Mike Alexander
In the most unlikely of places, the Pompton Lakes watershed of New Jersey, I learned haiku from an environmental activist -slash- haiku master by the name of E. Durling Merrill. He showed me the mysteries of creek beds & the intricacies of haiku. He also introduced me to Rose' D'Anjou. Somewhere in this brief apprenticeship, I learned to look for the fingerprint of a moment in a poetic image; to see that the closer you look, the stiller Time is. I also learned to drink wine a little slower.Someone recently said within earshot that you had to eliminate articles in haiku. Obviously, I feel differently. A frog is different from the frog; neither is the same as "frog." You have to know something intimately for that thing to become a categorical name. I think a poet has to admit when the relationship isn't quite that close.
Likewise, you have to admit there is some human interaction with the landscape. A poem cannot be personless. Haiku is beautiful to me precisely because it tests that boundary, & proves it.
Seasonal identifiers cannot be as codified now as they were in the golden age of Japanese haiku. This means we need to discover time as we actually experience it. It's a good thing.
I do not write haiku often. Not what a haiku-specialist would consider haiku. Every line of every poem I write, though, is touched by some of what haiku has taught me.
Likewise, you have to admit there is some human interaction with the landscape. A poem cannot be personless. Haiku is beautiful to me precisely because it tests that boundary, & proves it.
Seasonal identifiers cannot be as codified now as they were in the golden age of Japanese haiku. This means we need to discover time as we actually experience it. It's a good thing.
I do not write haiku often. Not what a haiku-specialist would consider haiku. Every line of every poem I write, though, is touched by some of what haiku has taught me.
Moon, take off your suit jacket. Get comfy.
