unwinding the apple
in one long strand

 

I have been writing haiku for a few years now, and over that time I’ve become increasingly interested in renku, a linked form composed by multiple writers. As writers often work alone, I find the idea of writing together very appealing. I am also intrigued by the guidelines renku leaders follow around themes and when they should appear and the intuitive ways the verses link to one another.

At the end of his essay “A Personal Introduction to Renku,” William J Higginson writes, “Enjoy a renku as you would enjoy music, for the varying motifs which come and go, threaded through the rhythms of first one voice, then another. Catch, if you can, how one verse adds meaning to what went before, and then changes its own meaning as the next follows. These changes, lightly governed by a variety of guidelines, should appear as simply the continuing flux of life.”

Isn’t this lovely? And oddly non-narrative?

I first learned about renku through “Thunder Moon: A Renku Party,” an episode of the Haiku Chronicles podcast. I had been wondering how to find one to participate in, when I discovered that The Haiku Foundation had just started one on their blog Troutswirl. The leader Marshall Hryciuk, who has led 40 renku sessions, opened with a three line hokku.

In the comments section below, writers offered possible verses to follow. Marshall replied to each with his thoughts about why or why not it would make sense as the next verse. He then selected one and suggested guidelines for the next verse. The renku currently has three verses and writers are suggesting possible fourths with the caveats that the next verse should be two lines, the season should be autumn, perhaps indoors, and should not refer to moonlight, animals, flowers, or precipitation!

These are just the kind of limits that inspire creativity, right?!

Though a novice, I bravely wandered in, proposing the following:

unwinding the apple
in one long strand

Marshall kindly and generously suggested the verse might be better as:

unwinding the orange
in one long peel

I have to admit I agree that his suggestion has more power, I think because orange is a stronger color and all oranges are orange and apples can be many different colors. He also guessed that perhaps I had gone with apple because it was more autumnal and encouraged me to follow my instinct.

Perhaps it wasn’t the most successful verse as a verse, but it was my first baby step in learning about a fascinating practice, and it was fun.

Happy Sunday and Day 3 of National Poetry Month!

Liz

 

first warm day
the twitching of the cat’s nose
at the screen door

 

 

gray morning
even the daffodils
drop their heads

 

I’ve been working on two great poetry projects. Oddly both of them are taking me away from the natural world around me. As spring awakens I’m feeling a growing need to reconnect with everything outdoors. Nothing draws me closer to the world than haiku, so I’ve been spending more time reading and writing them. I have a few wonderful anthologies, but lately I’ve been re-reading Haiku in English: The First Hundred Years, edited by Jim Kacian, Philip Rowland, and Allan Burns. I’ve been going through and tagging my favorites and then copying them out in my notebook. Copying helps me pay close attention and internalize them. When I want to write, I go for a walk. I walk slowly and look carefully. I bring a notebook and scribble words and phrases. At home I transfer them to my computer and develop them into complete haiku. My goal is to give my readers the same experience of noticing that I’ve had, without getting in the way and interpreting it for them. I wrote these haiku this week as spring finally settled in. I hope you enjoy them.

For more Poetry Friday visit Robyn at Life on the Deckle Edge.

Liz

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Winter

Maybe it will snow.
Maybe it won’t.
Either way the dark will snatch more and more of the day,
more than its fair share,
more than the accepted amount,
leaving us leaning into hibernation,
unable to disentangle ourselves from our blankets,
lacking all interest in rising and shining,
too tired to hope,
until finally,
spring fights back.

 

Tabatha Yeatts organized a wonderful winter poem swap and sent the image above for inspiration. Monet’s painting and the gray winter skies inspired the poem above and a few more that were equally dark. My family told me in no uncertain terms that the poems I was writing were too depressing for a gift, so I went back to the drawing board for a slightly more positive spin on the season. If you’re curious to see it, Tabatha has it on her blog. Thank you to Tabatha for organizing another wonderful swap and for allowing me to vent and then find a more positive outlook.

For more Poetry Friday, visit Diane at Random Noodling.

Happy Holidays!

Liz

 

Discarded leaves disgrace the lawn.
The sky grows pale and sighs.
Above the unmade garden beds,
the morning glory shines.

 

Feeling a little Emily Dickinson-ish today.

(c) Elizabeth Steinglass, 2015, all rights reserved