How Haiku Can Help You Heal

May 13, 2023 Off By nickie.aven
yellow gorse described in the text adjacent

12 years ago, I took myself off to the Scottish Borders on a solo retreat. I had recently discovered Haiku – short, 3 line poems, which place the writer in nature, in the midst of a moment, a sort of distillation of all the present stimuli – visual, aural, emotional, and so on – into an experience of the moment’s essence. Now when I look back on those days, what I remember most clearly is the yellow radiance of the gorse and the busy buzzing of the bees, and the busy buzzing of the bees, and the busy buzzing of the bees, as I sat on my rocky throne with the river flowing by, writing haiku. I suspect I remember it so vividly because of the intensity of my focus.

Finding Ground

In my last blog I mentioned “the field of dew” haiku, by Issa Kobayashi; and perhaps because it had been on my mind, when I found myself the other day unexpectedly leading a session for a bereavement group (with 25 minutes notice) it was to haiku I turned for inspiration. When we are grieving, it can be difficult to bring ourselves into the present: it hurts too much, the loss is too stark, the memories too overwhelming, the emotions too powerful or too numb. Maybe we want to be anywhere but with this experience that we didn’t ask for. Yet, we cannot return to the past or to the person who was in it with us and the future stretches out with no hope of their return. I have found that writing and especially these little poems, can help me return to myself, now, on this ground, breathing this air. It calms and centres me, can bring me back from overwhelm and lostness, or simply allows me to witness my own sadness in a way that is contained.

Here are a couple of things I wrote on my son’s birthday, when I was in a soggy, boggy place and didn’t know what to do with myself. The first is the three line haiku, the second, the slightly longer, five line tanka.

River running by to meet the sea
Carrying memories of birthdays past
to find you in the ocean

Brown leaves and shells of nuts beneath my feet
Lattice of twigs against a dirty sky
The path beyond the bend invisible
The path you took
My darling boy

Here’s a How To

So here’s what I’d like to suggest. I now have a second posting page –In Conversation -on which I can post the things you send me. I invite you to send haiku and tanka you have written via the contacts page, haiku and tanka which you have written. Here is a method I have evolved to go about it.

In agreement with many other writers, I don’t adhere to the idea that each line should have a certain number of syllables (5 7 5 for haiku, 5 7 5 7 7 for tanka). Japanese characters are not equivalent to our syllables; the important thing is that the lines are as free of all unnecessaries as possible. And, if you want to use that syllabic discipline, do – it’s your poem! Here’s my process.

Firstly, I sit for a few minutes -or a lot of minutes- ideally outside or at least with a view/ear to outside, and feel myself landing into the space, breathing the air around me. Often I close my eyes to begin with and open my other senses one at a time- listen to the river or the birds singing, feel the breeze against my face, smell the leaf mould or the bluebells. When I open my eyes, colours seem brighter, charged.

Secondly, I simply write without stopping for a few minutes. I write everything I saw and heard, everything I can smell, all that I am experiencing including how I feel emotionally – it doesn’t matter what comes out, gobbleydegook or otherwise, forget grammar and spelling, just write and don’t stop until you’re done – maybe 5 minutes.

Thirdly, I look back over what I’ve written and circle the words and phrases I like and which I feel begin to capture my experience. I put those words and phrases together into some lines, adding the odd word here and there.

Finally, I ‘cull’ it again, so that all that remains are a few evocative words which conjure up the moment.  I organise these words into three lines and da da, you have a haiku!

Here is the poem I wrote at the group session I held:

A pink cup for honeybees to drink 

Tenderly I touched the tulip 

Tenderly I touched your face
pink tulip unfolding to compliment the haiku adjacent to it.

It began as a page of writing and ended as the essentials – a fascination with the pink tulip and how the feel of its petals on my finger tips evoked a sense memory of touching a loved one. Even though it is very simple, sitting behind those few words is a depth of experience.

Talk to me!

I would love to hear from you. This is not about being a writer, or being ‘good’ at writing, it’s not about censoring what you’ve written or criticising it, you can’t ‘get it wrong’. This is a gentle way to bring yourself to this ground, in this moment – a counterbalance if you like to the unpredictability of grief I was talking about in my last blog, and in which I have found myself many times over these last couple of weeks. Please send me your haiku via the Contact page here and I will post them onto the In Conversation pate

With my love,

Nickie

PS ‘In person’ group:

Calling all elder women to the Wise Women Circle in South Devon! The hall is booked, posters are being distributed, flyers are available if anyone would like any and we are hoping to begin on 4th July. If you would like more information or think you might like to join us, please be in touch here and if you know anyone who might be interested please direct them to the events page of this website