by Ray Jason
It was a most unusual voyage. I was sailing South in search of a world free of screens. Still reeling
from a month in El Norte, witnessing the tyranny of technology, I needed serenity. I sought a peaceful lagoon, where people were
not submissives - dominated by their TV screens, computer screens and Smart phone
screens.
When the anchor was down in one of
my favorite hideaway coves, it felt like a great emancipation – a return to solitude
and stillness. Within a few hours I was absorbing
the tranquility of the tiny bay. I knew
that I was truly being cured of the frenzy when the haiku began to flow.
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This ancient form of Japanese poetry has appealed to
me since my early days in college, when I was introduced to the great master of
the form - Basho. Basically, the poems
are tiny snapshots of Nature. But in
their most exalted moments they speak to the sublime interface of the Human
with the Natural. They amplify the often
uncelebrated aspects of the world around us that are elemental, commonplace and
eternal. And they do so with austere
elegance.
The most standard form is three lines with the first
and last comprised of five syllables and the middle line having seven
syllables. They should be immediate
impressions of a real-time encounter with Nature. They should not be abstract and
intellectual. They also require simplicity
rather than ornamentation. An old adage
that expresses this perfectly is: “If the finger that is pointing towards the
moon is bejeweled, that to which it is pointing will not be noticed.”
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