The click of her leash.
The squeak of the garage door.
Brutal wind whips past.
Years ago, when I wrote my own curriculum for AP Literature, I included Japanese verse in the poetry unit. I’d been studying Asian literature through the National Consortium for Teaching about Asia and was working to incorporate Japanese, Chinese, and Korean literature in all my classes.
Most of my high school seniors had played with writing the three-line, five-seven-five syllable patterned Japanese haiku at some time during their elementary years. It, along with diamante and limericks, tended to be staples of the mandatory poetry unit featuring Shel Silverstein and Jack Prelutksky that they all had participated in during third or fourth grade. Along with the nursery rhymes some of them knew, it was a semi-firm foundation in the world of verse.
Because of their limited poetic prowess, there was more to learn. Most students didn’t know about the tendency for haiku to focus on imagery in nature. Instead, they had concentrated on the syllable count requirements. Likewise, they’d never heard of a “snapshot in time,” a concept that haiku often captured and an excellent introduction to the Imagist poems we went on to study. And imagery itself- words that evoke the five senses- was a new concept for some students, as most still hung onto that tired and inaccurate definition of imagery they’d been taught: “painting a picture with words.” Writing their own haiku offered them an opportunity to create imagery and learn about turns- shifts or surprises- in the last third or so of a poem.
Tiny rock pellets
promise to keep me stable.
I pause taking the first step.
After students had enjoyed writing haiku, we moved on to an earlier, lesser-known form of Japanese poetry, renku, a collaboratively written poem with a specific form. In general, renku is an imaginative, often narrative type poem about a particular topic. Often, renku was written to honor a person or an event. The renku begins with a haiku-like verse to establish the setting and is followed by each subsequent verse composed by another writer who links it to its predecessor before moving to a new topic or event. The simplicity and directness of haiku provide the guiding style throughout the verses before the renku concludes after 12 to 36 stanzas. Today, it is a revived form of collectively written verse, written in a gathering or using the Internet, according to Haiku Spirit.
When our school held an Asian Fair to celebrate cultures most of the students and faculty knew little about, the AP Lit kids hosted a renku writing booth. Surrounded by room dividers my husband had built from two-by-fours and I’d backed with Vellum from JoAnn Fabrics, the students sat on Dollar Tree beach mats with chalk and a black foam board, ready to create renku verses with their peers. When younger students finished eating fried rice made by the Home Ec class and dared to poke their heads into the AP Lit booth in the school gym, they were greeted by yukata-clad kids with a jar full of slips of poetry topics to fuel their stanzas.
Maybe the collaborative nature of renku was what made the booth a success. The writers laughed and sipped green tea as they worked together, counting syllables and parsing ideas.
Or maybe it was the enthusiasm of my students. It wasn’t every day that they were able to dress in vintage Japanese costumes, kneel on “tatami” mats, and share their newfound knowledge.
Either way, they all came away with stronger analytical skills to apply to their reading and writing, as well as an appreciation of a new form of literature from a different culture. All wins, in my book.
During this winter, why not write a haiku or two? Push yourself to capture a bracing moment that the cold air inspires. Evoke your senses and surprise your readers at the end. Remember to count syllables, too. Like my students, you may be surprised at your own poetic prowess!
Hands clasp my shoulders;
ankles crossed, my knees hitch up.
I share my warm sheets.
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