Tanned and Healthy:
A Dozen Tan-renga from Asilomar

What Is Tan-Renga?

Tan-renga is an ancient Japanese form of linked poem. It’s the shortest linked poetry possible—one verse each by two poets. Tan-renga consist of a three-line verse followed by a two-line “capping” verse. As with renku verses, the main technique is to link and shift. Typically, the second verse has some connection (link) with the first, yet shifts away from it significantly. A few of the following capping verses deliberately do not shift away, showing a more thematic approach to this poetry. Another way to look at tan-renga is as a tanka written by two poets. The “turn” technique commonly used in tanka occurs naturally in the shift from one poet to the other. The following tan-renga were composed at the Yuki Teikei Haiku Society’s annual haiku retreat at Asilomar Conference Center, Pacific Grove, California, in September 1996.

Tanned and Healthy

A dozen tan-renga from Asilomar, written by Michael Dylan Welch with Jerry Ball, Alex Benedict, Beth Brewster, Jocelyn A. Conway, Helen K. Davie, James Ferris, D. Claire Gallagher, Christopher Herold, George Knox, Liz Knox, John Schipper, and Laurie W. Stoelting.

nearing the summit—

this tiny ladybug

      on my shoulder

            Michael Dylan Welch

circular horizon

and not a cloud in the sky

            Christopher Herold

            ~     ~     ~

a letter from home—

the cat on my laundry

paws the red socks

            Michael Dylan Welch

another Christmas Eve alone

smell of burnt cookies

            Jocelyn A. Conway

            ~     ~     ~

walking the dune

with a bird book in hand—

bark of a seal

            Michael Dylan Welch

web-footed tracks through the sand

lead away to the empty sky

            Helen K. Davie

            ~     ~     ~

an old fungus

imprinted with a maple leaf . . .

the story she tells

            Michael Dylan Welch

of this revealing tattoo—

better to say little more

            D. Claire Gallagher

            ~     ~     ~

last day of vacation—

mailing a postcard

to myself

            Michael Dylan Welch

the crowd near the train station

reflection in store windows

            Jerry Ball

            ~     ~     ~

beach path—

the flapping of the kite

in the little boy’s arms

            Michael Dylan Welch

his father     some distance away

with a metal detector

            James Ferris

            ~     ~     ~

    above white breakers

the gull on the rocks—his cry

    drowned out by the surf

            Beth Brewster

at last the sun sets

into offshore fog

            Michael Dylan Welch

            ~     ~     ~

the bonsai book

falls over in the bookcase—

the bent pine branch

            Michael Dylan Welch

some things are out of plumb

with the worlds we build for them

            George Knox

            ~     ~     ~

haiku poets

alert for nature’s sounds

but listening for the lunch bell

            John Schipper

dried stalks along the boardwalk

—do they smell the sea?

            Michael Dylan Welch

            ~     ~     ~

from hand to hand

the pumice stone . . .

distant surf sound

            Michael Dylan Welch

echoes of the quiet

last night on the beach

            Alex Benedict

            ~     ~     ~

colored grape leaves

closely cover the cheese tray

the grapes all eaten

            Liz Knox

all the way through the speech

his fly undone

            Michael Dylan Welch

            ~     ~     ~

race day—

one swimmer doesn’t stop

after the false start

            Michael Dylan Welch

the deaf girl watching smoke

from the starter’s gun

            Laurie W. Stoelting

            ~     ~     ~