Highku: for lovers of God

[Note: The following comes from the Introduction to the new book, Highku: for lovers of God.]

Several years ago, poems began coming to me in the traditional 5/7/5 form of haiku or senryu, but they weren’t consistent with the traditional content of fleeting seasonal scenes or sudden insights. Instead, these three-line poems focused exclusively on God – Father, Son, and Holy Spirit – most often in 17-syllable Psalms, Proverbs, prayers, or praise.

Such poems seemed to need their own name, and, initially, “aahcoo” came to mind with “aah” as that “ah ha!” moment of insight set to the coo of a dove. However, the name sounded too much like a sneeze, which just didn’t have the dignity required to honor our Most High God.

And that was it! “High” for the Highest and “ku” as a nod to the traditional haiku form with occasional exception in the modern style of fewer syllables.

This month, it occurred to me that I might have enough Highku for a new book, and, yes, I did! So, this week, Amazon informed me that Highku: for lovers of God is now available in all three formats: hardback, paperback, and ebook!

I pray each poem blesses you so much, you’ll want to share the book with others and read the poems as part of your prayers, meditations, or daily devotions.

May the peace of God be with you always in Christ Jesus, our Lord. Amen.  

How Haiku Helps

 

Reading and writing haiku, senryu, and other mini-poems help us to see more detail and say more in fewer words. Why should this matter to poets and writers?

 

Brevity

 

Many of the poems posted on the Internet go on and on, like a first draft that was never read aloud, reconsidered, or revised. With just a little more wait-time allowed after writing and just a little more listening time allowed to evaluate the sound echoes, rhythm, and musicality, each poem can go from “okay” to “good” or “good” to “well-done.”

 

Haiku, senryu, and other mini-poems remind us to be brief.

 

Clarity

 

Lengthy poems often have overlapping pictures with no clear focus. This can happen by mixing metaphors, but also because the poem has no clear direction. That’s fine in a first draft, but after letting a poem sit for a while before coming back to revise, poets are more apt to see what they and the poem are trying to say.

 

Haiku, senryu, and other mini-poems call on the clarity of a well-taken photograph or an artist’s quick sketch.

 

Beauty

 

Haiku, senryu, and other mini-poems frequently rely on a beautiful sight or insight (preferably both!)

 

This awareness of a fleeting thought, moment, or scene causes us to welcome the unexpected, be alert for the exquisite, be attentive to the profound, and be appreciative of our environment.

 

Other Features

 

Haiku, senryu, and other mini-poems are so transportable! They encourage us to keep a notebook handy.

 

These little forms help us to break free of rhymes that quickly close down thought, originality, and natural-sounding language. Also, by focusing on rhyming words, we might overlook other poetic factors, waiting to reveal themselves.

 

When we give ourselves and our poems over to the traditional 5/7/5 syllables in the three lines of haiku or senryu, we begin to think in form. If we prefer 2/4/2 or 3/4/3 or other syllabic count, that works too. Regardless, we’ll eventually be apt to count out those syllables on our fingers, activating kinetic memory, exercising creativity, and becoming more aware of the poetic moments in our lives.

 

 

©2021, Mary Sayler, poet-writer

 

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Is it a minipoem or first line?

In the previous post “Poetry Revision:Less can bring more to a poem,” we read “In a Station of the Metro” by Ezra Pound, who originally addressed his Parisian subject in a long poem he didn’t particularly like. After letting those lines sit for many months, he condensed thirty into three, creating an exquisite minipoem that almost everyone loves. (I do so much, it prefaces my poetry book Faces in a Crowd.)

So here’s the question: 

How do we know the size and shape of a poem? 

or

How do we identify our lines as a minipoem complete in itself or as the first line of a longer piece?

Sometimes we can’t tell! Sometimes we might need to toss the poem aside for days, months, or years, and later come back with a fresh eye and clear feelings about whether we even like the poem or not.

This week, for instance, the following lines came to me:

 

When I’m gone
will you walk alone
in the rain?

 

As you see from the line-breaks, I initially heard those lines as a minipoem, and I liked the thought, the image, and the echoes of sound apparent from the start.

But then, I started wondering? Is that poem finished? Has it said all it needed to say? And so, I started playing with the lines a bit more with these results:

 

When I’m gone will you walk alone in the rain?

Will you retrace our steps again, or wander home,
hoping for the comfort of a warm fire and a shawl?

Is this all our memories will ever own –
a slow walk in the rain?

That version is okay, but I’m not sure what it’s saying. More important, I don’t love it. So I tried again:

 

When I’m gone
will you walk alone in the rain?

Will you retrace our steps again,
or wander home,
hoping for the comfort
of a warm fire and a shawl?

Is this all our memories
will own – a slow walk in the rain
heading nowhere we’ve not known?

That version says more, but it doesn’t particularly resonate with my life and experiences. So now I’m wondering if it resonates more with readers? 

What do you think – first version, last, the one in between, or something else entirely?

I'm honestly interested in your response. Do you see, though, how there’s no “right answer” to such questions we face as poets and readers? I suspect some of you will connect more with the last version of my example, even though I don’t. My preference remains with those first lines that came to me as my husband and I pondered taking a walk in the rain – until it thundered!

 

Mary Harwell Sayler, ©2020

 

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The poetry technique of tiny

With the Internet speed of self-publishing, a poet’s rush to get published can quickly result in a lengthy poem that forgets the reader and says nothing new. It’s sort of like a one-sided, long-winded conversation – often boring to the other person.

If you even suspect this might be true of your poems, my advice is to write tiny.

Read haiku and other mini-poems.

Find out if there’s a form to follow.

Stay within the lines or syllabic count of that particular pattern.

This may sound confining but can actually be freeing as the last two years of poetry-writing have shown me. i.e., After a while, poems begin coming to you in 17 syllables.

Actually, the same is true if you start writing, in say, iambic pentameter or any other pattern. However, to stay on our present topic about the importance of little things in writing and revising, consider the senryu.

A senryu has the same 3-line pattern as the haiku with 5/7/5 syllables on each respective line. The difference between the two syllabic forms of poetry is in the content and purpose.

A haiku draws a quick sketch of a seasonal scene, often with a touch of humor.

A senryu presents a quick thought or insight.

This morning, for example, when I took my coffee onto the deck overlooking our little lake, this senryu came to mind:

Is it You I see?

Maybe. Probably. I don’t know.  

God is everywhere.

I went inside, wrote down those words before I forgot, then this revised version occurred to me:

Is it You I see?

Maybe. Probably. I’m not sure.

God is everywhere.

If, like most people, you’ve ever struggled with faith or moments of doubt, that poem might speak to you. So the reader could well have a part in the poem.

The capitalization of “You” is a small thing but alerts the reader to a conversation with God. The change between “I don’t know” and “I’m not sure” is small too, but weighty with possibility. For instance, if you take out that teeny tiny period ending the second line, you have an expression of doubt:

“I’m not sure God is everywhere.”

Yet another tiny change can turn the poem into a call-and-response or debate with oneself, if you simply add a line space:

Is it You I see?

Maybe. Probably. I’m not sure.

God is everywhere.

Then the small addition of italics for the last line can create further emphasis and possibly clarify the debate between doubt and faith. It might even highlight the fact that God's presence is beyond measure.

Is it You I see?

Maybe. Probably. I’m not sure.

God is everywhere.

Mary Harwell Sayler, ©2020

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