"Haikus Are Easy...."

Recently spotted on a t-shirt:

Haikus are easy
But sometimes they don't make sense
Refrigerator

I find this brilliantly, brilliantly funny. And I thought I'd mention it as an intro to a topic that I've been researching recently: haiku.

We all know haiku to be these efficient little poems with a rigid structure of three lines in 5, 7, and 5 syllables. And we all intuitively understand the form to be a reflection of the greater Japanese aesthetic: simple, clean, and unassuming.

But the beauty of the haiku is that it manages to convey great power in just a few choice words (and often even greater power in the silences between those words--i.e. 'ma,' the Japanese concept of space and interval.) And one thing that Westerners may not understand is that for the most part, traditional haiku are all based on seasons. In fact, haikus often have a kigo, or a 'season-word,' that immediately signifies what the season is. For example, Hattori Ransetsu's famous haiku:

ume ichirin
ichirin hodo no
atatakasa

The translation is:

one plum blossom
brings us just one more
step to the warmth

In this case, the kigo is the word 'ume,' which means 'plum blossom.' Like with the much-celebrated cherry blossom ('sakura'), the sight of a plum blossom on a tree was one of the first signifiers of the coming of spring. And so an informed reader would instantly know what season Mr. Hattori was writing about.

Japanese poetry is full of these seasonal words. A sampling:

tsuki (moon): autumn, because of the long nights
hototogisu (cuckoo): summer, when the cuckoo is most often spotted
yuki (snow): winter, for obvious reasons

It's actually quite a wonderful thing....to convey that much meaning with such modest means. Really admirable.

This will be my last post for a couple weeks....I'll be exploring the Galapagos Islands, taking a little break and doing a little world-exploring. It's good for gaining perspective on life.

Return Is The Motion Of The Dao

Just spent a fun evening with my friend Maura Dykstra, who's a PhD student in Chinese History at UCLA. Over ramen and tea, she educated me on a bit of text from Chapter 40 of the Dao De Jing. It reads as follows:

fan zhe dao zhi dong
ruo zhe dao zhi yong
tian xia wan su sheng yu you
you sheng yu wu

As much as it is possible to pin down a translation to such a cryptic text, these lines mean the following:

Return is the motion of the Dao
Yielding is the way of the Dao
All things are born of being
Being is born of non-being

Understood? Didn't think so.

I'm attracted to the Dao De Jing because of the core belief in the continual flow and movement of the universe--it fits in well with the themes that I'm exploring in my album (the eternal cycle of life, death, and rebirth). Ancient Chinese, however, is a very cryptic language, though, and every word can have a multitude of meanings attached to it. (Of particular delight is that the character for 'music' is the exact same as the character for 'happiness!') That's why interpretations of the text are many and varied.

Lao Tzu wrote the Dao at a time when the prevailing philosophical belief system was designed to maintain the status quo of an entrenched ruling class; the Dao, written with purposefully 'ugly' choices of words, was a rejection of that and a call for simplification of philosophical thought. (I mentioned that it reminded me of the Protestant Reformation, and the rejection of Catholic doctrine.)

The end goal of all Chinese philosophy is the attainment of peace. Everyone's striving for nothing more than a simple, balanced life.

Sounds good to me.

Keening

I'm researching keening at the moment. I'm very interested in referencing this tradition for my upcoming album, as it fits in well with the themes that I'm exploring (life, death and resurrection).

Keening is a form of vocal lament performed at Irish wakes. The term comes from the old Irish word 'caoineadh,' which means 'to cry'--it's an old tradition dating back to the 7th-century, and though it's not performed much today, there are still examples of it to be found. One of the few recorded keens is this one, by Kitty Gallagher:

Essentially it's a song of lamentation, traditionally performed by the wife of the deceased--but often by professional mourners as well. According to various sources, keening had an element of call-and-response as well; the deceased would be laid to rest in his bed, the head keener would lament his passing at the foot of the bed, and the chorus would echo her cries.

One of the best known keens is the Caoineadh Airt Uí Laoghair, or the Lament For Art O'Leary. Composed by his wife Black-Haired Eileen over his death at the hands of an Englishman, it's a stirring 18th-century epic poem, and a powerful example of the mourning of lost love. An excerpt, during which she pleads with him to 'wake' from his death-slumber:

Mo chara thu is mo chuid!
A mharcaigh an claimh ghil
Eirigh suas anois,
Cuir ort do chulaith
Eadaigh uasail ghlain,
Chuir ort do bheabhar dubh,
Tarraing do lamhainni umat.
Siud i in airde t'fhuip;
Sin i do lair amuigh.
Buail-se an bothar caol ud soir,
Mar a maoloidh romhat na toir,
Mar a gcaoloidh romhat na sruth ...

Translation:

My friend and my dear!
Oh bright-sworded rider,
Rise up this moment,
Put on your fine suit
Of clean, noble cloth,
Put on your black beaver,
Pull on your gauntlets.
Up with your whip;
Outside your mare is waiting.
Take the narrow road east,
Where the trees thin before you
Where streams narrow before you.

(Not sure what 'put on your black beaver means'....any ideas?)

(It's worthwhile to note that the myth of the banshee seems to have been derived from this tradition.)