Gary Hotham’s Haiku: stop and enjoy the little things

by Bethany Wetherholt

Spilled Milk: Haiku Destinies by Gary Hotham was published by Pinyon Publishing in Montrose Colorado in 2010. Hotham credits Mrs. Maloney, his high school English teacher, for first introducing him to haiku. At that time, Hotham states that he was not interested in haiku and it wasn’t until his senior year in college that he started writing them regularly.

Hotham’s haiku are simple, yet specific. They are based on noticing and observing the world around him. I imagine that he carried a small journal with him wherever he went and wrote haiku based on the events that occurred that day.

Hotham notices every detail in a particular moment. Readers are drawn in with the first line and are taken to that very moment in time due to Hotham’s vivid imagery. Anyone could pick up Spilled Milk, read one haiku and be able to put themselves in that moment. Hotham’s haiku do not tell readers how to feel, but do allow readers to see and sense how magical each and every day is. Many times we take for granted another day. We wake up, go to school, go to work, go about our everyday routines and so often we let the world pass us by. Hotham reminds us to stop, look, and observe life around us.

street of rain—
the list of errands
folded smaller

Gary Hotham, SMHD, 23

I love this haiku because I can imagine and see every detail. On a Saturday morning, on a residential street, a young, single mother looks out her window watching the rainfall. There was a lot she needed to do today, but the rain has put a damper on her plans. She watches her toddler scatter toys all over the floor. She takes a deep breath, closes her eyes, and dreams of the day she won’t have to worry so much. She opens her eyes and watches the rain slowly flow down the side of the road. She pulls out the folded up notebook paper in her pocket and reads it again. So many things she hoped to get done today. She carefully quarters the sheet and folds the errands to the back that will have to wait for another day.

In this haiku I can see the smallest of details. I see the water running down the side of the road. Rain drops splashing as they hit the puddles. I see the white piece of notebook paper with blue lines. I can tell it’s been crumpled numerous times with all the folds it has on it.

off season ocean—
the dog runs back
to another voice

Gary Hotham, SMHD, 35

In this haiku I see a middle-aged man at the beach near his home. He is lonely and has come here to do some soul searching. This is not where he imagined he would be a few years ago. Summer is over, the tourists are gone and the marina is closed for the year. It’s cool, cloudy and windy. The waves are crashing and rolling onto the floury white sand. He thinks about his life, where he went wrong, what he could have done differently. Staring at the never ending sea, he sees a dog run for the water chasing a seagull. A man yells, “Rosco, no! Get over here!” He turns to see a man in the distance. The dog quickly runs in the water, grabs a floating stick and takes off for his master. As he watches the dog run, he looks up at the sky. He can see the clouds slowly moving and a glimmer of the sun trying to peek through.

last day—
mountains coming to
an end

Gary Hotham, SMHD, 45

I enjoy this haiku because it reminds me of the vacation I went on when I was about eight years old to the Smoky Mountains. My mom, dad, grandma, grandpa and myself pile ourselves into our gold Chevy Lumina on a very early and warm summer day. I don’t have much room in the backseat, but that’s ok. I am filled with excitement for our vacation and can’t wait to be there. I have my pillow with me so I can sleep on the drive there. I fall asleep with my head on my grandma’s lap. I wake up every once in a while, mostly when we stop at a rest stop. There are so many other people, probably on vacation as well. Finally, late that night we arrive to the wooded cabins we are staying at. We go to the check in, get our keys and drive down a gravel road to our cabin. We unload all of our things and go to bed. Our days are spent hiking, fishing, cooking out, and having bonfires. I didn’t want the vacation to end. On our last day, we packed up our things and drove to the observation deck that overlooked the mountains. In silence, we stared at the fog covered mountains. I felt so small. After a while, we got back into the car and headed for home. As we drove away, I watched out the window as the mountains became smaller and smaller, and then finally disappeared. I wish I could turn back time and go back to that vacation. Luckily, I can still close my eyes and remember almost every detail of our trip.

playground swings—
a strong wind replaces
the children

Gary Hotham, SMHD, 53

It’s a crisp autumn day. The sun is shining and there is a light breeze. I can smell a bonfire nearby. I walk through the playground of a closed elementary school. The monkey bars are rusty. The old slide’s paint is chipping. The trees are bare and leaves cover the woodchips. Squirrels run near the merry-go-round looking for acorns that have been buried in the leaves. They are preparing for winter. As I stand there a strong breeze blows by. I hear a squeaking sound. I look in front of me and I can see the swings swaying back in forth. It’s as if the children are back playing on the swings.

A good match I found for this haiku is in The Silence Between Us: Selected Haiku by Wally Swist.

closed mental hospital
swings creaking
among windblown leaves

Wally Swist, TSBU, 107

Although I imagine two different places, a mental hospital and an elementary school, I mostly have the same visualizations. They are both abandoned buildings, overgrown with weeds. It doesn’t seem that anyone has been to either place for long time. I hear the wind blow and see the swings swaying back and forth. They are squeaking from being rusty. It is autumn. All of the trees are bare and crisp leaves cover the ground.

years end—
eyes inside
a party mask

Gary Hotham, SMHD, 57

It’s New Year’s Eve in the city. Guests fill the ballroom in an old fancy hotel. The dj on the stage plays all of today’s hits as people in their party masks dance around the decorated room. Catering staff walk by with trays of appetizers and complimentary champagne. A young girl searches for her boyfriend in the sea of people. All the men are in black tuxes and identical masks. How will she ever find her boyfriend? The dj stops the music and makes an announcement. Let the countdown begin. The crowd chants, “10,9,8,7,6,5,4,3,2,1.” Party horns blow, confetti and balloons fall from the ceiling, people hoot and holler. The young girl sighs in disappointment. Then suddenly, she feels a hand on her back. She turns around to see a young dapper man with a green and blue mask. Although all the men’s masks are the same she can see his eyes peeking through. She knows his eyes better than anyone. He looks at her and she smiles. He grabs her by the waist, pulls her in and kisses her. She leans back, laughing.

leftover pages
in her photo album—
the room cleaned out

Gary Hotham, SMHD, 80

A man, in his fifties, lost his wife two years ago. He has decided it is time to clean out her craft room. As he enters the room, he runs his finger down the wall. He stops and touches a nail hole. Closing his eyes, he remembers the day he hung his daughter’s first painting there. This used to be his daughter’s room. When she went off to college his wife turned her old bedroom into a craft room. She spent most of her free time in here. She loved making things for other people. The man grabs a few large brown boxes and begins taping the bottoms of them so he can begin packing. He packs several boxes with scissors, measuring tape, pins, and needles. He comes across the yarn she used to knit him a scarf and leftover fabric she used to make her daughter’s wedding dress. He sets them both aside. After hours of work he carries the boxes downstairs. When he goes upstairs to get the last box he notices a photo album sitting on the windowsill. He picks it up, sits down in the now empty room, and opens the album. The front page reads: “To Emma, my granddaughter. I love you.” The album holds so many special memories. He and his wife’s first date, their wedding, the birth of their daughter. Each page he turns he watches another year go by. His daughter’s kindergarten graduation, Disney World, high school prom, her first day at college. The man stares at the photo of his wife’s last Christmas. She is holding their new grandbaby. He smiles and turns the page, but it is empty as is every page after that. He closes the book and cries. It hits him. Life goes by so fast. Every moment of every day is a gift. We tend to live our lives with the goal of just getting from one day to the next, never stopping to enjoy just being.

other worlds
__

part of her seashell in some other
hands

Gary Hotham, SMHD, 99

This is my favorite haiku in the book. I love the mysteriousness of it. I love Hotham’s choice of words. A seashell, so small is used to give me the sense of how truly big the world is. When I read this I get two stories. The first, someone at the beach, not knowing what they are going through in their life. If they are happy or sad, young or old. On the shore part of a seashell. They pick it up, stare at it in their hand and take it home with them. On the opposite side of the world, the same story. A person on the beach, knowing nothing about them, picks up the other part of the same shell. The ocean is so big and there are trillions of shells, but somehow this one shell through all the oceans waves broke in half and traveled in opposite directions, only to land on the shores of opposite ends of the world. These people don’t know each other, they probably never will, but that is the beauty I find in this. These people picked up the broken shell, they probably didn’t think about the other half, and they most likely didn’t think that someone else so far away did the same. And even though they will never cross paths or know that the other person exists, in some way they still have a piece of one another.

The other story I draw in my head of this haiku is similar. Two people at the beach, not necessarily the same day, maybe not even the same year, but two people have come here at some point. They both find the halves of the seashell, stare at them in their hand and put the halved shell in their pocket. They are both from opposite ends of the world, yet they still have a piece of something that belongs to the other. The two pieces they have make a whole. And even though they both have something the same, the way they found it, the day they found it is completely different. Maybe one is on vacation with their family, maybe one just lost someone close in their lives and had gone to the beach for some alone time.

scenic overlook
__

strangers switching places
with strangers

Gary Hotham, SMHD, 102

I imagine Niagra Falls. Tourists from all over the world have come to this very spot for the same reason, to see the majestic waterfalls. There are people everywhere wearing yellow raincoats. The weather is cool and damp. Some came here on the tourist buses while others drove their own cars. There are families and people alone. Different races and ages. And though everyone is different they are here today for the same reason, to see the majestic waterfalls. Maybe they chose to come here, maybe they didn’t have a choice, but either way they are sharing this day with everyone around them. Nobody knows what the other is thinking inside, what they have gone through, what they are going through. If they are happy or sad. Healthy or dying. They all have different backgrounds and circumstances. People are lined against the railing watching the water fall to the bottom. Mist floats through the air. After those along the railing are done observing, they walk away, allowing others to see the waterfalls up close. I imagine that all of these people are seeing the same thing, but yet they are somehow seeing it differently. Each person is different and so I imagine that the falls resonates with each individual in a different way.

Hotham’s goal in his writing is to let his readers experience the moment to the fullest when reading haiku. His haiku are short, using common, short words, which allow readers to understand the reading without having to stop and use a dictionary. Readers who have to look up the definition of a word are likely to become distracted and lose that moment within the haiku or even worse, not even go back to reading the haiku. Hotham notes that this is why the choice of words are so important.

I really enjoy how Hotham makes the world feel so big. I know, along with everyone else, that the world is a huge place, but in these haiku I can feel it. I can feel how there are billions of us, going about our lives each day, all over the world. We never stop to think about just how small we are. Hotham does a great job of putting that into perspective for me. The best way I can describe it is when we look down at ants. We see them on the sidewalk, on the road, on trees. We see them when we go to work, when we are at home, when we are on vacation. They most likely don’t cross paths. If there is a God, or someone watching over us, I would imagine that is how they see us. And even though we feel that our purpose is great, we are really just a very small, small, part of a very big picture. Spilled Milk reminded me to stop and enjoy the little things.

• • •

Works Cited

Hotham, Gary. Spilled Milk: Haiku Destinies. Pinyon Publishing, 2010.

Swist, Wally. The Silence Between Us. Brooks Books, 2005.