Haiku – Marilyn R Garcia

Earlier this year, a friend asked:

How do you measure time?

I did not miss a beat. I measure time in flowers. From the fading amaryllis bulbs in January to bloom-heavy limbs of a Christmas cactus in December, I have something sprouting, flowering, or dropping petals all year long. Inside and outside.

Based on the square footage of the gardening center at any big box store in America, I am sure I am not alone in this. Usually, sometime in March, I begin to question my life choices, wonder why and how it is I never got a degree in horticulture, and imagine that my husband and I could run a kick-ass nursery when he “retires” and needs something to keep himself busy. (Nice of me to be looking out for him, I know.) Then, of course there is the flip side.

Sometime in August, the flowers I have so faithfully tended begin to defy all my efforts at “control”. They overtake walking paths, they brush up against the bottom branches of my carefully placed young trees, they climb, tangle, sprawl – they go wild. And I? I get tired. I begin counting the days until I can cut, pull, pile and clean out the beds, making way for pumpkins and scarecrows and straw bales.

At last, that time is here and I am READY!

But, the birds and insects who share my yard are not. As long as it remains warm enough, migrating creatures linger in my yard, getting, possibly, their last full meal before they make a very perilous journey. I remind myself that as much as I love my gardens, I do this work because my yard is important habitat for birds and insects. So, I wait. Longer than I want to. And, in the waiting, I find enough reasons to be patient…

And reasons to write…

When I’ve seen my last fat hummingbird of the season, I know it’s time to take down the feeders, untangle the vines, and set out pumpkins. All the while I will hope those little specks of emerald and ruby have had a warm tailwind and a safe landing. And I know to look for them again next spring – when my azaleas are in bloom!

Happy fall to you! Go out and see what creatures are lingering in your space. Then head on over to the Poetry Friday roundup at Rose’s blog, Imagine the Possibilities

… is so darn hard to craft?

I mean, a three line poem, taught in elementary schools everywhere – how hard is that? If you can count to seven, you can pump out reams of them, right?

Not so fast.

This week I’ve been reading and practicing haiku. After finishing this little gem of a book, filled with examples of extraordinary haiku and also examples of things that look like haiku but aren’t, I can confidently say that most of my attempts at haiku are… Well, if I was a southern lady talking about them I would have to say, “Bless their dear hearts”.

Por ejemplo, I wrote this little beauty a few years ago to a prompt which pictured an embroidered bird.

Beautiful flyer
Caged in bold-colored stitches
Yearns for sharp scissors

As you can see, I can certainly count to five, seven, and five. I have a surprising last line which, maybe, gives the reader pause to think more deeply about that bird. The idea of a bird caged in stitches and yearning for freedom – good, good. It’s a little something of a poem. But I don’t think it’s a haiku, at least not a good one.

Forget counting syllables. Have I created clear images? (Maybe) Have I created two clear images in conversation with each other? (No) Have I edited out every unnecessary modifier? (Oh, please. I see a modifier in every line.) I could go on. And on. So I try again.

toddlers at the playground
in identical attire
goslings scurry

This is a little closer. I have two images, one is clearly speaking of the natural world. I have suggested a season, goslings. I have a pivot line in the middle – “in identical attire” could refer to the toddlers or, humorously, the goslings. I have left room for the reader to piece the two images together and give them meaning. There’s something here. Is it good? Could it be published? Probably no and no.

With so many moving parts in such a short form, haiku is HARD. Yet, “haiku” is “taught” broadly and “known” universally. I wonder if its artistry and complexity are lost on most readers. It’s as if, in the western world, we’ve come to think a fine work of oil painting comes out of a paint-by-number box rather than the countless years of practice and failure it took for Renoir to create one piece.

I’m not knocking teachers of the world who use haiku in their classrooms. What could ever be wrong with introducing ways to use and play with words or learning about art and culture? Absolutely nothing. Please, continue. I hope teachers and word lovers everywhere will continue reading and writing haiku. I also hope they will use this deceptively difficult form as a way to go deeper into the power of words, the power of simplicity, and the importance of a single moment. Dive in to haiku, real haiku, and leave the craft store version for the beginners. May they enjoy it.