Eastern Structures -- A Review

Eastern Structures – A Review

For the past maybe three to five years I have noticed that poets who are interested in a syllabic approach to eastern forms, such as haiku, tanka, ghazal, etc., have expressed a need to find locations, spaces, venues, where a formal approach to these forms in English is emphasized instead of undermined.  Almost all poetry journals and poetry societies dedicated to Eastern Forms are controlled by poets who use a free verse approach to lineation.  To pick a good example, English language haiku associations and journals are, without exception, devoted to a free verse approach to haiku in English even though haiku in Japanese is formal verse.

I think the first explicit expression of dissatisfaction with this situation was in the ‘Introduction’ to Ravishing DisUnities by Ali where he criticizes the tendency of contemporary English poets to write free verse versions of the ghazal.  Ali’s criticism is sharp, but it is also one that is knowledgeable of the traditional ghazal form and that this form has potential in English.  Ali was fluent in English and was comfortable writing in it and for that reason he was speaking from personal experience with the form in the English language, even though English was not his native tongue.  Ali was not saying that the ghazal has no place in English language poetry; rather he was suggesting that if English language poets are going to compose ghazal they should map onto English the formal features of that traditional form.

In ELH (English Language Haiku) the dominance of a free verse approach in official haiku organizations and publications is almost total.  The result is that those who take a syllabic approach to ELH find themselves gradually alienated from those official organizations.  Most of them simply move online and find others of like mind there.

The felt need for those taking a formal approach to these types of poetry to find their own spaces and journals has been gathering energy for some time. But exactly how to go about this has not been clear.  With the publication of Eastern Structures this inchoate feeling has finally born fruit in something concrete.  Published by R. W. Watkins, Eastern Structures is dedicated to a formal approach to such Eastern forms as Haiku, Tanka, Ghazal, and Sijo.  The first issue packs a lot of material into its 32 pages of 8-1/2” X 11”.  The ghazal are finely crafted and formally focused.  The haiku are seasonal, syllabic, and rooted in the traditional syllabics of the Japanese.  The article and examples of tanka are similarly focused.  I would say that the only weak section in this first issue is the section on sijo, the Korean form.  Watkins notes that he had difficulty contacting people who have written in this form, so if you are interested, or know others who are interested, forward information about this new poetry publication to them because they now have a place to publish their efforts in the sijo form.

Watkins has done a fine job with the layout and other publication matters.  Watkins has published poetry zines before (particularly for the ghazal) and this experience has served him well for this first issue of Eastern Structures. For example, the cover is of a famous skyscraper in Malaysia, the world’s tallest building; a reference to the name of the magazine, Eastern Structures.  And the back cover is a picture of a farm woman holding a lynx; a clever reference to Lynx, which was published by Jane and Werner Reichhold for 30 years, a poetry journal that emphasized the same forms that Watkins is interested in.  I like the way Watkins gives the Reichholds a bow in this picture.

The poetry is a pleasure to read.  I have some of my own work included in the section on tanka and I hope others feel the same way about my contribution.  The essays are thoughtful, sometimes funny, and in general optimistic about the potential for a syllabic approach to these forms. 

If you are interested in a formal approach to Eastern forms in English, this is a great resource.  If you are a poet who is writing in these forms, Eastern Structures is a great venue for you to publish in.  If you have essays, reviews, or thoughts to share with this focus, this is the place to share them with an appreciative audience.  You can send submissions to:

nocturnaliris@gmail.com

Watkins has decided to use print-on-demand to publish Eastern Structures.  It is available from Amazon for $5.99 – a great deal.  Buy a copy for yourself, buy copies for friends, and post reviews at Amazon. 

In closing I want to express my appreciation to Watkins for taking the time and effort to bring forth this publication.  As someone who has published poetry magazines in the past, I know how much time and energy goes into such an endeavor.  All of us who are interested in a formal approach to haiku, tanka, sijo, and ghazal can applaud this effort.

Eastern Structures

Editor: R. W. Watkins

Available at Amazon

$5.99

ISBN: 9781530638406

A Ghazal for Emptiness

A Ghazal for Emptiness

I recall a simple song in the Grove of Emptiness,

The lingering light of dawn in the Grove of Emptiness.

I suspect that you’ll soon leave, autumn colors don’t deceive,

Nothing lasts for very long in the Grove of Emptiness.

Lightning flashes in the sky, I’m waiting for your reply,

There is nothing right or wrong in the Grove of Emptiness.

In the morning you make me some toast and fresh roast coffee,

Gestures of caring are strong in the Grove of Emptiness.

Ecclesiastes said, ‘See, all of this is vanity’,

All our hopes and fears are gone in the Grove of Emptiness.

Notions appear and disappear like flowers from last year,

A mountain does not last long in the Grove of Emptiness.

An ancient stream shifts course, a child, now grown up, feels remorse,

But I feel that I belong in the Grove of Emptiness.

My name is Jim, all is clear, there is nothing that is dim,

I am dancing with a throng in the Grove of Emptiness.

A Ghazal for December

A Ghazal for December

The sound of the steady December rain,

Leaves in an eddy and December rain.

The tick-tock of the clock seems to have stopped

While in stillness I remember the rain.

The world’s filled with the cruel and many fools,

But there’s the stochastic sound of the rain.

I read a tweet that I quickly delete

While I’m walking in the wind and the rain.

Awake at night, I turn on my room’s light

And there’s the fantastic sound of the rain.

I heave a sigh for a lover who died

And recall the lullaby of the rain.

My name is Jim, I seek shelter within –

There are so many voices in the rain.

A Ghazal for November

A Ghazal for November

The maple leaves are red in November,

I recall what you said in November.

The sky is vast and cold shadows are cast,

Most of the birds have fled in November.

Letter received, she was badly deceived,

Now she rips it to shreds in November.

Solid earth becomes sand, where do I stand?,

When there’s nothing but dread in November.

Incense on the altar, I pause, falter,

I pray for someone dead in November.

The rising sun, the day has just begun,

With those Psalms that I’ve read in November.

I’m alone, I reach my brother by phone,

Holidays are ahead in November.

I completely refuse to read the news,

I’ll do something instead in November.

It is not quite night, at dusk there’s the sight

Of unraveling threads in November.

Somehow I knew, what you said wasn’t true,

I was being misled in November.

I, Wordsmith Jim, find shelter in a hymn,

That’s the place I’ve been led in November.

A Ghazal for Armstrong Woods

A Ghazal for Armstrong Woods

Walking in the cool shade at Armstrong Woods,

My anxieties fade at Armstrong Woods.

Paintings that I see at the gallery,

Landscapes that they have made at Armstrong Woods.

The sun’s rays break through, shining on the dew,

Cutting fog like a blade at Armstrong Woods.

The grove is quiet, we all should try it,

Our egos are unmade at Armstrong Woods.

Orchids scattered there, dissolving despair,

Hidden beauty’s displayed at Armstrong Woods.

As tall as one can see, the trees live centuries,

Humanity’s a vain parade at Armstrong Woods.

My name is Jim, redwoods are singing a slow hymn,

Moonlight falls, like a stream of jade, at Armstrong Woods.

A Ghazal for the Light

A Ghazal for the Light

Walking in the dawn, walking in the light,

The Presence of God hiding in the light.

She is alone, there’s no one left at home,

A journal she’s rereading in the light.

A cluster of trees swaying in the breeze,

Their fresh leaves are glittering in the light.

Outside in fresh snow a long time ago,

As a kid he was playing in the light.

The neighbor is gone the whole weekend long,

His dog’s constantly barking in the light.

A song that is new reminds me of you

And the way you’d be smiling in the light.

My friends have passed away and so today

I will be recollecting in the light.

My name is Jim, by a candle that’s dim,

At night you’ll find me praying in the light.

A Ghazal for the Oak

A Ghazal for the Oak

The afternoon shadow by the oak tree,

The flight of a swallow by the oak tree.

By the old wood fence he pitches his tent

On a field that’s fallow by the oak tree.

The sound of a creek, the peace that she seeks,

At a mountain hollow by the oak tree.

Thrown from his home he is begging alone,

There’s nothing to borrow by the oak tree.

An ancient boulder doesn’t look older,

It’s the same tomorrow by the oak tree.

A brief solitude sometimes comes to you,

There’s nothing to follow by the oak tree.

My name’s Wilson, I’m basking in the sun,

There’s an end to sorrow by the oak tree.

A Ghazal for Our Dreams

A Ghazal for Our Dreams

I visited you in the land of dreams

I learned what is true in the land of dreams

A polluted stream, a nightmare, a fiend,

A distorted view from our waking dreams

On the sidewalk they meet, they kiss and greet,

Love is always new in the land of dreams

Dry leaves are clinging, an old man’s singing,

Our days here are few in the land of dreams

A tree becomes a bird without saying a word

Everything’s renewed in the land of dreams

From a cloudless sky, a message, a sigh,

Karmic debts are due in the land of dreams

A mountain’s life is brief, time is a thief,

Like the summer dew in the land of dreams

My name is Jim, sometimes life is grim,

I bid you adieu from the land of dreams

A Ghazal by the Sea

A Ghazal by the Sea

The summer sun on the sand by the sea,

I shade my eyes with my hand by the sea

Lovers enjoy each others’ company,

The future for them expands by the sea

The long day ends, it will not come again,

She roams through realms that are grand by the sea

It is night and the bright moon will rise soon

Shining on the cliffs that stand by the sea

I had a dream, I don’t know what it means,

A white owl gave a command by the sea

Lost in the dark there’s a path in a park

On the gently sloping land by the sea

I, Jim thy friend, can see how it will end,

Standing next to darkness and by the sea

A Ghazal for Silence

A Ghazal for Silence

Sitting at my desk, like a spacious sea, at home,

Through a window I see an old oak tree at home.

A flower is in bloom in a vase in a room

Below a landscape painted recently at home.

Waiting for the bus to work she ignores a jerk,

She recollects a gathering for tea at home.

The vast desert sands, in the afternoon he scans

A long life he lived intermittently at home.

At the AA Meeting some familiar greetings

Followed by stories of recovery at home.

Faces of friends fade into the afternoon shade

Cast by a tree that blossomed recently at home.

The melodies of birds at his window are heard,

He writes quietly in his diary at home.

An icon of the Lord and a Psalm like a sword,

There is the incense of eternity at home.

My name is Fitzgerald, it’s silence I herald,

Which I embody slowly, oh so slowly, at home.

A Ghazal for the Stars

A Ghazal for the Stars

A planet’s wandering under the stars,

At night I’m pondering under the stars.

A cup of hot tea puts her mind at ease,

While quietly sitting under the stars.

In the dense dark of night an owl takes flight,

She’s silently winging under the stars.

Main Street’s empty, there’s no cacophony,

And no cars are jostling under the stars.

A dog who’s roamed finds himself a new home,

There’ll be no more hunting under the stars.

There is a stream in life and in our dreams,

It’s peacefully flowing under the stars.

My name’s Wilson, I’m in my last season,

Before dawn I’m walking under the stars.

 

 

A Ghazal for the Gardener

A Ghazal for the Gardener

A white rose in full bloom in the garden,

The full moon will rise soon in the garden.

A wizard sits down next to a lizard

While calmly casting runes in the garden.

A crush of tourists who are in a rush,

For others there’s no room in the garden.

A drunken loser, a longtime boozer,

Faintly whispers a tune in the garden.

Lost in the city, feeling self-pity,

She is feeling marooned in the garden.

I, Wordsmith Jim, wave a greeting to him

Who’s standing on a dune in the garden.