Time to get in gear,
It will be a busy day
There is lots to do
The building construction crew
Balancing on the high beams
She's amazed, it seems
He always knows what to say
To show he loves her
A gift of a new sweater
Days before the first cold breeze
The bright sun deceives,
It's lacking a basic warmth,
The November air
"Please do not bother, and spare
Me all your lame excuses."
He just refuses
To notice things like blossoms
On the apple tree
Moonlight, a common beauty,
Windows rattle in the wind
It happened again,
A dream of freedom and peace
It seemed very real
They partake of a fine meal,
A gathering of old friends
Friday, December 5, 2008
Sanctuary: A Solo Junicho
Sanctuary
After forty years
Dwelling in the winter light --
The aged couple
Contemplating retirement
Watching their grandchildren play
Under the array,
The web of cherry blossoms,
Sitting quietly
As the mind wanders freely
While taking a morning break
He is never late,
His table is always ready,
At the corner cafe
Leaves scatter, falling away,
A cascade of red and gold
The moon, bright and bold,
Traverses the Leo sky
And a few thin clouds
"Turn it down, it's much too loud,"
She's looking out the window
Thoughts, like seeds, can grow
And change the course of a life,
The course of the world
The new house plans are unfurled,
He is very proud of them
"We'll preserve the glenn,"
A summer sanctuary
For birds and wildlife
The hermit, free from all strife,
Listens to the fading wind
After forty years
Dwelling in the winter light --
The aged couple
Contemplating retirement
Watching their grandchildren play
Under the array,
The web of cherry blossoms,
Sitting quietly
As the mind wanders freely
While taking a morning break
He is never late,
His table is always ready,
At the corner cafe
Leaves scatter, falling away,
A cascade of red and gold
The moon, bright and bold,
Traverses the Leo sky
And a few thin clouds
"Turn it down, it's much too loud,"
She's looking out the window
Thoughts, like seeds, can grow
And change the course of a life,
The course of the world
The new house plans are unfurled,
He is very proud of them
"We'll preserve the glenn,"
A summer sanctuary
For birds and wildlife
The hermit, free from all strife,
Listens to the fading wind
Monday, November 24, 2008
Questions: A Solo Junicho
Questions
Early evening calm;
Dry, cold fog, like a thin veil,
On the leafless oaks
The light of the waning moon
Comes from somewhere in the sky
She has no idea
Who's invited her to join
The online forum
While on a June vacation
At the National Park
Away from the heat
Of city buildings and streets
And city traffic
He must answer the cell phone,
His boss expects it of him
A surprise exam,
The students who have studied
Feel vindicated
The weatherman said, "Clear Skies,"
But thick snow is falling fast
Pedestrian wait
For the signal light to change
As a truck speeds by
Young lovers do not perceive
Anything but each other
When does dawn begin?
When is a question answered?
When did I become old?
The first few cherry blossoms
Have opened to the wind
Early evening calm;
Dry, cold fog, like a thin veil,
On the leafless oaks
The light of the waning moon
Comes from somewhere in the sky
She has no idea
Who's invited her to join
The online forum
While on a June vacation
At the National Park
Away from the heat
Of city buildings and streets
And city traffic
He must answer the cell phone,
His boss expects it of him
A surprise exam,
The students who have studied
Feel vindicated
The weatherman said, "Clear Skies,"
But thick snow is falling fast
Pedestrian wait
For the signal light to change
As a truck speeds by
Young lovers do not perceive
Anything but each other
When does dawn begin?
When is a question answered?
When did I become old?
The first few cherry blossoms
Have opened to the wind
Wednesday, November 19, 2008
Renga Fields
Renga Fields
One characteristic of renga that distinguishes renga from other long forms of poetry is that renga do not tell a story. Renga is non-narrative in nature. There is no central individual around whom the action swirls and there is no plot device that binds the sequence of images together. Sometimes one can discern a theme to a renga in the sense of a dominant mood or focus. But that is not the same as a plot or narrative. The non-narrative nature of renga is, as far as I know, unique for a form of poetry that in its classical form, could go on for 100 verses or more.
There is a kind of East Asian painting that contains multiple scenes spread over the canvas. The different scenes are often separated by natural formations such as rivers, forests, mountains, etc. As one moves over the canvas the observer takes in a multitude of different depictions. Often this kind of painting served a teaching function. For example, among East Asian Buddhists it was traditional to do a series of paintings on a long scroll. Each painting would depict scenes from a chapter of a Buddhist Sutra. This scroll was then used by Buddhist Priests to lecture on the particular Sutra in question, pointing to scenes in the painting illustrating a passage from a Chapter of a Sutra. This was how, for example, the Lotus Sutra was taught for many centuries. The 28 Chapters of the Lotus Sutra were depicted in 28 paintings and each painting had multiple scenes. You can think of this kind of painting as an early form of power point presentation.
This style of painting could also be used in non-teaching contexts so that, for example, a landscape could encompass multiple seasons or a cityscape could encompass multiple landmarks within the city. In modern times some postcards will have multiple scenes of a city or county to appeal to tourists.
This way of laying out scenes on a flat surface uses the surface as a field and then divides the field into sections, each section having its own focus. The overall impression from the multiple sections is the theme of the field as a whole. For example, a large postcard of Paris might contain the Eiffel Tower, the Louvre, a view of the Seine, a Cafe, a bottle of fine French Wine, and maybe a picture of Versailles. And the overall theme that unites these various images is “life in Paris.” There is no narrative to these scenes, but there is an underlying theme.
I think renga is similar to these kinds of paintings and postcards. I think that is why it is a non-narrative form of poetry. There is an underlying thematic unity to the images of a renga, but it is a unity that does not require a narrative, it is not a unity of story or character, it is the unity of a field.
Think of a field. In one corner of a field there is a stand of oaks. Running through the bottom of the field is a creek. A playground for kids has been built in one section of the field with swings and a sandbox. There are several picnic tables here and there. To the left of the middle are several boulders left over from when glaciers were prominent. There are bike and footpaths through the field, as well as more subtle traces of animal trails and their nests and living spaces. All of this is simultaneous; it happens all at once. We observe it in sequence, but it is going on all the time, going on together. That is one of the meanings of experience as a field; that things happen all at once, not in sequence.
Narrative structures are, by definition, sequential. They provide a structure of one thing happening after another. But life isn’t really sequential in nature. It is more complicated than that. Life more closely resembles the depictions on the paintings and postcards I referenced above where many things are happening together.
Renga resembles looking at a field and spotting various scenes or portions of the field. Renga displays the world as a field in which our lives unfold. Renga is non-narrative because the field of life is non-narrative.
In the postcard I described above of Paris the underlying field which unifies the postcard is Paris itself. What is the underlying field which unifies renga? My sense is that the field which renga offers for observation is the field of time. Often we think of time as a series of moments and we sometimes depict time as a line. If, however, we consider time as a field then time becomes more expansive.
The required images in a renga are all signals of the presence of time. The moon verse points to the most ancient timekeeper that humanity had, and the ebb and flow of the moon in the sky is the very essence of time. The blossoming tree verse points to an event which manifests at a particular time and, like the moon, appears from the void, blossoms, and then quickly recedes. The moon is a quick monthly cycle of time, while the blossoming tree is a yearly cycle. The love verse points to a central manifestation of every human life; that moment when love appears. But love resembles the moon and the blossoming tree; it appears for a while and then vanishes. The love verse points to a cycle that resembles the moon and the blossoming tree, but usually manifests once in a human life. And finally, the seasonal verses are manifestations of time that appear and disappear in a regular cycle.
Think of planet earth as a field. Upon this field of earth things appear. Fall appears, blossoms appear, love appears, the moon appears in its various forms. All of this happens all at once and this appearing and vanishing is the field of time.
This is why renga is full of things, the things of everyday life. Because those things are time and time is those things. The appearing and disappearing of the moon, flowering trees, the seasons, they are all time. Time is not the container in which these things happen; the happening of these things is the field of time.
Displaying the world in this way renga gives us a glimpse of the fullness of life. It is difficult for the human mind to grasp the rich complexity of the world in which we dwell. Renga offers us a way to enter into that complexity. Renga does this by displaying for us the field of time, the field of our lives.
One characteristic of renga that distinguishes renga from other long forms of poetry is that renga do not tell a story. Renga is non-narrative in nature. There is no central individual around whom the action swirls and there is no plot device that binds the sequence of images together. Sometimes one can discern a theme to a renga in the sense of a dominant mood or focus. But that is not the same as a plot or narrative. The non-narrative nature of renga is, as far as I know, unique for a form of poetry that in its classical form, could go on for 100 verses or more.
There is a kind of East Asian painting that contains multiple scenes spread over the canvas. The different scenes are often separated by natural formations such as rivers, forests, mountains, etc. As one moves over the canvas the observer takes in a multitude of different depictions. Often this kind of painting served a teaching function. For example, among East Asian Buddhists it was traditional to do a series of paintings on a long scroll. Each painting would depict scenes from a chapter of a Buddhist Sutra. This scroll was then used by Buddhist Priests to lecture on the particular Sutra in question, pointing to scenes in the painting illustrating a passage from a Chapter of a Sutra. This was how, for example, the Lotus Sutra was taught for many centuries. The 28 Chapters of the Lotus Sutra were depicted in 28 paintings and each painting had multiple scenes. You can think of this kind of painting as an early form of power point presentation.
This style of painting could also be used in non-teaching contexts so that, for example, a landscape could encompass multiple seasons or a cityscape could encompass multiple landmarks within the city. In modern times some postcards will have multiple scenes of a city or county to appeal to tourists.
This way of laying out scenes on a flat surface uses the surface as a field and then divides the field into sections, each section having its own focus. The overall impression from the multiple sections is the theme of the field as a whole. For example, a large postcard of Paris might contain the Eiffel Tower, the Louvre, a view of the Seine, a Cafe, a bottle of fine French Wine, and maybe a picture of Versailles. And the overall theme that unites these various images is “life in Paris.” There is no narrative to these scenes, but there is an underlying theme.
I think renga is similar to these kinds of paintings and postcards. I think that is why it is a non-narrative form of poetry. There is an underlying thematic unity to the images of a renga, but it is a unity that does not require a narrative, it is not a unity of story or character, it is the unity of a field.
Think of a field. In one corner of a field there is a stand of oaks. Running through the bottom of the field is a creek. A playground for kids has been built in one section of the field with swings and a sandbox. There are several picnic tables here and there. To the left of the middle are several boulders left over from when glaciers were prominent. There are bike and footpaths through the field, as well as more subtle traces of animal trails and their nests and living spaces. All of this is simultaneous; it happens all at once. We observe it in sequence, but it is going on all the time, going on together. That is one of the meanings of experience as a field; that things happen all at once, not in sequence.
Narrative structures are, by definition, sequential. They provide a structure of one thing happening after another. But life isn’t really sequential in nature. It is more complicated than that. Life more closely resembles the depictions on the paintings and postcards I referenced above where many things are happening together.
Renga resembles looking at a field and spotting various scenes or portions of the field. Renga displays the world as a field in which our lives unfold. Renga is non-narrative because the field of life is non-narrative.
In the postcard I described above of Paris the underlying field which unifies the postcard is Paris itself. What is the underlying field which unifies renga? My sense is that the field which renga offers for observation is the field of time. Often we think of time as a series of moments and we sometimes depict time as a line. If, however, we consider time as a field then time becomes more expansive.
The required images in a renga are all signals of the presence of time. The moon verse points to the most ancient timekeeper that humanity had, and the ebb and flow of the moon in the sky is the very essence of time. The blossoming tree verse points to an event which manifests at a particular time and, like the moon, appears from the void, blossoms, and then quickly recedes. The moon is a quick monthly cycle of time, while the blossoming tree is a yearly cycle. The love verse points to a central manifestation of every human life; that moment when love appears. But love resembles the moon and the blossoming tree; it appears for a while and then vanishes. The love verse points to a cycle that resembles the moon and the blossoming tree, but usually manifests once in a human life. And finally, the seasonal verses are manifestations of time that appear and disappear in a regular cycle.
Think of planet earth as a field. Upon this field of earth things appear. Fall appears, blossoms appear, love appears, the moon appears in its various forms. All of this happens all at once and this appearing and vanishing is the field of time.
This is why renga is full of things, the things of everyday life. Because those things are time and time is those things. The appearing and disappearing of the moon, flowering trees, the seasons, they are all time. Time is not the container in which these things happen; the happening of these things is the field of time.
Displaying the world in this way renga gives us a glimpse of the fullness of life. It is difficult for the human mind to grasp the rich complexity of the world in which we dwell. Renga offers us a way to enter into that complexity. Renga does this by displaying for us the field of time, the field of our lives.
Monday, November 17, 2008
Used Books: A Solo Junicho
Used Books
A cold, cloudless sky
The first sliver of the moon --
A few dry leaves fall
On the yard of the new house
Where the fences meet
Frost and ice remain
Even in the afternoon
The shadows are thick
Ruins from an endless war
Shelter a forbidden kiss
At the monument,
Moss upon the marble slabs
Obscures the writing
He gathers a bag of books
To take to the used bookstore
Wafting through the door
Apple blossoms in the wind
Scattered on the floor
In the local laundromat
She sorts her clothes by color
These kinds of routines,
Small chores done regularly,
Keep the world sane
"I don't mean to interrupt,
Would you mind coming outside?"
Beside the back door
A single red rose in bloom
Under the hot sun
A few clouds in the distance --
Perhaps there'll be rain tonight
A cold, cloudless sky
The first sliver of the moon --
A few dry leaves fall
On the yard of the new house
Where the fences meet
Frost and ice remain
Even in the afternoon
The shadows are thick
Ruins from an endless war
Shelter a forbidden kiss
At the monument,
Moss upon the marble slabs
Obscures the writing
He gathers a bag of books
To take to the used bookstore
Wafting through the door
Apple blossoms in the wind
Scattered on the floor
In the local laundromat
She sorts her clothes by color
These kinds of routines,
Small chores done regularly,
Keep the world sane
"I don't mean to interrupt,
Would you mind coming outside?"
Beside the back door
A single red rose in bloom
Under the hot sun
A few clouds in the distance --
Perhaps there'll be rain tonight
Monday, November 10, 2008
Slow Snow: A Solo Junicho
Slow Snow
Before the sunrise
Walking in the autumn mist
The air cool and still
Underneath the roadside bush
The patient fox is waiting
By the garden shed
In the corner of the yard
Near the compost heap
Blssoms of the apple tree
In the clear afternoon light
She reads a novel,
The one her best friend gave her,
And a cup of tea
Scenes from long ago places
Are recalled more often now
The aged couple
Sitting in the hot night air
Beneath the full moon
A flock of angels takes flight
A brief wind raises some dust
"Wait just a second.
I would swear I heard something,"
Then he shakes his head
A blackbird, perfectly still,
Perched on the telephone wire
Over the hay field
Thick, gray clouds are gathering
As night approaches
The first flakes of the season
Falling slowly to the ground
Comment: I thought I would start putting a map, or guide, at the end of my posted renga. I'm thinking this might help some readers, particularly those who are new to renga. If readers have any feedback on this idea, let me know.
Verse 1: Fall/Autumn
Verse 4: Spring and Blossom Verse
Verse 7: Summer, Moon and Love Verse
Verse 12: Winter Verse
It is unusual to have a single verse do triple duty, like verse 7. Double duty is found with the combination of spring and blossom, and often moon and fall are also combined. But three is unusual. As I mentioned in a previous post on the Junicho form, I use a chance procedure to place topics in a Junicho. I role a 12-sided die and assign topics according to the roll of the die. I don't always follow the roll; I'll rearrange the order to provide room for shift, or for esthetic reasons. And the opening verse is always the season I am actually writing the Junicho in.
This time "7" came up three times; for Summer, Moon and Love verses. At first I thought of tinkering with the arrangement, and then I decided it made a nice challenge to see if I could combine all three. So that's how verse 7 came to do triple duty.
Before the sunrise
Walking in the autumn mist
The air cool and still
Underneath the roadside bush
The patient fox is waiting
By the garden shed
In the corner of the yard
Near the compost heap
Blssoms of the apple tree
In the clear afternoon light
She reads a novel,
The one her best friend gave her,
And a cup of tea
Scenes from long ago places
Are recalled more often now
The aged couple
Sitting in the hot night air
Beneath the full moon
A flock of angels takes flight
A brief wind raises some dust
"Wait just a second.
I would swear I heard something,"
Then he shakes his head
A blackbird, perfectly still,
Perched on the telephone wire
Over the hay field
Thick, gray clouds are gathering
As night approaches
The first flakes of the season
Falling slowly to the ground
Comment: I thought I would start putting a map, or guide, at the end of my posted renga. I'm thinking this might help some readers, particularly those who are new to renga. If readers have any feedback on this idea, let me know.
Verse 1: Fall/Autumn
Verse 4: Spring and Blossom Verse
Verse 7: Summer, Moon and Love Verse
Verse 12: Winter Verse
It is unusual to have a single verse do triple duty, like verse 7. Double duty is found with the combination of spring and blossom, and often moon and fall are also combined. But three is unusual. As I mentioned in a previous post on the Junicho form, I use a chance procedure to place topics in a Junicho. I role a 12-sided die and assign topics according to the roll of the die. I don't always follow the roll; I'll rearrange the order to provide room for shift, or for esthetic reasons. And the opening verse is always the season I am actually writing the Junicho in.
This time "7" came up three times; for Summer, Moon and Love verses. At first I thought of tinkering with the arrangement, and then I decided it made a nice challenge to see if I could combine all three. So that's how verse 7 came to do triple duty.
Wednesday, November 5, 2008
Kyrie: A Solo Junicho
Clouds in the night sky,
Leaves on the streets and sidewalks,
A dog barks two times
Intermittently the light
Of the full moon permeates
The graceful branches
Of the blossoming plum tree
Moving in the wind
From the window of the house
She observes her neighborhood
A cat in the shade
Sleeping in the mid-day heat
Beside the old fence
They discuss their wedding day
And who they want to invite
Walking in the cold,
Passing the ice filled fountain
In the city park
Raccoons inspect the garbage
When nobody is looking
Behind the houses
And in all the alleyways;
Life is there as well
He writes a nervous letter
To an old monastery
High in the mountains
Accessed by a two-lane road
And a long footpath
Kyrie eleison
Kyrie eleison
Leaves on the streets and sidewalks,
A dog barks two times
Intermittently the light
Of the full moon permeates
The graceful branches
Of the blossoming plum tree
Moving in the wind
From the window of the house
She observes her neighborhood
A cat in the shade
Sleeping in the mid-day heat
Beside the old fence
They discuss their wedding day
And who they want to invite
Walking in the cold,
Passing the ice filled fountain
In the city park
Raccoons inspect the garbage
When nobody is looking
Behind the houses
And in all the alleyways;
Life is there as well
He writes a nervous letter
To an old monastery
High in the mountains
Accessed by a two-lane road
And a long footpath
Kyrie eleison
Kyrie eleison
Thursday, October 30, 2008
Ecclesiastes: A Solo Shisan
Ecclesiastes
Overcast morning,
The sound of two crows cawing
In the windless warmth
Dew upon the Douglas Fir
Seen through the venetian blinds
After a moment
He returns to his laptop
To check his email
***
Rolling out of a driveway,
The neighbor’s new S.U.V.
Bright in the moonlight
Of the waxing gibbous moon
Keeping track of time
Her mother-in-law’s birthday
Coincides with golden leaves
***
At the gift shop
Rows and rows of greeting cards
For all occasions
Reading Ecclesiastes
The minister takes comfort
Even though the snow
Lies in drifts upon the ground
And the sky is gray
***
Unexpectedly the mist
Rises in the warm March air
Around the plum tree
A few petals have fallen
From a few branches
Two friends have to acknowledge
That they are now far apart
Overcast morning,
The sound of two crows cawing
In the windless warmth
Dew upon the Douglas Fir
Seen through the venetian blinds
After a moment
He returns to his laptop
To check his email
***
Rolling out of a driveway,
The neighbor’s new S.U.V.
Bright in the moonlight
Of the waxing gibbous moon
Keeping track of time
Her mother-in-law’s birthday
Coincides with golden leaves
***
At the gift shop
Rows and rows of greeting cards
For all occasions
Reading Ecclesiastes
The minister takes comfort
Even though the snow
Lies in drifts upon the ground
And the sky is gray
***
Unexpectedly the mist
Rises in the warm March air
Around the plum tree
A few petals have fallen
From a few branches
Two friends have to acknowledge
That they are now far apart
Tuesday, October 28, 2008
Learning to Link
Learning to Link
As readers of this blog already know, I look at renga as a craft, like pottery. To practice pottery one has to learn various skills; throwing and shaping clay, glazes, carving, firing, etc. To practice renga one has to learn various skills; linking, shifting, lineation, topic placement, etc. One of the basic skills for a renga poet is linking and it is that particular skill, or technique, that is the focus here.
Renga poets are called upon to add a verse to the one they have received. In addition, if the verse they are adding is in a particular placement in the renga, renga poets will have to add a verse that also embraces the topic of that placement. The topics include: the moon, love, blossoming trees, and the seasons of fall, winter, spring, and summer.
This is not a method that is taught in standard books on poetic technique. So I would like to suggest here a way of learning how to link.
Take a three-line verse such as the following:
Trees beside the pond –
Moving across the surface,
The sound of the wind.
It is important that the selected verse not be an example of a topical verse. That is to say, the three-line verse should not itself be a moon, love, blossoming tree, or seasonal verse.
Now, take this three-line verse and add two-line verses to it such that it transforms the whole into one of the topics that will be needed when writing an actual renga. I will illustrate by example:
1. Fall Link
Trees beside the pond –
Moving across the surface,
The sound of the wind
As brown and gold leaves scatter
Among the boulders and grass
The links indicates the Fall season; “brown leaves” = fall. The two verses together form a coherent image of Fall.
2. Winter Link
Trees beside the pond –
Moving across the surface,
The sound of the wind
Snow falling from the branches
In the mid-afternoon light
The link indicates the Winter season; “snow” = winter. The two verses together form a coherent image of Winter.
3. Spring Link
Trees beside the pond –
Moving across the surface,
The sound of the wind
White plum blossoms are scattered
Among the boulders and grass
The link indicates the Spring season; “plum blossoms” = spring. The two verses together form a coherent image of Spring. Notice how closely this verse resembles the verse in the Fall Link. Basically the only change is from “brown and gold leaves” to “white plum blossoms” but that is enough to change the whole seasonal reference and feeling of the image.
This link also functions as a “blossoming tree” link. That is usually the case; blossoming trees such as plum, cherry, apple, etc., bloom in the Spring. There are some blossoming trees, such as magnolia and some hawthorns, which can bloom also in the summer. A few types might bloom into the fall and one can experiment with these kinds of references.
A Spring Link that does not contain the blossoming tree might look something like this:
Trees beside the pond –
Moving across the surface,
The sound of the wind
The last few fragments of ice
Disappear along the shore
The phrase “last fragments of ice” indicates an early Spring timing, and therefore this would be a Spring verse, transforming the two verses into a coherent image of Spring.
4. Summer Link
Trees beside the pond –
Moving across the surface,
The sound of the wind
The shore has doubled its size
Under the months-long heat wave
The link indicates the Summer season; “heat wave” = summer. The two verses together form a coherent image of Summer.
5. Moon Link
Trees beside the pond –
Moving across the surface,
The sound of the wind
The full moon briefly hidden
By a swiftly drifting cloud
The link adds the moon to the overall image, making the two verses a coherent lunar image. A suggestion here is to experiment with different lunar phases, including the new moon (or the absence of a moon) and see how it shapes your link.
6. Love Link
Trees beside the pond –
Moving across the surface,
The sound of the wind
Their third date, a picnic lunch;
She has high expectations
In renga, and Japanese poetry in general, the love verse refers to one of three aspects of love. The first meeting and the thrill that entails. The sense that the thrill is receding. And, finally, parting. This is a broader, more encompassing, vision of love than we normally associate with the word. This is helpful to poets because it opens up a lot of possibilities for the “love verse” that might not have been considered.
7. Blossoming Tree Verse
See “3” above, the “Spring Verse”.
8. Non-topical Link
Just to round things out, add a link that is free of any specific topic, usually called a “miscellaneous verse”.
Trees beside the pond –
Moving across the surface,
The sound of the wind
At the edge of the forest
A hungry fox is watching
This link is not specifically seasonal, nor does it refer to any of the required topics in a renga.
So that is the basic procedure in learning how to link. Take a three-line verse, and then link to that verse in such a way as to transform the verse into one of the topics that are necessary for any renga. In this way the aspiring renga poet will be ready if, when their turn comes in a collaborative renga, for linking in keeping with the renga form. If the renga poet needs to add a specific topic, practice in doing so will prove useful in that situation. If the renga poet needs to add a non-specific link, or a link that is not one of the required topics, the poet will have had practice doing that as well. And if the renga poet is writing a solo renga, all of this practice will help smooth the entire process of composing a renga.
Where does one get the initial image to link to? I would suggest two sources. First, an image from the middle of a published renga. In other words, borrow someone else’s renga link. Don’t use the opening verse of a renga; that’s the hokku and it is a strongly seasonal verse. Rather, choose a verse from the middle of the renga that by itself does not inherently possess a topical indication so that you can practice linking to all the required topics.
The second source I would suggest is from modern haiku collections. In particular, non-seasonal modern haiku. And if I were to pick a single volume to reference I would recommend Richard Wright’s “Haiku: This Other World”. My reason for recommending Wright is that his haiku are idiomatic (meaning they are in natural English, they are not translated), the images are compelling and modern, and therefore easy to understand, and finally, Wright’s haiku are metrically traditional; most of them are in 5-7-5 syllables. This sets up for the poet what I call the “renga pulse”. Don’t worry too much in this exercise about maintaining lineation. On the other hand, it is good to start with a strong sense of the traditional syllabic structure and if you can manage to follow the initial verse with a 7-7 syllable response, that is all to the good.
Most of Wright’s haiku have a strong seasonal reference, as is traditional for haiku. But there are also many that are non-seasonal and they will serve well for this exercise. Here are a few examples:
The ocean’s soft sound
Lifts the toll of a far bell
To the half-seen stars (321)
My shadow was sad
When I took it from the sand
Of the gleaming beach (530)
When the train had stopped,
A coffin was unloaded
Amid steam and smoke (181)
Naked to the sky,
A village without a name
In the setting sun (73)
Of course, if you wish, you can come up with your own verse to practice linking. But I think it’s good to get a feel for responding to someone else.
One comment I’d like to make, when you are engaged in this exercise, don’t be concerned about being original. Don’t strive to be brilliant or unusual. It’s even OK to use a cliché. The purpose of the exercise is to gain facility at linking. More broadly, in an actual renga it is not necessary that every link be striking. In fact, it is considered normal for many verses in a renga to be ‘background’ verses, meaning verses that do not stand out. I think of background verses as ‘good enough verses’. In a 12-verse renga, such as a Shisan or Junicho, maybe one or two verses will be really striking. In a 36-verse renga, a Kasen, maybe three or four verses will really stand out.
If you think of a renga as a journey, this makes sense. When we take a walk, or canoe down a river, not every appearance on such a journey calls to us or draws our attention. In such a journey there will be a few singular moments and that is enough to make the journey worthwhile. Similarly, the background verses serve to help highlight the striking verses.
Internalizing this attitude is important for the renga poet because, I have found, it makes writing a renga much more pleasurable. If the renga poet feels that every link needs to be striking and significant, this can lead to a kind of tension which turns the writing of renga into a chore. If, on the other hand, one accepts that a verse is ‘good enough’, one can then move on and continue with the renga journey.
Above all, have fun with these linking exercises.
As readers of this blog already know, I look at renga as a craft, like pottery. To practice pottery one has to learn various skills; throwing and shaping clay, glazes, carving, firing, etc. To practice renga one has to learn various skills; linking, shifting, lineation, topic placement, etc. One of the basic skills for a renga poet is linking and it is that particular skill, or technique, that is the focus here.
Renga poets are called upon to add a verse to the one they have received. In addition, if the verse they are adding is in a particular placement in the renga, renga poets will have to add a verse that also embraces the topic of that placement. The topics include: the moon, love, blossoming trees, and the seasons of fall, winter, spring, and summer.
This is not a method that is taught in standard books on poetic technique. So I would like to suggest here a way of learning how to link.
Take a three-line verse such as the following:
Trees beside the pond –
Moving across the surface,
The sound of the wind.
It is important that the selected verse not be an example of a topical verse. That is to say, the three-line verse should not itself be a moon, love, blossoming tree, or seasonal verse.
Now, take this three-line verse and add two-line verses to it such that it transforms the whole into one of the topics that will be needed when writing an actual renga. I will illustrate by example:
1. Fall Link
Trees beside the pond –
Moving across the surface,
The sound of the wind
As brown and gold leaves scatter
Among the boulders and grass
The links indicates the Fall season; “brown leaves” = fall. The two verses together form a coherent image of Fall.
2. Winter Link
Trees beside the pond –
Moving across the surface,
The sound of the wind
Snow falling from the branches
In the mid-afternoon light
The link indicates the Winter season; “snow” = winter. The two verses together form a coherent image of Winter.
3. Spring Link
Trees beside the pond –
Moving across the surface,
The sound of the wind
White plum blossoms are scattered
Among the boulders and grass
The link indicates the Spring season; “plum blossoms” = spring. The two verses together form a coherent image of Spring. Notice how closely this verse resembles the verse in the Fall Link. Basically the only change is from “brown and gold leaves” to “white plum blossoms” but that is enough to change the whole seasonal reference and feeling of the image.
This link also functions as a “blossoming tree” link. That is usually the case; blossoming trees such as plum, cherry, apple, etc., bloom in the Spring. There are some blossoming trees, such as magnolia and some hawthorns, which can bloom also in the summer. A few types might bloom into the fall and one can experiment with these kinds of references.
A Spring Link that does not contain the blossoming tree might look something like this:
Trees beside the pond –
Moving across the surface,
The sound of the wind
The last few fragments of ice
Disappear along the shore
The phrase “last fragments of ice” indicates an early Spring timing, and therefore this would be a Spring verse, transforming the two verses into a coherent image of Spring.
4. Summer Link
Trees beside the pond –
Moving across the surface,
The sound of the wind
The shore has doubled its size
Under the months-long heat wave
The link indicates the Summer season; “heat wave” = summer. The two verses together form a coherent image of Summer.
5. Moon Link
Trees beside the pond –
Moving across the surface,
The sound of the wind
The full moon briefly hidden
By a swiftly drifting cloud
The link adds the moon to the overall image, making the two verses a coherent lunar image. A suggestion here is to experiment with different lunar phases, including the new moon (or the absence of a moon) and see how it shapes your link.
6. Love Link
Trees beside the pond –
Moving across the surface,
The sound of the wind
Their third date, a picnic lunch;
She has high expectations
In renga, and Japanese poetry in general, the love verse refers to one of three aspects of love. The first meeting and the thrill that entails. The sense that the thrill is receding. And, finally, parting. This is a broader, more encompassing, vision of love than we normally associate with the word. This is helpful to poets because it opens up a lot of possibilities for the “love verse” that might not have been considered.
7. Blossoming Tree Verse
See “3” above, the “Spring Verse”.
8. Non-topical Link
Just to round things out, add a link that is free of any specific topic, usually called a “miscellaneous verse”.
Trees beside the pond –
Moving across the surface,
The sound of the wind
At the edge of the forest
A hungry fox is watching
This link is not specifically seasonal, nor does it refer to any of the required topics in a renga.
So that is the basic procedure in learning how to link. Take a three-line verse, and then link to that verse in such a way as to transform the verse into one of the topics that are necessary for any renga. In this way the aspiring renga poet will be ready if, when their turn comes in a collaborative renga, for linking in keeping with the renga form. If the renga poet needs to add a specific topic, practice in doing so will prove useful in that situation. If the renga poet needs to add a non-specific link, or a link that is not one of the required topics, the poet will have had practice doing that as well. And if the renga poet is writing a solo renga, all of this practice will help smooth the entire process of composing a renga.
Where does one get the initial image to link to? I would suggest two sources. First, an image from the middle of a published renga. In other words, borrow someone else’s renga link. Don’t use the opening verse of a renga; that’s the hokku and it is a strongly seasonal verse. Rather, choose a verse from the middle of the renga that by itself does not inherently possess a topical indication so that you can practice linking to all the required topics.
The second source I would suggest is from modern haiku collections. In particular, non-seasonal modern haiku. And if I were to pick a single volume to reference I would recommend Richard Wright’s “Haiku: This Other World”. My reason for recommending Wright is that his haiku are idiomatic (meaning they are in natural English, they are not translated), the images are compelling and modern, and therefore easy to understand, and finally, Wright’s haiku are metrically traditional; most of them are in 5-7-5 syllables. This sets up for the poet what I call the “renga pulse”. Don’t worry too much in this exercise about maintaining lineation. On the other hand, it is good to start with a strong sense of the traditional syllabic structure and if you can manage to follow the initial verse with a 7-7 syllable response, that is all to the good.
Most of Wright’s haiku have a strong seasonal reference, as is traditional for haiku. But there are also many that are non-seasonal and they will serve well for this exercise. Here are a few examples:
The ocean’s soft sound
Lifts the toll of a far bell
To the half-seen stars (321)
My shadow was sad
When I took it from the sand
Of the gleaming beach (530)
When the train had stopped,
A coffin was unloaded
Amid steam and smoke (181)
Naked to the sky,
A village without a name
In the setting sun (73)
Of course, if you wish, you can come up with your own verse to practice linking. But I think it’s good to get a feel for responding to someone else.
One comment I’d like to make, when you are engaged in this exercise, don’t be concerned about being original. Don’t strive to be brilliant or unusual. It’s even OK to use a cliché. The purpose of the exercise is to gain facility at linking. More broadly, in an actual renga it is not necessary that every link be striking. In fact, it is considered normal for many verses in a renga to be ‘background’ verses, meaning verses that do not stand out. I think of background verses as ‘good enough verses’. In a 12-verse renga, such as a Shisan or Junicho, maybe one or two verses will be really striking. In a 36-verse renga, a Kasen, maybe three or four verses will really stand out.
If you think of a renga as a journey, this makes sense. When we take a walk, or canoe down a river, not every appearance on such a journey calls to us or draws our attention. In such a journey there will be a few singular moments and that is enough to make the journey worthwhile. Similarly, the background verses serve to help highlight the striking verses.
Internalizing this attitude is important for the renga poet because, I have found, it makes writing a renga much more pleasurable. If the renga poet feels that every link needs to be striking and significant, this can lead to a kind of tension which turns the writing of renga into a chore. If, on the other hand, one accepts that a verse is ‘good enough’, one can then move on and continue with the renga journey.
Above all, have fun with these linking exercises.
Monday, October 27, 2008
Bridge: A Solo Junicho
Bridge
Golden poplar leaves
Bright in the light of sunrise
In my neighbor's yard
New statues of ducks and quail
Clustered around the front door
Snails are hiding
Underneath the wooden steps
It is damp and dark
"Let's talk about this some more,
Bring it out in the open."
Slipping on the ice
The small car comes to a stop
Next to a parked truck
"I can't rely on you,"
She returns the ring he gave her
The office lobby
Sun pouring in the windows
And afternoon heat
Next to the espresso stand
Six or seven apple trees
A few petals fall
On the coats of passersby
They don't seem to mind
The full moon between some clouds
Traversing the Aries sky
His recurring dream,
One that he looks forward to,
In the land of calm
An angel and a goddess
On a bridge across a stream
Golden poplar leaves
Bright in the light of sunrise
In my neighbor's yard
New statues of ducks and quail
Clustered around the front door
Snails are hiding
Underneath the wooden steps
It is damp and dark
"Let's talk about this some more,
Bring it out in the open."
Slipping on the ice
The small car comes to a stop
Next to a parked truck
"I can't rely on you,"
She returns the ring he gave her
The office lobby
Sun pouring in the windows
And afternoon heat
Next to the espresso stand
Six or seven apple trees
A few petals fall
On the coats of passersby
They don't seem to mind
The full moon between some clouds
Traversing the Aries sky
His recurring dream,
One that he looks forward to,
In the land of calm
An angel and a goddess
On a bridge across a stream
Friday, October 24, 2008
Maples: A Tan Renga
A Dialogue with Haiku Master Buson:
The twilight mountain,
The redness of the maples
Slowly fades to dark (Buson)
As devas start gathering
By the side of the river (RJ)
The twilight mountain,
The redness of the maples
Slowly fades to dark (Buson)
As devas start gathering
By the side of the river (RJ)
Wednesday, October 22, 2008
Form and Meaning
Form and Meaning
A teacup has a particular form which is intimately related to its function. Loosely speaking, a teacup has a shape that can hold liquid and is small enough to hold easily in one hand. We recognize a teacup because of its form and the meaning of teacup, which is its function, is that form.
Some musical forms also display this kind of intimate relationship between meaning and form. This is particularly true of dance music. A dance form like a waltz has a particular form because its meaning is to act as a basis for a certain kind of dance. Thus meaning and form mutually interpenetrate.
The meaning of poetic forms, like sonnet, villanelle, tanka, etc. are not as easy to spot. This is because the function of poetic forms is not immediately clear in the way that the function of a teacup is clear, or the function of a dance form in music is clear. If I consider what the meaning of the form of a teacup is, I can easily access that meaning; the relationship between meaning and form is apparent. If I consider what the meaning of the form of sonnet is, I find that a more difficult question to answer.
But I think it is a question that is worth pursuing. Larry Gross wrote in the 1995 Tanka Splendor, “A form evolves and persists over time because it does certain things exceedingly well.” The Japanese Tanka has a written history of over 1300 years and its form has remained constant during those centuries. The sonnet has a history of about 800 years and its form has retained a sense of constancy during those centuries. Both of these forms do something “exceedingly well” which is why people are attracted to them, continue to mold their poetry to them.
But what is it that a persistent poetic form does? How can we access the meaning of the form in the way that we access the meaning of more concrete and functional forms, like a teacup? One approach is to start with the length of the form. Contrast, for example, the length of the sonnet with the length of the tanka. The sonnet is 14 lines with an overall syllable count of 140 syllables. The Tanka is five lines with an overall syllable count of 31 syllables. As many commentators have observed, the sonnet is the length of a typical English paragraph. It is well suited to presenting an argument; not argument in the sense of a logical argument, rather argument in the sense of presenting a view. An opening statement can be followed by examples, or metaphors illustrating that statement. There is time and space enough in a sonnet to make a fairly complete presentation of an idea.
In contrast, the tanka, simply by being short, lacks the time and space to present an argument. In such a short form it is difficult to go through all the steps of presenting a view, backing it up with examples or metaphors, and then coming to a conclusion. What a short form like the tanka is good at is the presentation of an image, or images and allowing that presentation to resonate in the reader. Many commentators on tanka have referred to this as a kind of “space”, or “dreaming room” that surround a tanka. Tanka does this superbly and one reason it is so attractive is that the form itself leads in the direction of a presentational approach, rather than an argument/view approach.
So part of the meaning of a poetic form lies in the overall length of the form. It is helpful in exploring meaning and form in poetry to start with two forms that are sharply distinct; like sonnet and tanka. From there one can move to an investigation of forms that share more characteristics.
The other day I was having a conversation with a poet friend when I brought up the cinquain. He had not heard of it, so I explained that it was created by Adelaide Crapsey and it has the syllabic structure of five lines with a syllable count as follows: 2-4-6-8-2; for a total of twenty-two syllables. My friend, Karl, pondered this for a moment and said, “That has a very different feel than the tanka.” “How so?” I asked. Karl said that the closing line of two syllables seemed to be strongly “cadential”, like the last chord in a piece of music. The cinquain at first opens up, then comes to a strong close with the last two syllable line. In contrast, the tanka has a feeling of opening at the end, more like a river entering the ocean, with the closing two lines of 7-7.
I found Karl’s comments helpful and I think these kinds of intuitions can help us understand the connection between meaning and form in poetry. Discussions of meaning and form in poetry will, I think, always be somewhat tentative. Unlike the clear connection between the form of a teacup and its meaning, the connection between the form of a poem and its meaning is more subtle. But it is still there and investigations into the relationship can prove fruitful.
Returning to the discussion of the short forms, such as the tanka and the cinquain, I would add into this mix some of the traditional Chinese forms. For example, there is a Chinese form that consists of four lines, seven characters per line, for a total of 28 syllables/characters. (For a collection written in this style see “Poems of the Masters”, translated by Red Pine, pages 181 through 367.) The syllable count falls between the cinquain, at 22 syllables, and the tanka, at 31 syllables. One difference is the number of lines, four lines for the Chinese form, five lines for the cinquain and tanka. But for me the most significant difference is that the Chinese form has a regular line length, while the cinquain and tanka change line length through the poem.
The regular line length in the Chinese form (and all Chinese forms I am familiar with have regular line length) gives Chinese poetry a sense of balance and elegance. The tanka, in contrast, flows, seems to move forward, it seems to be in motion. The Chinese form feels more like a picture to me. This difference is subtle, yet at the level of feeling, at the level of pulse, there is a definite difference.
What I am suggesting here is that a particular form in poetry has meaning that transcends any particular poem in that form. I am suggesting that the form of the sonnet is a kind of meaning, and that the form of the tanka is kind of meaning, independent of the content of a particular sonnet or tanka.
What has happened in modern approaches to poetic form is that form and meaning have been separated. This is particularly true when we consider Japanese forms in the English language. The form of Japanese poetry has, to various degrees, been abandoned. It is my contention that when the form of a type of poetry is abandoned, the meaning of that form is also abandoned. That is to say, when the form of haiku is abandoned, the haiku itself has been abandoned; when the form of a tanka has been abandoned, tanka itself has been abandoned, etc.
This would not be a difficult point to understand with pottery. For example, if someone offered you a flat tile and told you it was a teacup, you might laugh, but because the form lacked the meaning of teacup, such an assertion would not be taken seriously. Even if the tile was beautiful, it’s still not a teacup. In poetry, however, because the connection between form and meaning is more tenuous, more difficult to access, such a separation can be attempted without such an attempt being immediately dismissed.
What I am suggesting is that the forms of haiku, tanka, and renga (the three forms English speakers have taken an interest in) are meaningful as forms in themselves, as syllabic structures, that those forms have meaning in the same way that the form of a teacup has meaning. This contrasts with the primary societies devoted to these forms which seem to encourage an approach to these forms which abandons the syllabic bases of these forms, deferring to free verse norms. It is my suggestion that, to a significant extent, the transmission of these forms to the English-speaking world is the transmission of the syllabic forms because the meaning of those types of poetry is the form that they embody.
It is interesting for me to observe that most poets have an intuitive understanding of this connection. Outside of the official societies devoted to these forms, almost all poets write haiku or tanka in a way that affirms the traditional syllabic form. A good example is “The Calligraphy of Clouds” by Yeshaya Rotbard, published in 2007. The haiku and tanka included in this volume, excellently crafted, are syllabically rooted in the traditional form from which they derive. From the haiku of Richard Wright to such modern collections, there is a large body of English language poetry, rooted in Japanese poetic forms, that consistently finds the traditional syllabic contours meaningful and definitive.
I’d like to conclude with another observation Larry Gross made in the 1995 Tanka Splendor: “While the tanka seems to thrive on innovative content, it is less clear whether drastic alterations of form are equally welcome.. . . [T]he genre has remained remarkably consistent in form and technique through the centuries. When we treat it as any other 5-line verse, . . . we may be blurring an important distinction.”
A teacup has a particular form which is intimately related to its function. Loosely speaking, a teacup has a shape that can hold liquid and is small enough to hold easily in one hand. We recognize a teacup because of its form and the meaning of teacup, which is its function, is that form.
Some musical forms also display this kind of intimate relationship between meaning and form. This is particularly true of dance music. A dance form like a waltz has a particular form because its meaning is to act as a basis for a certain kind of dance. Thus meaning and form mutually interpenetrate.
The meaning of poetic forms, like sonnet, villanelle, tanka, etc. are not as easy to spot. This is because the function of poetic forms is not immediately clear in the way that the function of a teacup is clear, or the function of a dance form in music is clear. If I consider what the meaning of the form of a teacup is, I can easily access that meaning; the relationship between meaning and form is apparent. If I consider what the meaning of the form of sonnet is, I find that a more difficult question to answer.
But I think it is a question that is worth pursuing. Larry Gross wrote in the 1995 Tanka Splendor, “A form evolves and persists over time because it does certain things exceedingly well.” The Japanese Tanka has a written history of over 1300 years and its form has remained constant during those centuries. The sonnet has a history of about 800 years and its form has retained a sense of constancy during those centuries. Both of these forms do something “exceedingly well” which is why people are attracted to them, continue to mold their poetry to them.
But what is it that a persistent poetic form does? How can we access the meaning of the form in the way that we access the meaning of more concrete and functional forms, like a teacup? One approach is to start with the length of the form. Contrast, for example, the length of the sonnet with the length of the tanka. The sonnet is 14 lines with an overall syllable count of 140 syllables. The Tanka is five lines with an overall syllable count of 31 syllables. As many commentators have observed, the sonnet is the length of a typical English paragraph. It is well suited to presenting an argument; not argument in the sense of a logical argument, rather argument in the sense of presenting a view. An opening statement can be followed by examples, or metaphors illustrating that statement. There is time and space enough in a sonnet to make a fairly complete presentation of an idea.
In contrast, the tanka, simply by being short, lacks the time and space to present an argument. In such a short form it is difficult to go through all the steps of presenting a view, backing it up with examples or metaphors, and then coming to a conclusion. What a short form like the tanka is good at is the presentation of an image, or images and allowing that presentation to resonate in the reader. Many commentators on tanka have referred to this as a kind of “space”, or “dreaming room” that surround a tanka. Tanka does this superbly and one reason it is so attractive is that the form itself leads in the direction of a presentational approach, rather than an argument/view approach.
So part of the meaning of a poetic form lies in the overall length of the form. It is helpful in exploring meaning and form in poetry to start with two forms that are sharply distinct; like sonnet and tanka. From there one can move to an investigation of forms that share more characteristics.
The other day I was having a conversation with a poet friend when I brought up the cinquain. He had not heard of it, so I explained that it was created by Adelaide Crapsey and it has the syllabic structure of five lines with a syllable count as follows: 2-4-6-8-2; for a total of twenty-two syllables. My friend, Karl, pondered this for a moment and said, “That has a very different feel than the tanka.” “How so?” I asked. Karl said that the closing line of two syllables seemed to be strongly “cadential”, like the last chord in a piece of music. The cinquain at first opens up, then comes to a strong close with the last two syllable line. In contrast, the tanka has a feeling of opening at the end, more like a river entering the ocean, with the closing two lines of 7-7.
I found Karl’s comments helpful and I think these kinds of intuitions can help us understand the connection between meaning and form in poetry. Discussions of meaning and form in poetry will, I think, always be somewhat tentative. Unlike the clear connection between the form of a teacup and its meaning, the connection between the form of a poem and its meaning is more subtle. But it is still there and investigations into the relationship can prove fruitful.
Returning to the discussion of the short forms, such as the tanka and the cinquain, I would add into this mix some of the traditional Chinese forms. For example, there is a Chinese form that consists of four lines, seven characters per line, for a total of 28 syllables/characters. (For a collection written in this style see “Poems of the Masters”, translated by Red Pine, pages 181 through 367.) The syllable count falls between the cinquain, at 22 syllables, and the tanka, at 31 syllables. One difference is the number of lines, four lines for the Chinese form, five lines for the cinquain and tanka. But for me the most significant difference is that the Chinese form has a regular line length, while the cinquain and tanka change line length through the poem.
The regular line length in the Chinese form (and all Chinese forms I am familiar with have regular line length) gives Chinese poetry a sense of balance and elegance. The tanka, in contrast, flows, seems to move forward, it seems to be in motion. The Chinese form feels more like a picture to me. This difference is subtle, yet at the level of feeling, at the level of pulse, there is a definite difference.
What I am suggesting here is that a particular form in poetry has meaning that transcends any particular poem in that form. I am suggesting that the form of the sonnet is a kind of meaning, and that the form of the tanka is kind of meaning, independent of the content of a particular sonnet or tanka.
What has happened in modern approaches to poetic form is that form and meaning have been separated. This is particularly true when we consider Japanese forms in the English language. The form of Japanese poetry has, to various degrees, been abandoned. It is my contention that when the form of a type of poetry is abandoned, the meaning of that form is also abandoned. That is to say, when the form of haiku is abandoned, the haiku itself has been abandoned; when the form of a tanka has been abandoned, tanka itself has been abandoned, etc.
This would not be a difficult point to understand with pottery. For example, if someone offered you a flat tile and told you it was a teacup, you might laugh, but because the form lacked the meaning of teacup, such an assertion would not be taken seriously. Even if the tile was beautiful, it’s still not a teacup. In poetry, however, because the connection between form and meaning is more tenuous, more difficult to access, such a separation can be attempted without such an attempt being immediately dismissed.
What I am suggesting is that the forms of haiku, tanka, and renga (the three forms English speakers have taken an interest in) are meaningful as forms in themselves, as syllabic structures, that those forms have meaning in the same way that the form of a teacup has meaning. This contrasts with the primary societies devoted to these forms which seem to encourage an approach to these forms which abandons the syllabic bases of these forms, deferring to free verse norms. It is my suggestion that, to a significant extent, the transmission of these forms to the English-speaking world is the transmission of the syllabic forms because the meaning of those types of poetry is the form that they embody.
It is interesting for me to observe that most poets have an intuitive understanding of this connection. Outside of the official societies devoted to these forms, almost all poets write haiku or tanka in a way that affirms the traditional syllabic form. A good example is “The Calligraphy of Clouds” by Yeshaya Rotbard, published in 2007. The haiku and tanka included in this volume, excellently crafted, are syllabically rooted in the traditional form from which they derive. From the haiku of Richard Wright to such modern collections, there is a large body of English language poetry, rooted in Japanese poetic forms, that consistently finds the traditional syllabic contours meaningful and definitive.
I’d like to conclude with another observation Larry Gross made in the 1995 Tanka Splendor: “While the tanka seems to thrive on innovative content, it is less clear whether drastic alterations of form are equally welcome.. . . [T]he genre has remained remarkably consistent in form and technique through the centuries. When we treat it as any other 5-line verse, . . . we may be blurring an important distinction.”
Monday, October 20, 2008
Time and Season -- Part 4
Time and Season – Part 4
Freeing the Moon from Fall
“The autumn moon is incomparably beautiful. Any man who supposes the moon is always the same, regardless of the season, and is therefore unable to detect the difference in autumn, must be exceedingly insensitive.”
“Essays in Idleness” by Kenko
Translated by Donald Keene
Number 212
In traditional renga the moon is understood to be a season word indicating autumn, or fall. That it to say, if there is a verse in a renga in which the moon appears then it is a Fall Verse, unless the poet specifically indicates otherwise. For example, if the moon is seen through bare branches, or over snow drifts, then it is a winter moon. But if the moon is seen on the horizon, with no other image indicating a season, then the verse will be considered a Fall Verse. One way of looking at this is that the moon’s default category is the Fall Season.
This association is very strong for Japanese culture and is deeply rooted in their poetic culture. It goes back to such ancient collections of poetry as the Kokinshu, and may have even earlier roots. To get a sense of how intimately this connection is felt, consider that for those living in the U.S. the game bird, turkey, automatically assumes Fall seasonal associations due to that particular food item being embedded in myths about the founding of the nation among the Pilgrims at Plymouth Rock. It would be difficult for an American to not associate turkey with Fall. If someone in the U.S. wanted to write about eating turkey, but not in the Fall season, the writer would have to specifically mention that the meal was served at some other time. Just as in a traditional renga if one writes a moon verse, but wants a non-Fall moon, the poet has to specifically inform the reader that some other season than Fall is being referred to.
However, outside of the U.S. there is no such intimate, or deep, connection between serving turkey for a meal and a particular season. Just as there is no particular seasonal association for a meal centered on chicken or rice in the U.S., so there is no particular seasonal association for turkey outside of the U.S.
I would suggest that the same applies to the moon outside of Japan. As renga moves into the world at large these kinds of associations that are culturally specific need to be reconsidered. Are they efficacious? Do they still have a meaningful function?
When Time and Season are separated into distinct topics one of the consequences is a reconsideration of the Moon Verse and its meaning in a renga. Moon words are, from the perspective of Time and Season as separate topics, time words. The cycle of the moon is a way of keeping track of time. Just as “morning”, “evening”, “Monday”, etc., are time words based on the solar cycle, words such as “full moon”, “new moon”, “gibbous moon”, or “blue moon”, “Aries moon”, etc., are time words that specify a particular time as measured by the lunar cycle. And just as words designating solar time are not inherently seasonal, so also words designating the lunar cycle are not inherently affixed to a particular season. A term like “full moon” can be at any season.
There is a gain to separating the lunar cycle and its terms from a specific seasonal referent. That gain is that when this is done the moon verse can function as a pivot between two seasonal verses. Let me give an example:
Brown leaves and cool air
Switching to the thicker socks
Blankets on the bed
The almost full moon is seen
Crossing the garden of stars
Beside the Hawthorn
Whose first blossoms have opened
Near the empty house
The first verse is a Fall Verse: brown leaves = Fall. The third verse is a Spring Verse: first blossoms = Spring. The second verse is a moon verse and acts as a pivot, which can link equally well to the two seasonal verses. Here is what I mean:
Brown leaves and cool air
Switching to the thicker socks
Blankets on the bed
The almost full moon is seen
Crossing the garden of stars
Verses 1 and 2 make a complete image.
The almost full moon is seen
Crossing the garden of stars
Beside the Hawthorn
Whose first blossoms have opened
Near the empty house
Verses 2 and 3 also make a complete image.
The shift between Verse 1 and Verse 3 is a shift of season; from Fall to Spring. Verse 2 allows for that shift to take place. But this is only true if one frees the moon from the traditional Fall association. If the traditional association is maintained, then one has a series of seasonal verses as follows: Fall, Fall, Spring. The pivot function of the second verse is now lost.
Just as a verse specifying solar time, such as “sunrise” can function as a pivot between two seasonal verses, because “sunrise” does not inherently specify a season, so also a verse specifying lunar time, such as “the almost full moon” can function as a pivot in the same way. Both lunar and solar time verses can facilitate the shift; and not only a seasonal shift, but other types of shift as well.
I realize that dropping the traditional association with the Fall season for lunar verses represents a break with tradition. I wouldn’t put forth the idea unless I thought there was something to be gained by doing so. I believe that the ability for a lunar verse to function as a pivot opens up the lunar verse to possibilities that have not been previously considered and explored within the context of renga. Furthermore, I believe that by dropping this traditional association, renga will become more accessible to the world at large, which does not, by a large, share in this kind of association. For these reasons, I offer this suggestion. I recognize that thoughtful people may disagree with this suggestion and I have no quarrel with those who want to continue with the traditional pattern of associating the moon with Fall. I only offer the possibility here of a different approach to the moon verse and its meaning.
“The moon that appears close to dawn after we have long waited for it moves us more profoundly than the full moon shining cloudless over a thousand leaves. And how incomparably lovely is the moon, almost greenish in its light, when seen through the tops of the cedars deep in the mountains, or when it hides for a moment behind clustering clouds during a sudden shower! The sparkle on hickory or white-oak leaves seemingly wet with moonlight strikes one to the heart.”
“Essays in Idleness”, Number 137
“Looking at the moon is always diverting, no matter what the circumstances.”
Essays in Idleness, Number 21
Freeing the Moon from Fall
“The autumn moon is incomparably beautiful. Any man who supposes the moon is always the same, regardless of the season, and is therefore unable to detect the difference in autumn, must be exceedingly insensitive.”
“Essays in Idleness” by Kenko
Translated by Donald Keene
Number 212
In traditional renga the moon is understood to be a season word indicating autumn, or fall. That it to say, if there is a verse in a renga in which the moon appears then it is a Fall Verse, unless the poet specifically indicates otherwise. For example, if the moon is seen through bare branches, or over snow drifts, then it is a winter moon. But if the moon is seen on the horizon, with no other image indicating a season, then the verse will be considered a Fall Verse. One way of looking at this is that the moon’s default category is the Fall Season.
This association is very strong for Japanese culture and is deeply rooted in their poetic culture. It goes back to such ancient collections of poetry as the Kokinshu, and may have even earlier roots. To get a sense of how intimately this connection is felt, consider that for those living in the U.S. the game bird, turkey, automatically assumes Fall seasonal associations due to that particular food item being embedded in myths about the founding of the nation among the Pilgrims at Plymouth Rock. It would be difficult for an American to not associate turkey with Fall. If someone in the U.S. wanted to write about eating turkey, but not in the Fall season, the writer would have to specifically mention that the meal was served at some other time. Just as in a traditional renga if one writes a moon verse, but wants a non-Fall moon, the poet has to specifically inform the reader that some other season than Fall is being referred to.
However, outside of the U.S. there is no such intimate, or deep, connection between serving turkey for a meal and a particular season. Just as there is no particular seasonal association for a meal centered on chicken or rice in the U.S., so there is no particular seasonal association for turkey outside of the U.S.
I would suggest that the same applies to the moon outside of Japan. As renga moves into the world at large these kinds of associations that are culturally specific need to be reconsidered. Are they efficacious? Do they still have a meaningful function?
When Time and Season are separated into distinct topics one of the consequences is a reconsideration of the Moon Verse and its meaning in a renga. Moon words are, from the perspective of Time and Season as separate topics, time words. The cycle of the moon is a way of keeping track of time. Just as “morning”, “evening”, “Monday”, etc., are time words based on the solar cycle, words such as “full moon”, “new moon”, “gibbous moon”, or “blue moon”, “Aries moon”, etc., are time words that specify a particular time as measured by the lunar cycle. And just as words designating solar time are not inherently seasonal, so also words designating the lunar cycle are not inherently affixed to a particular season. A term like “full moon” can be at any season.
There is a gain to separating the lunar cycle and its terms from a specific seasonal referent. That gain is that when this is done the moon verse can function as a pivot between two seasonal verses. Let me give an example:
Brown leaves and cool air
Switching to the thicker socks
Blankets on the bed
The almost full moon is seen
Crossing the garden of stars
Beside the Hawthorn
Whose first blossoms have opened
Near the empty house
The first verse is a Fall Verse: brown leaves = Fall. The third verse is a Spring Verse: first blossoms = Spring. The second verse is a moon verse and acts as a pivot, which can link equally well to the two seasonal verses. Here is what I mean:
Brown leaves and cool air
Switching to the thicker socks
Blankets on the bed
The almost full moon is seen
Crossing the garden of stars
Verses 1 and 2 make a complete image.
The almost full moon is seen
Crossing the garden of stars
Beside the Hawthorn
Whose first blossoms have opened
Near the empty house
Verses 2 and 3 also make a complete image.
The shift between Verse 1 and Verse 3 is a shift of season; from Fall to Spring. Verse 2 allows for that shift to take place. But this is only true if one frees the moon from the traditional Fall association. If the traditional association is maintained, then one has a series of seasonal verses as follows: Fall, Fall, Spring. The pivot function of the second verse is now lost.
Just as a verse specifying solar time, such as “sunrise” can function as a pivot between two seasonal verses, because “sunrise” does not inherently specify a season, so also a verse specifying lunar time, such as “the almost full moon” can function as a pivot in the same way. Both lunar and solar time verses can facilitate the shift; and not only a seasonal shift, but other types of shift as well.
I realize that dropping the traditional association with the Fall season for lunar verses represents a break with tradition. I wouldn’t put forth the idea unless I thought there was something to be gained by doing so. I believe that the ability for a lunar verse to function as a pivot opens up the lunar verse to possibilities that have not been previously considered and explored within the context of renga. Furthermore, I believe that by dropping this traditional association, renga will become more accessible to the world at large, which does not, by a large, share in this kind of association. For these reasons, I offer this suggestion. I recognize that thoughtful people may disagree with this suggestion and I have no quarrel with those who want to continue with the traditional pattern of associating the moon with Fall. I only offer the possibility here of a different approach to the moon verse and its meaning.
“The moon that appears close to dawn after we have long waited for it moves us more profoundly than the full moon shining cloudless over a thousand leaves. And how incomparably lovely is the moon, almost greenish in its light, when seen through the tops of the cedars deep in the mountains, or when it hides for a moment behind clustering clouds during a sudden shower! The sparkle on hickory or white-oak leaves seemingly wet with moonlight strikes one to the heart.”
“Essays in Idleness”, Number 137
“Looking at the moon is always diverting, no matter what the circumstances.”
Essays in Idleness, Number 21
Ballad: A Solo Shisan
Dawn appears slowly
Breaking through the morning clouds
Rays of golden light
A few brown leaves remaining
On the branches of the oaks
Cars are briefly parked
In the strip-mall parking lot
With three stores for rent
***
Two teenagers in first love
Walking slowly home from school
A blast of cold wind
Someone closes a window
Some dogs are barking
The full moon high in the sky
A helicopter hovers
***
“What is that about?”
She glances out the window
And asks her husband
Neighbors peer over the fence
At the blooming cherry tree
Impermanent things,
Like mountains and galaxies
Speaking to our heart
***
From years ago a ballad
Sung today for her children
In the noontime heat
Under the shade of a tree
At the edge of town
He takes a well-deserved nap
The first one in a long time
Breaking through the morning clouds
Rays of golden light
A few brown leaves remaining
On the branches of the oaks
Cars are briefly parked
In the strip-mall parking lot
With three stores for rent
***
Two teenagers in first love
Walking slowly home from school
A blast of cold wind
Someone closes a window
Some dogs are barking
The full moon high in the sky
A helicopter hovers
***
“What is that about?”
She glances out the window
And asks her husband
Neighbors peer over the fence
At the blooming cherry tree
Impermanent things,
Like mountains and galaxies
Speaking to our heart
***
From years ago a ballad
Sung today for her children
In the noontime heat
Under the shade of a tree
At the edge of town
He takes a well-deserved nap
The first one in a long time
Friday, October 17, 2008
Time and Season -- Part 3
Time and Season – Part 3
The Cycles of Time
In Parts 1 and 2 I have talked about separating time and season, treating them as separate topics in renga. In Part 3 I’d like to briefly touch on the cycles of time and how they are woven into a renga. Different levels of cycles are treated differently.
One cycle is the cycle of day and night; the twenty-four hours of our days. This cycle includes sunrise and sunset. It is a solar cycle, a cycle determined by the interaction of the earth and the sun. For this reason, I would classify verses in a renga that are centered on the daily cycle as Celestial Verses.
There are common words that refer to this cycle. These include words such as: morning, evening, sunrise, sunset, mid-day, afternoon, dusk, and dawn. There are many others. Days of the week also refer to this cycle: Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday, Friday, Saturday, and Sunday all refer to this daily cycle of time. Words like “weekend”, or “Mid-week”, also refer to this cycle, though with less definiteness.
Taking in a whole week, we move to a longer period of time than the daily cycle. Such phrases as “all week long”, or “week after week”, or “busy week”, refer to the cycle of time that consists of a full seven days. This is one step up from the daily cycle of day and night.
Notice that when we use words that refer to the daily cycle or the weekly grouping of days, we do not normally think of these words as referring to a season. That is to say the word “Monday” is not a seasonal word. Words like “morning”, “evening”, “dusk”, and “dawn”, etc., do not, by themselves, infer a season or have a particular seasonal association. In other words, these are strictly time designators and could be used in a verse to designate a time, but by themselves they would not elicit a seasonal reference from the reader.
However, when we move one level up from words designating a week-long cycle of time to a month-long cycle of time, here we find that people often have a seasonal association that they routinely connect with the name of a month. What I would like to suggest for consideration is that there is no inherent reason why we should assume a seasonal association for words that designate a month-long cycle of time. Just as we do not infer a seasonal association for the day-long cycle of time, or the week-long cycle of time, so also the month-long cycle of time has no innate seasonal association.
One can look at it this way: if I use the word “Tuesday” in a renga verse, that word can be equally embedded in a spring verse, summer verse, fall verse, or winter verse. Similarly, the word “April” appearing in a renga verse can be equally embedded in either the spring or fall seasons (and possibly other seasons, depending on specific geographical placement).
The location of renga used to be Japan, a region where the four seasons regularly unfold. In Japan it makes sense to bring the names of the months, and the seasons that most commonly manifest in those months, together, creating a single, but complex, meaning. But the location of renga today is the world at large. It no longer makes sense, when considered from the perspective of the world at large, to stick to these association since these associations are not valid for the world at large. Notice that by separating time and season the traditional associations are not excluded. But that I mean that one could link an “April” time verse to a “Spring” season verse, which is the traditional association. So nothing is lost by separating time and season and much is gained. What is gained is the ability of renga to meaningfully embody the full complexity and rich diversity of the relationship between time and season.
The Cycles of Time
In Parts 1 and 2 I have talked about separating time and season, treating them as separate topics in renga. In Part 3 I’d like to briefly touch on the cycles of time and how they are woven into a renga. Different levels of cycles are treated differently.
One cycle is the cycle of day and night; the twenty-four hours of our days. This cycle includes sunrise and sunset. It is a solar cycle, a cycle determined by the interaction of the earth and the sun. For this reason, I would classify verses in a renga that are centered on the daily cycle as Celestial Verses.
There are common words that refer to this cycle. These include words such as: morning, evening, sunrise, sunset, mid-day, afternoon, dusk, and dawn. There are many others. Days of the week also refer to this cycle: Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday, Friday, Saturday, and Sunday all refer to this daily cycle of time. Words like “weekend”, or “Mid-week”, also refer to this cycle, though with less definiteness.
Taking in a whole week, we move to a longer period of time than the daily cycle. Such phrases as “all week long”, or “week after week”, or “busy week”, refer to the cycle of time that consists of a full seven days. This is one step up from the daily cycle of day and night.
Notice that when we use words that refer to the daily cycle or the weekly grouping of days, we do not normally think of these words as referring to a season. That is to say the word “Monday” is not a seasonal word. Words like “morning”, “evening”, “dusk”, and “dawn”, etc., do not, by themselves, infer a season or have a particular seasonal association. In other words, these are strictly time designators and could be used in a verse to designate a time, but by themselves they would not elicit a seasonal reference from the reader.
However, when we move one level up from words designating a week-long cycle of time to a month-long cycle of time, here we find that people often have a seasonal association that they routinely connect with the name of a month. What I would like to suggest for consideration is that there is no inherent reason why we should assume a seasonal association for words that designate a month-long cycle of time. Just as we do not infer a seasonal association for the day-long cycle of time, or the week-long cycle of time, so also the month-long cycle of time has no innate seasonal association.
One can look at it this way: if I use the word “Tuesday” in a renga verse, that word can be equally embedded in a spring verse, summer verse, fall verse, or winter verse. Similarly, the word “April” appearing in a renga verse can be equally embedded in either the spring or fall seasons (and possibly other seasons, depending on specific geographical placement).
The location of renga used to be Japan, a region where the four seasons regularly unfold. In Japan it makes sense to bring the names of the months, and the seasons that most commonly manifest in those months, together, creating a single, but complex, meaning. But the location of renga today is the world at large. It no longer makes sense, when considered from the perspective of the world at large, to stick to these association since these associations are not valid for the world at large. Notice that by separating time and season the traditional associations are not excluded. But that I mean that one could link an “April” time verse to a “Spring” season verse, which is the traditional association. So nothing is lost by separating time and season and much is gained. What is gained is the ability of renga to meaningfully embody the full complexity and rich diversity of the relationship between time and season.
Wednesday, October 15, 2008
Time and Season -- Part 2
Time and Season: Part 2
Link and Shift
In the first part of “Time and Season” I differentiated time and season into two distinct topics. I attempted to show how they could manifest in verses so that some verses would be time verses and some verses would be seasonal verses. Here I want to focus on a larger renga context, applying the topics of time and season to the basic organizational principles of link and shift, which define the renga form.
To demonstrate link and shift as applied to the categories of time and season I will use three linked verses to show how two seasonal verses can frame a time verse, and how two time verses can frame a seasonal verse.
Consider the following three verses:
1.1
On the Aries equinox
Jupiter bright in the sky
Topic: Celestial/Time/Aries
2.1
A sudden spring chill
She’s grateful she brought her coat,
The morning felt warm
Topic: Terrestrial/Spring
3.1
The open September field
Slopes slowly to the ocean
Topic: Celestial/September
First, let’s consider how they link. Verse 1.1 is a Celestial verse with a Time topic. The Aries equinox is in April, so the calendar timing is the month of April. However, Verse 1.1 does not designate a season, it is strictly a time verse.
Verse 2.1 is a Terrestrial verse with a Season topic, the season being spring, with a secondary topic of humanity and clothing. Verse 2.1 links to verse one by adding the specific season which Verse 1.1 does not state.
Verse 3.1 is a Celestial verse, the topic is time. The time is September. So there is a shift in time between Verses 1.1 and 3.1. In Verse 1.1 the time is April, and in Verse 3.1 the time is September. Verse 2.1 functions as the link which can link to either Verse 1.1 or Verse 3.1.
How does Verse 2.1 do this? By shifting location. The shift of location is shown by the shift in time. Verse 1.1 and 2.1, when combined, yield an April Spring verse, which places it somewhere in the northern hemisphere. Verses 2.1 and 3.1, when combined, yield a September Spring verse, which places it somewhere in the southern hemisphere; perhaps New Zealand or South Africa.
To clarify let’s look at Verses 1.1 plus 1.2:
On the Aries equinox
Jupiter bright in the sky
A sudden spring chill
She’s grateful she brought her coat,
The morning felt warm
Now let’s look at Verses 1.2 plus 1.3:
A sudden spring chill
She’s grateful she brought her coat,
The morning felt warm
The open September field
Slopes slowly to the ocean
Verse 1.2 functions as a pivot. When 1.2 links with 1.1 the time is April and the location is that part of the earth where April is spring. When 1.2 links with 1.3 the time is September and the location is that part of the earth where September is spring. This example of shifting location is similar to a shift from inside to outside. Take, as an example, the following outline of three verses:
1.2
Down the street a steady wind,
Not too strong, and from the south
2.2
Snow begins to melt
Moisture on the windowpane
And pink plum blossoms
3.2
She begins crocheting squares
A new gift for an old friend
Verse 1.2 is outside. Verse 2.2 could be inside or outside and therefore functions as a pivot between verses 1.2 and 3.2. Verse 3.2 is inside, normally we think of crocheting done in a chair, inside a house. There is, therefore, a shift of location when going from Verse 1.2 to Verse 3.2. Similarly, there is a shift of geography when we move from Verse 1.1 to Verse 3.1.
It is possible to construct three verses so that the outer two verses are seasonal, while the central verse is a time verse so that the time verse functions as a pivot, linking the outer two verses. Here is an example:
1.3
A clear spring morning
Just a few patches of snow
Melting in the sun
Topic: Terrestrial/Season/Spring
2.3
Two airplanes trace their courses
Across a clear April sky
Topic: Celestial/Time/April
3.3
The first autumn wind
Catches us without our coats;
The cafe haven
Topic: Terrestrial/Season/Autumn
Verses 1.3 and 3.3 both link to Verse 2.3, with the Time Topic serving as the pivot that both unite to. Verses 1.3 and 3.3 shift away from each other by changing their seasonal reference. Both 1.3 and 3.3 link to 2.3, both have the same time, the month of April; but because of the seasonal shift verses 1.3 and 3.3 shift geographical placement.
In Part one of Time and Season I spoke of how, when time and season are viewed as different topics, a complex counterpoint of the two can unfold within the context of a renga. The above examples are meant to show how this counterpoint can work in an actual renga. But if time and season are separated and treated as distinct topics, how does this effect the overall placement of topics in the various renga forms? In my experiments with writing renga that distinguish the topics of season and time I tried various approaches. I believe, after much consideration, that retaining the placement of seasonal verses in their traditional placement remains the most efficacious approach even when time and season are treated as distinct topics. There is one change, however, which should be noted by the renga poet. That change is that seasonal verses need to be shaped in such a way that they do not include time references. This, at first, takes some effort because renga poets are used to using time words as seasonal pointers. Thus words like “April”, or words that designate certain holidays, like “Christmas”, or considered to be seasonal; April = spring and Christmas = winter respectively.
When time and season are separated and treated as different topics, words that designate time can no longer be relied upon as seasonal references. For example, “April” becomes a time designator, not a seasonal reference because, depending on the location, “April” could be spring or fall. Personally, I have found separating the two topics to be worthwhile; it opens up a whole new dimension of link and shift within the overall renga structure. But it does, at first, take some effort to mentally separate the two because we tend to automatically fall back on the habit of equating time and seasonal words.
There is a practical reason for making this effort to separate time and season in renga composition. Renga is moving into the world at large. It is no longer, strictly speaking, a Japanese form of poetry. Rather, it is a form of poetry whose origin was Japan. This is similar to understanding that the sonnet is no longer an Italian form of poetry. Rather, the sonnet is a form of poetry whose origin was Italy.
As renga moves into the world beyond the world of the country of its origin, certain associations and patterns that were efficacious where it began no longer function well in the world at large. One of these is the merging of time and season. The reason it no longer functions well is that when time and season are merged, that confines the meaning to a limited geographical extent. If April = Spring, and one insists upon that kind of equation (one of a large number in traditional renga), those areas of the world where this is not true will face a barrier to accessing renga and being able to write renga authentically; that is to say based on their actual experience. Notice that separating time and season does not exclude the traditional associations of time and season. For example, April = Spring is still true for those parts of the world where April and Spring coincide. However, when one separates time and season then other connections become available; April = Fall is now also available for the renga poet.
By separating time and season renga can step into the world at large easily, opening the path of renga to everyone, no matter where they live, in any part of the world.
Link and Shift
In the first part of “Time and Season” I differentiated time and season into two distinct topics. I attempted to show how they could manifest in verses so that some verses would be time verses and some verses would be seasonal verses. Here I want to focus on a larger renga context, applying the topics of time and season to the basic organizational principles of link and shift, which define the renga form.
To demonstrate link and shift as applied to the categories of time and season I will use three linked verses to show how two seasonal verses can frame a time verse, and how two time verses can frame a seasonal verse.
Consider the following three verses:
1.1
On the Aries equinox
Jupiter bright in the sky
Topic: Celestial/Time/Aries
2.1
A sudden spring chill
She’s grateful she brought her coat,
The morning felt warm
Topic: Terrestrial/Spring
3.1
The open September field
Slopes slowly to the ocean
Topic: Celestial/September
First, let’s consider how they link. Verse 1.1 is a Celestial verse with a Time topic. The Aries equinox is in April, so the calendar timing is the month of April. However, Verse 1.1 does not designate a season, it is strictly a time verse.
Verse 2.1 is a Terrestrial verse with a Season topic, the season being spring, with a secondary topic of humanity and clothing. Verse 2.1 links to verse one by adding the specific season which Verse 1.1 does not state.
Verse 3.1 is a Celestial verse, the topic is time. The time is September. So there is a shift in time between Verses 1.1 and 3.1. In Verse 1.1 the time is April, and in Verse 3.1 the time is September. Verse 2.1 functions as the link which can link to either Verse 1.1 or Verse 3.1.
How does Verse 2.1 do this? By shifting location. The shift of location is shown by the shift in time. Verse 1.1 and 2.1, when combined, yield an April Spring verse, which places it somewhere in the northern hemisphere. Verses 2.1 and 3.1, when combined, yield a September Spring verse, which places it somewhere in the southern hemisphere; perhaps New Zealand or South Africa.
To clarify let’s look at Verses 1.1 plus 1.2:
On the Aries equinox
Jupiter bright in the sky
A sudden spring chill
She’s grateful she brought her coat,
The morning felt warm
Now let’s look at Verses 1.2 plus 1.3:
A sudden spring chill
She’s grateful she brought her coat,
The morning felt warm
The open September field
Slopes slowly to the ocean
Verse 1.2 functions as a pivot. When 1.2 links with 1.1 the time is April and the location is that part of the earth where April is spring. When 1.2 links with 1.3 the time is September and the location is that part of the earth where September is spring. This example of shifting location is similar to a shift from inside to outside. Take, as an example, the following outline of three verses:
1.2
Down the street a steady wind,
Not too strong, and from the south
2.2
Snow begins to melt
Moisture on the windowpane
And pink plum blossoms
3.2
She begins crocheting squares
A new gift for an old friend
Verse 1.2 is outside. Verse 2.2 could be inside or outside and therefore functions as a pivot between verses 1.2 and 3.2. Verse 3.2 is inside, normally we think of crocheting done in a chair, inside a house. There is, therefore, a shift of location when going from Verse 1.2 to Verse 3.2. Similarly, there is a shift of geography when we move from Verse 1.1 to Verse 3.1.
It is possible to construct three verses so that the outer two verses are seasonal, while the central verse is a time verse so that the time verse functions as a pivot, linking the outer two verses. Here is an example:
1.3
A clear spring morning
Just a few patches of snow
Melting in the sun
Topic: Terrestrial/Season/Spring
2.3
Two airplanes trace their courses
Across a clear April sky
Topic: Celestial/Time/April
3.3
The first autumn wind
Catches us without our coats;
The cafe haven
Topic: Terrestrial/Season/Autumn
Verses 1.3 and 3.3 both link to Verse 2.3, with the Time Topic serving as the pivot that both unite to. Verses 1.3 and 3.3 shift away from each other by changing their seasonal reference. Both 1.3 and 3.3 link to 2.3, both have the same time, the month of April; but because of the seasonal shift verses 1.3 and 3.3 shift geographical placement.
In Part one of Time and Season I spoke of how, when time and season are viewed as different topics, a complex counterpoint of the two can unfold within the context of a renga. The above examples are meant to show how this counterpoint can work in an actual renga. But if time and season are separated and treated as distinct topics, how does this effect the overall placement of topics in the various renga forms? In my experiments with writing renga that distinguish the topics of season and time I tried various approaches. I believe, after much consideration, that retaining the placement of seasonal verses in their traditional placement remains the most efficacious approach even when time and season are treated as distinct topics. There is one change, however, which should be noted by the renga poet. That change is that seasonal verses need to be shaped in such a way that they do not include time references. This, at first, takes some effort because renga poets are used to using time words as seasonal pointers. Thus words like “April”, or words that designate certain holidays, like “Christmas”, or considered to be seasonal; April = spring and Christmas = winter respectively.
When time and season are separated and treated as different topics, words that designate time can no longer be relied upon as seasonal references. For example, “April” becomes a time designator, not a seasonal reference because, depending on the location, “April” could be spring or fall. Personally, I have found separating the two topics to be worthwhile; it opens up a whole new dimension of link and shift within the overall renga structure. But it does, at first, take some effort to mentally separate the two because we tend to automatically fall back on the habit of equating time and seasonal words.
There is a practical reason for making this effort to separate time and season in renga composition. Renga is moving into the world at large. It is no longer, strictly speaking, a Japanese form of poetry. Rather, it is a form of poetry whose origin was Japan. This is similar to understanding that the sonnet is no longer an Italian form of poetry. Rather, the sonnet is a form of poetry whose origin was Italy.
As renga moves into the world beyond the world of the country of its origin, certain associations and patterns that were efficacious where it began no longer function well in the world at large. One of these is the merging of time and season. The reason it no longer functions well is that when time and season are merged, that confines the meaning to a limited geographical extent. If April = Spring, and one insists upon that kind of equation (one of a large number in traditional renga), those areas of the world where this is not true will face a barrier to accessing renga and being able to write renga authentically; that is to say based on their actual experience. Notice that separating time and season does not exclude the traditional associations of time and season. For example, April = Spring is still true for those parts of the world where April and Spring coincide. However, when one separates time and season then other connections become available; April = Fall is now also available for the renga poet.
By separating time and season renga can step into the world at large easily, opening the path of renga to everyone, no matter where they live, in any part of the world.
Monday, October 13, 2008
In Memoriam: William J. Higginson
Good Friends:
William J. Higginson died Saturday, October 11th. Higginson was the author of many books on Japanese poetic forms including "The Haiku Handbook" and "Haiku Seasons", editor of haiku journals and the head of the Haiku Society of America for many years. His dedication to Japanese poetic forms and transmitting these forms to the west spans a period of over 40 years. His online site on Renku, located at renku.home.att.net, is a valuable trove of information on all things connected with this form, a resource I reglarly check in with.
I never met Higginson, but I am grateful for all of his efforts on my behalf and on the behalf of so many others.
Sincerely,
Jim
William J. Higginson died Saturday, October 11th. Higginson was the author of many books on Japanese poetic forms including "The Haiku Handbook" and "Haiku Seasons", editor of haiku journals and the head of the Haiku Society of America for many years. His dedication to Japanese poetic forms and transmitting these forms to the west spans a period of over 40 years. His online site on Renku, located at renku.home.att.net, is a valuable trove of information on all things connected with this form, a resource I reglarly check in with.
I never met Higginson, but I am grateful for all of his efforts on my behalf and on the behalf of so many others.
Sincerely,
Jim
Time and Season -- Part 1
Time and Season – Part 1
Consider the following image:
The branches of the oak tree
What is the season of this image? Did a particular season come to mind? Did you see the oak in autumn, or spring? The image itself is multivalent; it does not inherently contain a season.
***
What is the time of the image? When is the oak tree in your imagination? Would it be April, or September, or some other time of the year? The image itself is multivalent; it does not inherently contain a particular time.
***
Here is another image:
Snow on the bare tree branches
The season is unmistakable; it is definitely winter. The image could serve as part of a season verse in a Renga; perhaps even part of an opening verse.
***
What is the time of the image? When would one place it? Maybe November, or late in winter in the month of March? But if you are in Australia or Chile you might pick the months of June or August. One may conclude from this that season does not designate time.
***
Consider yet another image:
The September pine
The time of the image is clear: it is September. What is the season of the image? That is not clear. It could be autumn, or it could be Spring, depending on the location. Considering this, one may conclude that time does not designate season. The months of the year are multivalent with regard to season.
***
Time is a field. On this field various things appear. At one and the same time a winter thing, an autumn thing, and a spring thing may appear. This may, at first, seem contradictory. If it does feel that way it is because time and season have not been carefully distinguished. They are different topics.
***
From the perspective of Renga, what I am suggesting is that time words and season words be distinguished. The names of months do not, in themselves, designate a season; and season words, in themselves, do not designate a time. Time and season are two different topics.
***
A verse in a Renga might designate time, or designate season, or designate both. A verse that designates time, but not season:
The October pine
I walk beneath its branches
And the morning sky
The verse does not, in itself, designate a season. Conventionally, according to season words lists, the verse would be an autumn verse; but in actuality the verse only designates time. It could be a summer season, or a spring season, depending on location.
A verse that designates season, but not time:
The old autumn pine
I walk beneath its branches
And the morning sky
The verse does not, in itself, designate a time of year. Conventionally, one might assume that this takes place in September, October, or November; but that is true only for a limited geographical range. In northern Alaska, it could be August, or even late July. For New Zealand or Chile, autumn might be April or May; a different time of the year.
A verse that designates both time and season:
The October pine
I walk beneath its branches
And the autumn sky
Here time and season have intersected, which yields place. Time + Season = geography; in a rough way.
***
The wheel of the seasons turns. The wheel of time turns. They turn within each other, interlocking in complex ways.
***
There are qualities of time. The October Sky and the January Sky have a sense about them that is different, a subtle quality.
***
In my practice of Renga I have come to think of Time as a specific topic, along with the traditional topics like human things, natural objects, travel, etc. Of course season is one of the traditional topics of Renga, and I have retained it, but I have separated out time designations from the lists of season words. That is to say, for example, I don’t use the names of the months as season words. Time and season are separate topics.
***
What are some of the “time words” that Renga writers could use? Tentatively (because I am still experimenting with this) I offer the following time words for consideration:
First, the names of the months. These are universally known and it doesn’t matter if one is in the northern or southern hemisphere. These words, and the symbolism of the calendar, are a shared cultural context now. People all over have a good understanding of the meaning.
Second, astrological designators. Western astrology is fairly widespread, appearing in newspaper columns. Almost everyone knows their sun sign, and quite a few people know more than that. The astrological designators, or signs, cover a period of time. The astrological designators also have the advantage over the month designators of carrying with them certain meanings and associations that are, in general, richer than the names of the months. Contrast:
The October sky
with
The Scorpio sky
Both of these may refer to the same calendar date, but they elicit different responses due to their different associations.
One of the nice things about having both sets of time words is that they overlap each other. Generally speaking, astrological signs begin about the 21st through the 23rd of a given calendar month, and run through to the next month’s similar date. This gives the Renga writer some fluidity in choices of time words.
There are other astrological systems. The Chinese astrological system is well known, even beyond a Chinese cultural context. Here, most people know the name of the year, such as the “Year of the Rooster”, or “Year of the Rabbit”. There are 12 Animals that cycle through a twelve-year cycle.
Less well known is the system of Five Elements which meshes with the 12 Animal Signs to generate a 60-year cycle of time. That is to say a particular year might be a “Water Rooster” year or an “Air Rabbit” year.
Using these yearly designations in Renga yields a more expansive sense of time than the monthly designations and also gives rise to mythic and other kinds of associative elements that can, in turn, be linked to.
The Chinese Year, because it is based on a lunar/solar calendar, does not mesh precisely with the western calendar. So the Chinese New Year starts about one-and-one-half months after the western new year, which provides a further tool for discriminating time meanings for the Renga writer.
Third, some holidays regularly recur at specific times, but due to their international extension, do not designate a specific season. Here are a few examples:
New Year’s Day
Easter
Rosh Hashanah
Wesak
Christmas
Chinese New Year
Etc.
National holidays, such as Independence Day, July 4th, in the U.S., are season words because they have a restricted geographical range. Time + Season = place/geography. So national holidays do not function as time designators and can be used as season words.
International holidays, or holidays which have become international, like Wesak, or Chinese New Year, are time words (chronologoi) and do not by themselves designate a season. If the Renga writer mentions the Chinese New Year and also Snow, then there is an example of the intersection of time and season and this designates geography in a rough way.
Fourth, science has a large vocabulary of time words used to refer to geological time. Words like “Jurassic” or “Cretacious” or “Pleistocene”, etc. I recently visited Yosemite National Park and the sense of ancient time was palpable. If I wanted to communicate that sense in a Renga these kinds of time designators would be helpful.
Fifth, Buddhist and Hindu thought generated a vocabulary that designates very long periods of time, called “kalpas” or eons, that fits in with their cyclic conception of the arising and disappearing of cosmos after cosmos. This eon that we live in is called the “Fortunate Eon”, or “Bhadrakalpa”. The previous eon was called “Auspicious Eon”, and there are other examples of this. Use of these kinds of names would add a mythic dimension to a Renga link.
***
I have observed that a more complex texture is uncovered for Renga when Time and Season are considered to be separate topics. A kind of counterpoint emerges between the two as one progresses along the Renga journey. Tentatively, I have adopted the policy of keeping the places for seasonal designators in a Renga, but changing about half of them to time verses rather than seasonal verses. Since I am still experimenting with this perspective, I have not developed any hard and fast rules. But as a rough guideline, a time verse is one that designates a time, but could be in any season. A seasonal verse designates a season, but could be at any time; this means that the seasonal verse should not designate a specific geography. By having both kinds of verses present in a Renga, a complex field of time and season emerges.
Consider the following image:
The branches of the oak tree
What is the season of this image? Did a particular season come to mind? Did you see the oak in autumn, or spring? The image itself is multivalent; it does not inherently contain a season.
***
What is the time of the image? When is the oak tree in your imagination? Would it be April, or September, or some other time of the year? The image itself is multivalent; it does not inherently contain a particular time.
***
Here is another image:
Snow on the bare tree branches
The season is unmistakable; it is definitely winter. The image could serve as part of a season verse in a Renga; perhaps even part of an opening verse.
***
What is the time of the image? When would one place it? Maybe November, or late in winter in the month of March? But if you are in Australia or Chile you might pick the months of June or August. One may conclude from this that season does not designate time.
***
Consider yet another image:
The September pine
The time of the image is clear: it is September. What is the season of the image? That is not clear. It could be autumn, or it could be Spring, depending on the location. Considering this, one may conclude that time does not designate season. The months of the year are multivalent with regard to season.
***
Time is a field. On this field various things appear. At one and the same time a winter thing, an autumn thing, and a spring thing may appear. This may, at first, seem contradictory. If it does feel that way it is because time and season have not been carefully distinguished. They are different topics.
***
From the perspective of Renga, what I am suggesting is that time words and season words be distinguished. The names of months do not, in themselves, designate a season; and season words, in themselves, do not designate a time. Time and season are two different topics.
***
A verse in a Renga might designate time, or designate season, or designate both. A verse that designates time, but not season:
The October pine
I walk beneath its branches
And the morning sky
The verse does not, in itself, designate a season. Conventionally, according to season words lists, the verse would be an autumn verse; but in actuality the verse only designates time. It could be a summer season, or a spring season, depending on location.
A verse that designates season, but not time:
The old autumn pine
I walk beneath its branches
And the morning sky
The verse does not, in itself, designate a time of year. Conventionally, one might assume that this takes place in September, October, or November; but that is true only for a limited geographical range. In northern Alaska, it could be August, or even late July. For New Zealand or Chile, autumn might be April or May; a different time of the year.
A verse that designates both time and season:
The October pine
I walk beneath its branches
And the autumn sky
Here time and season have intersected, which yields place. Time + Season = geography; in a rough way.
***
The wheel of the seasons turns. The wheel of time turns. They turn within each other, interlocking in complex ways.
***
There are qualities of time. The October Sky and the January Sky have a sense about them that is different, a subtle quality.
***
In my practice of Renga I have come to think of Time as a specific topic, along with the traditional topics like human things, natural objects, travel, etc. Of course season is one of the traditional topics of Renga, and I have retained it, but I have separated out time designations from the lists of season words. That is to say, for example, I don’t use the names of the months as season words. Time and season are separate topics.
***
What are some of the “time words” that Renga writers could use? Tentatively (because I am still experimenting with this) I offer the following time words for consideration:
First, the names of the months. These are universally known and it doesn’t matter if one is in the northern or southern hemisphere. These words, and the symbolism of the calendar, are a shared cultural context now. People all over have a good understanding of the meaning.
Second, astrological designators. Western astrology is fairly widespread, appearing in newspaper columns. Almost everyone knows their sun sign, and quite a few people know more than that. The astrological designators, or signs, cover a period of time. The astrological designators also have the advantage over the month designators of carrying with them certain meanings and associations that are, in general, richer than the names of the months. Contrast:
The October sky
with
The Scorpio sky
Both of these may refer to the same calendar date, but they elicit different responses due to their different associations.
One of the nice things about having both sets of time words is that they overlap each other. Generally speaking, astrological signs begin about the 21st through the 23rd of a given calendar month, and run through to the next month’s similar date. This gives the Renga writer some fluidity in choices of time words.
There are other astrological systems. The Chinese astrological system is well known, even beyond a Chinese cultural context. Here, most people know the name of the year, such as the “Year of the Rooster”, or “Year of the Rabbit”. There are 12 Animals that cycle through a twelve-year cycle.
Less well known is the system of Five Elements which meshes with the 12 Animal Signs to generate a 60-year cycle of time. That is to say a particular year might be a “Water Rooster” year or an “Air Rabbit” year.
Using these yearly designations in Renga yields a more expansive sense of time than the monthly designations and also gives rise to mythic and other kinds of associative elements that can, in turn, be linked to.
The Chinese Year, because it is based on a lunar/solar calendar, does not mesh precisely with the western calendar. So the Chinese New Year starts about one-and-one-half months after the western new year, which provides a further tool for discriminating time meanings for the Renga writer.
Third, some holidays regularly recur at specific times, but due to their international extension, do not designate a specific season. Here are a few examples:
New Year’s Day
Easter
Rosh Hashanah
Wesak
Christmas
Chinese New Year
Etc.
National holidays, such as Independence Day, July 4th, in the U.S., are season words because they have a restricted geographical range. Time + Season = place/geography. So national holidays do not function as time designators and can be used as season words.
International holidays, or holidays which have become international, like Wesak, or Chinese New Year, are time words (chronologoi) and do not by themselves designate a season. If the Renga writer mentions the Chinese New Year and also Snow, then there is an example of the intersection of time and season and this designates geography in a rough way.
Fourth, science has a large vocabulary of time words used to refer to geological time. Words like “Jurassic” or “Cretacious” or “Pleistocene”, etc. I recently visited Yosemite National Park and the sense of ancient time was palpable. If I wanted to communicate that sense in a Renga these kinds of time designators would be helpful.
Fifth, Buddhist and Hindu thought generated a vocabulary that designates very long periods of time, called “kalpas” or eons, that fits in with their cyclic conception of the arising and disappearing of cosmos after cosmos. This eon that we live in is called the “Fortunate Eon”, or “Bhadrakalpa”. The previous eon was called “Auspicious Eon”, and there are other examples of this. Use of these kinds of names would add a mythic dimension to a Renga link.
***
I have observed that a more complex texture is uncovered for Renga when Time and Season are considered to be separate topics. A kind of counterpoint emerges between the two as one progresses along the Renga journey. Tentatively, I have adopted the policy of keeping the places for seasonal designators in a Renga, but changing about half of them to time verses rather than seasonal verses. Since I am still experimenting with this perspective, I have not developed any hard and fast rules. But as a rough guideline, a time verse is one that designates a time, but could be in any season. A seasonal verse designates a season, but could be at any time; this means that the seasonal verse should not designate a specific geography. By having both kinds of verses present in a Renga, a complex field of time and season emerges.
Thursday, October 2, 2008
Sitting in the Park
Good Friends:
Here's an example of the kind of dialogue, or tan renga, I mentioned in the previous post. It is with the haiku poet Richard Wright:
Sitting in the park,
Hearing the sound of an axe
Rippling the lake (RW)
The letter's unexpected,
A lover from years ago (RJ)
Best wishes,
Jim
P.S. The haiku is from "Haiku: This Other World", by Richard Wright. It is haiku #239.
Here's an example of the kind of dialogue, or tan renga, I mentioned in the previous post. It is with the haiku poet Richard Wright:
Sitting in the park,
Hearing the sound of an axe
Rippling the lake (RW)
The letter's unexpected,
A lover from years ago (RJ)
Best wishes,
Jim
P.S. The haiku is from "Haiku: This Other World", by Richard Wright. It is haiku #239.
Getting Started
Good Friends:
Some people have asked me how to get started in renga. The form seems complex. There's a lot one needs to know to write a renga, including topics, linneation, seasonal placements, linking, shifting, etc. This can be intimidating.
So here's a suggestion: start with the shortest form of linked verse. It is called Tan Renga, and it consists of only two verses. The first verse is the three line 5-7-5, followed by the second verse of 7-7 syllables. There are numerous examples of tan renga in Japanese literature, including passages from the "Tale of Genji" and here and there in Basho's travel literature.
If you have a friend who is interested you can get started right away. One of you writes the opening verse, and the other writes the response. You can trade back and forth.
If you do not have a friend interested in renga, you can still practice this form by adding a short verse to your favorite haiku. I do this often, adding a 7-7 verse to a haiku of 5-7-5. The idea here is to let the haiku poet take the lead and then respond to the haiku image with a link.
There has also developed in Japan an approach for more than two people to this style of tan renga. If you know several people who are interested, one of you writes the opening verse, and then the rest of you write a response. Then compare the responses. It can be fascinating to see what different people come up with in responding to the same verse. This approached developed into a contest called "maekuzuke", in which all the responses would be returned to the poet who wrote the opening verse and that poet would then pick a "winner" from all the submissions. I know of one online location which continues this tradition. It's at www.ahapoetry.com, go to the poetry forum, and one of the sections is devoted to maekuzuke.
Tan renga is an excellent way to begin to developed a feel for linking. Once you have started this, and have a feeling for it, I would suggest adding one more element. See if you can link to the opening verse in such a way that you produce a verse focussed on one of the central topics of a renga. For example, if you are given an opening verse, try to link in such a way that the image becomes specifically seasonal (e.g. fall, summer, etc.), or specifically a love verse, or a moon verse, etc. This will offer you the opportunity to experience how a renga poet places specific topics in the ongoing flow of a renga.
Enjoy,
Jim
Some people have asked me how to get started in renga. The form seems complex. There's a lot one needs to know to write a renga, including topics, linneation, seasonal placements, linking, shifting, etc. This can be intimidating.
So here's a suggestion: start with the shortest form of linked verse. It is called Tan Renga, and it consists of only two verses. The first verse is the three line 5-7-5, followed by the second verse of 7-7 syllables. There are numerous examples of tan renga in Japanese literature, including passages from the "Tale of Genji" and here and there in Basho's travel literature.
If you have a friend who is interested you can get started right away. One of you writes the opening verse, and the other writes the response. You can trade back and forth.
If you do not have a friend interested in renga, you can still practice this form by adding a short verse to your favorite haiku. I do this often, adding a 7-7 verse to a haiku of 5-7-5. The idea here is to let the haiku poet take the lead and then respond to the haiku image with a link.
There has also developed in Japan an approach for more than two people to this style of tan renga. If you know several people who are interested, one of you writes the opening verse, and then the rest of you write a response. Then compare the responses. It can be fascinating to see what different people come up with in responding to the same verse. This approached developed into a contest called "maekuzuke", in which all the responses would be returned to the poet who wrote the opening verse and that poet would then pick a "winner" from all the submissions. I know of one online location which continues this tradition. It's at www.ahapoetry.com, go to the poetry forum, and one of the sections is devoted to maekuzuke.
Tan renga is an excellent way to begin to developed a feel for linking. Once you have started this, and have a feeling for it, I would suggest adding one more element. See if you can link to the opening verse in such a way that you produce a verse focussed on one of the central topics of a renga. For example, if you are given an opening verse, try to link in such a way that the image becomes specifically seasonal (e.g. fall, summer, etc.), or specifically a love verse, or a moon verse, etc. This will offer you the opportunity to experience how a renga poet places specific topics in the ongoing flow of a renga.
Enjoy,
Jim
Keeping My Focus
Good Friends:
I changed my mind and have decided to keep this blog focused renga. My reasoning is that there are numerous places on the world wide web that have a general focus on poetry, but there are very few that have a focus on renga. I was somewhat inspired by some cites that are devoted solely to the sonnet; they have a good focus and someone interested in that form can go to these and really learn a lot. So I've decided to retain the original purpose of this blog and keep its original title.
It's back to walking the Renga Roads.
Best wishes,
Jim
I changed my mind and have decided to keep this blog focused renga. My reasoning is that there are numerous places on the world wide web that have a general focus on poetry, but there are very few that have a focus on renga. I was somewhat inspired by some cites that are devoted solely to the sonnet; they have a good focus and someone interested in that form can go to these and really learn a lot. So I've decided to retain the original purpose of this blog and keep its original title.
It's back to walking the Renga Roads.
Best wishes,
Jim
Wednesday, September 3, 2008
So Easy!
Good Friends:
That was easy! I successfully changed the name of my blog to Shaping Words. Cool. Now just a few more adjustments and then it's back to blogging.
Thanks for your patience.
Jim
That was easy! I successfully changed the name of my blog to Shaping Words. Cool. Now just a few more adjustments and then it's back to blogging.
Thanks for your patience.
Jim
Saturday, August 30, 2008
Shaping Words
Good Friends:
I'm going to attempt to reconfigure this blog. I'm hoping to be able to change the name of the blog from "Renga Roads" to "Shaping Words" without losing any of the posts. Since I'm kind of a technopeasant, this may take a while for me to figure out. I want to change to name of the blog to reflect a broader interest in syllabic verse in general. I want to use the blog to post, in addition to Renga, such syllabic forms as Cinquain, Haiku, Crystallines, etc. And to explore syllabic verse in English in general.
So please be patient while I figure out exactly how to do this.
Thanks,
Jim
I'm going to attempt to reconfigure this blog. I'm hoping to be able to change the name of the blog from "Renga Roads" to "Shaping Words" without losing any of the posts. Since I'm kind of a technopeasant, this may take a while for me to figure out. I want to change to name of the blog to reflect a broader interest in syllabic verse in general. I want to use the blog to post, in addition to Renga, such syllabic forms as Cinquain, Haiku, Crystallines, etc. And to explore syllabic verse in English in general.
So please be patient while I figure out exactly how to do this.
Thanks,
Jim
Monday, July 21, 2008
A Single Blossom: A Solo Shisan
Santa Cruz Harbor,
The sound of the barking seals
In the morning fog
Summer heat pushes people
To the California coast
Watching the sunset,
Newlyweds are holding hands
On the balcony
***
A power outage has occurred,
But nobody seems to mind
The moon is rising
Over the distant mountains
In the cool fall air
She adjusts the thermostat
To a much lower setting
***
"We should concentrate.
We are blowing our budget.
Where is it going?"
He puts the folders away
And gazes out the window
Relentless winds blow,
Whistling through the power lines
Past the frozen pond
***
A diner prepares coffee
In the early morning light
The Hawthorn blossoms,
White, with a tinge of yellow,
Bright against the leaves
She plucks a single blossom
And places it in her hair
The sound of the barking seals
In the morning fog
Summer heat pushes people
To the California coast
Watching the sunset,
Newlyweds are holding hands
On the balcony
***
A power outage has occurred,
But nobody seems to mind
The moon is rising
Over the distant mountains
In the cool fall air
She adjusts the thermostat
To a much lower setting
***
"We should concentrate.
We are blowing our budget.
Where is it going?"
He puts the folders away
And gazes out the window
Relentless winds blow,
Whistling through the power lines
Past the frozen pond
***
A diner prepares coffee
In the early morning light
The Hawthorn blossoms,
White, with a tinge of yellow,
Bright against the leaves
She plucks a single blossom
And places it in her hair
Monday, July 7, 2008
Vacation
Good Friends:
I'm on vacation for awhile. I should be back here the week of July 21st.
Best wishes,
Rengajim
I'm on vacation for awhile. I should be back here the week of July 21st.
Best wishes,
Rengajim
Friday, July 4, 2008
Earl Miner: An Appreciation
In the mid-80’s when I began APA-Renga, an amateur effort dedicated to the Renga form, the only book available in English focused solely on Renga was “Japanese Linked Verse” by Earl Miner. I remember getting my first copy. It was expensive, being a University Press publication, Princeton in this case. But as I went through the pages it was a revelation. I eagerly read and reread the chapters. I still have it on my shelf and still refer to it and now and then reread entire sections. In the back of the book are a number of translations of Renga, both the 100 Verse Hyakuin form, and a number of the 35 Verse Kasen form favored by Basho. They are annotated so that for the first time I began to understand the dense fabric of reference and meaning that resonate in a seemingly simple Renga verse.
I personally know six poets whose interest in Renga was stimulated by the publication of this book, and I’m sure there are many more. I think one of the reasons the book is so successful is that Miner really enjoyed Renga and possessed a humble attitude towards the tradition. In the Preface Miner writes, “An author of a literary study is also a student of literature and therefore a guest in its palace. An author is also host in a book bearing the author’s name. For linked poetry, I find that I must play the role of servant or guide.” What impresses me about Miner is that he really wants his readers to understand and enjoy Renga and for this reason he speaks to the reader in the voice of a learned guide and friend. Miner always takes the time to explain basic concepts, historical developments, and basic features of the form without overwhelming the reader with unnecessary foreign terms, literary locutions, or philosophical dead ends. If you haven’t read what goes for standard literary criticism these days you may be unaware of how rare Miner’s approach is. The standard way literary criticism is done in Universities today is to write almost unbelievably dense, incomprehensible, verbiage that only a few other professors of literary criticism can understand. No one reading such material would be inspired to actually engage in the literary form being vivisected by such approaches.
This is one of the things that makes Miner’s work so exceptional. People actually find “Japanese Linked Poetry” entertaining enough, inspiring enough, and well written enough, to pursue Renga as a poetic form.
Miner lived from 1927 to 2004. Though he was widely known for his scholarly study of Japanese literature and poetry, he was also equally versed in Western Poetry and was President of the Milton Society of America. He was in the process of publishing a critical edition of Milton’s “Paradise Lost” when he died.
This broad background in poetry informs Miner’s work on Japanese poetry. It gives Miner the ability to compare and contrast Western and Japanese forms with a sense of assuredness. I find this most clearly demonstrated in his book “An Introduction to Japanese Court Poetry.” Again, in this book on Court Poetry we find Miner guiding us, acting as the Good Host, as he unfolds the world in which Japanese Court Poetry appeared.
In appreciation of his work Miner received the Order of the Rising Sun in 1994; Japan’s second-highest honor (Douglas McArthur and Donald Keene are fellow recipients).
Miner seems to have lived an unspectacular life, dedicated to literature and academia. He was a family man, married for 53 years, and had two children. He maintained contact with his students and regarded them almost as family (among his students was Robert Fagles, the translator of Homer). Miner represents for me the best kind of academician, the kind that uses his knowledge to communicate with others in a meaningful and accessible way. Part of his lasting legacy are the many people, including myself, who have found there way on the Narrow Road to Renga because they had a sure guide, and a good friend, in Earl Miner. Miner died on April 17, 2004 and I have marked that date on my calendar. On that day I offer some incense and a prayer of thanks for all of his efforts which have benefited me in so many ways.
Note: As far as I know, all of Miner’s works are now out of print. This is a shame, because, in my opinion, they have not been superseded and there is a whole new generation that could benefit from these works being reprinted. However, used copies seem to be readily available. For those interested in Renga, “Japanese Linked Poetry” is a must.
I personally know six poets whose interest in Renga was stimulated by the publication of this book, and I’m sure there are many more. I think one of the reasons the book is so successful is that Miner really enjoyed Renga and possessed a humble attitude towards the tradition. In the Preface Miner writes, “An author of a literary study is also a student of literature and therefore a guest in its palace. An author is also host in a book bearing the author’s name. For linked poetry, I find that I must play the role of servant or guide.” What impresses me about Miner is that he really wants his readers to understand and enjoy Renga and for this reason he speaks to the reader in the voice of a learned guide and friend. Miner always takes the time to explain basic concepts, historical developments, and basic features of the form without overwhelming the reader with unnecessary foreign terms, literary locutions, or philosophical dead ends. If you haven’t read what goes for standard literary criticism these days you may be unaware of how rare Miner’s approach is. The standard way literary criticism is done in Universities today is to write almost unbelievably dense, incomprehensible, verbiage that only a few other professors of literary criticism can understand. No one reading such material would be inspired to actually engage in the literary form being vivisected by such approaches.
This is one of the things that makes Miner’s work so exceptional. People actually find “Japanese Linked Poetry” entertaining enough, inspiring enough, and well written enough, to pursue Renga as a poetic form.
Miner lived from 1927 to 2004. Though he was widely known for his scholarly study of Japanese literature and poetry, he was also equally versed in Western Poetry and was President of the Milton Society of America. He was in the process of publishing a critical edition of Milton’s “Paradise Lost” when he died.
This broad background in poetry informs Miner’s work on Japanese poetry. It gives Miner the ability to compare and contrast Western and Japanese forms with a sense of assuredness. I find this most clearly demonstrated in his book “An Introduction to Japanese Court Poetry.” Again, in this book on Court Poetry we find Miner guiding us, acting as the Good Host, as he unfolds the world in which Japanese Court Poetry appeared.
In appreciation of his work Miner received the Order of the Rising Sun in 1994; Japan’s second-highest honor (Douglas McArthur and Donald Keene are fellow recipients).
Miner seems to have lived an unspectacular life, dedicated to literature and academia. He was a family man, married for 53 years, and had two children. He maintained contact with his students and regarded them almost as family (among his students was Robert Fagles, the translator of Homer). Miner represents for me the best kind of academician, the kind that uses his knowledge to communicate with others in a meaningful and accessible way. Part of his lasting legacy are the many people, including myself, who have found there way on the Narrow Road to Renga because they had a sure guide, and a good friend, in Earl Miner. Miner died on April 17, 2004 and I have marked that date on my calendar. On that day I offer some incense and a prayer of thanks for all of his efforts which have benefited me in so many ways.
Note: As far as I know, all of Miner’s works are now out of print. This is a shame, because, in my opinion, they have not been superseded and there is a whole new generation that could benefit from these works being reprinted. However, used copies seem to be readily available. For those interested in Renga, “Japanese Linked Poetry” is a must.
Wednesday, July 2, 2008
Long Life: A Solo Shisan
Thick smoke fills the air
From hundreds of wildfires
In the late June heat
The sky has the strangest tint
Like something seen in a dream
The old photograph
Doesn't match her memory
Of her wedding day
***
Dry leaves, tumbling in the wind,
Behind the large speeding truck
Mixing with the sound
Of the flourescent full moon
High in the clear sky
On the patio some friends
Share some old familiar tunes
***
Icicles glisten,
Catching the first rays of light
On Sunday morning
He sips a cup of coffee
Before the children wake up
Reconnoitering,
Walking slowly from room to rooom,
The old family cat
***
Through the small open window
A warm breeze carries fresh scents
Of the apple tree
Left over from the orchard
That used to be here
Grandmother tells the story
Of her grandmother's long life
From hundreds of wildfires
In the late June heat
The sky has the strangest tint
Like something seen in a dream
The old photograph
Doesn't match her memory
Of her wedding day
***
Dry leaves, tumbling in the wind,
Behind the large speeding truck
Mixing with the sound
Of the flourescent full moon
High in the clear sky
On the patio some friends
Share some old familiar tunes
***
Icicles glisten,
Catching the first rays of light
On Sunday morning
He sips a cup of coffee
Before the children wake up
Reconnoitering,
Walking slowly from room to rooom,
The old family cat
***
Through the small open window
A warm breeze carries fresh scents
Of the apple tree
Left over from the orchard
That used to be here
Grandmother tells the story
Of her grandmother's long life
Monday, June 30, 2008
Syllabics 8
In the early 90's Jane Reichhold began the Tanka Splendor Awards. This is a yearly contest that Tanka poets enter and it was a major stimulus for the emerging interest among English language poets in Tanka. Each year there was a judge for the entries. In 1995 Larry Gross was the judge. In the Introduction to the published winners, Gross wrote, "A form evolves and persists over time because it does certain things exceedingly well. The sonnet, vilanelle and even limerick are often-cited examples in the western tradition. Tanka is a worthy addition to that list." I would add that Renga is a worthy addition to that list as well.
This is a difficult position to maintain today because of the dominance of free verse views. I think, though, that Gross touched on something that is worth contemplating. Renga has evolved and changed over time. The main change in Renga has been in the number of verses involved in a Renga. There has been a steady shrinking of the number of verses from the standard of 100 Verses which dominated in the medieval period and in the Renga of Sogi, to the 36 Verse form that was the hallmark of Basho's efforts, to modern 12 Verse forms such as the Shisan and Junicho, highlighted on this blog. On the other hand, there are certain features of a Renga which have been maintained over the entire course of the history of Renga and I think the reason they have been maintained is because these particular features make it possible for Renga to do what it does "exceedingly well."
Among the features that have been maintained are 1) seasonal reference, and 2) topical references that include the moon, love, and blossoms. In addition, the manner in which Renga is written, with careful attention to link and shift, has been a constant throughout its history.
The above features are notable, but there is one additional feature which I think is worth mentioning, and that is that Renga has maintained its syllabic form throughout its long history. That is to say the sequence of verses alternates so that every odd numbered verse is 5-7-5 syllables and every even numbered verse is in 7-7 syllalbes. I think this is a feature of Renga which has not been emphasized enough.
The impact of having a standard syllabic form in Renga is that such a standard syllabic form provides a unity to the flow of images; it holds the images together at the level of rhythm. For the most part, westerners have not tried to mimic the standard syllabics of Renga. I would like to suggest that western Renga poets give the standard syllabics a try. This particularly applies if the Renga is done by a group. When all the poets in a participation Renga agree to a syllabic form, this, again, provides an underyling rhythmic unity to the images and voices being presented. It's a steady flow communicated to the reader.
I refer to this rhythm as the Tanka Pulse. I call it the "Tanka Pulse" because it is rooted in the Tanka form of Japanese poetry. Renga grew out of Tanka in a natural way and adopted the syllabic structure of Tanka.
Under the influence of free verse views, the pulse of a Renga is lost because line length can vary dramatically from image to image. The result is, often, like a series of snap-shots, or a stop action movement, rather than a steady, pulse driven, movement from image to image. The Tanka pulse continues through the inbetweens of the verses. This is where formal syllabic verse has an advantage over free verse linneation, and I think for Renga in particular the virtues of a steady, formal, linneation can be heard clearly when reading a Renga. There emerges a kind of musical quality, a rhythmic coherence, from adopting the traditional syllabic countours of traditional Renga.
This is a difficult position to maintain today because of the dominance of free verse views. I think, though, that Gross touched on something that is worth contemplating. Renga has evolved and changed over time. The main change in Renga has been in the number of verses involved in a Renga. There has been a steady shrinking of the number of verses from the standard of 100 Verses which dominated in the medieval period and in the Renga of Sogi, to the 36 Verse form that was the hallmark of Basho's efforts, to modern 12 Verse forms such as the Shisan and Junicho, highlighted on this blog. On the other hand, there are certain features of a Renga which have been maintained over the entire course of the history of Renga and I think the reason they have been maintained is because these particular features make it possible for Renga to do what it does "exceedingly well."
Among the features that have been maintained are 1) seasonal reference, and 2) topical references that include the moon, love, and blossoms. In addition, the manner in which Renga is written, with careful attention to link and shift, has been a constant throughout its history.
The above features are notable, but there is one additional feature which I think is worth mentioning, and that is that Renga has maintained its syllabic form throughout its long history. That is to say the sequence of verses alternates so that every odd numbered verse is 5-7-5 syllables and every even numbered verse is in 7-7 syllalbes. I think this is a feature of Renga which has not been emphasized enough.
The impact of having a standard syllabic form in Renga is that such a standard syllabic form provides a unity to the flow of images; it holds the images together at the level of rhythm. For the most part, westerners have not tried to mimic the standard syllabics of Renga. I would like to suggest that western Renga poets give the standard syllabics a try. This particularly applies if the Renga is done by a group. When all the poets in a participation Renga agree to a syllabic form, this, again, provides an underyling rhythmic unity to the images and voices being presented. It's a steady flow communicated to the reader.
I refer to this rhythm as the Tanka Pulse. I call it the "Tanka Pulse" because it is rooted in the Tanka form of Japanese poetry. Renga grew out of Tanka in a natural way and adopted the syllabic structure of Tanka.
Under the influence of free verse views, the pulse of a Renga is lost because line length can vary dramatically from image to image. The result is, often, like a series of snap-shots, or a stop action movement, rather than a steady, pulse driven, movement from image to image. The Tanka pulse continues through the inbetweens of the verses. This is where formal syllabic verse has an advantage over free verse linneation, and I think for Renga in particular the virtues of a steady, formal, linneation can be heard clearly when reading a Renga. There emerges a kind of musical quality, a rhythmic coherence, from adopting the traditional syllabic countours of traditional Renga.
Saturday, June 28, 2008
Revision and Craft
Revision and Craft
The other day I was looking at some poems from the past, poems I had written years ago. I do this now and then to get a sense of how my poetry has changed and evolved. I came across a sonnet from over 10 years ago. There was one line of the sonnet which, while acceptable, had never seemed to me to be quite right. This time I saw how to resolve it and rewrote the line. Next I found a Shisan from years ago and as I was reading it I noticed a link between two verses which didn’t really work. I hadn’t noticed it before, but this time when I read the Shisan, a solo work, I saw immediately that the two verses were too distant, that they didn’t flow and that the link in question disrupted the continuity of the Shisan, almost breaking it into two distinct sections. I attempted to change the link, but revising a link in a Renga is tricky. One has to take into consideration the preceding verse and the verse before it, as well as the subsequent verse and the verse following the subsequent verse. In other words, there are five verses effected by any revision, including the revised verse. It is possible to do a rewrite and I have done so, but it takes a broad attention to do it right. After some struggle I decided to let it be because of these broader effects. Sometimes one simply has to accept the flaws of earlier efforts.
One of the virtues of formal verse is that it allows for revision of a poem based on objective criteria; that is to say criteria that are not just based on the particular likes and dislikes of the individual poet. That is what it means to be part of a poetic tradition. This is part of the craft aspect of poetry; revising and reworking a poem according to the framework of the formal aspects of the poem.
In contrast, the view of free verse is that each poem generates its own form and has a unique logic all its own, independent of other poems. The result of this view is that it is difficult for a poet to revise and craft the poem because the only thing the poet can rely on is the poet’s feelings, preferences, and perhaps intuition. These are whimsical and evanescent at best and oftentimes they are misguided because they are, for the most part, simply habit patterns one has absorbed in an unconscious way.
I have not studied Japanese forms of poetry in Japan, but from what I have read, teachers of Japanese poetry do not hesitate to cross out, redline, and in general critique a novice poet’s offering along what I call craft lines. This contrasts with what usually goes on in the U.S. where teachers of poetry are very hesitant to interfere with the spontaneity and feelings of a student. This is due almost entirely to the pervasive influence of free verse.
Renga, by its very nature, is a strongly craft oriented poetic form. This is true at all levels. Versification and linneation are part of the poem. Even more strongly craft oriented is that certain topics need to be placed in a Renga as a part of the Renga form. This is an unusual demand from a western poetic perspective; I can’t think of a similar demand in a western form. From the point of view of a poet, though, it allows the poet to perfect the craft of Renga. And that is one of the reasons why I enjoy Renga; because it functions as a vehicle for perfecting the craft of poetry in general. Just as a potter gradually perfects the craft of pottery, becoming more skilled on the wheel, more familiar with glazes, more conversant with different kinds of clay, so also the Renga poet becomes, over time, more skilled at link and shift, topical placement, syllabic structure, and overall flow. I have found that the gradual refining of these skills naturally spills over into other poetic forms, allowing for a greater objectivity and a greater ability to cultivate the craft of poetry.
The other day I was looking at some poems from the past, poems I had written years ago. I do this now and then to get a sense of how my poetry has changed and evolved. I came across a sonnet from over 10 years ago. There was one line of the sonnet which, while acceptable, had never seemed to me to be quite right. This time I saw how to resolve it and rewrote the line. Next I found a Shisan from years ago and as I was reading it I noticed a link between two verses which didn’t really work. I hadn’t noticed it before, but this time when I read the Shisan, a solo work, I saw immediately that the two verses were too distant, that they didn’t flow and that the link in question disrupted the continuity of the Shisan, almost breaking it into two distinct sections. I attempted to change the link, but revising a link in a Renga is tricky. One has to take into consideration the preceding verse and the verse before it, as well as the subsequent verse and the verse following the subsequent verse. In other words, there are five verses effected by any revision, including the revised verse. It is possible to do a rewrite and I have done so, but it takes a broad attention to do it right. After some struggle I decided to let it be because of these broader effects. Sometimes one simply has to accept the flaws of earlier efforts.
One of the virtues of formal verse is that it allows for revision of a poem based on objective criteria; that is to say criteria that are not just based on the particular likes and dislikes of the individual poet. That is what it means to be part of a poetic tradition. This is part of the craft aspect of poetry; revising and reworking a poem according to the framework of the formal aspects of the poem.
In contrast, the view of free verse is that each poem generates its own form and has a unique logic all its own, independent of other poems. The result of this view is that it is difficult for a poet to revise and craft the poem because the only thing the poet can rely on is the poet’s feelings, preferences, and perhaps intuition. These are whimsical and evanescent at best and oftentimes they are misguided because they are, for the most part, simply habit patterns one has absorbed in an unconscious way.
I have not studied Japanese forms of poetry in Japan, but from what I have read, teachers of Japanese poetry do not hesitate to cross out, redline, and in general critique a novice poet’s offering along what I call craft lines. This contrasts with what usually goes on in the U.S. where teachers of poetry are very hesitant to interfere with the spontaneity and feelings of a student. This is due almost entirely to the pervasive influence of free verse.
Renga, by its very nature, is a strongly craft oriented poetic form. This is true at all levels. Versification and linneation are part of the poem. Even more strongly craft oriented is that certain topics need to be placed in a Renga as a part of the Renga form. This is an unusual demand from a western poetic perspective; I can’t think of a similar demand in a western form. From the point of view of a poet, though, it allows the poet to perfect the craft of Renga. And that is one of the reasons why I enjoy Renga; because it functions as a vehicle for perfecting the craft of poetry in general. Just as a potter gradually perfects the craft of pottery, becoming more skilled on the wheel, more familiar with glazes, more conversant with different kinds of clay, so also the Renga poet becomes, over time, more skilled at link and shift, topical placement, syllabic structure, and overall flow. I have found that the gradual refining of these skills naturally spills over into other poetic forms, allowing for a greater objectivity and a greater ability to cultivate the craft of poetry.
Wednesday, June 25, 2008
Retirement: A Solo Junicho
Slowly evening falls –
The heat of the day lingers
Into the darkness
The barest lunar sliver
Doesn’t even cast shadows
Stone cold earth, rock hard,
With a dusting of thin frost
Sparkling in headlights
They exchange diamond rings,
“And with these rings I thee wed . . .”
Contrapuntal threads
Of the Baroque orchestra –
Patterns in the air
Planets spin around the sun,
The river of the cosmos
The coffeemaker
Automatically turns on
Before he wakes up
As the mornings get colder
And as the nights get longer
She tends to remain,
Even after waking up,
In her spacious bed
Holding on to a brief dream
That steadily slips away
After forty years
Retirement has arrived,
Now he has some time
To contemplate the plum trees
When they blossom in the snow
The heat of the day lingers
Into the darkness
The barest lunar sliver
Doesn’t even cast shadows
Stone cold earth, rock hard,
With a dusting of thin frost
Sparkling in headlights
They exchange diamond rings,
“And with these rings I thee wed . . .”
Contrapuntal threads
Of the Baroque orchestra –
Patterns in the air
Planets spin around the sun,
The river of the cosmos
The coffeemaker
Automatically turns on
Before he wakes up
As the mornings get colder
And as the nights get longer
She tends to remain,
Even after waking up,
In her spacious bed
Holding on to a brief dream
That steadily slips away
After forty years
Retirement has arrived,
Now he has some time
To contemplate the plum trees
When they blossom in the snow
Monday, June 23, 2008
Syllabics: 7
I’ve worked in retail for quite a few years. Sometimes when someone makes a purchase they reject the pennies and ask the store to “pass them on” to another customer who might be short a penny or two. Say the change is $1.37; such a person will accept the $1.35, and then offer the two cents, the two pennies, in such a manner.
Sometimes when a customer is due change that is close to a round number, the cashier will give the customer a rounded up version of the change instead of the exact change. Say the change due to the customer is $5.49. Sometimes the cashier will give the customer $5.50 instead. The cashier might do this for a number of reasons. Perhaps the cashier has been given pennies by previous customers as outlined above. Perhaps the cashier is short of pennies. Perhaps the cashier is in a rush and can save a few seconds with the simpler change. Perhaps the customer is a friend.
These are examples of counting, but the final results of the counting are approximations. Such approximations are common in counting. In everyday encounters we often offer approximations instead of exact numbers. For example, I might say that I saw someone “about two weeks ago”; and people understand that this is an approximation, probably because I can’t remember the exact date and time.
In syllabics the same kind of principle applies. One starts with a count for a poetic form, but the specific circumstances of the poem may modify the count. If the count is accentual, and the poet is writing in iambics, an anapest substitution will generate an extra syllable and this is considered acceptable. On the other hand, a poet might shorten an accentual line by a syllable or two for emotional effect, or to pick up the pace of the poem.
In strictly syllabic forms, the force of ordinary speech might push the line beyond the normative boundaries a syllable or two. Or, as in accentual verse, a line might be shortened to pick up speed or heighten emotional effect.
As in counting change, the poet starts out with a specific result in mind. As in counting change, specific circumstances can modify that count.
Sometimes when a customer is due change that is close to a round number, the cashier will give the customer a rounded up version of the change instead of the exact change. Say the change due to the customer is $5.49. Sometimes the cashier will give the customer $5.50 instead. The cashier might do this for a number of reasons. Perhaps the cashier has been given pennies by previous customers as outlined above. Perhaps the cashier is short of pennies. Perhaps the cashier is in a rush and can save a few seconds with the simpler change. Perhaps the customer is a friend.
These are examples of counting, but the final results of the counting are approximations. Such approximations are common in counting. In everyday encounters we often offer approximations instead of exact numbers. For example, I might say that I saw someone “about two weeks ago”; and people understand that this is an approximation, probably because I can’t remember the exact date and time.
In syllabics the same kind of principle applies. One starts with a count for a poetic form, but the specific circumstances of the poem may modify the count. If the count is accentual, and the poet is writing in iambics, an anapest substitution will generate an extra syllable and this is considered acceptable. On the other hand, a poet might shorten an accentual line by a syllable or two for emotional effect, or to pick up the pace of the poem.
In strictly syllabic forms, the force of ordinary speech might push the line beyond the normative boundaries a syllable or two. Or, as in accentual verse, a line might be shortened to pick up speed or heighten emotional effect.
As in counting change, the poet starts out with a specific result in mind. As in counting change, specific circumstances can modify that count.
Friday, June 20, 2008
Junicho Variations
Junicho Variations
There are two 12-verse Renga forms that are in widespread use today. I have previously posted about the Shisan. Here I’d like to say a few words about the Junicho. It was offered by Shunjin Okamoto in the late 80’s, I believe, as a loose, open, form that Renga practitioners could accomplish in an hour or two. The following Guidelines are adapted from William J. Higginson’s online Renku site:
A Junicho consists of twelve stanzas,
There is no front or back, no sections,
One blossom stanza, which may be any flower in any season – it need not be cherry blossoms,
One moon stanza, which may be any sort of moon in any season,
About two love stanzas, in any position,
About half the verses will be seasonal (a pair each for spring and autumn, one each for summer and winter),
Progression and diversity are the essence of Renga. Accordingly, a wide variety of things in nature and the world of humans should appear.
I would add:
The opening verse reflects the season of composition.
The principles of link and shift are maintained.
My personal experience with the Junicho is that it is more difficult a form than the Shisan. The Shisan gives the poet a tight formal structure, a scaffolding, that is easy to grasp and that the poet can pour verses into. The Junicho gives one more freedom; but one has to make a lot more decisions, such as where to put the seasonal verses, how to structurally pace the Renga to give a pleasing overall effect, etc.
On the other hand, the Junicho treats time in a way that I have found enticing. The biggest esthetic difference for me between the Shisan and the Junicho is that in the Shisan time is the medium upon which the Renga journey takes place. Time in a Shisan is like the water in a river, or the pavement of a road. In the Junicho time is like a field spread out before the poet and reader. One can begin with summer, proceed to winter, from there to spring, and from there to fall. Or one can compose a Junicho that follows the natural order; but that would be by chance, it is not required. I like that feeling of the field of time and when it is done well the Junicho can be very satisfying.
I have developed a procedure that is kind of eccentric, but here it is for those who might be interested in the Junicho. When writing a solo Junicho I start with the opening verse, reflecting the season I am writing in. I then list the required topics I’m going to have to incorporate into the Junicho. It’s summer now, so my opening verse would be a summer verse. Then the list would be as follows:
Fall, Winter, Spring, Moon, Blossom, Love.
I then take a 12-sided die and throw the die to determine which verse will contain which topic. I place the verse number beside the topic. I then make adjustments. For example, seasonal verses have to have at least one intervening verse so if the die says 4 for Fall, and 5 for Winter, I would shift Winter to 6, or perhaps later. Also, if the number 1 comes up, I toss the die again so as to keep the focus of the opening verse clear.
Usually when I follow this procedure there are interesting intersections that happen. Like the Winter and Love verse will be the same verse and I try to follow through on this, taking it as a challenge.
I allow myself to tinker with the results to achieve an overall balance. Then I proceed following the outline. The advantage for me of this procedure is that it takes me out of my own mind and allows for possibilities of ordering that I would not have thought of on my own. This kind of procedure would not be suitable in the more formal and structured Shisan, but it seems to work well for the Junicho. Give it a try if you like. If you don’t have a 12-sided die, you can use any method to randomly assign the topics. Come up with something that works for you.
There are two 12-verse Renga forms that are in widespread use today. I have previously posted about the Shisan. Here I’d like to say a few words about the Junicho. It was offered by Shunjin Okamoto in the late 80’s, I believe, as a loose, open, form that Renga practitioners could accomplish in an hour or two. The following Guidelines are adapted from William J. Higginson’s online Renku site:
A Junicho consists of twelve stanzas,
There is no front or back, no sections,
One blossom stanza, which may be any flower in any season – it need not be cherry blossoms,
One moon stanza, which may be any sort of moon in any season,
About two love stanzas, in any position,
About half the verses will be seasonal (a pair each for spring and autumn, one each for summer and winter),
Progression and diversity are the essence of Renga. Accordingly, a wide variety of things in nature and the world of humans should appear.
I would add:
The opening verse reflects the season of composition.
The principles of link and shift are maintained.
My personal experience with the Junicho is that it is more difficult a form than the Shisan. The Shisan gives the poet a tight formal structure, a scaffolding, that is easy to grasp and that the poet can pour verses into. The Junicho gives one more freedom; but one has to make a lot more decisions, such as where to put the seasonal verses, how to structurally pace the Renga to give a pleasing overall effect, etc.
On the other hand, the Junicho treats time in a way that I have found enticing. The biggest esthetic difference for me between the Shisan and the Junicho is that in the Shisan time is the medium upon which the Renga journey takes place. Time in a Shisan is like the water in a river, or the pavement of a road. In the Junicho time is like a field spread out before the poet and reader. One can begin with summer, proceed to winter, from there to spring, and from there to fall. Or one can compose a Junicho that follows the natural order; but that would be by chance, it is not required. I like that feeling of the field of time and when it is done well the Junicho can be very satisfying.
I have developed a procedure that is kind of eccentric, but here it is for those who might be interested in the Junicho. When writing a solo Junicho I start with the opening verse, reflecting the season I am writing in. I then list the required topics I’m going to have to incorporate into the Junicho. It’s summer now, so my opening verse would be a summer verse. Then the list would be as follows:
Fall, Winter, Spring, Moon, Blossom, Love.
I then take a 12-sided die and throw the die to determine which verse will contain which topic. I place the verse number beside the topic. I then make adjustments. For example, seasonal verses have to have at least one intervening verse so if the die says 4 for Fall, and 5 for Winter, I would shift Winter to 6, or perhaps later. Also, if the number 1 comes up, I toss the die again so as to keep the focus of the opening verse clear.
Usually when I follow this procedure there are interesting intersections that happen. Like the Winter and Love verse will be the same verse and I try to follow through on this, taking it as a challenge.
I allow myself to tinker with the results to achieve an overall balance. Then I proceed following the outline. The advantage for me of this procedure is that it takes me out of my own mind and allows for possibilities of ordering that I would not have thought of on my own. This kind of procedure would not be suitable in the more formal and structured Shisan, but it seems to work well for the Junicho. Give it a try if you like. If you don’t have a 12-sided die, you can use any method to randomly assign the topics. Come up with something that works for you.
Wednesday, June 18, 2008
Cool Morning: A Solo Junicho
A cool June morning
Even though it is summer
It still feels like spring
A crisp, clear, empty blue sky
Not even a bird flies by
It's a weekday, but
There's hardly any traffic;
Silence as absence
A Sagittarius wind
Briefly shakes the wooden gate
A cascade of leaves
Tumbles past the closed window
And the vase of roses
She pulls her knitted cap down
Over her ears and forehead
An indifferent dog
Sniffs its way through spilled garbage;
But it's just old clothes
He hopes his shoes will last through
The whole of a harsh winter
The rising full moon
Somehow seems malevolent
When one wants shadows
The last to leave the office
Locking the door behind them
A workplace romance
Since they are both unmarried
There is much laughter
They still like to tell storeis
Of those days when they first met
Even though it is summer
It still feels like spring
A crisp, clear, empty blue sky
Not even a bird flies by
It's a weekday, but
There's hardly any traffic;
Silence as absence
A Sagittarius wind
Briefly shakes the wooden gate
A cascade of leaves
Tumbles past the closed window
And the vase of roses
She pulls her knitted cap down
Over her ears and forehead
An indifferent dog
Sniffs its way through spilled garbage;
But it's just old clothes
He hopes his shoes will last through
The whole of a harsh winter
The rising full moon
Somehow seems malevolent
When one wants shadows
The last to leave the office
Locking the door behind them
A workplace romance
Since they are both unmarried
There is much laughter
They still like to tell storeis
Of those days when they first met
Monday, June 16, 2008
Syllabics: 6
Syllabics: 6
English poetry is often divided into two great types. The first is Formal Poetry and it is thought of as the norm for most poetry written in English. I have read that as much as 75% of English language poetry is Formal Poetry. Formal Poetry is distinguished as accentual and its primary metrical usage is iambics, and among possible iambics, iambic pentameter dominates.
The second great tradition is Free Verse. Free Verse is not new. For example, the King James Version of the Psalms is Free Verse and has had a continuous influence on English poetry since making its appearance. But it is only since the late 19th and early 20th centuries that Free Verse has been a self-conscious movement. Free Verse dominates a lot of the discussion of modern poetry and is particularly dominant in Universities, though there are exceptions.
I would like to suggest a three-fold division of English language poetry. The three-fold division would be: 1) Formal Accentual Verse, 2) Formal Syllabic Verse, and 3) Free Verse. Formal Verse is poetry that uses counting as a means of organizing its syllables and words. Formal Accentual Verse is poetry that counts stressed syllables as its primary form of organization. Formal Syllabic Verse is poetry which counts syllables only, and ignores whether or not the syllables are stressed or unstressed.
One could look at this as a two-fold division with Formal Verse having two sub-categories, instead of a three-fold division. Either way works.
Formal Syllabic Verse, in terms of the quantity of poetry written, is the smallest of the three types of English language poetry. It is also, I think, the newest of the three. Nevertheless, there is an interesting body of poetry written in a Formal Syllabic manner in the English language. It includes work from the following poets: Dylan Thomas, Adelaide Crapsey, Richard Wright, Neal Henry Lawrence, a few poems by Richard Wilbur, a few poems by Mary Jo Slater, Thom Gunn, and J. V. Cunningham. I’m sure there are many others.
Japanese poetry is Formal Syllabic Poetry. That is to say Tanka, Haiku, and Renga are all Formal Poetry in that they rely on counting to shape syllables and words into their respective specific forms. Japanese poetry is syllabic (like French poetry) in that it only counts syllables, and does not count stresses, as Accentual Formal Poetry does in English.
Interest in Japanese poetry among English language poets has tended to reject the idea of using Formal Accentual procedures for Japanese forms in English. Though there were some early attempts in this direction, those interested in Japanese forms have almost universally rejected them. This makes sense since Japanese do not count stresses. Seeing English language poetry in terms of either Formal Accentual or Free Verse, English language poets have tended to opt for free verse as the type of poetry which is closer to Japanese norms than Formal Accentual approaches. Again, this makes sense if those are the only two options one considers.
There is, however, a third option and that third option is English Formal Syllabic Verse. Syllabic Verse in English is closer to how Japanese poetry functions than either Formal Accentual Verse or Free Verse. Formal Syllabic Verse is closer to Japanese poetry than Free Verse because both English Formal Syllabic Verse and Japanese Verse count syllables while Free Verse does not. This is a critical point: because Free Verse does not count syllables it lacks a central organizing and shaping principle of Japanese poetry. For this reason I think that Free Verse is the most remote of the three types of English poetry from Japanese poetry. To make an analogy; if I were to compose a waltz, but decided not to count the meter, that is to say to ignore the 3-4 time that all waltzes have, the result would be remote from what people understand as a waltz. Free form, improvisatory Jazz, is a great musical tradition. And there is also the avant-garde tradition that does not use musical meter and counting as a means of shaping musical material. But if I want to write a waltz I need to count time and meter in order to do so.
Formal Syllabic Verse is closer to Japanese poetry than Formal Accentual Verse because what is being counted in Formal Syllabic Verse and in Japanese poetry are the same; that is to say both are counting syllables. When I say that both are counting syllables, I mean that both traditions are counting sound units that make up words in their respective languages. As noted in a previous entry, some of the specific sounds will differ, but the process of counting what each linguistic community considers to be significant sonic units, that is to say syllables, is the same. A central organizing principle of the two traditions is the same.
When one looks at the body of English language Formal Syllabic Verse one finds a rich trove of techniques and resources applicable to the composition of Japanese forms in English.
English poetry is often divided into two great types. The first is Formal Poetry and it is thought of as the norm for most poetry written in English. I have read that as much as 75% of English language poetry is Formal Poetry. Formal Poetry is distinguished as accentual and its primary metrical usage is iambics, and among possible iambics, iambic pentameter dominates.
The second great tradition is Free Verse. Free Verse is not new. For example, the King James Version of the Psalms is Free Verse and has had a continuous influence on English poetry since making its appearance. But it is only since the late 19th and early 20th centuries that Free Verse has been a self-conscious movement. Free Verse dominates a lot of the discussion of modern poetry and is particularly dominant in Universities, though there are exceptions.
I would like to suggest a three-fold division of English language poetry. The three-fold division would be: 1) Formal Accentual Verse, 2) Formal Syllabic Verse, and 3) Free Verse. Formal Verse is poetry that uses counting as a means of organizing its syllables and words. Formal Accentual Verse is poetry that counts stressed syllables as its primary form of organization. Formal Syllabic Verse is poetry which counts syllables only, and ignores whether or not the syllables are stressed or unstressed.
One could look at this as a two-fold division with Formal Verse having two sub-categories, instead of a three-fold division. Either way works.
Formal Syllabic Verse, in terms of the quantity of poetry written, is the smallest of the three types of English language poetry. It is also, I think, the newest of the three. Nevertheless, there is an interesting body of poetry written in a Formal Syllabic manner in the English language. It includes work from the following poets: Dylan Thomas, Adelaide Crapsey, Richard Wright, Neal Henry Lawrence, a few poems by Richard Wilbur, a few poems by Mary Jo Slater, Thom Gunn, and J. V. Cunningham. I’m sure there are many others.
Japanese poetry is Formal Syllabic Poetry. That is to say Tanka, Haiku, and Renga are all Formal Poetry in that they rely on counting to shape syllables and words into their respective specific forms. Japanese poetry is syllabic (like French poetry) in that it only counts syllables, and does not count stresses, as Accentual Formal Poetry does in English.
Interest in Japanese poetry among English language poets has tended to reject the idea of using Formal Accentual procedures for Japanese forms in English. Though there were some early attempts in this direction, those interested in Japanese forms have almost universally rejected them. This makes sense since Japanese do not count stresses. Seeing English language poetry in terms of either Formal Accentual or Free Verse, English language poets have tended to opt for free verse as the type of poetry which is closer to Japanese norms than Formal Accentual approaches. Again, this makes sense if those are the only two options one considers.
There is, however, a third option and that third option is English Formal Syllabic Verse. Syllabic Verse in English is closer to how Japanese poetry functions than either Formal Accentual Verse or Free Verse. Formal Syllabic Verse is closer to Japanese poetry than Free Verse because both English Formal Syllabic Verse and Japanese Verse count syllables while Free Verse does not. This is a critical point: because Free Verse does not count syllables it lacks a central organizing and shaping principle of Japanese poetry. For this reason I think that Free Verse is the most remote of the three types of English poetry from Japanese poetry. To make an analogy; if I were to compose a waltz, but decided not to count the meter, that is to say to ignore the 3-4 time that all waltzes have, the result would be remote from what people understand as a waltz. Free form, improvisatory Jazz, is a great musical tradition. And there is also the avant-garde tradition that does not use musical meter and counting as a means of shaping musical material. But if I want to write a waltz I need to count time and meter in order to do so.
Formal Syllabic Verse is closer to Japanese poetry than Formal Accentual Verse because what is being counted in Formal Syllabic Verse and in Japanese poetry are the same; that is to say both are counting syllables. When I say that both are counting syllables, I mean that both traditions are counting sound units that make up words in their respective languages. As noted in a previous entry, some of the specific sounds will differ, but the process of counting what each linguistic community considers to be significant sonic units, that is to say syllables, is the same. A central organizing principle of the two traditions is the same.
When one looks at the body of English language Formal Syllabic Verse one finds a rich trove of techniques and resources applicable to the composition of Japanese forms in English.
Friday, June 13, 2008
On Sogi
On Sogi
Of all the Renga poets I have spent time with the poet Sogi is the one I find most inspiring. Sogi lived from 1421 to 1502, a time of tremendous turmoil in Japan. During his long life Sogi was in much demand as a Renga Master and traveled throughout Japan leading Renga sessions and teaching this art. The Renga of Sogi’s day was the 100-Verse form known as Hyakuin. It is a complex form and it is said that it took twenty years of study to be able to internalize all the rules governing the placement of verses in a Hyakuin. It has been suggested by some scholars, such as Steven D. Carter, that the heavily rule laden nature of the Hyakuin served the function of providing a place of order in a time of great political and social upheaval. (The Road to Komatsubara, page 111.)
We don’t know a lot about Sogi’s personality which is in keeping with the art that he practiced. Carter writes, “One suspects that the final reason for his rather bland showing in the chronicles of his time is a result of the peculiar demands of his profession – for his age clearly saw him more as a renga master than as a celebrity. One ruling principle of linked verse, as well as of its practitioners, was anonymity. As the rules show so vividly, when he composed linked verse the poet entered a preconstituted world that in many ways represented a whole tradition.” (The Road to Komatsubara, page 109.) This is what I meant when I wrote in an earlier post that Renga was similar to the western Classical Period of music, where composers wrote within the strictures of a strong, inherited tradition; so much so that at times it is difficult to distinguish one composer from another, at least at first.
Interestingly, though, Sogi has left us some Solo Renga and it is in these solo ventures that one begins to cut through the fog of anonymity and see clearly the greatness of this poet. In particular, three years before Sogi died he wrote “A Hundred Stanzas Related to ‘Person” by Sogi Alone”. It is translated in Earl Miner’s “Japanese Linked Poetry”. Miner writes of this Renga:
“ . . . Three years before his death, the old renga master devoted four months to composing a sequence that would satisfy him. Such a long period is quite special, if not unique, and we may well think that only an accomplished master could make of it something particularly valuable. Sogi described his process of composition in the usual humble terms: ‘ . . . in 1499 I entered my seventy-ninth year, and about the 20th of the Third Month I found myself unable to let pass silently my emotions for the falling flowers and composed a brief sequence. As I later added one stanza and then another, I found myself enfeebled in mind and at a loss for words, utterly lacking the ability to think. But when I looked on the moon in this mental stupor, I found myself unable to stop what I had begun. As I completed something more than half the sequence, I found myself wondering how it might turn out, and at last, by the end of the seventh month, I brought it to a close’.” (Japanese Linked Poetry, page 227.)
I have found this particular Renga a constant source of inspiration. First, it inspired me to undertake solo Renga, with the authority of Sogi I felt that it was a legitimate undertaking. Second, I have found the links in this Renga, and the links in those Renga led by Sogi, to be particularly clear, to be excellent models to emulate and admire. There is a clarity about the flow of Sogi’s Renga that I often struggle finding in other Renga poets. I think that this is partly due to the heavy use of allusion in classical Renga, and also Haikai, and not being familiar with the references. Thus a great deal of annotation is needed in order to understand what is being linked. Sogi also uses allusion, but his verses seem to work on two levels. On one level there is what I think of as a “plain link”; that is to say the link does not require that one know the allusion in order to perceive the linkage. On a second level, the allusion to a Waka Collection, or other famous Japanese source is there to deepen the connection. The threads of Sogi’s linkages are always accessible, though they are often subtle as well. Here’s an example from Minase:
Entering the clouds
Today I crossed the peak where flowers
Had completely fallen (Socho)
Listening I hear farewells
In cries of spring geese overhead (Shohaku)
“Entering the clouds” is echoed by “spring geese overhead”; they are both upward moving and contain a similar motion. “Fallen flowers” link to “farewells”, they are both images of parting. “Entering the clouds” links to “farewells” because they both are images of entering the unknown and the shrouded. The first verse is a late spring verse because of the completely fallen flowers. The second verse is also late spring because of the spring geese. Yet there are also distinctions between the two. The first is visual, the second primarily sonic. Linked together the visual and the sonic form a unified and broad image. These two verses are followed by:
Oh stay on a while
Can you also think so common
This cloud-dimmed moon (Sogi)
Here Sogi deflects the moving away motion of the previous two verses and we are asked to stop and linger over the moon. But the moon is still upward, in the sky, but the motion of entering, and the motion of the geese, is now changed to a pause.
The links proceed like this. The annotations by Miner (this is all on page 195) make it clear that there are allusions. For example, “Oh stay a while” recalls a Waka from the Shingoshuishu, and no doubt readers well read in the classical Waka Collections would get the reference. That is a level that Sogi uses, but what I so admire about his writing is that other level, what I call the “plain” level of linking. Because of this plain level of linking the Renga flows in a very natural way from one verse to the next.
I think this is one of the reasons why some of the Renga that Sogi led have become famous. Among them are “Three Poets at Minase” and “Three Poets at Yuyama” (Minase is found in Miner’s “Japanese Linked Verse” and “Yuyama” is found in “From the Country of Eight Islands”.) Of the Minase Hyakuin Renga, Miner writes, “Japanese who have read but one renga sequence have read the “Hundred Stanzas by Three Poets at Minase.” (Page 171.) In these collective, participation Renga (which is the norm), Sogi shows his skill at leading in this subtle art form.
For those of us interested in renga today, even if we aren’t writing the 100-verse form, which is rare these days, Sogi can function as a guide and a model. In terms of the skill he demonstrates at linking and shifting, in terms of his dedication to his craft (he practiced renga for more than 40 years), and in particular for those of interested in solo renga, in developing renga as a solo form to stand with the sonnet and other solo forms, Sogi is a constant source of nourishment. One can find Sogi in translation in the following books:
From the Country of Eight Islands, An Anthology of Japanese Poetry, edited and translated by Hiroaki Sato and Burton Watson.
Japanese Linked Poetry, by Earl Miner.
The Road to Komatsubara, A Classical Reading of the Renga Hyakuin, by Steven D. Carter.
Traditional Japanese Poetry, An Anthology, by Steven D. Carter.
Linked Verse at Imashinmei Shrine, by Thomas Ware, Monumenta Nipponica, Vol. 34, No. 2, Summer, 1979, pp. 169-208.
Of all the Renga poets I have spent time with the poet Sogi is the one I find most inspiring. Sogi lived from 1421 to 1502, a time of tremendous turmoil in Japan. During his long life Sogi was in much demand as a Renga Master and traveled throughout Japan leading Renga sessions and teaching this art. The Renga of Sogi’s day was the 100-Verse form known as Hyakuin. It is a complex form and it is said that it took twenty years of study to be able to internalize all the rules governing the placement of verses in a Hyakuin. It has been suggested by some scholars, such as Steven D. Carter, that the heavily rule laden nature of the Hyakuin served the function of providing a place of order in a time of great political and social upheaval. (The Road to Komatsubara, page 111.)
We don’t know a lot about Sogi’s personality which is in keeping with the art that he practiced. Carter writes, “One suspects that the final reason for his rather bland showing in the chronicles of his time is a result of the peculiar demands of his profession – for his age clearly saw him more as a renga master than as a celebrity. One ruling principle of linked verse, as well as of its practitioners, was anonymity. As the rules show so vividly, when he composed linked verse the poet entered a preconstituted world that in many ways represented a whole tradition.” (The Road to Komatsubara, page 109.) This is what I meant when I wrote in an earlier post that Renga was similar to the western Classical Period of music, where composers wrote within the strictures of a strong, inherited tradition; so much so that at times it is difficult to distinguish one composer from another, at least at first.
Interestingly, though, Sogi has left us some Solo Renga and it is in these solo ventures that one begins to cut through the fog of anonymity and see clearly the greatness of this poet. In particular, three years before Sogi died he wrote “A Hundred Stanzas Related to ‘Person” by Sogi Alone”. It is translated in Earl Miner’s “Japanese Linked Poetry”. Miner writes of this Renga:
“ . . . Three years before his death, the old renga master devoted four months to composing a sequence that would satisfy him. Such a long period is quite special, if not unique, and we may well think that only an accomplished master could make of it something particularly valuable. Sogi described his process of composition in the usual humble terms: ‘ . . . in 1499 I entered my seventy-ninth year, and about the 20th of the Third Month I found myself unable to let pass silently my emotions for the falling flowers and composed a brief sequence. As I later added one stanza and then another, I found myself enfeebled in mind and at a loss for words, utterly lacking the ability to think. But when I looked on the moon in this mental stupor, I found myself unable to stop what I had begun. As I completed something more than half the sequence, I found myself wondering how it might turn out, and at last, by the end of the seventh month, I brought it to a close’.” (Japanese Linked Poetry, page 227.)
I have found this particular Renga a constant source of inspiration. First, it inspired me to undertake solo Renga, with the authority of Sogi I felt that it was a legitimate undertaking. Second, I have found the links in this Renga, and the links in those Renga led by Sogi, to be particularly clear, to be excellent models to emulate and admire. There is a clarity about the flow of Sogi’s Renga that I often struggle finding in other Renga poets. I think that this is partly due to the heavy use of allusion in classical Renga, and also Haikai, and not being familiar with the references. Thus a great deal of annotation is needed in order to understand what is being linked. Sogi also uses allusion, but his verses seem to work on two levels. On one level there is what I think of as a “plain link”; that is to say the link does not require that one know the allusion in order to perceive the linkage. On a second level, the allusion to a Waka Collection, or other famous Japanese source is there to deepen the connection. The threads of Sogi’s linkages are always accessible, though they are often subtle as well. Here’s an example from Minase:
Entering the clouds
Today I crossed the peak where flowers
Had completely fallen (Socho)
Listening I hear farewells
In cries of spring geese overhead (Shohaku)
“Entering the clouds” is echoed by “spring geese overhead”; they are both upward moving and contain a similar motion. “Fallen flowers” link to “farewells”, they are both images of parting. “Entering the clouds” links to “farewells” because they both are images of entering the unknown and the shrouded. The first verse is a late spring verse because of the completely fallen flowers. The second verse is also late spring because of the spring geese. Yet there are also distinctions between the two. The first is visual, the second primarily sonic. Linked together the visual and the sonic form a unified and broad image. These two verses are followed by:
Oh stay on a while
Can you also think so common
This cloud-dimmed moon (Sogi)
Here Sogi deflects the moving away motion of the previous two verses and we are asked to stop and linger over the moon. But the moon is still upward, in the sky, but the motion of entering, and the motion of the geese, is now changed to a pause.
The links proceed like this. The annotations by Miner (this is all on page 195) make it clear that there are allusions. For example, “Oh stay a while” recalls a Waka from the Shingoshuishu, and no doubt readers well read in the classical Waka Collections would get the reference. That is a level that Sogi uses, but what I so admire about his writing is that other level, what I call the “plain” level of linking. Because of this plain level of linking the Renga flows in a very natural way from one verse to the next.
I think this is one of the reasons why some of the Renga that Sogi led have become famous. Among them are “Three Poets at Minase” and “Three Poets at Yuyama” (Minase is found in Miner’s “Japanese Linked Verse” and “Yuyama” is found in “From the Country of Eight Islands”.) Of the Minase Hyakuin Renga, Miner writes, “Japanese who have read but one renga sequence have read the “Hundred Stanzas by Three Poets at Minase.” (Page 171.) In these collective, participation Renga (which is the norm), Sogi shows his skill at leading in this subtle art form.
For those of us interested in renga today, even if we aren’t writing the 100-verse form, which is rare these days, Sogi can function as a guide and a model. In terms of the skill he demonstrates at linking and shifting, in terms of his dedication to his craft (he practiced renga for more than 40 years), and in particular for those of interested in solo renga, in developing renga as a solo form to stand with the sonnet and other solo forms, Sogi is a constant source of nourishment. One can find Sogi in translation in the following books:
From the Country of Eight Islands, An Anthology of Japanese Poetry, edited and translated by Hiroaki Sato and Burton Watson.
Japanese Linked Poetry, by Earl Miner.
The Road to Komatsubara, A Classical Reading of the Renga Hyakuin, by Steven D. Carter.
Traditional Japanese Poetry, An Anthology, by Steven D. Carter.
Linked Verse at Imashinmei Shrine, by Thomas Ware, Monumenta Nipponica, Vol. 34, No. 2, Summer, 1979, pp. 169-208.
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