Update from the past few days

Haven't had time to blog every day, here's an overview of what I've done so far this week.

On Monday I read Tales of Genji. On Tuesday I researched Haikus and read an interesting travel journal of Matsuo Basho, arguably the greatest Haiku writer ever. In fact, many have claimed that the art of Haiku "degenerated" after Basho. Today, I made a great deal of progress in Tale of Genji (I'm on page 142). I hope to be finished with it soon. The rest of the class I will spend blogging.

You asked: "What do you see in your haiku that do/don't match the aesthetic you're going for?"

This is a very good question. In my research of haikus, I learned that the Haiku is unusual because it has no metaphor. It is a form of poetry that is completely sensory. Truth, love, honor, valor; anything abstract or psychological...all of these are absent from the Haiku. I would be unsurprised, therefore, to hear the criticism that Haikus are merely ornamental poems, and they do not have any meaningful value. Even I thought this way for awhile. In actuality, though, the Haiku is a more challenging art form than your typical, "spill-your-guts-out" poem. To write a successful Haiku you must align yourself with nature and become a channel. You must excise any personal agendas that would hinder your contact with your surroundings. The Haiku is closely related to the Zen concept of presence–being entirely present in a single moment in time, your mind not wandering into the past or possible future.

So, to answer your question, I would say the flaw with my Haikus is that I am not in communion with nature the way I would like to be. I have not divorced myself from the murkiness of metaphors. Part of the reason may be that I wrote these sitting in the Decatur High School library, as opposed to at the foot of Mt. Fuji, or squatting in a ancient monastery in Japan. Also, they were a bit forced, in that I wrote them by conjuring up images into my memory, which is not as good as having the image all around you.

Haikus are best not written at all, rather they come to you in a flash as you move through your surroundings. I will keep a notebook on hand, and my eyes and ears open, and hopefully as I explore the world the Haikus will come to me. This may require leaving the boundaries of Decatur. Perhaps a trip to Atlanta is in order. I am excited by the possibilities of modern haikus, ones that describe cityscapes, the incidental corners and alleyways crammed between gleaming skyscrapers, and all the characters contained within.

Haikus are the oldest form of poetry and they require much discipline. I hope to continue to explore this art form.