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The violet sky
The last light of the May sun
Names I've forgotten

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An elegant fox
As the May sun is setting
On all of my fears

Unexceptional: Part 4 -- Clap Your Hands!!

Unexceptional: Part 4

One way of looking at the relationship between Japanese and English syllables is through what I am going to refer to as a ‘performance definition’.  In Japan Haiku and Tanka poets count syllables on their fingers.  I think of this as a performance: the movement of the fingers is an embodied performance of what a syllable means. 

In a previous post Dan, a follower of this blog, who is a grade-school teacher, commented that he teaches his classes the meaning of an English syllable by clapping hands.  As Dan recites a sentence out loud, the class claps with each unit of sound, i.e. each syllable.  This is very easy to do and the kids like it.  Dan also noted that there are instances of ambiguity: for example, some kids will clap twice for the word ‘fire’ (hearing the word as something like ‘figh-er’, or ‘fy-er’), and some will clap once.  This can also be fun for the kids to discuss.

In both instances, counting syllables on one’s fingers, and clapping one’s hands for each syllable, we have an embodied performance of what a syllable means.  In both instances it would be easy for those involved to switch the procedure.  Although Japanese are not used to clapping, it would not be difficult to offer instruction and instead of counting on their fingers have the Japanese clap for each syllable of their Haiku or Tanka.  Similarly, Americans are capable of counting syllables on their fingers; I have observed Americans counting on their fingers when counting change, for example, or counting the number of days until an appointment.

What I want to suggest is that these embodied procedures for counting syllables reveal that, in fact, the Japanese syllable and the English syllable are the ‘same thing’ at the level of this kind of embodiment.  That is to say if you observed Japanese counting syllables on their fingers while composing a Haiku, and then you observed Americans counting syllables on their fingers it would appear that they were doing the same thing.  I would argue that, in fact, they are doing the same thing.  And the same would be true if one observed the two groups clapping hands to mark the flow of their syllables.

It is only when we become obsessed with abstractions and the micro-level of the two languages that the idea that Japanese and English are counting different things appears.  I would suggest, for the readers' consideration, that this is an example of the abstract mind causing confusion rather than clarifying.  At the level of embodiment it is obvious that English speakers and Japanese speakers are doing the same thing: that is to say they are both counting syllables.  Yet another indication that the Japanese and English languages are not so different after all.

Panta Rhei

Panta Rhei

As I have recently posted, I am spending more time with the haiku of James Hackett.  Here is an example of his Haiku that I find particularly striking:

As twilight tolls,

petals fall into the dark stream

revealing its flow.

(Haiku Poetry: Volume One, James Hackett, page 27)

I find it to be a truly fine example of the craft of haiku.  The line count is 4-8-5, for an overall count of 17 syllables.  Each line ends on a single syllable word.  Lines 1 and 3 are united by a subtle rhyme: tolls/flow.  Line 1 makes use of alliteration with ‘twilight tolls’.  This is a single sentence haiku, each line is a grammatical phrase, all three phrases combine to form a visual and energetic unity.

The time is set as twilight.  The season is set as spring with the use of the seasonal reference ‘petals fall’.  Spring is normally a time of increasing warmth, or yang, energy.  But with the phrase ‘petals fall’ this brings to the haiku a more somber cast and reveals the yin presence within the yang season.  This sense of somberness is reinforced by the time (twilight) and by the phrase ‘dark stream’ and by the falling motion of the petals.

There are three types of motion in this haiku.  First there is the time of twilight, when the sun is visibly declining.  Second, there is the falling motion of the petals, which replicates the falling of the sun.  And then there is the horizontal motion of the stream, whose motion adds a counterpoint to the motion of the time and the setting of the falling petals.

In fact, everything in this haiku is in motion, though at first the reader might not realize it.  Twilight, at first, appears still, but it is soon over.  And then there is the motion of the petals and the motion of the stream.  But the motion of the stream is a hidden motion; in this aspect the hidden motion of the stream resembles the hidden motion of the twilight.  Both are constantly moving and shifting, but it is not always clear to our senses that this is so.

In my mind’s eye I think of this as late March or early April.  I see the petals as apple blossoms.  The stream is full from the spring runoff.  When a stream is full and moving at a steady pace, it sometimes will appear glass smooth even though it is moving rapidly.  No waves manifest to give the viewer a sense of movement.  So I think of myself as watching this stream, perhaps the Russian River or one of its tributaries, at the end of the day.  Then there is a brief breeze; I interpret the ‘tolling’ of the first line as a gentle wind.  And the wind touches the apple tree and petals drift down from the tree onto the water, and suddenly the petals are swept away on the rushing current of the quiet river.

The true nature of the river is uncovered when the petals suddenly recede into the distance.  As a metaphor, this haiku has a lot of resonance.  I think of examples like how our bodies are constantly changing, aging, but we don’t recognize it until that change is shown to us in some incident, reflected back to us.  This can be a casual comment someone makes, dropping like a petal onto the river of our lives. 

Or we have in our minds the house we grew up in, and then we go to visit it again, after decades, and we see how much it has changed, and by implication, how much we have changed. 

This haiku has many resonances in our lives and illuminates what I think of as the rivering nature of the world in which we live.  But we often do not realize the constancy of change in which we live and which we are.  Just like the river which at fist looks motionless, but is actually constantly flowing, so also our lives, which may feel static at times, are in constant motion.  This haiku is like one of the petals falling into the stream; but the haiku falls into the stream of our mind, revealing its flow.

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A stillness settles
Among the boulders and oaks
Warm wind, now and then

Retreat

I am off on a retreat and won't be posting for about a week.

Best wishes,

Jim

The Table

In the city park
The rhododendron blossoms
In the full moon light

The water from the fountain
Resembles a melody

At the intersection
With the windows wide open
The radio blast

Conversation disrupted
By the insistent cell phone

The savings are gone
Retirement reconsidered
There are doctor's bills

Will we ever be content?
Waiting for the cold to end

Restless bare branches
Swaying in the constant wind
The sign at the door

Tourists at the knick-knack store
Purchasing a memory

Statues of Kwan Yin
Come in various sizes
Just like compassion

A stranger helps an old man
At the new mall's parking lot

Starlings in the July heat
Pecking at scarps in the dust

The path from the road
Meanders to the river
Slowly flowing by

At the bottom of the cliff
A pile of broken boulders

Casting long shadows
Capturing the morning light
Capturing the time

Painting a watercolor
Of his lover's smiling face

As she sits at the table
They have shared for many years