Dee Evetts
Essay #10 July/Aug 2022
At the conclusion of my previous essay (on sexual abuse as reflected in haiku) I said that we would be shifting our attention to inter-gender issues of a more general kind. However, I first want to briefly revisit the previous topic in the light of some responses that I have received. One in particular merits attention, all the more so since it is decidedly critical, and it comes from a woman. At the same time it offers a useful segue into the broader discussion I have in mind. The reader comments: “I feel we should ignore this new trend to portray women as eternal victims, when you, I and your audience all live very happy, cooperative lives on the whole with the other sex. Accepting the dominant narrative I fear encourages those who are keen to divide us.”
Leaving aside her speculative assertion about readers of this journal, by way of response I invite those same readers to consider the following two poems:
midnight subway his hand
watching her apply lipstick on my thigh —
he licks his lips I miss the next joke
With each of these haiku it is hard to determine quite what is going on. And in both cases I believe the poets fully intend that. Brenda Gannam sets a scene where it is easy for the reader to suppose that there is a real and present danger. At the same time she leaves open the possibility of the man’s response (if it is even that) being due to an imitative reflex, for example. The point is — and I believe this truly is the underlying issue, and one that is too easily dismissed — there is no way of knowing. Not for the reader, not for the subway rider, nor for the implied observer. And that is a woman’s predicament, all too often. Until this changes, we should surely welcome any trend that seeks to diminish that burden.
Sari Grandstaff’s haiku is also ambivalent, though it is not physical danger that is the issue here. It is conceivable that the writer is being enjoyably distracted by her companion’s discreet attention. Or even that this is a welcome advance that takes her by surprise. With regret, I reckon the odds are against either of these. The tone of the poem conveys to me a kind of mental paralysis in this moment of being molested; how to react, what to do in this instant, how to think of this person from now on — who in a worst-case scenario may be a colleague, or even her employer.
These are experiences that, generally speaking, men do not have to endure.
And now for that promised shift. Let us peruse some haiku that raise questions not about abuse or molestation, but more nuanced issues of gender equality and fairness, and notions regarding inherent roles or tendencies. Below are two poems from the pen of Alexis Rotella. Over the years she has demonstrated her aptitude — both in haiku and in tanka — for exploring the more elusive aspects of relationships, as demonstrated here:
Waterlilies … Only I laugh
in a moment he’ll ask me at his joke —
what I’m thinking
the silence
There is a kind of litmus test that I sometimes apply when considering what the slant of a haiku may be, when gender or genders are clearly indicated. I make a simple switch: in this case by substituting as a middle line, “in a moment she’ll ask me”. Does this sound equally plausible? To my ear it does. I conclude that Rotella is writing about a predictability based on her past experience with this person, and we might even detect an affectionate undertone. By contrast the second poem is heavily loaded, though exactly what the burden is cannot easily be guessed. Out of loyalty or protectiveness a wife, let’s say, might well laugh at her husband’s inappropriate witticism in company. He has perhaps stumbled into a remark that reflects his lack of wokeness (this poem pre-dates that term, but it applies nonetheless) to an issue of the day, or of our time. It is an awkward moment for everyone present, and Rotella has nailed that.
The litmus strategy may also be applied helpfully to this haiku by Brenda Gannam:
he calls
to critique the poem
in her Valentine
Accordingly we would get: “she calls/to critique the poem/in his valentine”. Does this have the same ring of plausibility? I wish it were so. With regret, I perceive as firmly embedded in the male psyche (and let us for the moment leave aside any wrangling over ‘nature or nurture’) a tendency to adopt the role of instructor. Even, as here, when it ignores the likelihood that this will be his shortest route to dispelling romance.
This seems like an opportune moment to recall Nathanael Tico’s:
mansplaining
mansplaining
I consider this unusual haiku to be a tour de force, while recognizing that such brevity will not be to the taste of every reader. Technically it presents a meta example — which is to say, something that is an example of itself. In plainer language: here is a guy elaborately explaining the phenomenon of elaborate explanation. The humor inherent in this picture enhances the effectiveness of an exceptionally brief poem.
The preceding examples could broadly be described as cerebral poems; most of what of is happening is in the head. This is by no means true of the following, by Miriam Bourne and Fay Aoyagi respectively:
in his narrow bed Independence Day —
we uncover I let him touch
his self-interest
a little bit of me
Bourne’s poem is very blunt. It may be that some version of “wham, bam, thank you mam” has been perpetrated by one who has left his sexual partner feeling let down and frustrated. Or is it rather that she is anticipating this, based on previous experience with him? That would be a subtler reading, based on the idea that she has decided to give him another chance. Either way, the most generous assumption would be that the man in question is young and inexperienced, and will learn better manners in the future. Though probably not with her.
I do not know what to make of “Independence Day”. It appears to be about giving permission, and that is certainly a topical issue. Does this pair have some kind of agreement about how fast they will become intimate? If so, it is implied that she will be setting the pace. It also sounds as if she could be teasing him in way that is not very kind. Or are they a long-established couple, and this is a game that they like to play? Then I start over, and suppose that this is a man she has recently met and to whom she finds herself attracted. In which case there is clearly a play on the word “independence”, given that she has every right to assert that for herself. At this point I give up — and yet I will return to this haiku again and again.
In an earlier essay on humor in haiku we looked at this mildly outrageous (that is about where I would peg it) poem by Frank Walsh:
on display
her small and firm
opinion of men
A reference to the appearance of a woman’s breasts, and in a joking manner, would seem reckless at best. In my view Walsh gets away with it because of the way he catches the reader on the hop, so to speak — in the last line very neatly turning the tables on himself. The lady comes out on top after all.
The following is a big leap, but let’s make it anyway. Michael Ketchek takes us into a café or restaurant, where we may suppose that he is at a table on his own:
in passing
to another waitress
her real smile
I find that there is a lot of truth and a good deal of poignance in this piece. I can imagine myself there, charmed by the waitress who takes my order — and in particular by her welcoming smile. A few moments later I get it: that was her professional self. Her private self is someone I will never see, someone she possibly reveals only to another woman, in a way that is casual and yet deep. As a male I feel inexplicably and illogically excluded. Which would well merit the response: that’s your problem.
I find myself at a loss how to wind up this essay. Next time around the focus will move further in the direction of long-term relationships, with their felicities and their challenges, and equally their ambiguities. Accordingly I will put down as a kind of marker this recent haiku draft of my own. It is work in progress, and may end up being discarded. There have been several versions, with this being the current one:
we never talk about
who washes
the washing-up bowl
I am reaching for something with this, and that something has probably eluded me so far.
