| MARLENE
MOUNTAIN |
 |
the plight of
the haiku public
Individually, we are at various stages in our development as poets, critics, and
readers of haiku. When we come upon those who do not write, think, or feel as we
do, we can say that they don't understand haiku. Or we can wait a bit. For each
of us has a role which is, perhaps, the most difficult of all: that of being a
member of the haiku public.
In Leo Steinberg's article, 'Contemporary Art and the Plight of the Public' (1),
we read how Paul Signac was angry with his friend, Matisse, when he exhibited
'The Joy of Life.' And how a year later, Matisse, himself, was extremely angry
with Picasso's 'Demoiselles d'Avignon.' Both paintings have since been
proclaimed as major contributions to modern art.
Professor Steinberg goes on to explain that when new art appears, the ones who
are the most upset with it are fellow artists. All of us -- as both artists and
members of the public -- feel shock, bewilderment, and anger. We are shaken,
feel a tremendous loss of familiar surroundings, and are sincerely troubled.
Professor Steinberg is sympathetic toward the 'plight of the public.' But as he
knows and as we all must come to understand, art doesn't wait for its public to
catch up with it.
Western haiku has had a short but colorful past. Though on a smaller scale, it
has been going through the fundamental changes in art each generation faces.
These changes in haiku range from a relaxation of punctuation and capital
letters to an inclusion of previously unacceptable subject matter to a complete
reexamination of the haiku form.
It is the latter change that has shocked some of the haiku public. Perhaps the
fear is that years of writing will be disregarded, that one form (the
juxtaposition of images) will be abandoned altogether, or that haiku will become
a type of free verse. However, if we understand the nature of art (whether
painting, music, literature, etc.) we need not fear this reexamination. Whenever
artists reexamine art (and themselves) it is not from a lack of respect for
traditions, but from a natural human impulse.
Unlike the other arts, haiku has no professional critics. Whether it is because
our movement is still too small to be noticed, or whatever, no one outside the
haiku world appears too much interested. Since we must be poets and critics at
the same time, we must take the responsibility of criticizing our work fairly.
Allen Leepa, a noted art critic writes:
The primary role of the critic is concerned with the work of art itself.
Otherwise, the work becomes weakened or lost if the critic functions as a
prisoner of fixed viewpoints. In other words, if art is viewed as the expression
of a static set of ideas, experiences, aesthetic values, or even humanistic
positions, the critic will impose on the works that he [sic] sees, the concepts,
principles, and attitudes inherent in the system of appraisal he is employing.
This type of approach -- the belief in an absolute set of fundamentals
applicable to all the arts, of all times--has led to innumerable aesthetic
miscalculations. Often, partial truths have been taken for the whole truth.
Roger Fry, for example, so strictly insisted on significant form as the basis of
art that, instead of form being viewed as part of the total creative statement,
it became the criterion. (2)
Within our movement, we have had and still have fine poet-critics: Amann, Bull,
Higginson, Hoyt, McClintock, Spiess, van den Heuval, and Virgil. Each has
contributed valuable criticism. Yet from 'somewhere' we, the public, have been
accused of being traditionalists, conservatives, experimentalists, explorers,
concretists, 5-7-5er's, etc. in our syllable counting or lack of syllable
counting. While we have become accustomed to such extra-literary labels, they
are not constructive. These labels do nothing to improve criticism of Western
haiku.
Though it may be somewhat unfair to single out terms (when so many have come
about), I do so now because two are very recent, and because, as a member of the
haiku public, I question the validity of such labels.
The first: 'the concept of the barest minimum can be a trap. A trap into which
advocates of the mini-haiku school have fallen' (3). Robert Spiess' term
'mini-haiku' is unfortunate. (For some reason he feels that he needs to make a
distinction between a 17 syllable haiku -- which is becoming obsolete as the
norm in Eastern and Western haiku--and something shorter.) Had he used the
correct word minimal to depict this other kind of haiku, perhaps his esthetics
could be understood. Minimal Art of the 1960's has a firm place in the history
of art as well as in the thinking and feeling of many who understand it. Minimal
Art, especially the art of Stella, Judd, Flavin, Kelly, Poons, has given us
fresh perceptions -- as art should.
The second: a quote by Gustave Keyser in an article by Spiess: 'All of the
scholars tell us the same thing: that in this haiku ['crow -- autumn evening']
Basho at last learned the effectiveness of such contrast and comparisons and
thereby raised haiku to new level of poetic quality. It is the lack of this
quality that I find fault with in most of the work of today's brevity
extremists. They lack meaningful contrasts or comparisons that project subtle
meanings and depths for a competent reader. This new work is too shallow --
usually a somewhat cold, feelingless picture or statement. I wonder, is it
because some of these new poets are themselves shallow? Or is it because they
merely haven't learned enough about the haiku as yet and don't understand what
it actually is or does?' (4)
Again, the 'plight of the public.' After all, it's been almost 300 years since
Basho 'raised haiku to a new level of poetic quality.' (He was also known to
lower it at times.) If you will excuse my understatement: a lot has happened
since, which has added to the poetic quality of haiku. If Basho were alive
today, I don't believe he would say: write this way. I have a feeling Basho
would still be developing.
Haiku didn't stop with Basho--it began!
While I cannot accept the term 'mini-haiku' and am saddened to see
misinterpretations of certain haiku by those who don't feel them, I can
understand how Keyser might think that there are some brief haiku. (Had he
gotten more specific and sighted my 'sn wfl k s' 5 as extremely brief, I could
certainly agree with him.) However, I don't think it is fair to lump individual
poets together and call them 'today's brevity extremists.' Nor do I think it is
fair to wonder in an article if 'these 'new' poets are themselves shallow.'
(Which 'new' poets?)
Hardly anyone would conclude that a brief haiku is shallow because it is brief,
anymore than one would assume that a non-brief haiku is deep because it is
non-brief. (We all would be upset if non-haiku poets called us 'mini' or
'brevity extremists.') We have seen enough haiku to know that all of us are
shallow at times, regardless of the number of words or syllables, or type of
form, and that very few of us are deep often enough.
But then haiku is not an exercise in depth. It is not an exercise in anything.
Though there may be dissensions and questions here and there about the Western
haiku structure (derived mainly, I suspect, from some good and some bad
translations of the Japanese haiku), I know of no one who is trying to abolish
it. We know too many fine haiku in this form. However, it seems that the form of
Western haiku hardly got started before it was forced into a non-creative
semi-retirement.
While we all need a certain amount of security, we must not shut ourselves off
from the development of haiku. Otherwise, instead of learning, we become
embittered and learn nothing. If Signac considered that Matisse was going to the
dogs and Matisse claimed Picasso's painting ridiculed modern painting, we can,
of course, allow ourselves (the haiku public) to misunderstand some kinds of
haiku--but only for a time.
We have much to learn about the Japanese haiku. It is not an open and shut case
as some would suggest. It is not enough to say that the Japanese haiku is 17
syllables and that Western haiku should adopt this form. The number of syllables
or words in a haiku (Eastern or Western) does not a haiku make. Nor does a
specified form.
Americans gave a new spirit to Western painting. Perhaps we have a similar role
with Eastern haiku (the Japanese haiku could use a new spirit.)
Whatever the outcome, we (Americans, Canadians, British, Australians, Spaniards,
etc.) have to figure this kind of poetry (and spirit) out for ourselves: whether
it be decade by decade or year by year. Certainly, the Japanese are not standing
in our way.
If all of us care, we can deal with our plight. We can have our differences. We
can even become interested in our differences. We need not become bitter.
After all, we journey into haiku, hoping that the journey does not end.
marlene mountain
june 1977
notes
1 In THE NEW ART, New York, 1966, p. 27 ff.
2 In 'Anti-Art and Criticism,' THE NEW ART, p. 140.
3 Modern Haiku 7: 4, p. 26.
4 Modern Haiku 8:1, p. 34.
5 'the old tin roof' 1976.
Modern Haiku 8:3 1977
Essay
on "hard to find"
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