Haiku and the Zen lifestyle

I was trying to fall asleep last night, but I couldn't. The wheels kept turning, and I kept thinking of words and phrases that I could use for poetry. This is not irregular for me, as I probably take a longer time to fall asleep than the average person because I can't shut things down. People have called me Wordsworth...that's fairly accurate.

All of a sudden, it hit me like a 300 ton boulder - these phrases and words I always think of are haiku. The brief images that flash through our minds before we move onto something else - these are haiku. It makes me reassess my pre-conceived notions about the craft. In its essence, haiku represents the bare bones of language, the minimum amount of diction needed to make something beautiful and meaningful. In that way, haiku could be considered the root of all poetry...I don't necessarily mean from a historical sense but more from an imagistic, poetic sense. I think that analysis holds some serious weight.

I used to dislike Haiku. In the past, the 5-7-5 pattern and obligatory proposition of revelation through nature bothered me. It seemed too simple and not important enough. I thought people who wrote haiku were lazy and didn't appreciate the full-fledged lyricism I assumed to be superior, both linguistically and artistically. I was so wrong, and I know that now. While I don't think I'll consistently try to write haiku, I will now be able to turn to it when I feel overwhelmed by the complexity of contemporary language.

I find it interesting that my discovery of the beauty and inventiveness of haiku coincides with my development as a person. As I discover more about the benefits of a Zen way of life, I become more aware of simplicity and leaving the desire for epic, over-dramatic pieces of fluff at the door. My lines of poetry are becoming shorter and more concise, which parallels my thought-processes and respect and admiration for what's always been in front of me. Creation is an extension of what is right in front of our senses.

Here is a BEAUTIFUL haiku from Arakida Moritake (1473-1549). He was a Japanese poet and a Shintoist.

The falling flower

I saw drift back to the branch

was a butterfly.

Each word in this poem compels the reader to think simply but deeply. Although that sounds like a contradiction, I don't think it is. There is SO MUCH going on in this poem. We should not search for any answers in Moritake's bare language, but we should consider the scene he presents, if only to see the beauty in it. Think about the connection between each of the three lines, between the flower, the branch and the butterfly. Man, I could go on and on about this, but I'll let you, the faithful poetry enthusiast, take it from here.

Yet Another Finland-Swedish Poem

This time, it's Claes Andersson. He is one of the most eclectic individuals in the Finland-Swedish writing community. He is a politician, playwright and has practiced medicine in hospitals and mental institutions for years (among other endeavors). This variety in his experiences has given him some diverse and intriguing poetry material. As I read each of his poems we were assigned to read, I had a difficult time uncovering one common aesthetic or mood to his poetry. He weaves through darkness and light - cynicism and optimism - without making blatant statements of self-identification. I found his poetry, while not always great, to be intriguing in the subject matter. However, like any poet, there are some gems, some poems that made me want to leave class, come back to my flat and bury myself in a day and night of writing. And to me, that's what good poetry does - it invigorates the mind and the creative streak of humanity and inspires more great writing. Poetry is like an avalanche in that respect - Claes Andersson has certainly contributed his bit of poetic voice to the tumbling mass of figurative snow. Here is my favorite poem of the collection I read - a wonderful meditation on suicide from a past medical professional. Enjoy!

A Man Once Thought, in Desperation

A man once thought, in desperation:

The best thing would be to hang myself

in the nearest ocean.

Down a rope he clambered into the sea

and found his Atlantis.

Another man thought, in desperation:

The best thing would be to drown myself

in the nearest tree.

In its crown he found happiness

and quenched his thirst on dew and rain.

A third man thought, in desperation:

The best thing would be to put a sleeping

pill through my forehead.

He was transformed into the good moon

and nightly companion of all the sleepless.

Claes Andersson

What I like so much about this poem is the integration of all elements of nature. There is a indescribable fluidity to his voice in this poem, as he moves from location to location, almost as if this were a dream sequence. The Zen influence on this poem is convincing, and Andersson conveys an optimistic message through his calm, meditative language. I love the lyrical movement of this poem - it's the kind of work that gets the wheels turning in my head. I can think of no better compliment.

The Finland-Swedish tradition - Edith Södergran

While in Turku, Finland, I have been taking an introductory course in Finland-Swedish literature. I assumed that this course would compare Finnish and Swedish literature, but to my (pleasant) surprise, the Finland-Swedes are actually their own minority culture. This culture is very small and waning, but it has produced some compelling poetry that can be enjoyed and appreciated throughout the literary world. It's interesting how different minority cultures tend to have many parallels (at least thematically) within their literatures. For example, a theme that pervades most of the writing is the search for some sort of concrete identity. Minority cultures tend to see themselves as outcasts and separated from the majority culture, so naturally the need for identity is increased. This is, of course, only one example.

One poet in particular has caught my attention. Edith Södergran was perhaps the most important poet in the Finland-Swedish tradition, although most would likely give that honor to Johan Runeberg. She was a pioneer of the modernist movement, a shift from the romantic nationalism that preceded her. Her poetry is considered radical for its time, in that it searched the self and its identity in the collective, as opposed to conservative poems from poets of the romantic tradition that praised patriotism and an acceptance of the status quo. Similar modernist literary movements have occurred around the world and many at about the same time period...makes me wonder if there isn't some kind of connecting force driving the evolution of literature and, by extension, humanity. Enjoy these two poems by Södergran, and keep in mind the idea of the minority culture and the revolutionary nature of her work for its time.

On foot I had to cross the Solar System

(1919)

On foot

I had to cross the solar system

before I found the first thread of my red dress.

I sense myself already.

Somewhere in space hangs my heart,

shaking the void, from it streams sparks

into other intemperate hearts.

Vierge Moderne

(1916)

I am no woman. I am a neuter.

I am a child, a page and a bold resolve,

I am a laughing stripe of a scarlet sun...

I am a net for all greedy fish,

I am a skoal to the glory of all women,

I am a step towards hazard and ruin,

I am a leap into freedom and self...

I am the whisper of blood in the ear of a man,

I am the soul's auge, the longing and refusal of the flesh,

I am an entrance sign to new paradises.

I am a flame, searching and brazen,

I am water, deep but daring up to the knee,

I am fire and water in free and loyal union...

Martin Luther King Jr. Day

In honor of one of the greatest men to ever live on this earth, I have a poem by Langston Hughes that I feel is a accurate representation of what Dr. King believed in. "I do not need freedom when I'm dead/I cannot live on tomorrow's bread." We must love each other now, not in the future or in the past - now. I find it fascinating and quite sad that a poem like this one can still ring true years after it was written. Enjoy and much love!!

Democracy

Democracy will not come
Today, this year
Nor ever
Through compromise and fear.

I have as much right
As the other fellow has
To stand
On my two feet
And own the land.

I tire so of hearing people say,
Let things take their course.
Tomorrow is another day.
I do not need my freedom when I'm dead.
I cannot live on tomorrow's bread.

Freedom
Is a strong seed
Planted
In a great need.

I live here, too.
I want freedom
Just as you.

Langston Hughes

Disaster relief in Haiti

As everyone probably already knows, an earthquake with a magnitude of 7.0 ripped through Haiti and parts of the Dominican Republic Tuesday, leaving Port au Prince and Jacmel (two major cities in Haiti) in desperate states of need, along with many other people throughout the country. Early estimates guess more than 3 million people will be directly affected by this horrific tragedy and hundreds of thousands could lose their lives.

I doubt anybody will find this post, but I have to put this out there just in case anyone happens to stumble across it.

PLEASE donate money to a reliable relief effort in this disastrous time. Some of the better ones I have come across include:

- Doctors Without Borders

- UNICEF

- CARE

- Red Cross

- Yele Haiti Foundation

- Save the Children

- World Vision

Please, donate $5, $10, $20 - Whatever you have will help. We can do this. We can make a difference in these peoples' lives.

Gwendolyn Brooks

Gwendolyn Brooks was an absolutely phenomenal poet with an equally phenomenal background. Unfortunately, she died in 2000, but in her 80+ years on this earth, she left us (in my humble opinion) some of the most important poetry and art in the 20th century. Brooks grew up in Chicago in the 1930s and 1940s - not exactly the easiest time for black women in America. In her work, Brooks broke barriers that many thought would never be broken. She won the Pulitzer Prize in 1949 for he book entitled Annie Allen. In 1968, she was named the Poet Laureate of Illinois. At a turbulent time in rapidly changing American social and political culture, Brooks was able to break down the illusion that minorities were not capable of high intellectual thought and groundbreaking creativity.

Aside from all of these accolades from critics and readers, Brooks is simply put an amazing poet, and one who every single person on this earth should have the pleasure of experiencing. Here is an short sample of her work form The Bean Eaters (1960). Also, you can check out Gwendolyn's page on poets.org. Enjoy! :)

The Bean Eaters
They eat beans mostly, this old yellow pair. Dinner is a casual affair. Plain chipware on a plain and creaking wood, Tin flatware. Two who are Mostly Good. Two who have lived their day, But keep on putting on their clothes And putting things away. And remembering . . . Remembering, with twinklings and twinges, As they lean over the beans in their rented back room that is full of beads and receipts and dolls and cloths, tobacco crumbs, vases and fringes.

I'm back!

And in Turku, Finland! I took a break from blogging and other related activities to enjoy the holidays with my family and friends (who I already miss dearly!). I have not actually had a chance to get out into the city, as today has been a day of rest after a series of flights and long waits in airports. Tonight I will go to the city, and hopefully have some pictures available soon on my Facebook account. In the spirit of arriving in Finland, I thought I would provide a poem from a modern Finnish poet named Risto Rasa. Most of the Finnish poems I have looked at are simple and a lot shorter than poetry in the states. A lot of the modern poem I have looked are observatory and less than 5 lines. These translations were found alongside the Finnish originals at http://www.luminarium.org/. Much love!

My Best Friend

My best friend
At one time was a girl.
We tried to meet so nobody would see
And we walked someplace
Peaceful to play.
We made ranches:
From pebbles, fences and stalls,
From sticks and pinecones, cows
And lots of horses;
We were going to be horse ranchers in the West.
We returned home by different routes,
I casually rejoining the other boys
To play boys' games.
When she got glasses,
I was right there, jeering along with the others.

- Risto Rasa -