Nicholas Virgilio: Haiku of Emotions
Though new to haiku, I have had a quick introduction to this form of poetry in the last few months. While I have specifically enjoyed a few authors, Nicholas Virgilio has been one of my favorites. What first caught my attention was his emotional haiku concerning the death of his brother in the Vietnam War. Virgilio had multiple haiku related to his brother's death—from how the haiku affected his family to the actual funeral with the flag-covered casket. All of these haiku struck an emotional chord in me, even more so than other haiku poets. I decided I wanted to delve deeper into the haiku of Virgilio to research these emotional haiku, discovering why and how Virgilio could write such an emotional scene with the few words of a haiku.
Born in Camden, New Jersey in 1928, Virgilio grew up with his two younger brothers and parents. In high school, his dream was to become a poet similar to his idol, Walt Whitman. During World War II, Virgilio served in the Navy. In 1948, after finishing in the navy, Virgilio worked as a radio announcer before finally, in the 1960's, he got to live out his dream to be a poet. Virgilio happened upon haiku in 1963 when he was looking for Chinese verse and found A Pepper Pod by Kenneth Yasuda. Yasuda's book, still popular today, are translations of haiku from haiku's original language: Japanese. Immediately setting to work, Virgilio sent some of his work to the magazine, American Haiku. His haiku was accepted and published in the first issue of 1963. In the following issue, Virgilio's most famous haiku, "lilly," won first prize.
From then on, Virgilio was hooked on haiku. He was well known among his friends as asking "What do you think of this one?" or "How does that grab ya'?" as he asked them to respond to his haiku. Virgilio's haiku is very visual, but also captures emotional moments in everyday life. Virgilio describes haiku as starting with "a moment of emotion, keenly felt…," or "emotion expressed at the sensory level" ("Nick Virgilio", 74). In his essay, "A Note to Young Writers", he says, "Do write about what you know. If you live in the city five days a week, and visit the mountains on the weekend-don't just write about the mountains" (111). Virgilio is known as a "pioneer of American haiku poetry" (xi). He specified American haiku as different from the traditional 5-7-5 Japanese Haiku. "You are not composing Japanese haiku but English poetry influenced by the Japanese haiku and its techniques," he says in one of his essays (111). Virgilio's haiku were published in Selected Haiku in 1985 and an expanded second edition in 1988. Sadly, he did not get to bathe in his success for long as he died of a heart attack in 1989.
While much of Virgilio's haiku focus on his hometown, Camden, and the small moments there, a Virgilio's haiku come from the tragedy that hit his life during the Vietnam War. Virgilio's youngest brother, Lawrence "Larry" Virgilio, died serving as a Marine in the war. This news struck Virgilio very hard, but also his parents. His mother, already suffering from Parkinson's disease, started to deteriorate faster. Further, Camden was no longer the small town it was when Virgilio was growing up. Factories had closed and drugs and crime had taken over the small town. These two events inspired some of Virgilio's greatest haiku. His emotional series of haiku based off his brother's death were his way of dealing with the tragedy. But haiku about his brother took years for him to finish composing. His brother's death was in 1967, but haiku written about the funeral were not finished until 1982.
While reading through Virgilio's haiku, his haiku on his brother's death struck me the hardest. The emotional moments he was capable of capturing so vividly were beautifully haunting. While several haiku were written specifically about the event, many haiku contain moments of recovery that are relatable to all readers who have lost someone dear to them.
As I read through the 1985 and 1988 editions of Selected Haiku as well as the 1999 third edition of The Haiku Anthology, the haiku concerning Virgilio's brother are put together in a type of series. Thus, in the following analyses of Virgilio's work, they are put in what I feel is chronological order.
telegram in hand,
the shadow of the marine
darkens our screen door
Virgilio, ALIH, 10
This haiku comes from Nick Virgilio: A Life in Haiku, published in 2012. This scene represents the moment Virgilio realizes his life is about to change. The "darkens" not only represents the literal shadow of the marine on his screen door, but also seems to represent the shadow that will seem to cover Virgilio's life from that moment on. Virgilio talks about this specific haiku in his interview with Marty Moss-Coane on WHYY radio ("Nick Virgilio", 81). While readers are generally left to interpret a haiku themselves, Virgilio tells of the moment he had captured with this haiku. The soldier delivering the telegram sat in the car for two hours waiting for Virgilio's parents to come home. "I went out to the porch and motioned for him to come over, and he came over, and I will never forget that shadow coming on the screen. He had the telegram," Virgilio says. "I got the news first . . . it's like getting hit with a baseball bat." I believe this haiku captures his memory vividly as the thought of the shadow on the screen door specifically sticks out. I believe it gives readers such visual image because of the great representation of a visual memory.
Deep in rank grass,
through the bullet-riddled helmet:
an unknown flower
In memory of Lawrence J. Virgilio
Virgilio, SH, 36
This haiku is the only of this selection that actually states that the haiku is about Virgilio's brother. While the rest are assumed, this is the only one that Virgilio acknowledges in his book. Thus, this haiku, specifically to Virgilio, must be important. When first reading this haiku, I thought the "unknown flower" was Lawrence's body. The Vietnam War was terrible with a lot of casualties. I thought perhaps all these casualties were represented by flowers in this haiku. It being unknown marks just how common these casualties were. It was simply one among many. Nothing in particular stuck out about this unknown flower—about another body. However, Virgilio talks about this haiku in his interview. Virgilio saw a picture in The Courier Post of a bullet-shattered helmet with a flower sticking through it. Virgilio already had the first two lines written, but did not complete the haiku until he saw that picture almost a year later. What that flower represented for himself, though, he never said.
flag-covered coffin:
the shadow of the bugler
slips into the grave
Virgilio, SH, 38
This haiku continues the story by giving readers a visual of the military funeral. I specifically enjoy that the shadow "slips" like it's an actual being. It gives not only a very vivid visual, but also gives a sense of movement of the grave. It gives a sense of how deep the grave is. The flag-covered coffin is not only a visual of a military funeral, but the use of "coffin" is particularly harsh. Most use the kinder reference of "casket," but Virgilio uses coffin. I feel as though the harsh word is used to reflect Virgilio's anger. Or perhaps it is used to teach readers how harsh war is. War is ugly and families of military personnel see much more of it than the typical citizen. Perhaps Virgilio wanted to put that idea into readers' heads. While this haiku is visual, it is also audible. The bugler is very famous when it comes to military funerals. Everyone would think of "Taps." This added sense completes the picture for me. This haiku also starts a common thread seen through several of the following haiku: the passage of time. While more obvious in other haiku, I feel this haiku starts this thread as we see the shadow slipping into the grave. A shadow is still, but over the course of time it does move.
my dead brother . . .
hearing his laugh
in my laughter
Virgilio, SH, 40
This moment is during Virgilio's recovery of his brother's death. I think almost every reader can relate to this haiku. When someone close to you dies, you are trying to recover, but then something happens and you feel the loss all over again. In this case, Virgilio must have laughed and then realized his laugh sounded just like his brother's. It's very possible the laughter would be similar because they are brothers. Further, Virgilio spells this scene out a little more than the other. He could have said "my brother." But instead, he writes "my dead brother." Some readers would probably have assumed the brother was dead even if the word "dead" was not included. However, I think specifying it adds more character to the scene. Maybe it was a moment where Virgilio thought of his brother, who had been gone to war, and then corrected his thought to being his "dead" brother. That thought would have immediately sobered his mood. I think the added word makes that mood shift.
on the darkened wall
of my dead brother's bedroom:
the dates and how tall
Virgilio, SH, 21
A lot of kids like to mark their age and height on the doorframe of their bedroom. Something so permanent in a house, though, would be a constant reminder of what the household lost. It would be especially hard for a mother to walk by everyday and see a constant reminder in her house. In Virgilio's interview, when talking about this haiku, he mentions giving his readers a passing of time. He feels "the dates" give a passing a time—which could be from when his brother was growing up or as the years go by after his death. However, Virgilio also had the idea that "dates" would remind people of a tombstone. I feel that this haiku especially gives readers a sense of passing time: how quickly it goes by. One day, the brother is marking the date and his height and the next they are burying him. Further, Virgilio specifically describes his brother as "dead" just as he did in the previous haiku. This haiku is a good example of the two threads I found in a lot of Virgilio's haiku concerning his brother.
Viet Nam monument
darkened by the autumn rain:
my dead brother's name
Virgilio, SH, 39
This haiku continues the story of Virgilio's life after his brother's death. It's much different than the previous haiku because this memory is purposely brought to mind. While the previous haiku were accidental memories brought on by the actual funeral or an instance, this haiku would only be brought on if Virgilio purposely went to the Vietnam monument. For Virgilio, this was a time he wanted to remember his brother. Perhaps he wanted to recognize his service in the war or there was a particular event to remember Vietnam War vets that Virgilio wanted to show support for. While at such a monument, he would obviously look up his brother's name. It would probably be difficult to see his brother's name etched in stone so permanently because it means he's permanently gone. I included this haiku because it relates to anyone who has lost someone, but in a different way than the previous haiku. It would be relatable to readers when they visit a graveside. They see the name of their loved one on the stone with the date that they passed away. For me, their name and dates being etched into stone brings on a sadness that they're not coming back. All the dates are filled in and there is nothing left to be added to the stone. Virgilio again uses "dead brother" instead of just "brother" as he did in the previous two haiku.
another autumn
still silent in his closet:
father's violin
Virgilio, SH, 44
This haiku does not relate so much to the memory of a lost one, but more with how the loss affected individuals in their everyday lives. "Another autumn" gives the passing of time—similar to a previous haiku—especially relating to how many autumns it has been since the loss to the household. It looks as if Virgilio's father stopped playing violin when the family's loss occurred and has not played since. The violin has simply stayed in the closet. While all of the haiku have been sad, this one is particularly depressing to me as it represents someone who does not wish to be happy. Playing an instrument brings joy to the player, but the fact that it has stayed silent, in a closet, for another autumn shows that Virgilio's father no longer wants that joy. Many people, while mourning the loss of a loved one, slip into depression, oftentimes described as one of the steps of grieving. Sometimes—similar to Virgilio's father's case—it is not done consciously. Virgilio's father probably was not purposely stopping himself from playing his violin, but the desire to play never happened upon him. This haiku relates to those who have a hard time being happy after a loss. Virgilio seems to add this haiku to represent a step in the mourning process.
on my father's wrist,
keeping time and eternity:
my dead brother's watch
Virgilio, ALIH, 62
The similarity between this haiku and the previous one is the relationship between a physical object and the response to a lost loved one. I feel this haiku has a deeper meaning than a lot of Virgilio's other work. While it could easily be read as Virgilio's father wanting to remember his lost son by wearing his watch, "keeping time and eternity" brings to mind a deeper meaning. Virgilio again uses the passage of time to give his haiku a deepening sense of loss. It's as if Virgilio's father is watching the time pass and counting how long it has been since his son died. However, I feel "eternity" is related to the actual watch rather than the passing of time. The father keeps it on his wrist to remind him everyday—for eternity—that his son is gone. It's to make sure that the memory of his son's death is never gone. It seems to make the watch into something that keeps the father grounded. I imagine the watch was one that the brother wore everyday. The father wears it to try and actually grasp that his son is dead. Again, as a common thread through several of the previous haiku, Virgilio uses "dead" brother. I feel it has been used very similarly every time. It feels very much like a statement, like Virgilio is clarifying to himself that his brother really is dead and not coming back—which very much fits with the "eternity" theme in this haiku.
grandfather's old boots
I take them
for a walk
Swede, AU, 62
While reading the previous haiku, this haiku, found in Almost Unseen: Selected Haiku of George Swede, was brought to my mind. Again, the haiku relates a physical object to a loss. In this one, I picture one of the grandfather's grandchildren, all grown, wearing his boots for a walk. Perhaps the two would hike together and this brings back fond memories. However, now, as an adult, they can actually wear the boots. It probably makes them feel closer to the grandfather. In comparison to Virgilio's haiku with the wristwatch above, it seems Swede's is more endearing and comforting. The boots bring back good memories of walks in the woods. Also, the fact that a grandfather was lost is not as disheartening as losing a young son. Further, while Virgilio states that his brother is dead, Swede does not directly say the grandfather is dead. It could be interpreted entirely differently. For example, perhaps one of the grandfather's teen grandchildren was playing a joke on the grandfather by taking his boots "for a walk." Virgilio is much more direct in his readers' interpretation of his haiku.
Thanksgiving dinner:
placing the baby's high chair
in the empty space
Virgilio, SH, 21
I chose this haiku because Virgilio mentions it in his interview. He mentions it because he felt that this haiku was particularly easy for his readers to relate to. He even says it's "one of the best in the book," referring to Selected Haiku ("Nick Virgilio", 87). He says the haiku is "universal." I feel this haiku is a little brighter—though still sad—than the other haiku. It gives me a sense of moving on. The fact that there is now a baby in place of the empty space shows a new generation. The family can focus on the upcoming generation rather than those that were lost. I feel as if the empty space had been empty for several years at their Thanksgiving dinners previous to this. Perhaps there was purposely an empty space to remember Virgilio's brother. However, now with a new baby, the family seems to be able to move on. Again, Virgilio offers a sense of passing time in this haiku. An empty space of a lost loved one now being filled with a new baby gives the passing of time in the sense of new generations.
sixteenth autumn since:
barely visible grease marks
where he parked his car
Virgilio, SH, 72
This haiku is my favorite of Virgilio's collection. I feel that it is not only brilliantly written, but also very relatable for readers. Many haiku use the first line to give a setting. However, the setting usually given is a type of season word. In this haiku, though, Virgilio not only uses the season, but a timeframe. It's also interesting how he combines setting and timeframe with the actual content of the haiku by using "since." "Since" sets up the rest of the haiku. The passing of time is even included in the second line in "barely visible." I feel that the grease marks were probably once very prominent, but now that the car is no longer being parked there, the grease marks are starting to disappear. It is easily connected to the "sixteenth" autumn because grease marks would take a considerable amount of time to disappear. This haiku is so relatable because it's a mundane moment of everyday life. Nobody outside the family would notice the disappearing grease marks where Virgilio's brother used to park his car. I feel it's similar to Virgilio's haiku concerning the marks in the wall with the height. However, others would have noticed something like that. These grease marks, though, are not as noticeable. They are only noticeable to the select few who would notice the absence of the grease marks. In comparison to Virgilios other haiku, he did not choose to use "dead brother" in this one. He could have said, "where my dead brother parked his car." While this could have made the haiku wordy and not have as much of a balance, I do not feel it would have made the haiku sound a whole lot different if Virgilio really wanted to include the description he usually does. However, perhaps this haiku represents, similar to the baby high chair above, a sense of moving on. Virgilio no longer needs to refer to his brother as his "dead" brother. I feel this is the final step of Virgilio's grieving process: acceptance.
While I chose Virgilio's haiku about his brother because of their emotional content, I also discovered a few threads within that theme as I studied them more in depth. The one that was common in almost every single haiku above was the passage of time. While he actually mentions time in his "on the darkened wall" or "sixteenth autumn since" haikus, he simply implies the passage of time in "Thanksgiving dinner" and "flag-cover coffin." I noticed this thread in most of the haiku after the funeral, during Virgilio's mourning process. Perhaps he was physically feeling the passage of time as he grew older and felt further and further from his dead brother. Another thread was his use of "dead" brother. Almost every time Virgilio mentions or clearly implies his brother in a haiku, he used "dead" brother. Even the word itself adds an unseen weight to the haiku. However, it makes it more obvious when he does not use "dead" to describe his brother, specifically in "sixteenth autumn since." In that haiku, I feel he was clearly implying his brother, but he does not use the same weight. It's more of a disheartening reminder every now and again that still leaves an aching pain in his heart. These two threads relate not onto to this series of Virgilio's work, but also to Virgilio's personal life as he dealt with the death of his brother.
As I was contemplating the chronological order of the haiku I chose to study, I was interested to see how they fit in with the grieving process. Virgilio himself said it was his way "to get in touch with the real" ("Nick Virgilio", 89). Especially as I studied his haiku more in depth, I definitely felt he was trying to get in touch with what was happening. He was trying to put his emotions into a caption, a haiku. I believe readers can not only relate to his feelings, but also appreciate the emotions Virgilio captured in his visual pictures to share with the world.
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Works Cited
"Nick the Poet." Nick Virgilio Haiku Association. The Nick Virgilio Association, n.d. Web. 25
Oct 2013.
Swede, George. Almost Unseen: Selected Haiku of George Swede. Decatur: Brooks Books.
2000. Print.
Virgilio, Nicholas A., Raffael de Gruttola, and Kathleen O'Toole. Nick Virgilio: A Life in
Haiku. Arlington: Turtle Light Press. 2012. Print.
Virgilio, Nicholas A. Selected Haiku. Sherbrooke: Burnt Lake Press. 1988. Print.
Virgilio, Nicholas A. Selected Haiku. Sherbrooke: Burnt Lake Press. 1985. Print. |
