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
Thursday, October 30, 2008
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
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