Gary Snyder Gives Jack Kerouac A Tutorial in Haiku

by

John J. Dunphy

This is a revised version of a column that was published in the 2/2/14 edition of The Telegraph of Alton, Illinois.

According to a definition accepted by the Haiku Society of America, a haiku is a short poem that uses imagistic language to convey the essence of an experience with nature or a particular season of nature, which is intuitively linked to the human condition. It’s a brief yet comprehensive description — and one that explicitly makes clear a haiku needn’t be written in the tedious 5–7–5 syllable count, or even limited to a three-line format. While other useful definitions of haiku exist, I recently discovered one that embodies a unique freshness and vibrancy.

I finally got around to reading Jack Kerouac’s 1958 work “The Dharma Bums,” which contains an account of Kerouac climbing California’s Matterhorn Peak with Gary Snyder, whom Kerouac renamed “Japhy Ryder” in the book. Described to Kerouac by “Alvah Goldbrook” (Allen Ginsberg) as “the wildest craziest sharpest cat we’ve ever met” and possessing a solid background in “Oriental scholarship, Pound, taking peyote and seeing visions,” Snyder tutors Kerouac in haiku during the climb. “Look over there,” sang Japhy, “yellow aspens. Just put me in the mind of a haiku…’Talking about the literary life — the yellow aspens.’ “

Kerouac is impressed and muses, “Walking in this country you could understand the perfect gems of haikus (sic) the Oriental poets have written, never getting drunk in the mountains or anything but just going along as fresh as children writing down what they saw without literary devises or fanciness of expression.”

He evidently didn’t use the word “haikus” in Snyder’s presence, who certainly would have informed him that the plural of haiku is also haiku.

Snyder’s spontaneous poem “Talking about the literary life — the yellow aspens” could indeed be regarded as a one-line haiku. The image it brings to mind is two of more writers engaged in an abstract, terminology-laden discussion on literature who are suddenly silenced when they notice the beauty all around them — in this case, yellow aspens. Kerouac’s comment that “walking in this country” provides an ideal environment for haiku is right on the money, since this poetry genre is centered in one’s experiences with nature or a particular season. He’s also correct in asserting that “literary devices or fanciness of expression” have no place in haiku, which is inherently simplistic in the best sense of the word.

Adjectives are rare in haiku and adverbs even more so. Metaphor, simile and symbolism should be avoided. The best haiku poets perceive the natural world “as fresh as children,” who are seeing a mountain or an ocean for the first time in their lives. Although it surely pained Kerouac to admit it, he was correct about “getting drunk” to be incompatible with writing haiku. A haiku poet wants to experience nature as it is, undistorted by alcohol or drugs.

Kerouac now attempts a haiku. “ ‘Rocks on the side of a cliff,’ I said. ‘Why don’t they tumble down?’ “ I agree with Snyder’s criticism. “Maybe that’s a haiku, maybe not, it might be a little too complicated,” said Japhy. Snyder then offered this succinct and easily accessible definition of haiku. “A real haiku’s gotta be as simple as porridge and yet make you see the real thing.” Snyder then quotes a haiku written by Masaoki Shiki (1867–1902), one of the giants of haiku.

“ ‘The sparrow hops along the veranda, with wet feet.’ By Shiki. You see the wet footprints like a vision in your mind and yet in those few words you also see the rain that’s been falling and almost smell the pine needles.” I concur with Snyder. A genuine haiku doesn’t tell you about an experience with nature. It shows you that experience.

I read Kerouac’s “Book of Haikus(sic),” a posthumous collection edited by Regina Weinreich, to discover whether he ever mastered the art of writing haiku. Frankly, most of his poems were mediocre and would be rejected if submitted to contemporary haiku journals. Some had potential but needed editing to qualify as good enough to merit publication. Here’s one of his poems:

Bird bath thrashing

by itself –

Autumn wind

Kerouac’s wording makes it sound as though the bird bath is being thrashed rather than the water it holds. Here’s how I would rewrite his haiku to eliminate this ambiguity and emphasize the irony of the water being thrashed by the wind rather than a bathing bird.

bird bath

its water thrashed

by the wind

Here’s another Kerouac haiku that has potential but needs revision.

The summer chair

rocking by itself

in the blizzard

In my version, the wind rocks an object that tells us the season is winter.

windy night

the porch swing rocks

a clump of snow

This haiku conveys a perspective that is quintessentially Kerouac.

The new moon

is the toe nail

Of God

I’ll make no attempt to revise this poem. Theology is way above my pay grade.

John J. Dunphy is the author of “Old Soldiers Fading Away,” “Zen Koanhead,” “Touching Each Tree” and other collections of his published haiku. He owns The Second Reading Book Shop in Alton, Illinois.