Tony Pupello
Essay #7 Jan/Feb 2022
I believe the most insidious and least examined of all the adverse effects upon the human condition are the effects that a state of poverty can have. Not, mind, a state of self-imposed abstinence or self-denial, or a kind of “hitting the road, come what may” attitude. This is based on conscious choice – I choose not to have material possessions, or I choose to live very modestly and without very many.
Abject poverty, in my view is, precisely, a lack of choice. In a state of abject poverty there is no choice; there are no options. Without options, one finds oneself (or a family finds itself), trapped, a victim to whatever winds are blowing.
This essay is an attempt to begin to look at abject poverty in haiku.
At the outset, in preparing for this essay, let me say I have done a great deal of research and I owe a debt of gratitude to Jim Kacian for sharing his Red Moon Anthology resources of over 20 years; and to Dee Evetts as someone who has been collecting work on issues of social justice for just as long. I am pointing this out for two reasons; first, of course, is to acknowledge the debt; second, however, is to point out as this is no small collection of resources – in addition to my own collection of journal issues and chapbooks dating almost 40 years – I was struck by the dearth of haiku dealing with poverty. There are many, many pieces dealing with war, the environment, politics, etc., all issues of social justice – yet there have been strikingly few pieces dealing with the issue of poverty directly.
We have heard social scientists speak of “middle-class values”. Lately, there has been a lot of talk regarding “entitlement” – especially as regards racial politics. I contend that “entitlement” is a real phenomenon not predicated upon race, per se – but upon class. This is not to dismiss by any means the notion of entitlement based on race – this is all too real. But it is to highlight that poor people, really poor people, poor folk of any race, creed or color – have a different mind-set and a value system that is simply not middle-class. A person with middle-class values has the expectation that there is some kind of something due them. They don’t have to “ask permission”. A poor person, one without middle-class values, is constantly questioning whether anything is due them – even that which they have earned. They must “ask permission” as it were because nothing is ever due them.
Quite some time ago, as a student of political philosophy, I came upon a radical, female, black feminist political theorist who wrote under the name “bell hooks”. Well, I won’t even try to approach what I know/do not know about being female or a feminist; nor will I even try to approach what I know/do not know about being black – so, I can say that bell hooks did not speak directly to me in her female, feminist nor black voice. However, in quite a number of her books and essays – of which there is a substantial body of work – she spoke very clearly and undeniably to me in a voice I immediately recognized. She spoke to me as someone who had known true poverty; she spoke to me in that inescapable “poor voice” I knew all too well. She spoke to me in her birth voice, with her birth name – “Gloria Jean Watkins” – and as Gloria Jean Watkins her communication was plain, direct and very, very real and intelligible to me. So, too, the piece below by one of the most famous American authors of the 20th Century speaks to me.
I am paying rent
For the lice in my cold room
And the moonlight too.
As many who wrote English-language haiku in the “very early days”, Richard Wright followed the conventions of syllable count, capitalization and a final period. This piece, from someone who knew first-hand the sting of poverty, exhibits a great deal of detachment and restraint. Of course, it also shares the irony many poor people contend with – actually a double-irony, as it were. The flat is cold and lice-infested. One has to be constantly on guard against lice – once infected they bite incessantly and can be maddening in no small measure. Here in a “poor voice” Wright speaks to the bitter irony of having to pay not only for the cold but for the lice as well. Bitter as it may be, perhaps he realizes he at least has the money to pay for a roof over his head. In a more poetic turn, there is the Zen-like irony of the beautiful moonlight being shared in the room as well.
The next two poems speak to the direst of poverty situations – literally losing a roof over one’s head – that of eviction itself. The first is by Charles B. Dickson, the second by Stephen C. Curro.
evicted hooker: eviction notice
her mattress my daughter asks
at the curb about dinner
Perhaps one of the most horrible effects of poverty is an actual eviction – second only to the fear and anxiety that an eviction notice might produce. In many cases an eviction notice – usually heralded by the big, bold, title “Notice of Eviction” – includes language that a tenant is “dispossessed” by a landlord – literally a landlord removes “possession” of a dwelling from that tenant. Imagine the fear of being dispossessed – literally to be deprived of a living space that never truly was yours to begin with.
Dickson’s piece hinges on the hooker’s mattress. Indeed, if one were cold-hearted, one might even get a chuckle at this piece. Clearly, there is a great deal of complexity in focusing on the mattress. While I choose to believe it was not Dickson’s intent to provoke any sort of humor at all, I do wonder if, looking from the outside, does he feel/know the hooker’s sense of fear and abandonment and, yes, perhaps even shame? Whether intended or not, Dickson’s piece works on yet another, much deeper level – not only is the hooker dispossessed of her dwelling but, in the embodiment of the mattress, she is also dispossessed of the means of her livelihood. This raises another set of issues, the lengths to which folks might go to avoid poverty – in this case the notion of selling oneself outright – but that might be a topic for another time.
Curro’s piece seems to me to be coming much more from the “inside” as it were. Here is a parent, clearly in dire straits, forced into having to contemplate his family’s being moved “out on the street” as it were. In addition to worrying about clothing, bedding, furniture and all other familial and meager possessions being out on display – right there on the sidewalk for all neighbors and passersby to see – to be witnesses to the family’s shame and humiliation – he is also confronting a more immediate threat as well – “my daughter asks/about dinner.” We can only hope this is an everyday distraction that points to the daughter’s innocence, her naivete, her lack of knowledge of impending doom. We can only hope the father is juxtaposing the horror of an eviction notice with the commonplace query of a child “what’s for dinner” or “when is dinner”. However, in a more ominous vein, I think this may not be the case. It seems to me the father is confronting the immediate horror of hunger as well. Going, ofttimes for days, without food – not out of choice because one is fasting or trying to lose weight quickly – but because one is, again, without choices. Feeling the emptiness in the pit of your stomach that goes on and on without ending because there is, simply, no food to eat and no money to purchase any food with. How does a parent explain this to a child? And how does that child understand it? And how does eviction and hunger shape that child’s perspective later on?
In the next two pieces, by Sanjukta Asopa and Curtis Dunlap respectively, dwelling and hunger are again under consideration.
shanty town — recession —
the jagged edges poke salad growing
of moonlight in a sidewalk crack
In our haiku/senryū universe we often invoke moonlight in a setting of harmony. In Asopa’s piece, however, the jagged moonlight is a reflection of the uneasiness of living in a state of squalor – both literally and figuratively. One can actually picture moonlight reflecting off of uneven pieces of roofing – various metals, plastics, found materials – that are arranged in various lengths, sizes and angles.
Although it may have medicinal purposes, how many of us would actually eat a “weed” or something that is grown literally in sidewalk cracks? In Dunlap’s piece, the pokeweed, which would literally be growing out of sidewalk cracks, is already transformed into poke salad. For many poor folk, recession or not, a poke salad may help fill their bellies, may help in their sustainability. This reminds me of the harvesters of the ginko nuts that fall onto city sidewalks right here in New York City. At least in their outward appearance, these folks look as though they could use a meal supplement and would not be found shopping at Whole Foods nor the like.
I would like to close with an offering from Pravat Kumar Padhy.
long walk —
the slum boys stare at
the distant stars
We can choose to look at this piece as one in which a lack of options is what is and will never change. The slum dwellers, boys really just starting out in life, face a “long walk” – a hard road if you will. They have probably already experienced the harsh reality of what their lives will be. And the stars, beautiful as they may be, are distant and totally out of reach. Perhaps this is the reality.
I choose to look at it in another light – in spite of the lack of choice and options found in a state of abject poverty, there is one thing that poor folk cling to – unless they succumb to utter despair – hope. Yes, the road may be long and hard and, yes, the stars are distant. But there is undeniable beauty in the stars and since time immemorial the stars have been symbolic of something greater and with more possibilities than ourselves. I find hope in this piece.
“When you Wish Upon a Star” was a very favorite of a woman who lived most of her life in poverty yet never succumbed to despair. But that is for another time.
[Editor’s Note: As this issue was “going to press”, on Sunday morning, Dec. 19th, 2021, we learned of bell hooks’ passing on Dec. 15th, 2021, aged 69. Rest in peace, Ms. Watkins.]
