Today's guest blogger is librarian and poet Diane Mayr. Diane's blog is Random Noodling. Diane was the winner of our February Pantone Poetry Project challenge. You can find the project wrap-up, and links to Diane's colorful poems, at this post.
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| Diane Mayr and Skippy |
When Less Is
More
Back in the 90s, when I first became seriously interested in haiku, I wanted to read everything I could find on the topic. One book, which I saw many references to, was Haiku by R.H. Blyth (there's a remembrance of Blyth here).
Back in the 90s, when I first became seriously interested in haiku, I wanted to read everything I could find on the topic. One book, which I saw many references to, was Haiku by R.H. Blyth (there's a remembrance of Blyth here).
Haiku is a multi-volume set of poems,
translated by, and commented on by Blyth. Boy, was it hard to find!
It took me a long time before I found a set of reprint paperbacks, and I paid a
bit more than I should have to finally get my hands on it. (Considering
the prices I see for the individual volumes in 2014, I will say, however, I
ended up with a bargain!)
The set is amazing, and one of the poems I read in volume 3, Summer - Autumn, has become a touchstone. It was written by Basho. (Blyth formatted the poem using capital letters and end punctuation, but today writers don't often format it that way.)
The shell of a cicada;
It sang itself
Utterly away.
This poem spoke to me like no other poem has before or since. The idea that a creature could sing itself into oblivion, and the expression of that idea in ten simple words (16 syllables), to use an old hippy-days expression, blew my mind!
Blyth wrote this bit of commentary:
This is the cicada's Zen. In actual fact, of course, the cicada is not dead, it has cast its skin. But Basho, indifferent to the scientific truth of the matter, and taking the empty shell of the cicada as a symbol of its extinction, perceives that the cicada sings with all its mind and heart and soul; no "looking before and after" spoils the eternal present of its complete and full existence.
Since I first read Basho's "shell of a cicada," I have come across a number of other translations that pale in comparison, and, if I had read them first, the poem would have gone in and out of my consciousness within seconds.
The set is amazing, and one of the poems I read in volume 3, Summer - Autumn, has become a touchstone. It was written by Basho. (Blyth formatted the poem using capital letters and end punctuation, but today writers don't often format it that way.)
The shell of a cicada;
It sang itself
Utterly away.
This poem spoke to me like no other poem has before or since. The idea that a creature could sing itself into oblivion, and the expression of that idea in ten simple words (16 syllables), to use an old hippy-days expression, blew my mind!
Blyth wrote this bit of commentary:
This is the cicada's Zen. In actual fact, of course, the cicada is not dead, it has cast its skin. But Basho, indifferent to the scientific truth of the matter, and taking the empty shell of the cicada as a symbol of its extinction, perceives that the cicada sings with all its mind and heart and soul; no "looking before and after" spoils the eternal present of its complete and full existence.
Since I first read Basho's "shell of a cicada," I have come across a number of other translations that pale in comparison, and, if I had read them first, the poem would have gone in and out of my consciousness within seconds.
(Although this haiku is not included, I found an interesting
look at translations of other Basho poems in “Selected Hokku by Basho with Multiple Translations.”
Also of interest may be One Hundred Frogs: From Renga to Haiku to English by
Hiroaki Sato, which has a hundred variations of one of Basho's most
famous poems!)
A second touchstone haiku, and one I often use in explaining haiku, is by Raymond Roseliep.
snow
all's
new
It is a sterling example of less is more. A complete scene has been painted in three, that's THREE, words! It is what I try to do with most of my writing--eliminate the unnecessary. (I must confess, though, it's not easy! I'm so, very, guilty of using some words, which are totally not needed. It is really hard to break myself of the habit--it's quite a bad habit, I know. I just can't write without junk words! But I digress...)
One might ask why a writer should be so terse? There are probably a dozen reasons, the most important one in 2014 is that a reader's time in precious! I would also say it is the job of the poet to leave something for the reader to bring to the poem. For instance, with Roseliep's haiku, in my mind it's morning and I've awakened to snow outside my window. Before me is the possibility of a "snow day," which would make all my plans for the day wiped from the slate. You, on the other hand, might see the snow glittering under a streetlamp.
Here's a
response to Basho's poem:
she freaks out
at the gas pump
--cicadas emerge
And this is my
response to Roseliep's:
April 2014
snow
remains
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| Portrait of Basho from the Library of Congress |
After years of writing poems, Diane Mayr
finally admits to being a poet--an admission she considers frightening! A public librarian for almost 30 years, she
also writes books for children, and spends too much time on social media. (She is now working on labeling herself an
artist, but it's going to take a bit longer.)
Previous posts in this series:
Laura Shovan on "This Is Just to Say" by William Carlos Williams
Dylan Bargteil on "On Moral Leadership as a Political Dilemma" by June Jordan
J. C. Elkin on "Hannibal Clim" (author unknown)
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