Where rotten grass becomes fireflies

Tiny containers for the right now.

I am a little obsessed with Haiku right now. Three-line packets of poetic pleasure that reflect a moment in time and place - and some of the things I love about Japanese culture.

• Like Japan’s 72 micro-seasons. Did I say obsessed? Read this! A 72-line poem and/or 72 poetry prompts. Rotten grass becomes fireflies is a favourite. Plus I just love rainbows hide and insects go underground.

• And Zen Buddhism - think mindfulness, meditation and minimalism. Being present in the world at that moment and boiling it down to its essence.

• I also the love of balance and beauty of the 5/7/5 syllable (or sound) structure. I don’t follow this structure as much as I’d like. I do try to make the middle line a bit longer and find a pause, a breath, in the poem somewhere before the summing up of all that it is.

  
  

My understanding is that traditional Haiku avoid metaphor and are intended as literal images. But I think when something is so rich (and enduring) they can become metaphors in our modern times. Like this by Issa (1763-1828) and translated by Blyth.

O snail,

Climb Mt. Fuji,

But slowly, slowly!

Further, Haiku don’t just describe the scene - they offer the experience of that moment. Like this from Bashō (1644-1694) translated by Robert Hass:

Winter solitude—

in a world of one colour

the sound of wind.

Do you immediately feel the solitude in your body? And what beautiful prompts to write with now: the sound of wind…a world of one colour…winter solitude… all such powerful thought-starters. And it doesn’t have to lead to a haiku. It can be a reflection, a poem, a whole 3000-word essay! I just follow the flow…like here:

A world of one colour.

A dream. Until then I hope

you see me.

So what about the practice of writing Haiku? Pure ritual, surely? The act of going outside and inside at the same time. To notice, capture it in words. I don’t want to just say spring, though…I want to go deeper…say something else…like wattle bloom…perhaps.

Writing something Haiku-esque allows me to capture more than moments in nature. They are little containers for my obsessions, my memories, the things alive in me right now. Allowing them to be seen and heard. Here’s a memory that came up today about when I lived in one of my most favourite places: Beijing.

The scent of cabbage

Butcher’s stall on a hot day

This Beijing dumpling

I know I’m only scratching the surface here. Haiku has a depth and tradition far beyond what I currently know and can capture in a short post. But part of the joy for me is letting what I do know inspire my own practice. My writual.

Happy reading and writualing, Chantal xxx