Tony Pupello
Essay #26 March/April 2025
Some weeks ago, as I contemplated the topic/theme of this issue’s essay, the “ancient Chinese” curse “May you live in interesting times” kept rolling around my head. Whether you are a fan of current political happenings or not, there is no denying these are certainly “interesting times” at least as regards the US nationally and as regards my little hometown of New York City locally. As an aside, to further complicate or make my musings that much more interesting, it turns out that upon researching this phrase, I found it may not be ancient nor Chinese! At least 60 to 70% of the “reliable” sources I checked indicated it may be of English origin dating sometime around the late 19th to early 20th centuries! A curse upon the curse!
Regardless of its etymology, (yes, after researching this matter I am confident etymology can also be applied to phrases), this phrase is definitely germane to the times we find ourselves in. Facing up to these interesting times ofttimes requires a respite, a retreat perhaps, to a safer, simpler, more comfortable time. For many of us that safer, simpler, more comfortable time is found in childhood musings. I was not interested in the theme of “childhood” per se but, as good fortune would have it, I chanced upon Annie Bachini’s lovely “in the formal garden”, which is our opening piece below. Play! Games! Now what better respite could there be? We are all reduced in some measure to our childhood selves when we are playing. Here was my topic for this issue, a brief exploration of playing and playing games in haiku.
in the formal garden
children play
hide-and-seek
A simple yet profound piece that juxtaposes the lack of guile and boundless energy of childhood against the formal strictures of the adult world. We are well-aware of the reverence young children are held in across many cultures primarily because of their innocence thus their closeness to a state of nature. Equally, not a few religions hold children as next to godliness. We note, of course, that a “formal garden” is about as far away from nature as one can get — it is human-made, in design as well as build/structure — making the juxtaposition that much-more stark and interesting.
In the following two pieces by Deborah P Kolodji and Louise Hopewell respectively, we are further drawn into the play scenario.
park playdate winter sun
a trellis a child plays chasey
of climbing roses with shadows
Kolodji’s piece expands on the hide-and-seek theme vertically. While the poet is enjoying a respite from care giving — the kids are, after all, on a playdate — by admiring a stack of climbing roses, the youngsters, with their boundless energy are traversing up and up, perhaps on a jungle gym. Hopewell’s piece expands on the hide-and-seek theme in a different way. A winter setting, cold, not many others to play with. No problem. The youngster has the sun and shadows to play with — indeed the shadows have become playmates of a sort. This imaginative stretching is certainly a part of healthy growth and no doubt universal.
The pieces above are set in rather comfortable surroundings. Not all childhood games are played in such idyllic settings to be sure, as demonstrated in the first poem by Mark Miller below. Nor are all games simply about having fun. Psychologists are well-aware play often helps children make sense of the world and can have its share of seriousness, intentional or not, as demonstrated in the second poem by Marianne Paul.
blue sky morning tea-dolls
children play hopscotch the First Nation child carries
behind the razor wire more than her share
The first two lines of Miller’s piece offer as bucolic a setting as possible. What could be more pleasant than clear blue skies and children playing hopscotch? Of course, we are rudely awakened to the fact they are playing behind razor wire. Enclosed in some manner. Are they prisoners of a sort? Are they refugees? Not a happy set of circumstances by any means. Yet, for me, this is still a hopeful poem. The indomitable spirit of childhood manages to shine through. Razor wire or not, children are going to find a way to play and, hopefully, to survive.
The child in the Paul piece may not be as fortunate; in my reading this is not a hopeful poem. On the surface a much less threatening setting than that found by razor wire — a child carrying a set of dolls — I find this superbly crafted piece haunting to the core. We know this is an indigenous child of a far northern people and Canadian territory. Probably the Innu. What we may not know is that historically the Innu people were nomadic hunters. As such the “tea-dolls” also served a very functional purpose in addition to that of a child’s toy — they were hollowed out and served as repositories for secondary stores of tea in times of shortage — hence the name. The depth and poignance of this piece is that although the nomadic life and traditions of the Innu are fading, or have faded, the tradition of tea-doll making is still very much alive — and purposefully so — to continue at least a part of their traditions. This child, therefore, is carrying a very heavy burden indeed. For me this poem is an exemplar of deftly understated political haiku.
The children in the two poems that follow, by Kerry J Heckman and sanjuktaa asopa respectively, have grown up a bit. I would guess they are pre-adolescent to early teen as evidenced by the “game” of ouija board. A ouija board requires a bit of skill to make; but even if it comes “out of the box” there is a level of sophistication necessary to think about and formulate questions that one might want answered.
church camp winter chill
our homemade ouija board the ouija board begins
under the bunk to creak
In Heckman’s very interesting piece, there is still more than a hint of innocence, yet I sense a slight moving on from that innocence. The board is “homemade”, probably a simple design. Yet there is a certain understanding, sophistication if you will, that perhaps it is not appropriate to keep or use a ouija board in a church camp. Hence, it is hidden under the bunk, away from prying counselors’ eyes. Overall, though, I think it more of a “fun” poem, clearly charming, evocative of a most benign setting.
Not so in asopa’s piece. To my reading the “players” involved are older. In fact, I am quite certain we are moving into “play” of a more adult nature. The poem evokes a much more ominous tone. Is the ouija board creaking because a gust of wind has rattled the perch it is on? Is it creaking because the cold has caused it to contract. Or, are the questions posed to the board — or their answers — territory that should not be trod on?
In the following poems by Richard L. Matta, Valentina Ranaldi-Adams and Jeff Hoagland, we are definitely in adult territory.
a ladybug
on my splayed hand —
speed dating
Rubik’s Cube catbriers
the mind games some games
you and I play best not played
In a light-hearted manner, Matta’s ladybug is perched upon his splayed hand. I get the definite impression this will not be for long. So too the rapidity with which his speed dating partners will flit by. I find an added charm to this poem: I see the poet reaching out, offering an outstretched hand to potential partners. Unfortunately, there may be few, if any, takers.
Ranaldi-Adams poem is not so light-hearted, of course. Redolent with the complexities and cerebral exertions necessary to complete a Rubik’s Cube, so too the mental gymnastics so many relationships are fraught with. As anyone who has attempted to “solve” a Rubik’s Cube knows, it can be anything but fun and relaxing. Anything but a game.
Hoagland’s poem, in his inimitable style, is spare and right to the point. Catbrier is a prickly plant whose thorns can result in scratches similar to a cat’s — hence the name. Many species of animal avoid it, as do humans for the most part. It is not a species of plant to get entangled in or with. I have to believe the players of the games Hoagland is referring to are definitely adult. We do not know the players nor the games being played — we don’t have to. The poem is a heavy caution in a light wrapping.
No survey of haiku relating to play or games would be complete without mention of two perennial favorites: Scrabble and chess, offered up by Charles Trumbull, Michael Henry Lee, Frank Hooven and Douglas J. Lanzo respectively.
for Double-Word score wordplay
I add an “s” to “haiku” . . . drawing an S E and X
distant thunder in the Scrabble game
undusted board forgetting
two pennies checkered pasts
in place of pawns inmates play chess
Although some English-language speakers may refer to the plural of haiku as haikus (and may actually not be wrong), in the English-language haiku community this is frowned upon and indeed would be considered a very big faux pas. We can picture Trumbull playing with a batch of haiku poets when committing this folly, and we can hear the groans that follow. Folly or not, it garners him a double-word score and isn’t that the point! Lee was fortunate in drawing an “S” and an “E” along with the usually hard to place “X”. What’s that old saying, “lucky in cards, unlucky in love”? Hopefully Lee’s luck extends beyond the Scrabble board.
Our chess selections are a bit more subdued, to say the least. Hooven’s piece certainly harks back to a simpler time; how many of us have substituted pennies or what have you in the place of missing pieces? (As an aside, as some may be aware, the US penny itself may soon be a thing of the past). Why haven’t the pawns been replaced? In the “old days” replacement pieces may have been hard to come by. In this modern age of delivery-upon-demand it would certainly be easy enough to replace the pieces, perhaps even with very similar pieces. The crux of the poem, for me, is the “undusted board”. A board long unused sits in a place most probably not frequented, collecting dust. The chess players who accepted those two pennies as pawns are long gone.
In a slightly playful manner, Lanzo’s piece is set in a very serious setting. Who would need a respite from their current environment — an escape if you will — more than a prisoner? For a bit of time each day, a chess match or two allows the incarcerated to focus on something other than the circumstances that led up to their incarceration and their present surroundings. Immersed in the game, in the distraction, they are transported to another place.
Time to take a break, I think, as offered by Steve Black below.
toilet break
my opponent finds
a winning position
The game itself is secondary and could be one of many, but I can’t help but think this is yet another chess match under discussion. More germane to this discussion, just who is taking the bathroom break here? At first blush it would seem it is the poet taking the break and his opponent finding the “winning position” during a valuable time-out. But hold on! Could the poet be funning and telling us that his poorly matched opponent, on the verge of defeat, has found a winning position in the toilet?! This very cleverly executed senryū leaves the who up to the reader.
As an inveterate pinochle and “old-style” Mahjong player, I can happily attest to the fact that as we age, perhaps especially as we age, we are still drawn to the game. It still can delight, amuse, distract as powerfully as it did all those many years ago. The following two poems, by Tea Lady and Richard L. Matta, amply demonstrate that.
her waning eyesight a child still
playing peekaboo in the reflection
with great granddaughter’s doll toy shop pane
In Tea Lady’s piece we are presented with a very aged soul, a great grandmother, yet one still “young enough at heart” to enjoy “fooling around”. A first reading may indicate the great grandmother mistaking her great granddaughter for the doll. Note the waning eyesight. In my reading I find the joy in the poem having to do with the great grandmother using the doll to play peekaboo with the great granddaughter. The waning eyesight? Well, I imagine those of us fortunate to reach that stage will have that affliction. Regardless of the reading, the fact stands the great grandmother still has enough youth to engage — or try to engage if the first reading is correct — in a playful, gameful manner.
In Matta’s piece the poet is drawn, as many of us have been, into the magic of a toy shop window. The choices! The fun one might have! Of course, the poet is no longer a child; one gets the sense the poet is at least past mid-life. Yet look at the poet’s reflection — what do we see? There is unadulterated joy in the poet’s eyes. The child in the poet is very much present.
One of the most Zen-like souls I have ever known — without ever having studied Buddhist scripture, meditation or what have you — passed away this past year. Through a stint in the military; multiple careers including that of social worker and professional athlete; and having lived away from his native Hawai’i for over fifty years, he never forgot and always alluded to one of his favorite games, learned and played, of course, when he was a child. So, we come as we often do, full circle — back to the childhood joy of games. James Gaskin says it all.
all the flowers
of spring
hanafuda
“Birds will fly, dude.”
