Dee Evetts
Essay #18 Nov/Dec 2023
Last winter, while undertaking a judicious purge of old notebooks and files, I came across some teaching notes in a folder labelled “Patriotism Debates, Valla Folkhögskola 1972”. I was only momentarily at a loss, and much came back to me even as I opened it to look at the contents. At that time I was engaged in teaching an adult education course titled U-landslinjen, which translates approximately as “Third World Studies”. My enviably broad brief was to enhance my students’ ability in English through the reading and discussion of relevant publications and other material. (At that time Swedish Radio had a weekly program called “Sounds of Protest, Sounds of Love”, and this proved ideal for our course, providing a welcome relief from some of the more sober texts.)
How can this possibly relate to haiku? Very simply, as it turns out. Quite early on in the year I had introduced my students to the concept of English-language haiku, leaning towards those poems that have something of an edge, if not overtly carrying a social or political message. This foray was well received, and it stimulated plenty of interest and debate. I stopped short of having the students make their own attempts at writing haiku, thinking to save this for a later time. Clearly the notion took root nonetheless. Some months later, at the end of our first discussion on the themes of nationalism and patriotism, one of them (Leif Ekevi was his name, and I remember him as an intense, slightly built young man) came to me afterwards and showed me this:
our pennant
more patriotic
than their flag
He had to enlighten me to the fact that many Swedes consider it excessive to routinely fly a full-size national flag (yellow cross on a blue background) in front of one’s home, albeit most homes do have a flag-pole. But there is a pennant version of the flag — skinny and tapered with two strips of color running its length — and this is regarded by most as being more in keeping with Swedish values. Once I had grasped this nuance, I began to appreciate Ekevi’s poem more fully. There is a gentle irony in its assertion of how a true patriot should behave, along with a touch of self-mockery. The following week another student brought along a haiku idea that she wanted to develop. It was based on her observation that young American travelers in Europe would not infrequently display a small Canadian flag sewn onto their back-pack. (This was at a time when sentiment towards the U.S. was at a historically low ebb, with the Vietnam War still ongoing.) My notes show that we considered a last line, with the denouement of a giveaway Mid-West accent. But in the end our collective efforts never quite jelled.
It was the experience described above that prompted the idea of examining the role of national flags as featured in haiku over the years. At first it seemed that a lack of material — sufficiently interesting material, that is — might sink the project. And then I got lucky. I was fortunate (and immensely grateful) to gain access to a mother lode of information, bearing sufficient ore to be well worth mining. As I began to review the material it soon became clear to me that the poems fell naturally into three categories. The first of these — and by far the largest — comprises those poems that are broadly speaking patriotic or reverential. These inevitably include many haiku that mourn and memorialise a personal loss due to a war. The second group, at the other end of the spectrum, by contrast feature haiku that explicitly or by implication express scepticism — even outright disillusion — with regard to those elaborate pieces of dyed cloth that have lent respectability to so much aggression and exploitation over the centuries. And then there is a third group — this being by far the smallest, and to my mind by far the most interesting — in which the poet questions the dualistic and over-simplistic stances taken by the majority. We shall be considering these three groups in turn, but first it will be useful to survey their overall context: the origin of flags and their evolution over time, the purposes they have served, and the attributes ascribed to them.
Historically speaking, flags evolved to perform multiple roles. They were vital as a means of signifying identity, declaring sovereignty and independence, or asserting subjugation and dominance. They were by definition highly visible and instantly recognizable — their troops, our troops — an emblem to rally behind and even to die for. (Or preferably send someone else to die for.) All of this persists to some degree — to our collective shame — while at the same time more benign functions have evolved, as in the realm of international sport, as well as cultural events. More bizarre is the fact that over the centuries the deployment and proper management of flags has become a preoccupation that sometimes borders on the fetishistic. I have done some cursory research (using the internet only) into this aspect, and it has been a revelation to me. My conclusion is that there is about a hundred times as much information out there than I could ever want to have. To demonstrate the flavor of this, let me regale readers with a couple of choice samples. There is a formal procedure for the correct folding of the Stars and Stripes, on occasions such as military funerals, passing-out parades and the like. WikiHow has it as thirteen separate steps, the end result being a perfectly symmetrical triangular package (the three branches of government perhaps, or more likely the three armed services). We are instructed, first of all, that on no account during the folding procedure should the flag be allowed to touch the ground or floor. The use of a sufficiently large table is recommended. Before the Europeans among us begin to exchange discreet smiles, let us note that America’s official preoccupation with such niceties has its roots firmly in British military tradition. Who would have guessed? Any inclination to feel superior should be dispelled, at least for Brits, by the following extract from the rules for the flying of flags on public buildings in the U.K., as currently promulgated by the Flag Institute:
Where there are two or more flagpoles on the forecourt of a building, the national flag should be flown on the outermost pole if the flagpoles are to the left of the main entrance, and on the innermost pole when the poles are to the right of the entrance… If one flagpole is higher than the rest then the national flag can fly from that pole; however, in that case no non-UK national flags can be flown on the other flagpoles.
This all sounds very decorous and fitting to my ear, especially the last injunction. But no matter what your nation, dear reader, do not smile too readily. Every country in the world has its equivalent form of hocus-pocus in this area. And perhaps the reality — I conclude reluctantly — is that this kind of nicety may be essential to world peace, such as it is. We have enough complications without inadvertently giving offence to visiting envoys and dignitaries — or conversely, to our own loyal citizens. Personally I find that there is a more sustaining marrow to be sucked from the design and symbolism of individual flags. Almost any schoolchild knows that in the American flag the thirteen stripes represent the original colonies, while the fifty stars stand for the current number of states. On the other hand I doubt whether one in ten Americans could correctly parse the Union Jack, with its bizarre superimposition of three national flags: England’s St. George’s Cross, Scotland’s St. Andrew’s Cross, and Ireland’s St Patrick’s Cross, in combination representing the 1801 Act of Union. At school I refrained from asking our teacher why the Welsh dragon never got a look-in. That may have been because she was a bit of one herself. With hindsight I can see that superimposing that creature — proudly passant on its green and white field — on an already garish design would in any case have been an aesthetic disaster. Personally, I have an inexplicable penchant for those flags that have a few gold stars or crescents sprinkled artfully in the top left corner of a solid red ground. Examples of this: China, Macedonia, and the U.S.S.R. (in its day). From among the many red-white-and-blue concoctions, I would have to nominate France. It is quite impossible to imagine mounting the barricades while carrying anything else.
I do want to make mention of the Ukrainian flag in particular, before examining our chosen poems. This symbol has been truly a phenomenon of our time. Never before has a relatively obscure national flag gained such rapid recognition worldwide, and become to so many millions a symbol of support for the independence of a country not their own. Its display was less evident in the United States — or perhaps it was simply for a shorter while — than in most of Europe, where to some extent its visibility persists. That clear blue sky above an expanse of yellow wheat (“the breadbasket of Europe”) has become a potent icon of international awareness. When we come to considering the variously benign and less benign roles of national flags — historically as well as today — this particular piece of recent history should be kept in mind.
Turning now to the examples that I have chosen for purposes of this essay, I have already characterized the first of our three groups as tending towards patriotism and sentiment. I must declare right off that it has been challenging to find work of any real merit in this area. I am admittedly biased in this, being congenitally suspicious of so-called traditional values. I can understand that in the era of the Vietnam War many haiku poets would inevitably feel impelled to express their loss and grief using the medium with which they were most familiar. This can be unconditionally respected. At the same time it has to be said — and often — that literature needs to meet sterner criteria than personal catharsis. And make no bones about it, it is literature we are talking about.
Accordingly, from among the plethora of flags fluttering bravely, flags waved by children, flags flying at half-mast, flags tied to the shopping carts of the homeless and hanging from balconies, and again and again the flag-draped coffins, I have chosen the four haiku below. These illustrate how against all odds a handful of poets have managed to sidestep the maudlin and the trite to achieve resonance and authenticity. The authors here are Nicholas Klacsanzky, Dave Russo, Claire Everett, and Nicholas A. Virgilio.
covering a hole Father’s Day
in the factory wall —
empty snap hooks
national flag clang the flag pole
the clank flag-covered coffin:
of the flagless halyard the shadow of the bugler
first spring alone slips into the grave
Almost reflexively I visualize the Ukrainian flag here, and this is probably appropriate. For Klacsanzky (whose home is now in Washington state) formerly lived in Kiev. This poem was published in Modern Haiku in 2018, indicating that its context cannot be this most recent war. But the conflict has been ongoing since Russia annexed Crimea in 2014, and the scene could thus derive from any of those years. Regardless, the image is striking and eloquent. For the flag is performing a dual role: effecting an improvised repair, and simultaneously serving as a gesture of defiance. There is no ceremony here, simply sheer necessity.
The next two haiku are intriguingly parallel in their approaches, in that both poets have chosen to express their loss primarily by means of sound — and essentially the same sound in each case. In Russo’s case I speculate that the poet’s father has died (in what circumstances we do not know) during the past twelve months, and as a consequence the customary rituals surrounding Father’s Day are not being observed. Everetts’ poem seems likewise to have a domestic setting. The possibility that we are in a local harbor or moorings is suggested by the term “halyard”. The return of the season when this couple would routinely have been preparing their boat for a first trip would have been anticipated every year. Both pieces are evocative and moving, and also serve as models for how emotions can be conveyed in haiku without naming them.
Finally in this group we have Virgilio’s famous and many times republished haiku depicting a military funeral. I find it remarkably layered in its implications, and would like to refer readers to the closing paragraph of Tony Pupello’s essay “Sounds in Haiku”, in the previous issue of tsuri-dōrō, for a penetrating critique of this poem. I can think of no other haiku that conveys so strongly that timeless message: memento mori. It brings to mind Donne’s admonition: “never send to know for whom the bell tolls; it tolls for thee”. This bugler is not very far from the grave — and that is true for us all.
A considerable mental leap is required at this point, in order to adjust our minds to a diametrically opposed point of view. The five haiku below were written by Alan S. Bridges, Leroy Gorman, Matt Kelley, Michael Ketchek, and Laurie Greer.
a flag with clear
no country of the flag
aurora borealis stars
Flags fly … Olympics
there is no wind the same wind
in my mind in all the flags
war crimes
hanging
the flag
It could be said that Bridges’ poem borders on the sententious. But I think he gets away with it. The multi-hued Northern Lights indeed often do hang in folds, very much like a motionless flag. It can be seen as a manifestation of something infinitely more vast and more permanent than a mere nation-state. Thus am I won over. Gorman’s haiku meanwhile advocates detachment. I take his drift to be that the flag and all that it stands for only obscure our view of the infinite; what we need to do is redirect our attention. These two poems are followed conveniently by another pairing of sorts. While Kelley somewhat cryptically declares that he cannot detect in himself anything that relates to the world of flags, Ketchek seems to be saying that we are part of a larger unity that transcends all of our national loyalties and petty divisions.
Laurie Greer’s brief, almost staccato, haiku is provocatively ambiguous. Does her poem suggest that the atrocities of war derive from a murderous nationalism and xenophobia, which the emblem enables? In that case, should the flag be hanged for its crimes? Alternatively I can jump to the Nuremberg trials, speculating which flag — if any — was flown in those courtrooms. Or: we could be witnessing the criminals (not yet exposed, let alone charged) going about their usual duties in barracks, routines that naturally include the raising and lowering of flags. I admit these are extravagant stretches of the imagination, and impossible to substantiate. My final thought is that this haiku is not so much a message, as a kind of mirror.
Finally we reach what I consider to be the holy grail of politically or socially charged haiku: those poems that while elusive in their intent, tease readers toward questioning their prevailing assumptions and the values that they unconsciously hold. The poets in this case are Chad Lee Robinson, Charles Trumbull, and Judson Evans.
Fourth of July tangled in the neighbor’s
a rodeo clown Halloween cobwebs
carries the flag his American flag
after five months
seeing through
the overpass flag
I am unfamiliar with the choreography of rodeo events, but this vignette strikes me as entirely plausible and may well be routine for the Fourth of July. In any case Robinson achieves one of those Rorschach-type haiku: tell me what you see in this picture, and I’ll know what you believe. To some extent this is true for all three of these poems. Trumbull makes no attempt to slant his observation. Clearly the key word in his poem is “tangled”, with its suggestion that all is inextricably entwined and likely to stay that way. Who among us can separate the cobwebs of our preconceptions from the sense of personal identity?
Judson Evans does something very similar with his overpass flag. These emblems blossomed on interstate bridges all over the country in the aftermath of 9/11. This was a period when grief and anger became a dangerous cocktail, and it was a tough time to be an American Muslim — particularly in some of the New Jersey townships where a significant population lived and worked. Evans here uses a simple double entendre to great effect. Once again, what you get from this haiku depends entirely upon what you bring to it.
Finally in this group, we have monoku from the pens of Joan Prefontaine and Scott Metz: a very condensed statement from her, and an equally succinct question from him.
new flag stamps the higher cost of forever
autumn wind has the neighbor’s flag always been there
In each case it took me only a moment of experimentation to satisfy myself that both poets chose astutely in adopting the one-line format. Prefontaine has packed much into eight words, while leaving us free to interpret them as we will. At its simplest or surface level, I hear an ironical comment on inflation. Beyond that there seems to be a query about the high cost of — freedom, democracy, statehood, international security? Not quite any of those, per se. Yet for me there is some connection with the ongoing erosion of a consensus regarding the basis of a civil society. For non-American readers I should explain that “forever stamps” — the purchase price of which naturally rises over time — are good for use indefinitely. Its design is simply the U.S. flag, slightly compressed in the horizontal dimension. Coming to the second of these two monoku, the tone of Scott Metz’ poem is distinctly humorous. It suggests at least two possibilities: that the neighbours flag has always been there, though hitherto unnoticed by the poet, or that its appearance is recent. Which raises a fresh question: what might this signify?
It seems fitting to close this essay with a haiku that all but eludes analysis, having in my estimation deeper roots and broader implications than any cited above. The deceptively commonplace picture suggests several plausible directions, such that my mind hesitates over which to pursue. It is fitting also that it was written by the doyen of modern English-language haiku, Cor van den Heuvel.
darkening schoolroom
a partly furled flag
stands in a corner
[I wish to thank Charles Trumbull for identifying hundreds of haiku from which I extracted many of the examples discussed. This essay would otherwise not have been possible.]
