A beginning place for me is to go back to the haiku I read and the various books and
essays about haiku which made indelible impressions and so captivated me at that time.
To this day, the gift and sense of those earliest readings remain very strong.
The first haiku I encountered were in Cor van den Heuvel’s HAIKU ANTHOLOGY,
R.H. Blyth’s multi-volume series and numerous individual books by authors I discovered
through Cor’s Anthology.

Ten (now twenty-some) years ago, when I first dipped my toe into the haiku pond rather
tentatively, I was nervous with excitement and amazed at how kindred and welcoming
my first contacts were. The feeling that I got from haiku was true gladness to have
discovered a manner of expression that completely clicks for me – it simply felt right,
perfectly concise, precise and not telling me how or what to feel as much as simply
giving me the wholly decent chance to get there on my own. The brevity and discipline
of the haiku form was the obvious antidote to combat my tendency toward wordiness,
overstatement and excess. It was entirely refreshing to me that haiku insisted on the
writer utilizing the fewest words possible – to convey the poetic in the ordinary
anywhere, anytime.

I can remember early on being so happy with haiku that internally I vowed to read and
write haiku for the rest of my life. Such was the appeal and strength of feeling I had then
and still have to this day.

Admittedly, in these past ten years there have been moments of doubt, dry spells, lulls
and wonders – if I had maybe lost my way and lost interest in haiku. Yet repeatedly, I’ve
discovered that reading haiku and finding good poems can and will spark my interest
and get me going again. A great haiku is its own best endorsement. To read a great haiku
is bound to reinvigorate anyone who has at any time felt the magnetic charm of haiku.
The true satisfaction I get from each great haiku is but one of the reasons I avidly remain
engaged and feel assured now as I did ten years ago, that I’ll keep reading and writing
for a long time to come if not for the rest of my life.

Haiku puzzle me. There are many haiku I read that don’t move me and do disappoint.
Yet I find most haiku at least pleasant and many I find wonderfully intriguing, even
inspiring. The very best haiku often appear seamlessly “easy” to have written. This, of
course, is rarely so, which makes the illusion of ease beguiling. Speaking for myself
here, I feel no closer to any consistent ability to write a good haiku now than I did when
I began ten years ago. This phenomena is both compelling to keep at it, and of course, a
bit to a lot frustrating. It does guarantee a perpetual state of beginningness that is
somewhat unique and humbling. It is quite appealing that haiku are highly portable and
can be worked on as an exercise in the mind wherever you are until it becomes itself,
just right.

John Stevenson once wrote in a letter to me that he viewed his joining the haiku
community on the order of moving to a new small town where the community was both
welcoming and eclectically interesting. I knew what he meant – it spoke well for my
own sense of connection and camaraderie that began almost immediately after I read a
news article in an Ithaca paper profiling Ruth Yarrow. Shortly after reading this
awakening article, I sought out anything “haiku” I could find – my first source was Cor’s
Haiku Anthology through which I then subscribed to Modern Haiku, Frogpond, Wind
Chimes and Brussel Sprouts, to name a few.

The breadth and brilliance I discovered in the many voices I read at that time instantly
aroused in me a sense of deep inner knowing and inspiration that is the connection of a
well-conceived haiku. I’ll never forget the initial immersion and beautiful opining I felt
reading poems like these from Cor’s Anthology:

time after time
caterpillar climbs this broken stem
then probes beyond
– James Hackett

the swan's head 
turns away from sunset
to his dark side 
– Anita Virgil 


hot night 
turning the pillow 
to the cool side 
– Cor van den Heuvel 

And the following two by John Wills that are haunting in their dreamlike poignancy:

the river
leans upon the snag
a moment

I am so drawn to that snag, the force of that river and that perfectly rendered moment
where the snag no longer can hold forth and surrenders. It is staggering that eight words
can convey something so evocative and dynamic.

boulders
just beneath the boat
it’s dawn

Here we are given the earth, the waters and the heavens, with us in the boat to help us
recognize just where we are in this life – very much in between all these eternal forces.
These poems and many others I’d love to share, compel me to constantly search for the
next holy or purely precious haiku. I thoroughly enjoy the arrival of each new haiku
magazine and the perusal that follows. I keep notebooks of my personal favorites and
enjoy the internal sensation that goes into each selection.
With my own writing, I have learned repeatedly not to trust myself and to graciously
place my trust in the editors, haiku community, friends and my wife to discern what is
truly worthy of being submitted or published. Here is my sense of what goes into haiku
creation – from a letter written to Jim Kacian:
Over the years I’ve valued very much the little notes of feedback from editors – we each
find our way more or less collectively by virtue of the community where the group is
constantly giving guidance to the individual. I often feel than any little success I’ve had
is less about me and more about the range of editors and haiku friends, and the
guidance I’ve received simply be reading widely what’s out there, then forgetting it, but
letting the spirit of it seep into and permeate my
being …
I am tremendously grateful for the work of editors who in tireless devotion sift and cull
from the masses of submission those that they deem worthy. The number of off-base,
uninspired, and maybe even embarrassing attempts at haiku I’ve created over this past
decade is highly relevant to why I must keep at it. With hope that an improved sense of
craft and consistency will develop!
Somewhere I read that Basho wrote about 2000 haiku in his life of which 100 or so are
considered excellent, and of which he believed there were maybe ten that truly hit the
mark. This is a tough ratio but perhaps holds a realistic perspective for us all. Excellent
haiku craft requires tireless resolve to keep at it despite the misses and bunches of
weaker attempts, with hope that out of the effort will surely come some keepers, and, if
we are lucky, serendipity may provide an opportunity to create a haiku that will stand the
test of time.
There is no way to predict what will become worthy, but the whole process of jotting
notes, refining, submitting and seeing what gets selected is a near endless divination of
what is and is not haiku. This could playfully be called the Haiku Wars and they are no
doubt as endless as the poets putting their heart into the form. It is worth keeping at it
just to see what and who next will break the surface of our haiku pond, either jumping
in, feeding or getting out.
A major reason I keep reading haiku is that I hope to find good ones or another haiku
that simply “wows” me and fills me with a grateful sense of being alive, so that I am one
with that haiku moment (even if just a flash!).

At work nearly ten years ago, I posted this poem by Ryokan:

the thief left it behind
the moon
at the window

No matter when or how many times I read and feel this poem’s koan quality, I am glad
for it, for myself, for all life, for this world. Perfectly, in three lines is the solace of truth
and mystery conceived.

A real blessing of haiku is its portable, direct simplicity that allows a favorite poem to be
kept in mind. As I prepared what to say today, I opened a fortune cookie that seems right
to share here today, and perhaps holds the key to what appeals above all else in each of
us about haiku:

Keep it simple. The more you say the less people remember.

In this spirit, a haiku by Ruth Yarrow that I’ve meditated on over and over:

after the garden party the garden


This great one liner says practically all I could want to say about human existence. We
each are part of a garden party, yes, but the garden after the party is the place we alone
seek out to find ourselves and our deepest nature.

Once on a hospital form, under the category of religious affiliation, I checked “other”
and wrote “haiku.” Haiku to me is a way of life, a choice of focus and a form of spiritual
appreciation requiring us – reminding us to see beyond self or as Basho said, Haiku is
simply what is happening in this place at this moment.

HAIKU HAPPENS, as a bumper sticker proclaims, will happen to us only if we remain
open and ready to engage in the range of myriad nuances and subtle cues from nature
that are voices simultaneously taking us inward and outward, connecting us with the
nature we have come from and will return to.

In R.H. Blyth’s THE HISTORY OF HAIKU, he lists thirteen characteristics of the state
of mind which the creation and appreciation of haiku demand. They are:

1. Selflessness
2. Loneliness
3. Grateful acceptance
4. Wordlessness
5. Non-intellectuality
6. Contradictoriness
7. Humor
8. Freedom
9. Non-morality
10. Simplicity
11. Materiality
12. Love
13. Courage
    
    These all appeal to me as affirmations and good qualities to navigate our life stream
    with. The practice of reading and writing certainly serves to hone these qualities. To
    extend the spirit of R.H. Blyth’s list, I’ve come up with my own additional thirteen
    characteristics:
    
14. Faith
15. Sharing
16. Discipline
17. Concision
18. Solitude
19. Humility
20. Awareness
21. Ritual
22. Creativity
23. Centering
24. Truthfulness
25. Curiosity
26. Patience
    
    I’d like to discuss briefly each of these 13 characteristics and explain what about each of
    them might serve to sustain a haiku interest.
    
    FAITH
    
    Haiku, to me, is a faith in all of nature. The changes in nature are infinite and yet, as
    with all changes, there is a return to where things begin. The miracle of cycles large and
    small provides that each nuance of nature is unique and at once universal. These billions
    of nuances provide sensations that are faithful, and it is these matters that comprise the
    subject and feelings that are haiku. In my nearly 50 years, I’ve come to be entirely
    enchanted by the flow of seasonal changes, shift by shift, subtle and dramatic, that
    without fail, are induced like birth itself , by a magical timing that makes every moment
    the conclusion of a ripening – our weather, our day and night gives each creature a
    chance to sleep and be reborn to greet a new day as it truly is . . . a new chance.
    The past and the future are not real in the sense that only the present tense, always now,
    is really happening. Past and future are mere abstractions, inaccurate memories and
    predictions. Haiku as faith is the poetry of the here and now, and focuses us on the
    reality that this is all we have – ever.
    
    SHARING
    
    A haiku for me is often, if not always, conceived and worked on in solitude, yet the
    essential path that sanctifies or completes the creation is when that poetic moment
    reaches someone else and creates within them a sensation that in some way approaches
    that which gave rise to the haiku. Without a reader, without sharing, a haiku is like a
    seed adrift on a breeze … waiting to be received.
    By nature, I am more of a loner and a seeker of solitude than a social being. However, I
    learned long ago I am uncomfortable being always alone. Haiku then, for me, provides
    the perfect medium for recording what transpires for me in solitude, sharing these
    findings and learning which, is any, of these resonate with others.
    
    DISCIPLINE
    
    To write haiku, one must remain aware, ready, open, and sensitive. For myself, I can
    sense when my life manner is eroding and getting out of balance. When this happens, it
    is usually because my pace has become too fast, my priorities mixed up, and motives far
    removed from natural rhythms. Living in a way where one is a true witness to nature, as
    one must be to write haiku, is a discipline which encourages and even demands a
    constant contact with a deeper understanding.
    
    CONCISION
    
    This may be as critical as any quality as to why I personally must continue to read and
    write haiku. I have a lifelong tendency to overwrite, to say too much and generally revel
    in excess. What better antidote to this then than haiku?
    
    SOLITUDE
    
    In solitude we find the beauty of seeing things on their own terms. Nature naturally,
    quietly speaks for herself. No human values, pronouncements or expectations need
    intervene. Being alone in nature allows us to be as a ghost, without distraction, open,
    ready and able to experience purely.
    
    HUMILITY
    
    The haiku perspective, by recognizing poetry in the affairs of things, gives to all creation
    an equal footing. Aside from this humility, which is an essential part in the act of writing
    haiku, I’ve found to be at times extremely humbling. To fiddle and fumble with a few
    little words, trying them this way, then that, without being able to get them just right,
    shows how difficult it is to write a good haiku, however simple the result may seem.
    
    AWARENESS
    
    This is the readiness to fully read then record the poetic messages that constantly
    surround us.
    
    RITUAL
    
    Haiku encourages a heightened awareness of the pageant that is the flow of the seasons.
    By embracing seasonal changes, we create an honoring ritual acknowledging the
    inevitability of our involvement in the constant state of passage.
    
    CREATIVITY
    
    To read and write haiku, one must have a desire to fulfill the inner calling to create, and
    to express in words that which gives us the “ah” or “aha” quality in life.
    Anita Virgil, in her essay “When Is A Haiku?” (Red Moon 1997 Anthology), wrote It
    happens to us all. It makes one say or think or feel – ah! as we suddenly see the ordinary
    in a new light. It is a moment of intuition, an insight into the vital inevitability of things
    as R.H. Blyth calls it. It can be a glimpse of the beauty or cosmic humor of life, of
    pathos, of poignancy or paradox. It can be intensified awareness of natural phenomena
    which reflect human emotion. One does not wish to lose this moment. One wants to
    share it with someone or record it for one’s own enjoyment. Whatever the impetus, these
    moments serve to point up our aliveness and connection with the world, our brief time
    upon the earth. They point to our very humanity.
    Creativity is moving with one’s life and recognizing it to be worth recording and
    recreating in part of in whole.
    
    CENTERING
    
    Jim Kacian, in his book, Six Directions, states, “Through the cumulative effects of small
    moments, we expand our sense of the universe to its full size, that the only way out of a
    circle is through its center.” He goes on to state, If we did not believe the former, we
    would not believe in haiku as a way and a means. When we pass through the center,
    subject and object, time and space disappear and we move outside of the plane where we
    began, infinity, eternally changed.
    
    Haiku is effectively a centering. Whether reading or writing haiku, the bottom line is one
    must enter the moment wholeheartedly, becoming in essence one with the moment –
    centered in it.
    
    No one escapes unscathed the pains and burdens in life. We each develop ways of
    dealing with these inevitable aspects of life. For me, haiku and the centering that it
    inspires has provided a useful strategy for coping with more difficult times. At times, our
    existence creates a paradoxical tension where we feel a potential to be unified with
    everyone and everything, yet feel simultaneously, every alone and separate . . . to me, a
    haiku is a harmonizing of unity and separation.
    
    TRUTHFULNESS
    
    In the preface to HAIKU, Vol. I, R.H. Blyth states, Haiku does not aim at beauty. Like
    the music of Bach, it aims at significance, and some kind of beauty is found hovering
    near. The real nature of each thing, and more so of all things is a poetical one. Haiku
    shows us what we knew all the time, but did not know we knew; it shows us that we are
    poets insofar as we live at all.
    
    Haiku are kernels of truth, unadulterated by opinion, emotion, through or desire. They
    stand bare boned and crystal clear to exact the truth of what is.
    
    Basho, in the following taken from Eric Amann’s highly recommended book on haiku,
    Wordless Poem, further suggests the utter truthfulness of haiku when he states, “Haiku
    are a way of seeing, hearing and feeling, a special state of consciousness in which we
    grasp intuitively the identity of people and nature and the continuity between ourselves
    and the larger cosmos”.
    
    Further, Basho said, Learn from the pine about the pine, from the bamboo about the
    bamboo. But always leave your old self behind, otherwise it will get between you and
    the object. Poetry springs out of its own when you and the object have become one,
    when you have looked deep into nature to see the hidden gleam. No matter how well
    worded your poems may be, if the feeling is not natural, if you and object have not
    become one, your poems are not true haiku, but merely imitations of reality.
    
    CURIOSITY
    
    Reading and writing haiku allows an exercise of one’s naturally felt curiosity about life
    and the world. The subject of haiku is often obvious, but requires the relation to the
    subject to reflect the subtle and magical occurrences and interactions always in our
    midst.
    
    PATIENCE
    
    This quality may be more personal than universal, but I’ve found that haiku are not
    always there for me to write. Much as I’d love to write a haiku a day or even more, the
    reality is, I can’t. My ability to produce is more on a sporadic level and between
    attempts, there are definite “dry spells” which require much patience to wait through.
    Having gone through my 13 reasons, I’d like to give another incentive for my
    involvement with haiku: I love to get mail! Even as a child, my love of mail led me to
    write for travel brochures, to railroads, pencil companies – anyone who might respond
    with something for me in the daily mail delivery. Since joining the haiku community, I
    have discovered a wonderful treasure-trove of correspondence – not only do I get mail,
    but it is of a highly enjoyable and special nature.
    I’d like to conclude with a final thought that summarizes what sustains my haiku habit.
    Haiku for me is the perfect record of my simply existing here and now. Each haiku, in a
    way, can be thought of as a farewell poem – an acceptance of the transitory nature of
    everything. Reading entries from a lifetime’s worth of my journals is at this point, only
    of minimal interest to me, and I’m sure not even that to anyone else. Yet the better of
    those haiku I’ve written, I am pleased to return to and would be happy to have someone
    else find and read someday.
    
    the damsel fly leaving
    the lily again and again
    only to return
    
    The above paper was read by the author at the Haiku Society of America meeting,
    September 19, 1998. Grateful thanks to the poets for permission
    to reprint their haiku here.
    
    Learn how to listen as things speak for themselves – Basho