by Ray Jason
It was a subtle, delicate, watercolor sunset. The sky was not ablaze with vivid reds and
oranges battling for attention, but was a serene panorama of gentle saffron and
peach. I was seated on AVENTURA’s cabin
top with my back against the mast, drinking what I call Tarzan Tea. It is the water of a young coconut which I
have just opened with my machete. My
notepad and pen are within arm’s reach as I settle in for the last stage of my IMMERSION
TIME.
It begins in the late afternoon with a vigorous swim
followed by a very un-vigorous
float. Lying on my back, buoyant and
content in the salty Caribbean water, I am joyously mindful that I have
sculpted my life to not just enjoy
Nature or visit Nature - but to
IMMERSE myself in it. I pull myself from
the sea into my dinghy in one smooth and powerful motion. I am wet and sleek like my dolphin neighbors,
and I feel strong and lithe and sensuous.
My thoughts turn to the hundreds of millions of civilized humans, who are incarcerated in office cubicles, and who
never get to experience such primal pleasure.
Back onboard AVENTURA, I reposition my plastic solar
shower, which has been lying on the deck heating the sky water which flowed from
my awning to my tank during last night’s squall. My refreshing hot shower uses less than two
gallons of water, and while toweling myself dry, I recall one of my favorite
Mark Twain aphorisms, “We have turned a thousand useless luxuries into
necessities.” I chuckle at the
realization that I am not just a right brain man in a left brain world, but I
am also a solar shower guy on an iPod planet.
After slicing open the young, green coconut I
surrender to high-tech temptation, and use a straw to drink its delicious,
nourishing water. Placing the nut in a small
dog bowl so that it doesn’t roll over, I grab my notepad and pen. My hands are almost shaking with
anticipation, because it is now the final phase of my Immersion Time. It is the HAIKU HOUR.
My
appreciation for this simple and elegant form of Japanese poetry began in an
unusual manner. The military draft had
ensnared me just after college, and I was about to ship out for Vietnam on a U.S.
Navy ammunition ship. On my last liberty
in San Francisco before our departure, I was searching through the almost
magical shelves of Lawrence Ferlinghetti’s City Lights bookstore. My quest was for a book that was both
enticing and small - because our shipboard
lockers could barely hold our clothes and toiletries.
Suddenly a mere sliver of a book caught my
attention. It was entitled HAIKU POETRY
and was written by an American named James W. Hackett. What made this tiny volume extraordinary was
the fact that these were not translations of works by the great Japanese
masters such as Basho or Issa, these were original haiku in English. I read the first few pages and each poem was simple
and exquisite. Then I switched to the
final pages to see whether his later efforts had dissipated into mediocrity,
but these were as perceptive and moving as the first ones.
Also in the back of the book I encountered a brief set
of guidelines that he had composed to assist others who might wish to try this
form. It was called “SUGGESTIONS FOR WRTING
HAIKU POETRY IN ENGLISH.” This was
amazing – an author who was so in love with his art form that he wanted to
selflessly share his knowledge of it with others.
At the cash register, the clerk complimented me on my
selection and mentioned that there were three other books in this series. She then led me to them and I jubilantly left
the great little bookshop with all four tiny volumes that weighed less than my
wallet and would fit just as comfortably into a back pocket.
During those extremely difficult times aboard that
ship in the Vietnam theatre, those miniscule books bequeathed me great and
abiding solace when little else was providing me any consolation. During that
grim period I repeatedly attempted to compose haiku of my own, but was never
satisfied with my efforts. The
environment was just too antithetical to “haiku mind.”
But decades later when I embraced the sea gypsy life
and cocooned myself in Nature, the little poems just flowed as effortlessly as
a full-moon tide. When my immersion in
the Wild finally awakened my haiku sensibility, I re-visited the American master’s
“SUGGESTIONS” and found that their guidance remained wise and helpful. Here are the main principles of his teaching
that have proven most valuable in creating my poems.
Greater Nature and not human nature is the place of
haiku - and NOW is the time of haiku. Solitude
and silence are vital for interpenetrating and empathizing with the Wild. Modifying words should never be superfluous,
and should suggest season or location or time of day. Use verbs in the present tense and singular
subjects whenever possible. Haiku should
be intuitive and direct and NOT abstract, symbolic or intellectual. And finally, one of his suggestions is
phrased so perfectly that I offer it verbatim: “Remember that haiku is a finger
pointing at the moon, and if the hand is bejeweled, we no longer see that to
which it points.”
It is now over forty years since those tiny
books inspired and comforted me. I think
of them every night at dusk when I sit on my little boat nestled between the Sea
and the Sky with my notepad and my pen and my fervent desire to once again
discover my “haiku mind.” Here are some
of my poems. I call them Sea Gypsy Haiku
and I hope that they bring you a smile - or a surprise - or some solace of your
own.
The
sea gypsy life –
all
of my neighbors live in
the
sea and the sky
.
A
mother dolphin
shows
her baby - clouds of fish -
and
seas of wonder.
You
noisy parrots –
always
chirping when you fly.
Do
you sing of Joy?
No
road before me –
vanishing
wake behind me –
sea
gypsy freedom!
Four
egrets flying
so
close that they look like a
single
eight-winged bird.
Happy
fisherman –
a
little rum, a full moon,
and
perhaps a fish.
Safely
at anchor –
a
night breeze cools the cabin –
sea
gypsy heaven!
Not
just a great blue –
your
enormous wings make you
a
huge blue heron!
Weary
sea gypsy –
a
kindly woman shares her
house
of happiness.
Twin
brothers rowing
their
cayuco perfectly.
Oarsmen
in the womb?
A
white sail passing
on
the distant horizon –
deep
sea loneliness.
Native
fisherman
laughs
at the rain – if the fish
don’t
mind, why should he?
I
blow my conch shell
to
salute the rising sun –
a
tribal greeting.
Ocean
reverie –
wind
and wave and sky and stars.
What
more is needed?
Moon
path on the sea
tempts
my sailboat to seek
the
endless horizon.
Bright
stars in the sky,
luminescence
in the sea –
ocean
harmony!
