Sunday, September 06, 2020

Why I write both haiku and tanka.

This is an article that was originally published in Blithe Spirit in May 2020


Why I write both haiku and tanka. 

I have always been drawn to small frames, to a focus on detail, to understatement and to minimalism of all kinds. This is probably a way of compensating for a tendency to over-think! I also have an intuitive sense that the most important things are not as complicated as we often perceive them to be, that the essence of life is utterly simple.

When I started trying to write haiku I was most attracted by the shasei or sketch-from-life style, but found it surprisingly difficult to see and record things simply as they are. Then, if I succeeded, I wondered if it was really enough, was it worth saying at all?

cold rain
the greengrocer stacks cabbages
on cabbages

 (Snapshots #10 2004)

I do not think I am alone in this. A totally simple, clear haiku that also has resonance is a significant achievement. In an effort to add interest it can be tempting to put more of ourselves and our personal concerns and opinions in there. Then our own shadow falls across the scene, or we find our focus is on our reflection in the window rather than the view beyond. The ego also has a role in this. We want to feel that we have something to say, that through struggle, physical, intellectual or spiritual, we have found an answer or had an insight that has eluded others.

The human tendency to unnecessarily complicate is not just a problem in haiku, of course, it can be found in all our attempts to understand ourselves and our place in the world, up to the highest level in philosophy and religion. However much we are told that it all comes down to love and compassion we still create dogma and fight about it.

Chinese market -
a row of small gold buddhas
share a smile

For me writing haiku works in the same way as the type of meditative practice in which you observe the complex tangle of thoughts and feelings that arise in your mind and gently but persistently turn your focus away from them to the breath. In order to write haiku I have to move my focus away from all the self-generated complexity to the simplicity of what is right in front of me. Or, at least, try to.

I think it is equally important as an exercise in recognising and accepting just how often such attempts fail, without being disturbed or deterred by that frequent failure. Possibly, in time, becoming conscious of just how easily distracted we are and even being amused when we catch ourselves out.

trying to make sense of it
geometric patterns
in the carpet 

 (The Haiku Foundation Per Diem October 2016)

In recent years I have been drawn more and more to tanka, and I am aware of a danger in that for me. Within the slightly larger frame there is more room for the writer's thoughts and feelings to be expressed, but there is also more room for them to intrude resulting in a poem that is either too cerebral or overly emotional.

The type of tanka that I would like to succeed in writing share the fundamental simplicity of view that is typical of haiku, they are also based in a quiet, reflective observation.

untangling
a string of lights
complications
I didn't have the heart
to deal with last year

 (Skylark Vol. 5 Issue 1 Summer 2017)

While tanka has become my preferred form to write I still find haiku an extremely useful discipline and reminder of the value of saying just enough and no more, and of staying out of my own way when writing. Returning often to haiku is, for me, a way of keeping things in perspective.

in the shiny curve
of the bath tap
my tiny self

 (Blithe Spirit Vol 29 No 2 May 2019)


Article originally published in Blithe Spirit Vol 30 No 2 May 2020

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