Commentaries | Spring 2007

 

On the fortress wall
       off the coast of New England
              a small fern.

M.F.

The tension in the base – a “wall” then “off the coast” sets up an imaginary space, as if the wall was at the “end” of New England, and, of course, this being New England, it is a “fortress” not a gate.  That transparent hardness sets up the delicacy of the subsection: not just a fern, but a small fern.  The architecture of the base is reversed in the subsection, and thereby  amplified.  The space occupied by “a small fern” is very small , perhaps not really a space at all, no ‘medium”, just the fern, whose “place” fits like a glove ( not the space around it).  So, the “image” transcends, in the haiku paradox, the imagination ( in the base ).   -- T.D’E.

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Easter bells
       fall silent one by one--
              blossoming pear.

T.D’E.

This haiku has a graceful, natural flow to it.  The combination of the holiday symbolized in the bells and the unfolding of the pear blossoms is very sublime.  I would say that this is an example of “mono no aware” – “pure pathos of things, referring to sadness or melancholy arising from a deep, empathic appreciation of the ephemeral beauty manifested in nature, human life or a work of art.” (Ueda).  It has karumi also, “lightness and plain beauty that emerges when the poet finds his theme in familiar things and expresses it in artless language. “ (Ueda).  There is also depth and mystery (yugen)  as the sound of the bells fades and the blossoms deepen the silence.  -- M.F.

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Spring snow--
       the robin standing in the road
              just stands in the road.

T.D’E.

The static quality of this haiku accentuates the mental state of late winter  The robin has been denied any chance of finding worms and he stands waiting in the road anticipating something.  The transitional seasons are filed with nuances that are hard to structure into a haiku. They rely on small observations.  The repetition in the second and third lines mimic this marginal time of the year using sound to increase the impatience and to obliterate the presence of "Spring snow" -- not allowing any of what might in other circumstances be considered  beautiful.  A twist-tie haiku.  -- M.F.

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Washed up--
      the red feet of a shorebird
             half-covered by snow.

T.D’E.

"Washed-up" sets the mind in motion.  "Red feet" has shock value.
"Shorebird" is a generic reference with a paradoxical twist.
"Half-covered" addresses exposure and then in a flash the incompleteness takes hold.  The Dark Enigma in full costume.  -- M.F.

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Another spring--
       down the green river
              chunks of old ice.

T.D’E.

The lateral flow stretches the mind giving "chunks" a ride out to sea.   "Green" colors the undertow.  The haiku gives one a lift, which despite the lingering signs of winter is what we feel this time of year, occasional spurts of joy as a natural

kenosis begins to take place in anticipation of Spring: "chunks"  containing sections of thought, broken parts.  Your use of "another" has  built-in Wu-wei !  -- M.F.

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Piscataqua --
       where the current meets  the tide
                  white slabs of ice.

M.F.

This is a primordial landscape. The native name of the river brings it within history. That's the first "oxymoron"-- a proper name/nature. Nature is presented in the base as that point where contraries meet -- fresh and salt. This is a classic topic. Here it pinpoints the Name as the intersection of two realms. Which, from the ontological point of view, makes sense: a name is "attached" to a thing but remains loosely tethered to the objective field. The Name is the sign of intentional consciousness -- consciousness as it opens on the world of object. The rest of the poem enacts the turn of consciousness into a radiant (cf Hinton on tzu-jan) mode of participation in Zoka.

Put another way, in the looseness there is the difference, the play of the No-thingness in the world of ten thousand things. So: this tension -- the oxymoron is a rhetorical figure for the tension that structures the meditative consciousness -- resolves in a very haiku way with the rough materiality of "slabs." White is just barely contained by the "slabs of ice." Visually, one might say it's spectral. It is a redundancy that raises a question about all the connections made in the composition.

The great thing about a good haiku is that it sponsors speculation within the conversation about the ontological principle -- and yet remains just this: slabs of ice floating down the river into the sea!  -- T.D’E.

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Spring day--
         the black bottoms of the clouds
                 almost touch the river.

T.D’E.

This has a fullness-suchness !  The river is so full that it practically touches the sky. The stormy clouds are heavy and low.  "Almost" carries the weight of the in between.  These all go into characterizing "spring day":  spring is filled -- like the images in the haiku -- with unpredictable weather and change, so this is a very tight haiku!  -- M.F.