As a serious contribution to the long-running “What is a poem?” discussion between me and my good friend Jinglebob, let me tell y’all my thinking in writing the haikuish thing I posted earlier this week – keeping in mind I tossed it off in less than an hour and I never claimed to be a poet, only that I dabble in poetry, so what I intended may not have come through.

I’m driving home the other night – long commute – and come off the freeway to see this big full moon as bright white as can be in our clear, black, sub-zero atmosphere. And I’m thinking about friends I have scattered around the country, and then remembering when I was back East and trying not to miss my future wife in South Dakota – and how I used to find strange comfort in the notion that we could both look at the same moon – even talk about it from essentially the same perspective – and it made us seem closer.

Then I thought about the last week or so – I’ve been writing a ton and have spent a lot of time in the same house with Jodi, but not at all with her – like, I’m barely seeing her even though we spend most of our time in close proximity.

It’s strange how distance and togetherness are two different things, don’t you think?

So the great fun (to me) of haiku is to attempt to convey that in 5-7-5 syllables, with solid descriptive details, usually of a natural scene.

I played around with all of the words I used, plus words to convey the coldness of the night, the vast expanse of distance, etc. – but syllables come at a premium. This is like espresso poetry – concentrated!

“Distance” is kind of a math and science word – not very poetic to me. So I went with “together” – which is actually a good set-up for the romantic aspect of the haiku. I thought of the inspiration – the shared view of the moon – and thought “the moon between us” – then I thought, “nothing but the moon between us” – but that conjured a funny image in my head, of two people with a big orb keeping them apart.

But the phrase “nothing between us” after “together” conjures thoughts of lovers. That’s nice!

So “together: nothing/between us except the moon” – that’s pretty good: moonlight and lovers, and you haven’t given away the deeper thing you’re trying to convey yet.

But the imagery is a little hazy – what was the overwhelming detail of the moon I saw? It was more or less full, and it was so dark outside. Full is a good descriptor, but picture a full moon. Got it? Now picture a white moon – got it? When I pictured a full moon, the overwhelming detail was roundness. When I pictured a white moon, the overwhelming detail was brightness (which by nature calls attention to darkness) – a white moon, to me, calls to mind a darker night.

But I’m spending syllables too fast, and “except” is an ugly word. I can save a syllable with “save,” which is also a more romantic word. So “together: nothing/between us save the white moon” – better.

Now for the kicker – the truth that these lovers are not together at all, except in their thoughts.

“together: nothing/between us save the white moon” and what? “the frozen miles” came to mind, because its so damn cold here – but that has no bearing and doesn’t convey a sense of enormity. It could just be two frozen miles, in which case, jump in your car and go …

How about “and the long dark miles”? Nah – we already established “dark” with the white moon, and “long miles” is unnecessarily redundant – it doesn’t add much. “Lonely,” though – now that adds a sense of enormity – you’re all alone, miles from the one you love – and is a nice contrast to “together.”

So:

together: nothing
between us save the white moon
and the lonely miles

Hmm. “The” is another ugly (and abrupt) word, but necessary sometimes. Something else bugs me, though – “the white moon” makes it sound like it’s just some moon – any ol’ moon, any ol’ night – that happens to be white, and it isn’t. This is about a shared experience – a moon that both lovers see – a specific moon. It’s about “this moon.” The lonely miles – well, they’re countless – but tonight, there is only this one white moon.

Thus,

together: nothing
between us save this white moon
and the lonely miles

And then I thought, “together: nothing” looks odd, like I was trying to say something about those two words. It looks like a ratio (X:Y) – when this is supposed to be a definition of sorts. So I capped the initial “t” and called it good.

Together: nothing
between us save this white moon
and the lonely miles

A fair amount of thought went into it. If, when you read it, you saw a white moon in a big dark sky, and got the idea that someone was thinking fond thoughts of someone else far away, you “got” the idea. If you thought about it a moment longer, and it felt a little bittersweet (nothing between your skin and mine but more miles than we can count), you got the poem.

If you didn’t, you’re probably perfectly sane, and I think too much and write too poorly! Thoughts?

This cold winter night,
that old wooden-head buddha
would make a nice fire
– haiku by Buson

It’s cold this morning – the kind of cold that, after just a few minutes, makes you imagine what you’d do to stay warm if you didn’t have a warm house close by …

The haiku by Buson illustrates this feeling nicely, I think, with subtle humor. It is detailed and concise – saying just enough to capture your attention and spark your imagination. You can read it and “get it” immediately – or you can think on it and uncover some deeper truth about the world. It conveys the poet’s mindset and message, not by taking the reader by the hand, but by setting the reader’s mind on the path and trusting they will arrive in due time. In my ongoing discussions with Cowboy Bob regarding what makes a poem a poem (especially poems that don’t have clear rhythm or rhyme) this is perhaps the best explanation I’ve found.

People wonder sometimes why I’m fascinated with Asian poetry and film. It is in part because, in many cases, the Asian masters seem to have perfected something many Americans (especially film-makers) seem to have lost – the Art of Understatement. (There are notable exceptions, of course, including classic kung-fu and samurai flicks, which appeal to me for entirely other reasons. More on that another time.)

*****
Wrapping dumplings in
bamboo leaves, with one finger
she tidies her hair
– haiku by Basho

Film critic Roger Ebert says, “If you have to ask what something symbolizes, it doesn’t.” He makes a good point – symbols cannot be so obscure that no one grasps them. But scenes, references and language that make you think – or better still, feel – without telling you how or why offer opportunities for discovery.

Consider two of my favorite “love scenes” on film, one from an Asian filmmaker (who has made “American” films) and the other from an American filmmaker, but in a film set in imperial Japan. In Ang Lee’s Crouching Tiger Hidden Dragon is a scene in which Chow Yun Fat and Michelle Yeoh – two star-crossed warriors who’ve loved each other for years but have been unable to act upon that love – enjoy a quiet moment and a cup of tea. He takes her hand and brings it to his cheek, and you can feel their ache for each other. They exchange a few simple lines, as I recall, but that’s it. Their faces and hands tell the story. (If anyone knows where to find this clip online, let me know. You can see a portion of the scene as part of this montage from the film, near the 2:15 mark – thanks, Tyler!)

There is another love scene in the movie that is more aggressive (and more biomechanically accurate), but even this scene is short and and involves no nudity – and yet you have no doubt what has happened, both physically and emotionally.

And in Edward Zwick’s The Last Samurai, Tom Cruise’s character, who has been cared for by the widow of a samurai he killed (she does so on orders from her brother, the leader of the clan) is dressed for battle by her in her late husband’s armor. The woman has come to love him, and although they do kiss (once, and lightly), they wouldn’t have to for the scene to be effective. No nudity. No slo-mo. No sweat.

Now, I know that Asian films and filmmakers aren’t always this subtle – Ang Lee, in particular, has pushed the envelope with his portrayals of sexuality, both in the States and abroad. But what catches my attention is 1) how relatively rare it seems that an American film takes the more subtle route, especially in terms of love or sexuality (and I don’t think it’s a coincidence that Zwick’s scene is in a movie set in the Far East), and 2) how this subtle approach parallels, in my mind, haiku and other Asian poetry.

Maybe it’s what I’ve come to expect, or the movies I choose to see – or maybe Asian film-makers are exporting what they think Western audiences want from them. Whatever the case, it’s clear to me that these movies approach their subject matter from a different mindset, and that mindset intrigues me.

*****

Both of these movies, and other similar films, also end on a note of uncertainty. The American film tries to tidy up a bit at the end – gives you one possible outcome – but neither is altogether happy or altogether neat. My wife hates that …

One last haiku – perhaps the best I’ve found at taking the reader to the verge and then letting go:

This world of dew
is only a world of dew –
and yet
– haiku by Issa

Blogger’s Note: Top two photos of Chow Yun-Fat and Michelle Yeoh in Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon. (© 2000 Sony Pictures Classics. All rights reserved.) Bottom photo of Tom Cruise and Koyuki in The Last Samurai. (© 2003 Warner Bros. All rights reserved.)