In
Seymour--An Introduction, Buddy Glass tells us that his brother "probably loved the classical Japanese three-line, seventeen syllable haiku as he loved no other form of poetry, and that he himself wrote--bled--haiku (almost always in English, but sometimes . . . in Japanese, German, or Italian)." On the day Seymour left this world of his own volition, he composed the following "straight, classical style haiku" in Japanese, leaving it behind in pencil "on the desk blotter in his hotel room." (
See "A Perfect Day for Bananafish," from
Nine Stories, if for some reason you have never read J.D. Salinger's small canon).
The little girl on the plane
Who turned her doll's head around
To look at me.
The poem was later translated by Buddy, or so we're told in Franny and Zooey. Buddy usually describes Seymour's poetry rather than sharing the poems outright, adding another level of richness and mystery to Seymour's considerable craft. We learn that Seymour invented "double haikus" and artfully invoked powerful scenes. We do get this poem, however, written by Seymour when he was young:
John Keats
John Keats
John.
Please put your scarf on.
According to Harold G. Henderson's Haiku in English, the traditional Japanese haiku is visual in appearance, with three lines having five, seven, and five syllables, respectively. The poem must contain some reference to Nature. The poem is specific in the sense that it refers to a particular event, and the event is happening now, not in the past. It is often the practice to reference or allude to a time of year by season. Thus, "the blossomed-covered hill" would indicate spring.
American haiku is often about anything, breaching the ancient traditions and causing heartburn to purists. For example, recall Richard Brautigan's "Haiku Ambulance," which pokes fun at the haiku that fails.
A piece of green pepper fell
off the wooden salad bowl:
so what?
Nevertheless, Japanese haiku in translation is far better conveyed without a strict adherence to the syllabic rule. Sacrificing the syllabic rule while maintaining the three lines, which is usually the way translation is done, is necessary because syllabication in Japanse is obviously different from English, and Japanese kireji ("cutting words") are "primarily verbal punctuation marks" that are difficult to translate directly. So Basho reads as follows:
On a withered branch
a crow has settlled . . .
autumn nightfall
The old pond;
A frog jumps in -
The sound of the water.
Why the lesson in haiku? Why the nod to both the imaginative (Seymour) and literal (Basho) masters of the striking artform? Because The D Man loves haiku. And so should you. The beauty of the haiku is in its accessibility--its ability to distill a scene to its emotional essence in so few words. This accessibility allows for even the most meager of writers to try their hand at the poetic. Everyone can write a haiku. Some can even be quite good.
When The D Man was hanging out backstage with Stone Gossard* before a Pearl Jam concert, Stone (yes, we use first names here) said that the band members had recently been writing haikus. (Here is where you imagine Edder Vedder licking his pencil on the tour bus). Stone believed writing haikus kept their minds sharp and led to some striking realizations. Good for writing song lyrics too, The D Man supposed.
So with Seymour's, Basho's, and Stone's blessing, The D Man sets out on a haiku journey, a creative tour-de-syllable to describe the emotional resonance of his favorite albums from the new millenium. Five. Seven. Five. Wish me luck, as I may even attempt the mysterious double--even triple--haiku that has long been the thing of legend. As the haikus unfold, The D Man seeks your participation. Haikus are obviously a solitary pleasure, but the welcoming smile--and verse or two--from friends and readers extend the little poem's wealth into the realm of riches. So thanks in advance.
*No apologies for name-dropping or implying my coolness by association.
