Off the Beaten Track: A Year in Haiku
The book offers no foreword or
introduction to explain itself, but lets the poems speak for themselves. Nor does
the book include any author bios, putting further focus just on the poems. A brief
afterword (unsigned) provides only the slightest guidance to the reader after the
poems have done their own talking, referring to the collection as an “experiment”
that may well be “off the beaten track.” As the afterword says, “The hope was
that [the six less-experienced writers] would bring to the project the ‘beginner’s
mind’ that is traditionally considered an important element of haiku in a more
literal, perhaps purer sense than a more experienced haijin would be able to.” More specifically, the
afterword notes that “The point of the project . . . was to both juxtapose and
integrate the two camps, and in doing so perhaps achieve a little more
integration of the currently quite separate worlds of haiku and other forms of
literature.”
Of the more experienced haiku
writers, two were in England, two in the United States, one in Canada, and one
in Saudi Arabia. Of the six other writers, four lived in England, one was an
American living in Belgium, and one was a Scot living in Japan. The book also features artwork by twelve different artists, one for each month. The Boatwhistle
website includes author and artist bios, sample poems, and a news blog with author interviews (including my interview, also here). While you’ll have to read the entire book to decide if the experiment works,
you can at least read my contributions here. Hamish Ironside selected the
following thirty poems out of 151 I had written in that productive month. See also
the postscript at the end, which addresses issues of imagination, experience,
and empathy as they relate to daily haiku writing.
April 1
pinker
against the blue
graveyard cherry blossoms
2
April
painterly
clouds—
the
steering wheel warm
for
the first time this spring
3 April
rain in the forecast—
what have I done
with my afternoon?
4
April
hazy
sun—
the
rest area sign
says
free coffee
5 April
burn ban—
a eucalyptus leaf
between my fingers
6
April
estate
sale—
a
dried-up cactus
in
the garden shed
7 April
coastal drive—
we roll down the windows
to hear the ocean
8
April
elbow
to elbow
at
the poetry reading . . .
her
black coffee
9 April
a day without rain—
I save the thickest envelope
to open last
10
April
old
gas station—
one
suction cup popped loose
on
the closed sign
11 April
after the news
the morning paper
still unread
12
April
spring
sun—
my
shaver changes pitch
as
I plug it in
13 April
graupel in the shadows—
the schoolyard tetherball
twists in the wind
14
April
a
hearse
up
from the valley
wet
with blossoms
15 April
tax day—
reading glasses left
on the kitchen table
16
April
spring
cleaning—
tossing
out a box
of
old business cards
17 April
national haiku day—
where’s a scrap of paper
when I need it
18
April
moss
on the path—
you
ask me, quietly,
if
I have summer plans
19 April
April showers—
a library book
left under an oak
20
April
soap
bubbles popping
on
the lost puppy poster—
inner
city park
21 April
little league photo day—
mud stains
on the catcher’s knees
22
April
car
trip—
we
add new harmonies
to
a disco tune
23 April
on an old memory card
a photo of my sister
in her chemo wig
24
April
the
ferry quiets
as
it drifts in to dock—
rising
moon
25 April
sapwood—
I learn something new
about my mother
26
April
a
stand of larch—
the
towhee tells me
to
go home
27 April
new neighbours—
the story again
of the wasp nest
28
April
poetry
reading—
I
hear nothing more
after
he says loam
29 April
national anthem—
the bald coach
removes his cap
30
April
extra
innings—
she
goes on telling me
about
her divorce
Postscript
Before and after I wrote my contributions for Off the Beaten Track in April of 2013, Hamish Ironside and I had an
ongoing discussion, some of which I share here, about the balance of experience and imagination in the
writing of haiku. His personal approach is to write pretty much only from direct and recent personal experience. I often favour that approach, but do not limit myself to it. I
find that empathy makes it possible to write about the experiences of others,
and I also feel that one can write effectively from long-ago memory and
imagination, especially when readers can seldom tell from the poem itself
whether the poet “actually” experienced what the poem depicts. My feeling is
that even a so-called “actual” experience can come across as lacking
authenticity if it is not crafted well. So for me the point of haiku, in this
regard, is to craft the poem so that it comes across to the reader as if it is authentic. In other words,
authenticity is judged by the reader, not the writer, regardless of what “really”
happened, but it is up to the writer to make the reader believe. As an example
from classical Japanese haiku, Buson’s wife was alive when he wrote about
stepping on his “dead wife’s comb” in their bedroom. We are, after all, writing
poetry, not diary entries (see my essay “Haiku Stances”). Furthermore, as I’ve written in “Haiku as History:
The Ultimate Short Story,” all haiku are written from
memory, even those written just after the event, and what matters is the
vibrancy of that memory, not its recency. The following are two slightly edited email
messages that were part of our discussion.
From: Hamish Ironside
To: Michael Dylan Welch
Sent: Mon, May 20, 2013 2:06 pm
Subject: RE: Haiku project
Hi Michael
I just had another look at your April haiku, bearing in mind some of your
comments, and have got the selection down to 30 (attached here), which we could
regard as the final selection, if you’re happy with it.
A few comments that struck me on this reading. Interesting (and well judged)
that you use a question mark at end of 3 April but not 17 April. The lack of
question mark really makes the latter poem one of my favourites, but the former
does need the question mark. 5 April (burn ban): this is one I like more with
every reading. 10 and 12 April are two more favourites. And 13 April is great;
for one thing, I learned a new word! Had to look up “graupel” (“towhee” was the
other word I had to look up). 13 April is one that is musically very pleasing—by
which I mean not just the rhythm but every aspect of the sound of the words;
they all go very well together. 14 April, too, is one I liked very much from
first reading. So these mid-month ones were, for me, when you really hit your
stride. 16 April is another I liked instantly, and this may show partly how
subjective haiku can be, because I just happen to be mildly fascinated by
business cards. 18 April I like a lot because of the commas around “quietly.” 20 April’s first two lines are you having fun with the sound of the words, and
very successfully. Why do so few haiku make use of the sounds of the words? 23
April is one of my favourites, as I mentioned before. And the ones now selected
for 25, 26, 27, and 28 April are all ones I like very much as well.
Cheers,
Hamish
From: Michael Dylan Welch
To: Hamish Ironside
Sent: Mon, May 20, 2013 4:04 pm
Subject: Re: Haiku project
Hi Hamish,
Your selection [of my April poems] works very well—thanks. I appreciate your
close reading and all your comments. It’s a profound luxury to have one’s
poetry given such attention.
Now to the question, if we dare, about which poems are “made up” or not. As I
mentioned, I tried to give extra attention to writing from the moment, more so
than usual for me, in addition to writing from further-away memory. Would you
care to guess which poem is which? Stop reading now if you really want to think
about that, then come back here to read my thoughts below on which are which.
To be honest, it’s a little hard for me to tell, because they’re all memories,
and I don’t always remember how recent the memory is. Or it’s complicated by
the notion that something here-and-now might trigger a poem, yet what I’m
writing about isn’t just the here and now—I also have in mind past events too,
more often than not. Nevertheless, I think I can say accurately that the
following poems were written FULLY from the moment (about a third of all the
poems):
- April 2 — A definite experience of
noticing the warmth of the steering wheel, warm for the first time in the
spring, and then noticing the clouds after I started thinking of what else to
put with the last two lines.
- April 3 — After an unproductive
afternoon; I think I’m trying to blame that on the rain!
- April 4 — Written while on a drive
with the family—and with kids you know you need to stop at rest areas frequently—or
“lay bys,” as I remember them being called in England. Around here, charity
organizations staff the rest areas to give away cookies and coffee, hoping to
get donations, so electronic signs on the freeway announce “Free Coffee” when a
charity organization is on hand. To me this poem feels a bit flat—maybe a
so-what poem—but perhaps the haziness of the sun and doldrums of the day might
be cured by fresh coffee. Or do you see something else in the poem? By the way,
I’m not a coffee drinker myself, but my wife is.
- April 8 — To be honest, this poem
feels a bit flat, too. Although written from the moment, while attending an
open-mic poetry reading, it feels a little like a so-what poem, and normally I
might tinker with it, probably adding something strictly not from the moment. Perhaps
you see more in this poem than I do, or maybe it’s just that the black coffee
says something about the poetry reading itself?
- April 10 — Seen while stopped at a
traffic light while looking for gas.
- April 12 — I’ve been noticing this
for years, and finally wrote a haiku about it—thanks directly to your
encouragement to write more actively from the moment.
- April 15 — Definitely written from
the moment, although the moment was a few days before when we had finished our
taxes, not on tax day, April 15—so how far back in history does something have
to be before it’s no longer in the moment?
- April 23 — Written about my sister, who
had cancer a few years ago—now in remission—and seeing a photo of her wearing a
wig, although I saw the photo on my computer, not an old memory card. But of
course “memory card” has so many irresistible overtones, and I wanted the poem
to be ambiguous about whether my sister was still alive or not. This is one of
my favourite poems of the month, along with one I wrote immediately before this
one, but you didn’t choose: “funeral’s end— / a whisper passed / from ear to
ear.”
- April 24 — Completely from the
moment, on a ferry trip in British Columbia on this date, noticing that moment
when the engine cuts, including the reverse engine, and the ferry drifts that
last few feet into the dock.
- April 29 — Written when I took my
son to see the Seattle Mariners at a major league baseball game, although I don’t
recall that the coach was actually bald.
The following poems are hybrids, partly or mostly written from the moment, but
with not-in-the-moment additions:
- April 1 — I added the graveyard
reference.
- April 9 — It was actually a sunny
day, but the first line came to me and stuck in my head after the last two
lines came to me when I walked to the corner mailbox to pick up our mail.
- April 13 — We did have some graupel
in April, I assume on this date, but I don’t remember for sure. But the rest of
the poem was written from my knowledge of a tetherball at my son’s school,
although I never saw it anytime in April, and the image of it twisting in the
wind is easily imagined.
- April 17 — Inspired on National
Haiku Day, but I made up or remembered the part about needing a scrap of paper.
I have needed paper for a haiku sometimes, of course, but I usually always have
my notebook with me, so I didn’t really need any paper—but that doesn’t make
for as interesting a poem.
- April 21 — My son’s little league
photo day was actually on an earlier day, and the truth is that in his league
catchers would never have mud stains on their knees because they wear large
knee pads, and wouldn’t be likely to play if it were too muddy. But I do recall
one of the players having muddy knees, and the rest of the poem fell together—and
I do believe it could be possible for
some little leaguers, even if not my son’s league.
- April 22 — Written on a car trip,
but I was by myself. I don’t recall actually singing along to anything, or even
hearing disco on the radio, but I was recalling a car trip a buddy and I made
in the summer after high school graduation, and singing along, to the disco
song “Ring My Bell,” a 1979 song by Anita Ward. I just looked that up—mostly we
were making fun of the song [singing as badly as we could], since we hated
disco, although certain disco songs have since grown on me a bit over the
years.
- April 24 — Written while visiting my
parents, but the sapwood addition is made up, added for whatever overtones it
brings to the poem, in addition to providing a concrete image. I don’t even
remember now what new thing I’d learned, though!
- April 30 — Written at the Seattle
Mariners baseball game I took my son to, but the last two lines are essentially
made up, although we’ve all experienced someone going on about something that
we might not be interested in.
The following poems were written more about memory:
- April 5 — Thinking of the eucalyptus trees in California—we don’t
have them in Washington State.
- April 6 — Remembering my grandfather’s garden shed in Watford [England].
I don’t remember when the cactus image happaned, but I had a specific cactus in
mind, with all the soil hardened and shrunken away from the edges of a small
pot. And estate sale is just a general memory to provide a context.
- April 7 — I wrote this in Vancouver, British Columbia, and wasn’t
on a coastal drive, but it came to me from the action of rolling down the car
window for something or other—the action reminded me of the California coast.
- April 11 — Must have been inspired by seeing the day’s newspaper
not yet read, but I don’t remember. Mostly it’s about the idea of personal news
outweighing newspaper news, but there was no weighty personal or family news
inspiring this. Interesting that this was written four days before the Boston
Marathon bombing.
- April 14 — Almost completely imagined, and not even from memory. The
inspiration was seeing a parked car covered with cherry blossoms, so [at least]
that much was in the moment. I recalled someone else’s haiku about a car carrying
the first snow down into a valley from a higher elevation, and this seemed to
be a nice way to reciprocate the idea in a different season.
- April 16 — I did see a box of old business cards, but I didn’t
throw them out, and I wasn’t doing spring cleaning. But the old business cards
made me think that I probably should throw them out and probably should do some
spring cleaning . . .
- April 18 — I would say this is almost completely imagined, except
in the very general sense that my wife and kids have been thinking about
possible summer plans. Of course we’ve all seen moss on a path, but I wasn’t
seeing that on this date—the juxtaposition is just an intuitive pairing,
trusting the subconscious.
- April 19 — I think it was raining on this date, and my kids do
get books from the library, but the detail of one book being left under an oak
is made up. After thinking of several possible trees, I think I chose “oak” for
its sound with “book.”
- April 20 — Written in response to the Yuki Teikei Haiku Society’s
Tokutomi contest season word of soap bubble—they supply a list of kigo to write
about for their 5-7-5 contest, and many of the poems I’ve written for it in the
past have felt hollow and manufactured to me, even one that I won first prize
with once [I think this is mainly due to the oddity of some of the seasonal
terms, some of which are peculiar to Japan]. Here, I’m making up practically
everything, although of course I’ve really seen all of the poem’s various
details separately. Yet I’ve tried to create something that FEELS believable,
and it works well enough for you to have selected it. Glad you really like all
the P sounds in this poem—all written unconsciously, actually, and I’m glad to
have you point out the sounds you like in this poem, although now I worry that
it’s overdone.
- April 26 — Mostly made up, written while driving between Vancouver
and Seattle. Trees were on my mind, and the phrase “a stand of larch” started
me off. I can’t explain where the rest of the poem came from, but it just
popped into my head—well, I was
driving home. This is among my favourites of the month, and I’m glad you picked
it.
- April 27 — I’ve gone blank on what inspired this, but I know I
was driving between Vancouver and Seattle, so not a direct experience.
- April 28 — Definitely a memory—you know how a poet will say a
particular word [at a reading] and your mind goes off on an tangent thinking
about that word, even if the poet is normally good enough to hold your
attention. I don’t remember this ever happening with the word “loam,” but that
was the word that popped into mind—it feels nice and earthy.
Any surprises here? I hope there are no disappointments. I like to think that
you chose these poems (even the somewhat “made up” ones) because they still
felt believable. So they’re mostly pastiches of memory, some of them, yet they
still work well, or at least I hope so.
Cheers,
Michael
|
