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.
Monday, June 30, 2008
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.
Wednesday, June 11, 2008
The Wanderer: A Solo Shisan
Still warm, 2 a.m.;
Deep night is another world,
An owl on a branch
Seven oak trees in the field
And the surrounding dry grass
From the canvas bag,
Which she always has with her,
She removes her lunch
***
In the cafeteria
Of the large office building
Janitors clean up
Under the light of the moon
In the high window
Moth wings that are dry as dust
Caught in ancient spider webs
***
The collapsing house
In a town that the young leave
The sound of the wind
Sub-freezing temperatures,
Ice here and there on the streets
“I am tired of this.
You always want to argue.
You go. I’ll stay here.”
***
A few petals slowly fall
From the blooming apple tree
Beside the old farm,
In a still rural section
Of a mid-west State
The wanderer registers
At yet another motel
Deep night is another world,
An owl on a branch
Seven oak trees in the field
And the surrounding dry grass
From the canvas bag,
Which she always has with her,
She removes her lunch
***
In the cafeteria
Of the large office building
Janitors clean up
Under the light of the moon
In the high window
Moth wings that are dry as dust
Caught in ancient spider webs
***
The collapsing house
In a town that the young leave
The sound of the wind
Sub-freezing temperatures,
Ice here and there on the streets
“I am tired of this.
You always want to argue.
You go. I’ll stay here.”
***
A few petals slowly fall
From the blooming apple tree
Beside the old farm,
In a still rural section
Of a mid-west State
The wanderer registers
At yet another motel
Monday, June 9, 2008
Syllabics: 5
Syllabics: 5
People count what stands out for them, what has become discrete according to their observations. What stands out depends on the history of the culture and for this reason different cultures will count in different ways. For example, in counting months some cultures count strictly lunar appearances (e.g. the Islamic Calendar), other cultures count months on a strictly solar basis (e.g. the modern Gregorian Calendar and the ancient Egyptian Calendar), and some cultures count months on a mixed solar/lunar relationship (e.g. the Jewish and Chinese Calendars). Every culture counts months, but how months are perceived differs.
Similarly, what constitutes a unit of sound worthy of counting, a syllable, varies from culture to culture. Some cultures count semi-vowels, such as “n”, “m”, and “ng” as syllables while others do not. Japanese counts an “n” as a syllable, but only if it appears at the end, it is not counted if it is an initial sound. Some cultures can have an initial “ng”, counted as a syllable, while in English “ng” is only an ending sound, never initial, and is not counted as a syllable. Some cultures count durations; almost all Sanskrit derived languages have both long and short forms of their vowels so that sometimes the sound “a”, as in “father”, will be counted as one syllable and sometimes two. Japanese also has this aspect of counting syllables with long and short forms of “o” and “a”. Some cultures will count what English speakers would consider a silence as a syllable; as in a glottal stop, or in French poetry where sometimes a silent “e” is counted as a syllable.
In comparing any two languages there are going to be discrepancies over what is considered to be a syllable, just as there are discrepancies among human groups over what is counted when months are counted. This is just a part of the variety of human experience. There’s no logical reason for why certain sounds are counted in one culture, but not in another. It is based on the particular history of that people and their language and just needs to be accepted as how a particular people hears their language; kind of like just accepting irregular verbs or other aspects of a language that one is learning.
The discrepancies in what is counted need not be a barrier for poets. It is the act of counting itself that is shared across cultural lines and it is the act of counting that allows for the transmission of a poetic form from one linguistic context to another. Whatever sounds Japanese count, they are still counting syllables. Whatever sounds English speakers count, they are still counting syllables. The fact that the two groups of sounds do not match is not a problem because the counting itself is shared. It is the counting which is the common ground, a bridge from one culture to another.
People count what stands out for them, what has become discrete according to their observations. What stands out depends on the history of the culture and for this reason different cultures will count in different ways. For example, in counting months some cultures count strictly lunar appearances (e.g. the Islamic Calendar), other cultures count months on a strictly solar basis (e.g. the modern Gregorian Calendar and the ancient Egyptian Calendar), and some cultures count months on a mixed solar/lunar relationship (e.g. the Jewish and Chinese Calendars). Every culture counts months, but how months are perceived differs.
Similarly, what constitutes a unit of sound worthy of counting, a syllable, varies from culture to culture. Some cultures count semi-vowels, such as “n”, “m”, and “ng” as syllables while others do not. Japanese counts an “n” as a syllable, but only if it appears at the end, it is not counted if it is an initial sound. Some cultures can have an initial “ng”, counted as a syllable, while in English “ng” is only an ending sound, never initial, and is not counted as a syllable. Some cultures count durations; almost all Sanskrit derived languages have both long and short forms of their vowels so that sometimes the sound “a”, as in “father”, will be counted as one syllable and sometimes two. Japanese also has this aspect of counting syllables with long and short forms of “o” and “a”. Some cultures will count what English speakers would consider a silence as a syllable; as in a glottal stop, or in French poetry where sometimes a silent “e” is counted as a syllable.
In comparing any two languages there are going to be discrepancies over what is considered to be a syllable, just as there are discrepancies among human groups over what is counted when months are counted. This is just a part of the variety of human experience. There’s no logical reason for why certain sounds are counted in one culture, but not in another. It is based on the particular history of that people and their language and just needs to be accepted as how a particular people hears their language; kind of like just accepting irregular verbs or other aspects of a language that one is learning.
The discrepancies in what is counted need not be a barrier for poets. It is the act of counting itself that is shared across cultural lines and it is the act of counting that allows for the transmission of a poetic form from one linguistic context to another. Whatever sounds Japanese count, they are still counting syllables. Whatever sounds English speakers count, they are still counting syllables. The fact that the two groups of sounds do not match is not a problem because the counting itself is shared. It is the counting which is the common ground, a bridge from one culture to another.
Friday, June 6, 2008
Sky River: A Solo Shisan
Sky River
A steady headache
It must be the endless heat
Day after long day
The Perfection of Patience
Is difficult to achieve
Dust from the mountain
Settles on the valley floor
And the constant wind
***
With the setting of the sun
The Rabbi reads Tehillum
The full moon rises
Above the city skyscape
Angels are watching
Tides of time upon the earth
Species appear and vanish
***
Temperature dropping,
Ice thick upon the window,
The silent t.v.
On the couch an open book
In your eyes a memory
They are holding hands
Just like thirty years ago
When they first dated
***
Plum and crocus are blooming
As shifting winds melt the snow
"Let's all take a brake,"
Says the English Professor,
"Just a few minutes."
A heron watches the sky
On the surface of the river
A steady headache
It must be the endless heat
Day after long day
The Perfection of Patience
Is difficult to achieve
Dust from the mountain
Settles on the valley floor
And the constant wind
***
With the setting of the sun
The Rabbi reads Tehillum
The full moon rises
Above the city skyscape
Angels are watching
Tides of time upon the earth
Species appear and vanish
***
Temperature dropping,
Ice thick upon the window,
The silent t.v.
On the couch an open book
In your eyes a memory
They are holding hands
Just like thirty years ago
When they first dated
***
Plum and crocus are blooming
As shifting winds melt the snow
"Let's all take a brake,"
Says the English Professor,
"Just a few minutes."
A heron watches the sky
On the surface of the river
Wednesday, June 4, 2008
Rapid Sunrise: A Solo Shisan
It's warm this morning
And the sun rose rapidly
In the cloudless sky
An airplane slowly descends,
Headed towards San Francisco
Where night revelries,
Beginning at 10 p.m.,
Spill into the street
***
As the full moon casts shadows
That never seem to stand still
Branches twist and turn
And power lines snap and fall,
But there is no rain
"Do you think we can borrow
From your brother or sister?"
***
Where did the love go?,
Abandon is abandoned
To life's daily chores
Snow on Tuesday afternoon
Slowly blankets the driveway
"Be back for dinner,
And don't forget your mittens,"
Mom has her checklist
***
A cat howls, a beagle barks,
A flock of sparrows departs
Intertwined branches
Of the blossoming plum tree
Are suddenly pink
All the candles on the cake
For his 65th birthday
And the sun rose rapidly
In the cloudless sky
An airplane slowly descends,
Headed towards San Francisco
Where night revelries,
Beginning at 10 p.m.,
Spill into the street
***
As the full moon casts shadows
That never seem to stand still
Branches twist and turn
And power lines snap and fall,
But there is no rain
"Do you think we can borrow
From your brother or sister?"
***
Where did the love go?,
Abandon is abandoned
To life's daily chores
Snow on Tuesday afternoon
Slowly blankets the driveway
"Be back for dinner,
And don't forget your mittens,"
Mom has her checklist
***
A cat howls, a beagle barks,
A flock of sparrows departs
Intertwined branches
Of the blossoming plum tree
Are suddenly pink
All the candles on the cake
For his 65th birthday
Monday, June 2, 2008
Syllabics 4
Formal Verse is poetry that uses counting as one of its means of organizing and shaping words.
Free Verse is poetry that does not use counting as one of its means of organizing and shaping words.
Free Verse is poetry that does not use counting as one of its means of organizing and shaping words.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)