Tony Pupello
Essay #25 Jan/Feb 2025
Recently I had occasion to review a manuscript of haiku/senryū being prepared for publication. I was asked, if so moved, to write a blurb for the book jacket. After reading the manuscript I came away with feelings of centeredness and calm. Further, I realized I had an overall feeling of contentment. Not wanting to analyze too deeply on this first reading, I choose to sit with these very positive feelings and to just enjoy, if you will allow, the “moment” of a body of very fine work.
Although I can be — or at least try to be — very inquisitive and analytical at times; my first nature is to accept things as they are and simply enjoy the moments invoked. I find way too much analysis at times which, IMHO, produces the “Can’t see the forest for the trees” syndrome; more to the point, over-analysis often destroys the feelings one can and should experience when reading very good haiku/senryū. “Hold on” the reader may ask, “aren’t the essays in tsuri analytical?” Well, by and large my answer is ”no”. Overall, I believe they serve to foster understanding and exploration and are presented in such a fashion so as not to burden the reader unduly.
Of course, given the blurb task at hand, analysis was an imperative. I had to go back and try to understand the how and why of the feelings invoked. My multiple readings resulted in the following: “Most of all, whether dealing with moments of pure joy, profound sadness, or intractable loneliness — there is a delicacy to the pieces that belie their gravity …” There was a delicacy to the work — a lightness — that belied its gravity, its heft, its weight.
This combination of apparent or surface lightness infused with gravitas gives rise to many fine haiku/senryū. The poems below illustrate this. A caveat, the lightness I am referring to is an airiness of the piece, not necessarily the humor in a piece — although, as we shall see, this is not precluded.
I begin this essay with a poem by H. F. Noyes — acclaimed haiku poet, critic and expositor of Japanese and Buddhist aesthetics. For Zen Buddhists, sweeping/raking has long been an established pathway or tradition to approaching the sublime; to seeking the sublime in the mundane. I believe this poem is a brilliant exercise in the weight of lightness and gravitas and is emblematic of Noyes’ achievements.
raking leaves aside
on the backyard pond
I release the moon
On the surface a very simple poem. In the simple act of raking leaves off a pond surface, Noyes achieves a very deep result. Not only is the moon revealed but so too, we must believe, has the author achieved a greater depth of consciousness. Note he has not uncovered the moon, nor merely revealed the moon, he has “released” the moon — thereby releasing internal layers of consciousness. The depth of this poem is profound. Not only is a moment described and revealed, but revealed without any sense of ego or brow-beating.
The following two poems by William J. Higginson and Gary Hotham, respectively, though clearly imbued with the Zen quality of “suchness”; to the casual reader are light on the surface. While similar in a few additional respects, especially as regards the gravitas to be found in each poem, they speak to different ends.
one maple leaf … nowhere else
end over end on the sand but the next flower —
without a trace afternoon butterfly
Higginson’s piece speaks to the transience of life. We follow the rhythmic tumbling of a maple leaf as it courses over a sandy stretch; to my mind’s eye, almost like a kite in flight. When all is said and done, however, the leaf has not, does not, leave a trace. Aside from the author and the reader witnessing its tumbling traverse, it’s as though it never happened, ergo the leaf may never have existed. Much could be said for many of our lives.
In Hotham’s piece we follow the rhythmic fluttering of a butterfly. While Higginson speaks to the transience of life, Hotham speaks to the suchness of life in nature. Where is the butterfly to go? Where should the butterfly be going? These are human questions, however. For the butterfly there is no notion of choice, direction, whatever — the butterfly just is. For the butterfly, there is nowhere else but the next flower.
The following two pieces, by Melanie Hayes and Julie Schwerin, possess a light touch as regards two very significant religious practices. At first blush they would certainly cause a chuckle, and have for this reader, but I can’t help but wonder if, consciously or not, the authors were reaching for a deeper meaning.
peeking through Ash Wednesday service —
tiny holes — wearing the heels
first confession that pinch
To outward appearances Hayes offers a fairly light piece. My assumption is that she is describing a youngster at their first confession. Curious, perhaps a bit nervous, the youngster is trying to catch a peek at the other side, at who and what he or she is confessing to — conceivably even at glimpsing the mysteries of the beyond. Perhaps there is a bit of embarrassment on the youngster’s part. I am struck by the author’s use of “tiny holes”. For those who have never been in a confessional, there is a grating or screen that separates the penitent from the confessor. “Tiny holes” echoes the age of the penitent. On a deeper reading, the tiny holes may presage the breakthrough or deluge that is to come in the young person’s spiritual journey later on. So, where the gravity? Confessing to another human being, literally baring one’s soul, is not to be taken lightly — whether by an adult or a ten-year-old. Perhaps moreso on the part of the ten-year-old.
My first reaction to Schwerin’s piece was to laugh. My assumption was that the author “dressed up” for a significant service. Her high heels were new or rarely worn, hence the pinching. As I reflected on the piece, however, it occurred to me that perhaps — intentionally or unintentionally — the pinching heels were symbolic of the essence of Ash Wednesday. For many Christians Ash Wednesday is a solemn day of prayer and reflection and, most prominently, of atonement — the attempt to recognize one’s human failings and to try and repair them. I am not suggesting that in the 2020’s the author purposefully put on a pair of high heels that in effect served the purpose of self-flagellation, but there is no escaping this is the crux of the poem.
The following piece by Alvin B. Cruz speaks mostly for itself. Indeed, it is Alvin’s aforementioned manuscript which gave rise to these meanderings. It is a deceptively simple piece which is finely textured with meaning and evocative of deep feelings, at least to this reader.
summer mist
the many layers
of her kimono
On the surface it is apparent enough — a kimono has some three layers (historically, I believe, it may have had up to twelve layers). The poet is perhaps in love, or at least infatuated, with a woman of complex and layered character that at best excites and challenges him, at worst confounds him. Add to this the summer mist which although “light” in nature can serve to obscure. The wonderful assonance between the mist and the layers of kimono at play here only serves to enhance and strengthen the poem. Most of us have encountered an other, (female or male) which, through no fault of wanting, have left us with a bittersweet longing.
I’d like to turn to a couple of pieces a bit more familial in nature from Sandra Simpson and Paul Miller respectively.
autumn afternoon — Mother’s Day
the bride leans a bit of shell
into the wind in the chowder
In Simpson’s piece one has to ask — “why is the bride leaning into the wind?” Is it to keep her on balance, to avoid her being blown backwards? Is it to gather some sort of support given the momentous occasion upon her? Is it to gather resolve or strength in some way? It seems to me the bride is, in effect, leaning away from the groom. For me the weight of the poem lies in this simple question — why is the bride not leaning into the groom?
In Miller’s piece I envision a hearty clam chowder lovingly prepared by a mother for her son when he visits on Mother’s Day. But there is one small disquieting detail at play here which gives the piece its weight — that bit of shell. We all have experienced at one time or another that disconcerting moment in the course of enjoying a nice bowl of this or that favorite chowder/soup/chili when we bite down on a bone or stone or — perhaps — a shell that shouldn’t be there. Now, what is going on in Miller’s piece? Is the mom a poor cook? Is she inattentive to detail? Or is that disconcerting moment one the poet often finds — in different ways — when visiting his parents?
The next two pieces take us into the realm of political haiku. As I have said on not a few occasions, good political haiku, good social justice haiku, are the hardest to write as many attempts result in a heavy-handedness which harm the poem and retard its effectiveness. It is no mystery to me that a most effective political/social justice haiku should be one that on the surface is extremely light. These next two pieces, by Mykel Board and Susan Burch respectively, are exemplars of the genre.
Wilma Rudolph sorting hat
commemorative stamp another friend moved
in black and white to Slytherin
At first glance, Board’s piece is almost a sentence. It is almost a statement of a very mundane thing, the description of a commemorative stamp. Yet not. In its brevity, in its deftness, it speaks volumes. Wilma Rudolph, first American woman to win three track-and-field gold medals in a single Olympics. Wilma Rudolph, African-American. 1960, the year Rudolph won her three medals was, as those of us alive at the time can attest, a very different time in many ways. Board’s use of the phrase “in black and white” — simple, clear-cut, no room for ambiguity — in addition to the actual stamp being in black and white, is a master stroke. This is a poem that speaks volumes without getting in its own way; without beating anyone over the head. A political haiku that makes the most dramatic of statements without any drama whatsoever.
As a segue from Board to Burch, allow me to say that anyone familiar with Mykel Board’s work will know that it is often irreverent, senryū-ish, and downright fun at times. The above piece is not an aberration, but a testament to the fine poet that Mykel is. Through the pages of tsuri I have come to know a bit of Susan Burch’s work. I have commented on several occasions that I find her work to be in many respects in the vein of Mykel Board’s. I am very happy to be able to place these two poems side-by-side. It was my good fortune to have had “sorting hat” submitted for Issue #24 of tsuri, and my honor to have published it. If not apparent — let me be very clear — I consider “sorting hat” to be masterful as well.
Most, if not all, of us are familiar with J. K. Rowling’s “Harry Potter” series. Love it or not, it has undeniably shaped the literary and cinematic landscape for over twenty-five years. It has also, to its credit, been responsible for a movie series in which more talented, highly acclaimed actors, (mostly Brits), were able to “share the stage” at the same time as it were.
First, we need to know the ”sorting hat” chooses which of the four houses Hogwarts’ students are placed into. In her very playful — on the surface (there’s that term again!) — poem, Burch relates that another friend “moved to Slytherin”. Second, we need to know that of the four Hogwarts’ houses, Slytherin — the house of the snake — has the most disreputable reputation. Most of the supporters — including the major supporters, of “he-who-must-not-be-named” — came from Slytherin. This being said, what is all the fuss about? Is this not a playful take on a piece of pop lit? I think not — not at all. Polarization in the United States [certainly not alone among countries] has increased dramatically over the past twenty years; over the last eight years having risen to epic levels. Polarization has been evidenced not only at the national level and in the federal congress, but at state and local levels; as well as within geographical and religious communities. Perhaps most disturbing to many has been the polarization within families and between those once considered friends. Without “spelling it out” or “taking sides” I believe Burch has captured the disharmony and hurt experienced by many.
I will conclude this essay with a piece by Dee Evetts. In my reading, Evetts takes us from lightness, in a humorous manner, to gravitas, and back to humor again.
20,000 feet
traces of masking tape
on the jet engine
“20,000 feet” — about as light and airy as one could get. Yet in these few short phrases Evetts crafts a situation — a what-is, not what-might be — that could portend of possible catastrophe. Masking tape on a jet engine! What the heck? A grave situation indeed. Still, I can only imagine Dee’s first reaction, unlike many if not most of us, would be to “throw on” his “jaunty cap” and have a good chuckle at the circumstance.
