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10 APRIL 2022
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Eric Nicholson
More Haiku
I count myself extremely fortunate that I was able to take part in a Zoom conference about haiku recently. It was organised by Upaya Institute Zen Centre, Santa Fe and the main speakers were Roshi Joan Halifax, Kazuaki Tanahashi, Clarke Strand and Natalie Goldberg.
This was an in-depth exploration lasting nearly six hours, with breaks. There was the opportunity to ask questions but with 370 participants the hosts had to be selective.
One of the most interesting discussions was about translations from Japanese (or Chinese) into English – the best translators didn’t try and squeeze the syllable count into the 5-7-5 format thereby avoiding artificiality. When haiku are written in English some thought the 17 syllable constraint encouraged creativity and added an extra punch. In the end there seems to be no hard and fast rule. As Natalie Goldberg said, “It’s whatever kills you!” (Rather like Emily Dickinson’s remark that good poetry should blow the top of your head off!)
Everyone agreed that a really effective haiku wasn’t easy to write although superficially they can appear simple. Reading a haiku is also a learned skill and cannot entirely be separated from writing one. Both reading and writing require attention to detail, effort, a quiet mind and awareness of the depths of the mysteries of existence. There is usually something implied underneath the literal words.
One aspect I didn’t mention in my previous post was the element of ‘turn’ – an unexpected change of direction, sometimes an understated touch of humour or allusion to the ineffable.
Traditionally four elements weave in and out of haiku to suggest depths of meaning beyond the words. These are, sabi (isolation) wabi (poverty) aware (impermanence) and yugen (mystery).
After such an exposure I feel a certain trepidation in offering mine. Please keep in mind that some of the Chinese and Japanese masters rejected many of their attempts and even in present-day Japan haiku-poets may choose one out of every hundred they write.
I might pick three or four out of mine. I’d be interested to know if any stand out for you.
*
summer
trembles
in the passion flower
*
my vitality
can only boil a kettle
this winter morning
*
dusk remains
in the bat’s erratic flight
*
late August
twilight muffles
an owl’s hoot
*
Christmas day
a nightingale disappears
into a pear tree
*
skylarks singing
dog walkers ignore the hymn
while we look up
*
Nightingale!
I fumble with
my binoculars
*
the night sky in June
my telescope in moth-balls
only bats flying
*
August rain
on a window-ledge three pigeons
huddle headless
*
a midnight bust-up
I take my binoculars
and look at Venus
*
in this confused world
even a slug
knows what to do
Summer Haiku
I’m enrolled on an online session writing haiku so I thought I’d better do a few warm-up exercises. I’m no expert but know the traditional ones reference a season so some of these do. The syllable count of 5-7-5 is often ignored by contemporary poets but I’ve kept to this in most cases. Haiku usually capture a moment in time, often evoke an image and describe concrete details while at the same time suggesting universal themes. Haiku should be read more than once – they are meant to be savoured like culinary delicacies.
*
sickle moon in blue
sipping tea in hot sunshine-
contented for now.
*
cat chasing shadows
while I sit in baking sun
iced tea by my side.
*
a hot day in June-
jumping spider on my arm
pencil in my hand.
*
bees and wasps buzzing
foxglove nodding in a breeze
droplets on the leaves.
*
after watering
droplets sparkle on a leaf –
the sun’s pouring heat.
*
it’s thirty degrees-
two cats hiss at each other
I watch from my deckchair.
*
haiku in July
sun and moon against blue sky-
it’s too much for me!
*
under July’s sky
distant sirens become sharp-
the temperatures rise.
*
how long do they live?
butterflies dancing in air –
she talks about death.
*
a cat crouches, still –
a feather’s twitching in the wind
a pigeon’s remains.
*
morning glory
reaches towards the high sun –
she collects seeds.
*
how vast karma is!
we walk round the pond-
water off a duck’s back.
The Case For The Defence
Here is another piece about climate catastrophe and species extinction. Before you read it just a short introduction about the context. I am presently writing about climate change and species extinction. Like Covid, it is never out of the news and many of us get a bit weary listening to the arguments.
Nevertheless let’s take the bull by the horns. Many commentators think that run-away capitalism is a historical cause of the present crisis. Think of the destructive effects of the Industrial Revolution! Decades ago people like EF Schumacher argued that something more ‘humane’ had to replace mere economic growth and global competition. That he included spiritual and ethical components in his vision is evidenced throughout his seminal book, Small is Beautiful. Here is one short quote:
But what is wisdom? Where can it be found? It can be read about in numerous publications but it can be found only inside oneself. To be able to find it, one has first to liberate oneself from such masters as greed and envy. The stillness following liberation – even if only momentary – produces the insights of wisdom which are obtainable in no other way. [p30/31 in the paperback edition]
There is tentative cause for optimism today. Many of us agree with Schumacher, who wrote his book in 1973. David Almond, the internationally renowned fiction writer for young people talks about ‘re-wilding the self.’ Others debate how we can rewild the natural environment and restore denuded habitats. Hopefully, the younger generation will reject the allure of material riches in favour of a more equitable, ecologically aware society.
It is perhaps too easy to point the finger of blame at The Enlightenment of the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries, but I have taken up the baton for the purposes of my own piece here.
If anyone is interested further, I can recommend a few books which in different ways address these topics. [Recently The Wildlife Trust (in the UK) had an online discussion with five eco-writers which I tuned into.]
The Case For The Defence
Okay, I admit it; I killed you but so what?
In the grand scheme of things
you really didn’t amount to much.
It’s not as if you had claws, roared
or became an emblem of a multi-national
fossil fuel business.
It’s time to clear up a few false impressions;
to set the record straight. My aim is to enlighten.
*
I adored the guys who shored up my Enlightened
edifice with philosophical musings. They lent kudos
when it mattered; they were cool, unlike your Romantics
with their subjective rants. For example, their talk
about a rose still being a rose by another name. Yet
they prefer Mother Earth instead of a medium sized planet
orbiting an average star.
They’re very fond of their Red Lists aren’t they but
remember I helped to split a rainbow into wavelengths.
I weighed and measured my words in a chemical balance.
The conquest of nature was my invention so they shouldn’t
make false claims of ownership. I was proud
of how I assembled the earth’s bountiful produce;
I knew the time was right to export my Light
worldwide. I shrugged off their Lucifer insult.
I resented their finger-pointing from the start;
how they tried to make me feel guilt and shame.
My rigid grids were not prisons as they allege.
My ecological abuse was for their benefit; my compulsive
divisions were a set of oppressive rules devised to help
you grow and develop at your own pace. Your organic gardeners
should welcome warmer winters even if you don’t. They shouldn’t
appropriate my language as in ‘dysfunctional mechanisms,’
‘greenhouse effect’ or ‘run away feedback loops.’
*
So, I hold my hands up. I ask, ‘weren’t you just a snack for a bat?’
Weren’t you somewhat insignificant in spite of your name?
You can’t complain; having four stages of a life-cycle’s
asking for trouble. I guess no garden tiger will be ‘burning bright’
in years to come. No, you won’t be missed. Perhaps no will even notice.
Ecological
A Virtual Tour of a Mixed Habitat including Limestone Pavement and Flower Grassland.
Welcome to you all on this sunny day.
This habitat packs a huge emotional punch. We have around 100 acres of countryside: I hope we’ll feel physically caught up in the drama during our tour. Everything appears fresh and vibrant as if on the first day of creation. Listen. Did you hear the song thrush? It sings in triplets. Look: here below you can see the silvery track of a snail. Smell: that’s honeysuckle of course. We can truly appreciate the web of life here today.
The blue tit chicks are only a day old. They’ll need a hundred thousand caterpillars each day; the caterpillars need the bedstraw and clover to munch and the bedstraw and clover need the sun and nutrients in the soil. All is connected, including us. Where would we be without the bee? Oh! Here’s a sparrow-hawk: that’s goodbye to one of the blue tit parents. Isn’t it a privilege to see birth and death in front of our very eyes.
Lets zoom in for a close up of that piece of turf (yes, it’s rather like Durer’s drawing isn’t it!). Some of you children should be able to see the tiny ants scurrying up and down stalks of grass. Hear that? It’s not a bee; it’s a master of disguise called a Bee Fly, or Bombylius Major strictly speaking. That’s a name to conjure with and a headline to end all headlines isn’t it.
Now if we fast forward a good few decades, what do we notice? No, I don’t want you to be alarmed; I’m not like Greta! Just observe. Note the temperature. Yes, just a three degree increase. Where are the birds? Mostly gone. No caterpillars. But there are some daisies and dandelions growing in the hardened chalk soil, so not all is lost. Listen. No songs or calls. It’s just distant traffic.
Let’s do a casualty count: the warmer wetter winters have killed off the caterpillars of the Garden Tiger moth. So, we can declare that species extinct. The September Thorn is a thorn in the flesh and the Figure of Eight has us tied up in knots. The Narrow-leaved Everlasting Pea, so profuse here before, is no where to be seen. The Autumnal Moth has fallen victim too but let’s hope it’s clinging on out there in someone’s organic garden. That’s not counting the birds of course.
That’s the end of our virtual tour for today. Please bear with us during the next few weeks; we are experiencing problems with air conditioning which may effect future tours. Please check the website for latest developments. Tours may not be as advertised.
The Joy of Astronomy
The Joy of Astronomy
I first started observational astronomy in my thirties. That was when I constructed an 8 inch reflector using a car axle for the alt-azimuth motion and housing that in a solid wood tripod. I followed instructions from a ‘how to’ book and was amazed that, after some fine tuning, I saw pin-point sharp images of stars and could see distant galaxies. I used the scope for a number of years but finally sold it and that was the end of my telescopic observations (I occasionally used binoculars, which by the way is the best way of getting to know the constellations).
Fast forward forty four years. Last December I bought a used 5 inch reflector – the model often advertised as a ‘beginner’s scope.’ I started using it in my bedroom looking through window glass. All the advice suggest this is a bad idea for obvious reasons. However, I found it was a good way of getting to know the scope and how to use the equatorial mount. There seemed very little distortion that you would expect looking through glass and hardly any you could notice when observing the moon.
The next stage I attempted was astro-photography. I’d seen stunning images taken with smartphones on Facebook. You hold the phone camera up to the eyepiece and, hey presto, you have your photo! Well, it’s not quite that simple in practice. For a first attempt I struggled for over half an hour lining up the camera lens with the eyepiece. Eventually I got my first image of a daytime moon that I was pleased with.
The next stage was to buy an adaptor so you could attach the phone to the eyepiece. This was an improvement on the hand-held method but it was still fiddly aligning the camera lens to get all of the image centred. However, I persevered and took the scope outside to photograph the moon.
So, four months have been a steep learning curve – and it continues. This last week I downloaded a free image-editing programme which enables you to enhance your photos. In the days when digital cameras first came on the scene ‘improving’ images in this way was seen as cheating! Nowadays, it’s an accepted part of the whole digital process. So far, I’ve used it judiciously; mainly to sharpen an image as in these two photos. I added the star for artistic effect, but I’d have to look again at the programme to see how I did that.
If you can alter the shutter speed of your camera you can take longer exposures of stars, planets, nebulae and galaxies. Maybe that’s my next step but my phone is an old one so may not be up to it.
How to begin to describe the fascination of astronomy? As I said to a friend today, I’ve always had one foot in the Arts and one in the Sciences. I had a brass microscope when I was 12 and before that spent hours and hours constructing Meccano models and balsa wood planes. Amateur Astronomy is a hands-on hobby. Moreover, it combines aesthetics, science, poetry and art. (I’ve painted a few pictures inspired by astronomy and written a few poems.) You could throw in ‘philosophy’ and ‘religion’ into the mix too. Blaise Pascal found the immensity of space frightening. Most people find it awe-inspiring but also impossible to grasp what 100,000 light years, for example, actually is. The ‘God by Design’ argument in philosophy is best exemplified by viewing the night sky on a clear night. For me it’s enough to feel a sense of the numinous as I manoeuvre my scope onto a galaxy 2,000 light-years distant. It’s no wonder ancient cultures populated the night sky with gods and legends.
[Perhaps I could write a Part Two about the symbolism of the moon and how different cultures have viewed our nearest galactic neighbour.]
Gallery
A selection of my art works
Life Force, acrylic on canvas, 56cm x 56cm
Buddha Bird, Acrylic, 30cms x 29cms
Acrylic on canvas, 41cm x 41cm
Gouache, 20 x 5cm
Mahler and the Meaning of Life
This first blog of the New Year may come out as a bit crazy as I’m writing off the top of my head without any plan. Even for those of you who don’t listen to a lot of symphonies I urge you, just this once, to listen to the first 15 minutes of this! (Eschenbach and his orchestra are superlative by the way. I can’t imagine a better performance.) You can start the video and listen as you read: the music then will run parallel to some of my thoughts.
Last year I wrote a long poem inspired by Mahler’s 3rd symphony, his longest. Early on in that symphony there is a trombone solo and he plays a haunting melody throughout the movement. I find something inexplicably moving about such musical devices; the solo instrument seems to stand for the individual struggling against fate, society, conditioning karma or what you will. Here in the 5th I find the trumpet solo almost unbearably moving in the same way.
Probably because of early-life trauma I have been looking for a kind of ‘perfection’ most of my life. After reading Colin Wilson’s The Outsider when I was 21 I decided that ‘ordinary life’ was banal and boring and there had to be something else! (I have too many reservations about Wilson now and see his many flaws.) This has led me on a long search which has included overdosing on classical music, investigating religion and spirituality (too much to itemise here), literature, poetry, wring poetry and short stories, art, practising as an artist, various hobbies and of course, relationships. On the psychological level I might term all of this seeking, ‘compensation activity.’ I can accept that I have been trying to ‘fill’ a sort of emotional ‘lack’ but does that negate the seeking after perfection? I am asking these questions as a 74 year old.
A spanner was well and truly thrown in the works when I started following the Zen Buddhist path in 1985. There is a saying in the tradition I follow, ‘to live by Zen is the same as to live an ordinary daily life.’ (Actually it is part of Dogen’s advice for meditation) Yikes; did that mean I’d spent decades wasting time and floundering about? Well, yes and no. It did mean in practical terms that I questioned my assumptions more and more and could no longer take refuge in seeing myself as an outsider or elavating art as the main purpose in life. (Schopenhauer famously believed the Arts were literally the only compensation for being born a human, such was his pessimistic view.)
As a Buddhist I try not to divide things as being inferior or superior. Walking into a shopping centre or supermarket use to throw up all sorts of judgemental thoughts such as, ‘this is mindless, what a consumer society we live in.’ Nowadays because of being more mindful I just do the shopping. ( The thoughts will still arise but I don’t dwell on them.) It may not be as enjoyable an experience as listening to Mahler but that is the Buddhist view. We don’t see reality as it is because of all our personal preferences and opinions. I’m a slow learner when it comes to Buddhist practice.
This slight change in my ‘outlook’ has been very gradual since 1985 I’d say and it actually makes the best of both outlooks. The music, works of art etc. seem more amazing and the little steps of life such as walking in a park or doing the dishes are also amazing. Don’t get me wrong. Depression is ongoing and most days I tread water to keep my chin above the surface. However, even the depression (not a good term as it is not a noun, not a ‘thing’) takes on a slighly different context. A Buddhist monk recently came out with the wonderful throwaway statement that ‘there is more to life than life.’ This gives me hope and confidence that there is a bigger picture than what my own petty preferences show me. I suppose it is similar to the line in Shakespeare that ‘there are more things in heaven and earth, Horatio, than are dreamt of in your philosophy.’ It is a lot more nuanced than Shakespeare though; it points to the soap opera quality of ordinary life. (Oh dear, we are back to ordinary life being banal and boring! I told you this could turn out to be crazy.) It is said that there are the circumstances we each find ourselves in and at the same time an underlying ‘life-force’ for lack of a better word. (‘Buddha nature’ to be exact but I am not writing this for confirmed Buddhists.) I cannot describe here what it precisely means but can throw out a few pointers. How about the Christian ‘to be IN the world but not OF the world? And one for the Buddhists among you; Samsara and Nirvana are not seperate.
What has all of this rambling to do with Mahler? Here is another thought. One of the aspects I like about Mahler is the length of his symphonies; most are over an hour long. In this time of the sound bite and low attention span I revel in something which both demands prolonged attention and is compex. Why? Umm, maybe because it’s just the joy of music. Maybe because life is difficult and complex and therefore the music runs in parallel to life. I suspect one of the reasons why Mahler is popular today is exactly because his music reflects the complexity of life we all recognise. That multi-layered complexity is what I was getting at in my poem.
So, finally what of perfection? There is another saying that all people have an intuitive sense of an ultimate goodness or an ultimate ‘reality’ above and beyond their own personal lives. It is not something that can be logically argued about. I believe that is behind my own seeking after perfection – dare I say it: that we have to believe we are okay (perfect?) as we are! (Wabi sabi in our own lives.) That means for me I can still enjoy Mahler but also can accept when I feel grumpy, depressed and irritable. I can still gaze at a Van Gogh in awe but still appreciate the hot water running out of my tap.
My imaginary interlocutor may ask why is washing the dishes ‘amazing.’? Imagine being on your deathbed. Will you be able to wash the dishes then? Will you be at peace then? Now that you can wash the dishes, can you reflect on the incredible compexity of the action. The complex co-ordination! Above all, can you ‘just wash the dishes’ without following a train of thoughts about the past or the future?
A Poem and a Lost Scottish Classic
As we approach the end of this unprecedented year it seems appropriate to post this short poem.
2020
That was the year when
everything shut down
and all we could hear
were the birds.
That was the year when
we hid from each other
and couldn’t say goodbye
to the dying.
That was the year when
the masked looked
askance at the unmasked.
That was the year when
we found out what
was essential and what
was inessential.
That was the year when
I found out there was more
to life than life.
That was the year when
I found out there is more
to death than death.
That was the year when
I unstitched a few
malevolent masks.
That was the year when
I found out there was a
a human need to reach
out and touch others.
* * *
Addendum
I am reading a novel at the moment which is pertinent to our present pandemic. It is titled The Silver Darlings, by a Scottish author, Neil M Gunn. It was first published in 1941, perhaps that date is significant in itself. The ‘silver darlings’ of the title are in fact herrings as the novel traces the Highland fishermen and their families in various situations. (They are silver not only because of their colour but because they provide sustenance and profit for the population.) Each chapter (26 in total) has a title and chapter 10 is The Coming of the Plague. The plague turns out to by dysentery but the effects on the population are the same; the need to isolate those infected and many deaths. With our present pandemic I’ve heard people reference Albert Camus; The Plague and other novels or plays but I’d be surprised if many people have heard of this Scottish novel. The historical setting is around the highland clearances when many were moved off the land and hence found employment in the fishing industries. There is an underlying political dimension to the novel. (Neil Gunn was a Scottish Nationalist.)
As some of you may know my father was a Scot and I may even have heard him mention Neil Gunn. It is a pity I will never know if he read this book. There are salmon fishermen in our ancestry so that is another reason for connecting with the characters.
So, what is it about the novel which makes it other than just a ripping old adventure story? In a word, its humanity. The characters are all believable and three-dimensional. But above that, I have been moved by the honest down to earth evocations of situations involving suffering and joy, for example when he describes compassion in action and the love between the characters. There are many poetic descriptions of the countryside and sea. Many commentators today talk of the loss of community: in this novel there is a strong sense of community. It is easy to feel nostalgia for the past and over-romanticise it, but Neil Gunn writes without sentimentality of a way of life which has vanished from the so called developed world.
The plague chapters are very moving and are impossible to read without comparison to our present situation. Again, he doesn’t exaggerate the suffering and writes with much empathy. (I do wonder how the war affected him and how involved he was. Some research for a rainy day! I had a quick look online and there is no mention of the war although he was living in Scotland in the 40s.)
I am only half way through the novel so I have not made my mind up as to how satisfying it is in the end as a work of art. From what I have read so far, I would recommend it as a novel which provides insights into a way of life of the past and how natural forces (disease and the elements) affect us all.
January 2021
I have now finished reading the novel and can say it is one of the most life-enhancing novels I’ve read. The relationship between Catrine and her son is very well developed. The overall tone of vitality and optimism is refreshing; there is none of the angst associated with mid twentieth century literature. Some may conclude that this is because it is a naturalistic ‘escapist’ narrative, but I found depths of insight here which would contradict this assessment.
National Poetry Day
As it is NPD in the UK I set myself a task to write a ‘quickie’ while sitting in the sun yesterday. Here it is.
It’s National Poetry Day
so today’s the day to put pen to paper
if I can drag myself away from watching
a garden spider wrapping silk around
a hoverfly (I can see it now from my seat
in the sun in the centre of its lair). The victim
looks like a minuscule mummy and the spider’s
drinking the liquidised flesh if I’m not
mistaken (so fit for purpose!).
So what’s on the menu now that’s ended?
More Covid 19 alarm?
more listing the thousands of critters on the Red List?
more stream of consciousness?
more rubbing our noses in the dirt?
more didactic drumbeats?
more alarmist alliteration?
more marvellous metaphors, sardonic similes and canny conceits?
more ironic digs about our country?
more colonial cognitive dissonance?
more climate catastrophe?
more hero’s journey into the dark night?
Well, no;
just a few concrete observations (don’t ask me what;
I don’t know yet) and some showing not telling
as they advise in all the best books.
I told a friend today she could tell north from south
by looking at brambles (even the stench of manure
will tell you which way is south in England’s Green
and Pleasant Land) and that nature’s a better teacher
than all our hardback books and even the thousands
in Dove Cottage. (At the precise moment I told her
I heard a mewing from the sky so we both looked up
and saw seven buzzards circling in the thermals).
That’s strange: the spider’s scarpered with its first
wrapped meal and left a second twitching in its web.
(I’ll check it out after tea)
And, look! a dandelion’s flowered between flagstones;
a giant cumulus humilis cloud’s hugging the house opposite;
a crow caws from a chimney cowl; against the blue
a contrail expands from needle-sharp beginnings
to candy-floss staccato and two black and white carers
cross the street peeling off masks and wiping hands.
All Things Creative 