Just These Few Stones
Haiku, Senryu and Tanka
by
Richard Goring
with three poems by
Michelle Brewer
The Cat's Yawn Press
© Text Copyright Richard Goring 1997
Illustrations from various Public Domain sources
ISBN 1 902129 00 8
Designed, Typeset, Printed and Bound by
The Cat's Yawn Press
-o-
Richard Goring was born in
1941 in Surrey, England and spent his early years in north London
before moving to Southend-on-Sea, at the mouth of the River
Thames in Essex, in 1951. He has had a variety of jobs, including
spells in various retail trades, many years in the aviation
industry, and in management services in photochemicals and the
Access credit card HQ. More recently, he was a systems analyst
with H M Customs & Excise, took early retirement and now
works part-time when and where he can in order to supplement a
meagre pension!
Richard married Jo in 1960 and
they have three children and seven grandchildren. They live in a
120-year old terrace cottage near the centre of Southend. He was
a mature student at the Polytechnic of North London and graduated
from there in 1982 with a BA Hons in Applied Social Studies.
Hobbies and interests have included aviation history and
photography, with many articles and pictures published in the
past, family history and writing. Richard was attracted to the
haiku form around 1990 and was an early member of the British
Haiku Society and has edited its journal, Blithe Spirit. He is a
practising Christian with an interest in the spirituality of
other faiths.
-o-
Some of these poems have
previously been published (though the version included here may
be a revision) in various magazines and anthologies at home and
abroad and I thank the editors concerned for their encouragement
of and faith in my work. The magazines are: Bare Bones and
Blithe Spirit (both in Britain) and Modern Haiku, Sea-oats
and Woodnotes (all in USA). The anthologies are: Haiku
Poets of Northern California 1992 and Wind Five-Folded (AHA
Books, Gualala, California, 1993).
-o-
British readers wishing to develop
their interest in haiku, senryu, renga and tanka should consider
membership of the British Haiku Society. A generous-size stamped
and addressed envelope to: The Membership Secretary, Longholm,
East Bank, Wingland, Sutton Bridge, Spalding, Lincolnshire PE12 9YS,
England (this is the Year 2000 address) will bring up-to-date
information.
-o-
Haiku
Haiku is a poetic
form originating in Japan. It grew out of haikai no renga, a
tradition in which a group of poets met together to compose a
long poem, each poet in turn writing a verse linked to its
predecessor. The Japanese are (or were) a nation in which
formality, order and precision are part of the cultural aesthetic.
The collaborative nature of renga composition called-for some 'rules
of play' and these two factors, along with the structural
characteristics of the language, led to an accepted set of verse-by-verse
form and content definitions, including those applicable to the
hokku (the first and 'launching' verse) of the poem.
Renga rose to prominence around
350 years ago primarily as a pastime amongst the emerging middle
classes. The importance of the opening verse, hokku, to a
successful renga became such that certain poets were recognised
as masters of the art. A few of these masters even made their
living composing hokku, participating in renga sessions and
teaching their art to disciples. One of them, Bashõ (1644-1694),
evolved a style of renga which came to dominate for more than 200
years.
Over time, hokku were increasingly
written and published as individual poems, with no intent or
expectation that they would become part of a renga. Many were
embedded within prose, particularly the travel journals of
wandering poets and priests. Indeed, Bashõ wrote what is the
best-known of all such journals, or haibun, one of the most
celebrated works of Japanese literature, Oku no Hosomichi (loosely,
Narrow Roads to the Interior), published in 1694 and containing
more than 50 hokku, only a handful of which were ever actually
used to start a renga.
By the late 19th century the
independant hokku was firmly established and had come to be
called haiku. It retained the form and many of the 'rules' of
composition of its progenator. During the present century,
Western poets were introduced to the genre through published
translations of Bashõ and others. Many were attracted and began
writing haiku in English and other European languages. Today,
haiku is enormously popular (though often misunderstood and
misrepresented) worldwide, with some of the better-known annual
Awards attracting thousands of entries.
In adapting the form for English-language
poets, some of the 'rules' have inevitably been modified or even
virtually abandoned. However, for myself (and for many others) a
poem which does not retain at least some of the established
characteristics of the genre is probably not a haiku at all,
however much it may resemble one at first quick reading.
One of the most obviously modified
or abandoned rules concerns the syllable count. The traditional
Japanese haiku consists of 17 'syllables' arranged to follow
natural speech rhythms and so has three phrases of 5, 7 and then
5 'syllables'. Many English speakers thus interpret haiku as a
poem written in three lines of 5, 7 and 5 syllables. However, a
Japanese 'syllable', or onji, is much closer in meaning to the
English word phoneme (the smallest recognisable unit of speech
sound) than to the English syllable. Manyõshü, the title of an
ancient poetry anthology, has three syllables to a native English
speaker, but is six onji in Japanese. Onji are mostly of a
standard duration much briefer than most English syllables.
The two languages differ markedly
in other significant ways (for example, Japanese has no articles
or written punctuation, plurals are seldom stated, there are
vocal particles, syntax is much 'looser' than in English). Very
many English-language poets, accepting the spirit of haiku as
vastly more important than structural form, and anxious to retain
the 'immediacy' of the one-breath spoken duration, have adopted a
free-form approach yielding 10-14 syllables. Many, myself
included, tend to write haiku in three lines of 2-3-2 beats.
There are exceptions to all 'rules' of course and while this
collection has no one- or two-line haiku, it does have one of
four lines, several with an ultra-short middle line and a few of
5-7-5 English syllables. There are also a number of examples
where the middle line is a 'pivot' or 'hinge' which can be read
with the first line alone and with the third line alone, to
extend the meaning(s) of the poem.
Japanese haiku invariably contain
a 'season word' or seasonal theme. Over the centuries, even
before renga, a vast number of words acquired a specific seasonal
meaning - it is possible to buy books which list and explain them.
Western poets have largely yet to accept and establish such a
tradition (though attempts are in hand), but many English-language
haiku do contain an acknowledged seasonal reference and I have
grouped some of the poems here by season, though there is a
relatively large 'All Year' (or 'seasonless') category. Other
rules of the Japanese original have been adopted more or less
unmodified. Thus, the poet does not tell the reader what or how
to think, but simply relates what is. So, generalisations are
avoided and the poet usually concentrates on the specific and the
small scale.
Simile and metaphor are mild if
not avoided altogether and adjectives restricted to those
necessary to clearly re-create the experience in the reader's
mind. The process is usually aided by writing in the present
tense, as if the moment is happening now - haiku only look back
or forwards by implication.
The subject matter of haiku is the
real world - nature, including human nature - recorded in an
objective manner. Haiku are imagistic; abstractions have no place
in them. The poet does not blatantly humanise (anthropomorphise)
nature, though he or she may suggest, for example, that a bird or
the wind 'sings'. Plain and simple words are generally employed,
English-language poetic 'devices' are not. The poem may present
two, or even three, images, often separated by some form of
caesura, and leave the reader to identify and 'resolve' the
implied comparison. The caesura may alternatively be used to
introduce a surprise ending, an ambiguity or a 'jump' to
something beyond the plain words.
For me, haiku is a poetic form
which endeavours to capture my emotional response to an event or
object in the real world, such that anyone reading the poem may
mentally re-create the scenario, experience the 'haiku moment'
and make their own response to it - hopefully essentially the
same as or similar to or 'in tune' with mine.
I hope that you will find yourself
sharing or echoing at least some of my 'haiku moment' emotions.
Good haiku enrich lives and I dare to hope that some of these
will be considered 'good'. You are welcome to write and tell me
what you think !
Richard Goring October 1997
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Spring
amidst blossom
last year's almonds
unpicked
spring sleet
scattered across the grass
white blossom
Spring morning sun
on the still-parked cars
lingering frost
Spring sun
across the graveyard
dead flowers
spring dawn --
through the party wall
a baby's cry
Mothering Sunday --
children carrying carnations
at the crematorium
pruning saw
on the young pine --
resin smell
Spring morning --
amongst the fresh greens
a copper beech
Spring morning --
above the saltmarsh sounds
Brent Geese honk
the young birch
whiter with each year
my mother's hair
heavy rain
beating down
nodding daffodils
daffodils
swaying and dipping
a bunch of winos
Spring night rain --
a snail's crunching
underfoot
after night rain
lingering at the dustbin
smell of pine
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Summer
turning mud
the bait-diggers eye
the turning tide
the cocklers
landing their catch
walk the plank
white-clad figures
upon the cricket field
crows strut
between each snore
from the garden lounger
the buzz of bees
eye blink --
the butterfly's wings
close and open
amid this horde
of painted ladies
a peacock's eye
sipping tea
a sparrow splashes
in the dog's dish
across the cracks
in the dried mud path
shoe prints
still summer day
only the river
in motion
summer heat
trees and a fisherman
motionless
hot and humid
in the old walled garden
just one magnolia bloom
hot summer day --
long after the dustcart
the stench
early evening
above the shadow-filled street
a sun-bright sky
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Autumn
rushing river
a sycamore seed
spinning down
the sunset sky
sea-grey and rust-streaked
old boat hulls
autumn morning --
handpicking
leaves from the lawn
autumn wind
steadily filling
the fresh-dug grave
autumn leaves
blowing in the wind --
red rooftops
a shaft of sunlight
caught
in this spider web
autumn evening
a long, l o n g shadow
from the low hill
a clear night
yet constant showers
-- the Perseids !
out of the mist
moving over the mud-flats
bait-diggers
evening mist
the end of the pier
growing fainter
storm clouds
gathering overhead
starlings swarm
Hallowe'en --
a witch and her broomstick
ride the night bus
just at the tip
of each holly branch
a paler green
Remembrance Sunday
only the faint rumble
of a distant train
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Winter
first frost --
searching for a scarf
deep in the wardrobe
derelict cocklesheds
all along the shoreline
empty shells
night rain --
cars of all colours
darken with distance
here and there
on the skeletal birch
last leaves
winter sun --
the resort beach
untrodden
midwinter morning --
the foreshore angler's sandwich
his only bite !
the Lourdes chapel
temporarily transfigured
to Bethlehem stable
Christmas Eve --
the department store sign
'New Year Sale'
New Year's Day --
lying shrivelled on the lawn
a blue balloon
New Year's Day --
at the kerbside
last year's trash
resort beach
the seaweed line
snow-dusted
frosted field
crows strutting in and out
of the long shadows
winter morning --
café radio playing
'Summertime'
snow clouds
slate grey and silver
estuary waters
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All Year
tiny, ancient church
standing on the Saxon shore
pilgrims' feet
St Peter's Chapel, Bradwell-juxta-Mare, Essex.
Built 654 AD by St Cedd. Still used for Sunday evening services
in July/August and focus of an annual Celtic Christian pilgrimage.
incoming tide
the very last patch
of dry sand
spring tide
the beach kiddie-pool
a full fathom down
head cocked and growling
the dog watches a woodlouse
crawl across the carpet
through a gap
in the new brick wall
an old oak
morning rain --
slipping on the shoes
that don't leak
Mary's statue
high on the church wall
a pigeon perching
suddenly springing
amongst the dark deer
one white hart
votive candles --
so much movement
in the empty church
age-old game
from the bridge
new twigs
dog long-dead
his leash still hanging
by the door
ivy
slowly climbing
the cliff steps
an old man
Japanese garden --
a miniature Mount Fuji
but no snow-cap
sea-front stroll
tiderush and traffic
coming and going
car alarm
faintly on the wind
gull's cry
grim railway arches
bright
with graffitti
hour upon hour
dancing and singing
the kite line
lobster smack
across the mudflat
fishermen's footprints
excited dog
bouncing a little higher
with each bark
hanging high
from the old oak
a dead branch
grey clouds
drifting across the moon
cigarette smoke
l i n g e r i n g
in the subway rush
her perfume
at the roadside
a lost glove signals
'thumbs up'
whispered words
filling the waiting room
traffic roar
roadworks hole
the funeral procession
passing by
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Senryu
Senryu
Senryu are satirical verses essentially similar in form to haiku (traditionally 5-7-5 in Japanese), but
are concerned with the more absurd aspects of human behaviour. They are often irreverant, sometimes even vulgar.
Senryu observe few of the 'rules' of content applicable to haiku and are often thought not to contain
or require a season word or theme. In fact, very many do have a seasonal reference. This and other aspects of content
sometimes make it difficult to categorise a poem as a haiku or a senryu. Few Western poets actually seem
to worry about distinctions and this attitude is echoed by many editors.
The following is a very small group of poems which I consider to be wholly senryu. Judge for yourselves.
'House Clearances'
in the junk-shop window
a doll's home
burly bait-digger
washing mud from his boots
in the kiddie-pool
newsreader
after tragic tales
grins goodbye
on the wall
of the fish 'n' chip shop
Aubrey Beardsley prints
park pageant
an armoured knight
wielding a ball-point
first raindrops --
the neighbour goes on filling
his watering can
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Tanka
Tanka
At first look, a tanka poem seems to be a haiku with a couple of extra 'long' lines tacked-on.
Indeed, its form is based upon the same natural speech rhythm, running in phrases of 5, 7, 5, 7 and 7 onji,
to give a total of 31 'syllables' (see my separate Introduction to Haiku for some explanation of the
difference between onji and English syllables). However, tanka is a quite different type of poetry
to haiku. It is a lyric verse, often with personal and subjective elements and meaning deriving from the
interplay of a natural component and a human emotional one. Its origins are lost in time, but the first great
anthology of Japanese verse, Manyõshü, compiled in the 8th century, contains more than 4,000 examples.
In succeeding centuries, the genre came to dominate and to become the poetry of the court, as literary and other
cultural activities became centred upon the Emperor and the high aristocracy. Throughout this long period the
form was known as waka.
Early published waka embraced a wide variety of subject matter, and metaphor abounded. Court poetry
narrowed down the subject range, since the poets came from a relatively narrow cultural and social strata, but
they cultivated an art of omission, conveying more than actually stated. Over time, they developed the form to
its limits, employing classical allusion, wordplay and symbolism. An important application of the genre throughout
these centuries was to convey thoughts of love. Poems expressing desire and gratitude for favours were routinely
written and exchanged by lovers.
Twenty-one imperial anthologies, compiled over six centuries, gathered together more than 30,000 waka.
In addition, the work of many other poets has also survived, a testimony to the popularity of waka and an
indication of the vast numbers which must actually have been written. The poet-priest Saigyõ (1118-1190) is still
highly regarded even today, while Lady Murasaki's Genji monogatari (The Tale of Genji), with more than 700
waka, is a literary classic.
However, waka went into decline from the 15th century, largely due to the restrictive nature of the court
poetry 'rules', which by then had been completely explored. At the end of the 19th century, various poets began to
revive and revitalise the form, and renamed it tanka. Modern Japanese tanka may again be concerned
with any subject, tackled from any angle and use any words, even foreign imports. English-language tanka
poets have taken these freedoms for granted, but tanka has been much slower than haiku in reaching and
appealing to the West. Perhaps this is because there were already well-established home-grown lyrical short forms,
such as the sonnet. But tanka is now gaining ground and seems set to follow a similar 'adaptation'
development path to that of haiku. Already, after very many early efforts employing 5-7-5-7-7 English
syllables, poems with a looser structure and totalling around 18-24 syllables are becoming more commonplace.
But although the subject range is wide and ever-expanding, love and desire (and the pain of parting) remain popular
themes of tanka in English. My poems reflect this emphasis, but not exclusively, as I hope this selection
will confirm.
the aged cat
whose name I do not know
always greets me
I call you by name
only to see your back
hand in hand
strolling city streets
suddenly
the shock of my bare arm
brushing her breast
on an impulse
I bought you a pen
with your name on
did you use it to write
this 'Dear John' letter?
so much trash
in the second-hand market
yet nothing free
except for the sparrows
flitting from stall to stall
dandelion seed
drifting on the breeze
now in my hand
tomorrow will I hold
a letter from you?
once more this Spring
the long journey home
through greening fields
another funeral
for the family tree
walking this busy street
my hand brushes against yours
and I catch your eye
without a word between us
whole volumes are spoken
every day
walking to work
the same cats wait
do they really like me --
or the treats in my pocket?
on this cold day
all the bare branches
reflecting
in the slowly running brook
shiver ceaselessly
going from her house
the fog enshrouded trees drip
drip upon my head
ice-chill of December dawn
matching my own desolation
after making love
you lie quietly sleeping
while my mind relives
all those ecstatic moments
my hand caressing your thigh
stretching in our bed
now empty of your body
I find evidence
of the most intimate kind
that says you are still here
through the shower screen
I glimpse your pale nakedness
blurred by frosted glass
a memory to treasure
as I reach for your towel
pretending to sleep
I watch through near-closed lashes
as you quickly dress
anxious to escape my house
before the betraying dawn
the indentation
of your head in my pillow
and your body smell
both linger to remind me
long after your departing
after you had gone
I drifted the silent house
then on the doormat
found your 'Thank You' card
and could not hold back my tears
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Cats
Cats
There are those who might say that cats do not need poetry written about them - cats are poetry.
But poets all down the ages have found inspiration watching cats in action (or inaction) and haiku poets are no
exception, hence this separate section of cat haiku. Many of these have come from watching my own beloved Thomas,
who is now buried in the garden where he spent so much of his later life and who also provided the title poem for
this collection.
The domestic cat population of Britain is now thought to outnumber dogs. Many cats enjoy great comfort,
security and much love, but large numbers are neglected and ill-treated. The Cat's Protection League celebrates
its 70th anniversary in 1997 and is busier than ever. Branches and their dedicated members cover Britain, applying
the CPL's motto, "we help if we can", rescuing, caring-for and re-homing cats and kittens (over 67,000 in 1996).
If you care about cats, do consider joining your local branch and the League itself. Information from: The Cat's
Protection League, 17 King's Road, Horsham, West Sussex RH13 5PN.
crocus time --
a new flea collar
for the cat
March wind --
the cat teeters
on the trellis
the cat, concentrated
prepares to pounce
on a plastic plaything
fed and fussed
the cat slips off to sleep
-- I walk to work
thunder rumble
somewhere in the night
deep purring
following a bee
s l o w l y into the foxglove
the cat's nose
autumn morning --
the cat round my ankles
feeling colder
old cat
carefully considering
the fence height
winter wind
coming through the cat-flap
smell of damp fur
Christmas tree --
the cat's tail causing
a fallen angel
the old cat
fastidiously washing
in the bathroom
bitter wind
but the cat still sunning
on the tin roof
just these few stones
mark where the old cat lay
and now lies
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poems by
Michelle Brewer
Michelle Lyn 'Mimi' Brewer
(1966 - 1993)
Michelle was the youngest of our three children, born on the last day of June. As she grew up, an artistic
talent emerged and some of her drawings and other creations are in the spare room which my wife Jo uses as her
study. She was also a great letter writer and built up a group of pen-friends with whom she conducted a regular
correspondence. She met Stuart in her teens and they married in 1986 and set up home not far from us. Over the
next five years Stuart and Michelle had three children, and it was some six months after the last of these was
born that we were all devastated to learn that Mimi had cervical cancer. A prompt hysterectomy was abandoned
when it was seen that the cancer had already spread and she was put on intensive radiotherapy and chemotherapy
treatments. These seemed beneficial inasmuch as Michelle 'enjoyed' the following spring and summer without too
much pain and discomfort, but towards the end of 1992 she began to experience severe pain. Our worst fears were
confirmed soon after that Christmas, and she was given just three months. In fact, she died less than a week
later, on 14 January 1993, in Fair Havens, our local Christian Hospice.
Jo and I and all our children have become practicing Christians over a period of years and, for much of her
illness, Mimi's faith sustained her. It was during a bible study evening at the house church we then attended,
Rock Dene Christian Fellowship at Rochford, Essex, that the first of the three poems following was written. It
came to her complete and was immediately jotted down, exactly as here, and she was certain was 'given' to her.
It was subsequently published in the Christian-inspired poetry magazine Dial 174, where she was distressed to
discover a line had been missed out in the typesetting. Editor Joseph Hemmings was equally upset. Sadly, Mimi
died before she could see the corrected version published in the following issue.
Michelle had been attending Day Care sessions at Fair Havens, felt 'secure' there and found some measure of
peace when she was able to enter the hospice in the closing hours of her life. Jo and I also remain eternally
grateful for the love and care provided by Fair Havens and I was sure that Mimi would be very happy if her poem
of encouragement could be shared with others and employed in fund raising for the hospice. Many copies have been
printed on a variety of attractive A4 poster background pictures and sold by friends from another church who devote
much of their time to this fund raising work. A framed copy of one of these poem posters also hangs in the reception
hall of the hospice.
After Mimi's death, we discovered a small notebook containing a handful of other poems, all written during her
illness. Most, especially at the beginning, are optimistic, trusting. But perhaps it is hardly surprising that,
near the end, notes of doubt and despair are to be seen. I am sure Mimi was in the same place that I frequently
find myself, like the man in the gospel story who says to Jesus, "I do believe; help me overcome my unbelief"
(Mark 9:24). The second and third poems here are the first and last from the notebook. The third is the most
extreme of the despairing verses. It is undated, but certainly written during her final few weeks of life. If our
hope in God is justified, she will now have answers to these questions.
You touched my life,
I can't look back.
You promised me
that I'd not lack
the things in life
I need each day,
If I could trust
and go your way.
Your hand held out,
I reached to touch,
your love now fills
my life so much.
You touched my life,
I won't look back,
there's nothing in
my life I lack.
Lord, you hear me when I'm calling,
Your love and care keep me from falling.
Though I may stumble, slip and slide,
I know you're ever at my side.
You lift me up and guide me through,
The darkness holds no fear with you,
You hold me tightly when I'm weak;
Your face is all I long to seek.
Protected by your loving grace,
Your presence with me in each place,
Your light will lead me night and day
And I will trust and follow your way.
23 Sep 92
Is there hope? Do you care?
Do you hear me? Are you there?
So many things I want to say,
Does anyone listen when I pray?
Are the skies an empty place
Or full of you, your love and grace?
I'm clutching hold, but falling fast,
My world feels bleak, my life downcast.
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