EARTH, AIR, FIRE, AND WATER
A COLLECTION OF MODERN HAIKU
G. E. Kruckeberg
Smashwords Edition
Copyright 2012 by G. E. Kruckeberg
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FORWARD
Haiku is a stylized form of Japanese poetry that consists traditionally of a single stanza of seventeen syllables arranged in three lines of five, seven, and five syllables respectively. The form dates back to circa 600 CE with the introduction of the renga, a long poem of three line stanzas, later called haikai no renga. Each renga or haikai began with an introductory stanza called the hokku, which set the tone for the poem and could often be considered a poem in itself. In the 1600s, Basho and others began writing hokku as stand alone poems, with or without the subsequent haikai. This was the beginning of haiku, although it wasn’t called that until the 1890s when Masaoka Shiki standardized the form and coined the word haiku from haikai and hokku. Today, all 5-7-5 verses dating back to Basho are referred to as haiku.
One of Shiki’s students, Kawahigashi Hekigoto, proposed that a haiku should have no center of interest, as that would detract from the emotional appeal of the poem. He further suggested that a haiku should be spontaneous, or written as though it were the poet’s first impression. These characteristics, he felt, were necessary to fulfill the purpose of the haiku, which is to elicit, through words, an extraordinary response to an everyday experience. These two stipulations are ideals for which all serious haiku poets still strive.
Traditional haiku contained a kigo, or season word, which set the season of the poem, and Shiki retained this in his standardization of the genre. The kigo can be obvious, as in “a fall afternoon, or “a winter evening,” or it can be more subtle, using a universally understood metaphor for the season. In Basho’s most famous haiku, for example, the frog is a metaphor for spring.
Furuike
ya
Kawazu tobikomu
Mizu no oto
(An Old
pond –
A frog jumps in
The sound of water.)
Japanese haiku up to the end of the nineteenth century, of course, was tied almost exclusively to nature themes. In modern haiku, which can treat of many different subjects, the kigo is often ignored, although when writing a poem with an outdoor setting, the thoughtful poet will include it.
A haiku consists of two independent but complementary parts, separated traditionally by a kireji (literally a cut character). In Basho’s haiku above, the character ya is the kireji, separating the sedate pond from the action of the frog. Japanese haiku used a kana character, either ya or o, for this purpose since they had no punctuation. In English haiku, we use a semicolon, a dash, or sometimes an ellipsis as the kireji. The purpose of splitting the poem into two parts is to introduce the element of surprise, which enhances the perception of the commonplace as unique. Often, this contrast is further augmented by shifting senses, as from sight to sound in Basho’s classic above.
If we think of poetry as painting pictures with words, haiku is the water color of the craft. The language of haiku is starkly simple – dashed onto the paper with seeming spontaneity. This deliberate effect was facilitated by the spartan structure of the Japanese language, which has no articles (except for wa and o, which designate the subject and object of a sentence respectively). Neither, as noted above, does it possess punctuation. In English haiku, this structural simplicity is approximated by the use of sentence fragments and a paucity of punctuation that would infuriate the average English teacher.
Earth, Air, Fire, and Water is divided into four parts, the first comprising poems that treat of the splendor of nature, which was most often the muse that inspired the early Japanese poets. The second segment, Air, addresses the fables and fantasies that beset the human mind, while the third segment, Fire, concentrates on man’s obsession with his sexual nature. The final section, Water, is a widely ranging commentary on the human condition and on life in general.
Other than for these four general categories, no attempt has been made to arrange the poems in sub-categories. Indeed, in most cases the author has deliberately separated poems treating of the same subject in order to maintain the freshness of surprise that is the heart of haiku. Each haiku is intended to stand alone as an unique and enlightening experience. It is the author’s hope that you might enjoy his humble attempts at recreating what is certainly one of the most fascinating poetic forms in the history of man’s incessant pursuit of beauty.
A poem that makes
An everyday experience
Unique – a haiku.
Table of Contents
EARTH
Heaven is not in
Your future – it is the tree
Outside your window.
The pine trees immersed
In a whispering rain-mist –
The smell of wet earth.
Parchment yellow grass
And patches of crusted snow –
A pheasant takes flight.
The sun shining like
A new dime through morning fog –
My shoes wet with dew.
The smell of bacon
Sharp on the still morning air –
The frost underfoot.
Ragged cotton puffs –
Alabaster cameos
On sky-blue Wedgwood.
Swaying bamboo leaves
Gray-green on an umber sky –
Approaching thunder.
Needles lime and rust
Arch above my head – the grass
Littered with pine straw.
Brilliant bursts of jade –
Pollen on the morning breeze
Makes my Annie sneeze.
A September morn –
The promise of winter in
The still, frosty air.
A flock of wild geese
Flying south – their distant cries
Like winter’s clarion.
Lilies in a vase –
Gold tinged with ruby and fringed
In emerald leaves.
Hummingbirds, ghost-winged,
Iridescent – darting at
The bougainvilleas.
August afternoon
Clouds as still as the leaves – time
Suspended in heat.
Fog beneath the pines –
The pale moon softly shining
On the temple gate.
The tired ember of
The day seems to hiss – as it
Dips into the sea.
I look at the tree –
From its quiet dignity
I draw energy.
Rain misting car tops –
Yellow halos shimmering
Around the street lamps.
The sky black above –
The snow rushing toward me like
Stars on a space ship.
Snow like marshmallow
On pine boughs – under the tree
A lone rabbit track.
A gray shroud of rain
Swaying the willow branches –
A flash of lightening.
An April shower –
The houses across the street
Seen as through a fog.
Hillside arroyos
Parched and bleached white in the sun –
The fossils of rain.
The air purple tinged
By the aura in the east –
Not a breath of wind.
The clouds yellow-streaked –
Water standing in the street
From last night’s rain storm.
Late afternoon sun
Dappling the ground through the trees –
A lone bird crying.
After a brief rain
The trees still dripping water –
The sky like silver.
Cumulus building
On the Sierra Madre –
White caps on the bay.
A livid storm wall
Looming higher in the west –
The leaves still as death.
The mercurial
Aurora borealis –
A kaleidoscope.
The dusk funneling
Into the magenta west –
Silhouettes of trees.
A haze on the bay –
The distant mountains mere gray
Shapes of darker sky.
From the balcony,
Roof tiles baking in the sun –
The street deserted.
The rainy season –
A green carpet growing in
The cobblestone streets.
Just behind the sun
Setting quickly in the west –
A silver sliver.
The sapphire-blue bay
Wind streaked with sky-blue patches –
Black trails of dolphins.
Fallow pop corn stalks
Stark against the drifted snow –
I fill my pockets.
My dog goes on point –
A rabbit darts from the brush
His tail like the snow.
A full moon rising –
A cicada sings farewell
To the purple sky.
High clouds, wind shredded,
Plumed like frost on window glass –
A lone hawk gliding.
Giant sequoias
More than six hundred years old –
A chipmunk darts by.
Serrated palm trees
Rise above the morning mist –
My shadow is long.
Full moon low hanging
Over the western mountains –
The wind a mere breath.
A mist on the lake
Under a star-speckled sky –
The sound of the oars.
The sun beaming through
A hole in the somber clouds –
The water silvered.
The sun through high clouds
Wearing a rainbow halo –
It’s too cold to snow.
Willow trees bending
Low over a shaded stream –
A frog’s mating call.
Summer afternoon
And nothing’s moving – even
The birds are silent.
Clear water frothing
Over dark and rounded stones –
The smell of pine straw.
Salt air on my cheek –
The receding waves hissing
Over beach pebbles.
The rising full moon
Gilding ripples on the lake –
The call of a loon.
Indian summer –
Sallow corn shocks like tipis
In the hazy dusk.
An evening snow fall
Muffling the world in cotton –
And quiet silence.
White buildings steeply
Climbing the sun-drenched mountain –
The blue bay below.
White oleanders
Cascading over fences –
Like snow on spring grass.
A forest carpet
Of mottled yellow ochre –
The smell of old leaves.
Trees terracing down
The side of the mountain – like
A green waterfall.
Indiana in
Mid-July – at night you can
Hear the corn growing.
A sheer cliff thrusting
Abruptly up from the plain –
Like a sudden thought.
Primavera blooms –
Blatantly yellow against
Haze-faded mountains.
Low slate clouds fringed with
A sickly green horizon –
Tornado weather.
An English garden –
Jonquils and roses and phlox
Arranged in patterns.
The year’s first snowfall –
Dusting the house tops and lawns
With powdered sugar.
A pear tree blooming
In silently falling snow –
The first day of Spring.
A bleak mountain top
Wind carved, stark, and weather scarred –
Like an old man’s face.
The snow covered lake
Edged with distant mauve-gray trees –
A peach sherbet sky.
The trees are alive
With newly awakened birds –
Chirping up the sun.
The ice off the lake –
The water black with gold specks
Sparkling in the sun.
The sea pink and blue
In the day’s afterglow – the
Slap of breaking waves.
White seagulls against