Haiku and Tanka

I have been fascinated by the Japanese-originating short poetic forms of haiku and tanka, and related genres such as senryu, haibun, renga, etc. for more than ten years. During that time, I have had many poems published in various British and North American haiku magazines and anthologies.

For almost all that time, I have subscribed to a 'definition' of haiku that seems to be widely held in the English-speaking West, and which in Britain was codified in the British Haiku Society pamphlet, Towards a Consensus on the Nature of Haiku. Although this was later replaced by On the Nature of English Haiku (which, in fact, does not significantly change the 'definition'), ...Consensus... continued to be issued as part of the guidance for intending participants in the annual BHS James W Hackett International Haiku Award.

However, in his excellent book, Traces of Dreams: Landscape, Cultural Memory, and the Poetry of Basho (Stanford University Press, 1998), Professor Haruo Shirane clearly shows that this 'definition', while satisfactory in itself, represents only one of many haiku strands. In particular, it owes much to the campaigning of Masaoka Shiki (1867-1902), the last of the 'great four' Japanese haiku poets, and his stress upon the sketch (shasei) from direct observation. Shirane points out that Shiki was deeply influenced by Western notions of literature and poetry which, along with many other Westernizing influences, were flooding into Japan during the later 19th Century. In essence, Shiki merged many Western notions with haiku and gave the result back to the West as though it were the only genuine form. And his pronouncements were taken up and given further impetus by the early Western pioneers of English-language haiku, such as R H Blyth and Harold G Henderson.

Professor Shirane later summarised much of his argument in an article, Beyond the Haiku Moment: Basho, Buson and Modern Haiku Myths, in the North American journal, Modern Haiku, Vol XXXI No. 1 (Winter-Spring 2000).

As I have quite recently begun to take much more notice of haiku written by Japanese, both past and present (albeit in translation or written in English), so I have come to appreciate the thrust and worth of Shirane's criticism. To take just a couple of more obvious examples, metaphor and imagination, both of which are more than a little frowned upon in ...Consensus..., will be found to abound both in classical and modern Japanese haiku. And, as my good friend and fellow haiku poet Keith J Coleman recently observed, more than 90% of the world's haiku poets are Japanese and have lived in Japan all their lives, fully absorbed in a culture which has several hundred years of haiku practise (and more than a thousand years of related poetics) behind it. Anything and everything in haiku that is good enough for them.....

So, my views upon what constitutes acceptable haiku are becoming ever wider and more tolerant. I mention all this because I have also set-up on this site a copy of my first collection, Just These Few Stones, which I published in 1998 and which includes an Introduction biased, as I then was, to the 'definition' contained in ...Consensus... I have not revised any of the text of my introductory notes or any of the poems (which include senryu and tanka as well as haiku), but do not wish any reader to accept my haiku notes in the Collection as pointing to the only, or only legitimate strand.

Just These Few Stones was published as a pocket-size (10.4 x 10.0 cm) book, with the poems, mostly two per page, printed on a lightly textured 'parchment' paper. The card covers were heavily textured and the whole was hand-cut, collated and ribbon-bound. The printed copies are now completely sold out, but those who missed it can see all the notes, poems and illustrations by clicking here, now.

Please note that, to see the layout as originally intended, you should have the TrueType fonts 'Arial' and 'Arial Rounded MT Bold' loaded (these are amongst the fonts that come as standard with Windows 95, 98 and NT). The publisher's name title is set in the somewhat rarer 'Dragonwick'. If you do not have these fonts, your browser should load close alternatives.

Your comments upon my book and any observations you wish to make concerning these poetic forms will be very welcome, please contact me at: esx at goring1941 dot freeserve dot co dot uk ('tweak' the foregoing to turn it into a real e-mail address).

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Now, here are a few of my more recent scribblings.

Spring Rain showering the flower border with slug pellets home at last the answer-machine light not flashing looking out for Christmas magic a homebound drunk just for one moment the swirling starling flock is heart-shaped Valentine's Day — the children all giggling as I open the card half-built fence abandoned these many years my bright dreams colours fading in autumn's waning warmth her love died too old leaves blown away by a wind of change the one time at the self-service café I pick up sugars is the one time you have brought your sweeteners further away the guard-dog's barking just as close hottest day - a single, s l o w beerdrop down the glass dry summer once again in my old house the cellar door jams as the light fades my memory of you becomes ever clearer the old dog tugs steadily on eager for the next scent moon viewing - a drunk and his lady quarrel old lady dead-heading petunias past their best firework flicker in the gathering gloom - screen saver glider airfield - a motionless windsock drips fog vintage jet taking me back forty summers mooncloud drifting the grey cat dissolves into darkness turning to rust at the end of the garden - autumn rowan steady rain - the constant squish of passing cars late autumn in the old orchard and I find again the shades I lost last year before losing you too computer crash - the smell of bread baking and kitchen clatter midwinter night the dark even darker beyond the blue neon office lunch break - a dozen different screensavers sweltering summer - by moonlight I consider all her curves stripping walls in the old home - suddenly again my birthdays and heights in my late father's hand her face in the crowd fleeting haunts me all day and into the night brown spots on the old photo and my hands too this year's young swallows have already flown south Pax et Bonum - Peace and Joy

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Last updated: 16 Jul 2005