Click: Garry Gay’s Unique Approach to Writing Haiku
by Cori Grzenia
One of the more prominent American haiku poets of the twentieth and twenty-first centuries is California-based Garry Gay. Gay began writing haiku in 1975 and has been involved in American haiku society ever since. As a co-founder of and first president of the Haiku Poets of Northern California, Gay has helped to build up both local and nationwide haiku societies. In 1991, he was elected as the president of the Haiku Society of America. Gay is even the creator and namesake of a contemporary poetic form, the Rengay. Over his many successful years in the haiku field, Gay has published a number of haiku books, including many chapbooks, and has had haiku published in numerous periodicals and haiku anthologies. The works of Garry Gay have sustained popularity due to Gay’s unique perspective and how he incorporates it into his writing.
Garry Gay is not your typical haiku poet. Most haiku poets are introduced to the field in their studies of poetry, often while in pursuit of a degree in the literary arts. Gay, however, earned his degree in photography. As a photographer with a career spanning many decades, Gay brings a unique perspective to his haiku. His haiku are often very visually-based, as you would expect from a photographer. Just as a photograph captures every visual detail in one single picture, Gay observes the environment around him and captures it in a short three lines. Because of the picturesque qualities to it, many of Gay’s haiku focus around observing nature, as well as commenting on his relationship with the nature around him.
The origin of Gay’s haiku mirrors that of a photographer’s muse. His works detail intricacies of the world he sees around him all in one moment. Just as in photography, he captures not only the main subject in the foreground, but also the environment and context around it in the background. Often, Gay’s haiku are from an observational point of view, similar to a nature scene shot by a photographer from a distance away. Gay’s lack of classical writing education, involvement in other art forms, and unique perspective all come together to create his own individual style of haiku, which is best demonstrated by examples.
a lone red ant
carrying the weight
of twilight
Gay, ATW, 22
This haiku, from Garry Gay’s 2000 book Along the Way, is a shining example with which to examine Garry Gay’s unique approach to writing haiku. The first line instantly begins conjuring a picture in the reader’s mind with its surprisingly important details. The focus on the single ant, as well as its bright coloring, engages the visual sense of the reader. The visual details continue, however, when Gay paints us a picture of a humble, mysterious twilight. With one well-chosen word, the reader’s mind is flooded with hues of cool blues, bright yellows, and inviting purples, as well as feeling a bit chilled, as if you can really feel the fleeting warmth of the setting sun. The second line of the haiku engages the reader’s physical senses, utilizing the heavy feeling of the word “weight” to slow the reader’s speed, as if they were actually struggling with physical heaviness. This also comes to play in the third line, which is ever-so-slightly indented, as if forcing the reader to become weighed down, as the ant is, if only for a second, or perhaps only visually reminding the reader of their own weight which they carry.
her mailbox
leans into the honeysuckle
rusted and empty
Gay, ATW, 16
This haiku is also found in Along the Way, exemplifying Gay’s more recent haiku. This haiku, with it its intense juxtaposition of colors, brightness, and textures, clearly is influenced by Gay’s work as a photographer. With each line, the reader receives another tidbit of information about the scene, almost as if it were a photograph coming into focus: realizing the focal point and subject (the mailbox), taking in the background (the surrounding honeysuckle and other foliage), and then examining the foreground (the details of the mailbox itself). If you examine this scene from a photographer’s point of view, you are drawn to the vivid visual aspects found in each line. First, we see a mailbox. Any mailbox will do, as we have not received more detail. But then we begin to imagine the bright yellow honeysuckle blooming next to the tipping mailbox. Now, our mailbox begins to look a bit more grimy and forgotten, as it cannot even stand up straight. You can see the dull, muted shine of an old metal mailbox up against the soft sunshine-like petals. But in the third line, we receive even more detail. The mailbox is long forgotten, turning a deep reddish brown and rusting that originally smooth finish into one that is rough and crumbling. With all the details, the reader can feel and see the distinct differences in colors and textures that create an entirely different scene than previously imagined.
Despite the sharp, brilliant details given to visualize the scene, Gay leaves much of the story of the haiku up to the reader to decipher for themselves. He even explains this aspect of haiku in the introduction to Along the Way describing, “it is what us left unsaid, unseen, that enlightens those that are engaged as participants” (7). From the initial words details given, more questions are invoked than those that are answered. We start with only two words in the first line, but are left with many questions that are never answered. Why is “Her” capitalized? Is this because she is a significant character to the story or because he simply wanted a definitive beginning to his story of a mailbox? Is the mailbox leaning from neglect and old age or is there something wrong with the land? Is the mailbox rusted and empty because the home has since been abandoned? Is “Her” simply the memory of someone? Has she passed away? Or is she fine, but simply a recluse with no one to write to? Maybe she is the last remaining member of her friend group, and due to her old age, she doesn’t feel the need to replace the mailbox. There is no way to be sure about any of these details of the story. It is simply a snapshot of a situation and we are left to interpret our own backstories. It is those details unique to our own interpretation that makes haiku such as these relatable and significant to others who did not experience them firsthand. This haiku, among others, is a moment defined in three lines that draws in readers by the details that they can connect to their own lives in a meaningful way.
glass bottles hang
from the branches
yesterday’s ghosts
Gay, UC, n.p.
This haiku is one of my all-time favorites, and not just of those penned by Garry Gay. Similar to the last haiku, I am drawn in by the details of this haiku—those that are given and those that are not. As with many other haiku by photographer Garry Gay, this haiku is strongly visual. Just imagine the scene: You see faint, scattered sunlight from these old, thick glass bottles thrown on the ground. As your gaze traces the beautiful, rustic bottles, you see that they are hung from this tree. Now that situation is picturesque in itself, but then comes the fun part: making the story and reading deeper into the words. The tree can be young and feeble, each branch threatening to snap at any moment from the added weight on its tresses. You could also have a more mature tree, taller and stronger, but showing the slightest bit of bend on its branches as it too begins to feel the weight added upon it. Even a grandiose, ancient tree would work in this situation. Though the tree has all of this weight pulling it down in some of its most vulnerable places, the tree is unaffected because this is not the first challenge the tree has come to. It is the situations that the tree has already survived that enabled it to stand so firmly, unaffected by extra dead weight on its branches. In each situation, the tree definitely is weighted down by the bottles and their dense beauty, but they manage it in different ways, depending on what they have survived thus far. This is where that last line comes in, yesterday’s ghosts. This line is so ambiguous, but yet has the potential to be very powerful and striking at the end of such an interesting haiku. The last line could be interpreted as simply as the bottles being remnants of yesterday’s shenanigans that we must address today. However, the last line is broad enough to also hint at much deeper issues, such as those pulling down on your own most vulnerable spots, though they may not be as visually apparent as large, clunky bottles in a tree. This haiku can be as deep and meaningful as you make it, and the more you dig into it, the more you begin to psychoanalyze yourself, and synthesize even deeper meaning.
the dying oak tree
clinging to a few last leaves—
their veins showing.
Gay, TFOTD, n.p.
I chose this haiku for how different it is from most other Gay haiku. The most notable difference in this haiku is the very apparent somber mood accompanying the haiku. While most of Gay’s haiku focus around mysticism and the details left untold in the story, this haiku does not force you to come up with a story, simply because it is so relatable to begin with. Through the pure vulnerability of the tree who has stumbled upon hard times, we begin to revisit our own tougher moments in life. We identify with the humanity of the tree—that is humbly struggling and exposed for all to see. Especially because “their” can be referring to a person’s possessions, we personify the tree and are almost forced to with the word “veins”, because it is such a human-centric term. Beyond the relatability of two struggling beings, I also appreciate the last line of this haiku and the effect it has on the reader. The last line is so specific and sudden that it seems it should be the first or second line of another poem, almost as if it is not a big enough twist for the last line of this haiku. But then, once the final line has sunken in, you notice that it ends rather abruptly and nonchalantly, as if the last leaf has fallen or you’ve simply given up caring about or hoping for the survival of the tree. The tree that we were so quick to humanize and identify with is tossed away just as quickly, hinting at how humans often seem to be apathetic to the plight of those around them, whether it be other people or even trees. This mocking but subtle commentary on humanity is similar to the relationship between humans and nature that Gay often explores in other haiku, but at the same time, it is making much more harsh assumptions than his other haiku and lacks the sense of wonderment found in his other haiku.
Indian paintbrush
still wet
with dawn colors
Gay, ATW, 16
This haiku stuck out to me from my initial reading because of the colorful imagery and the whimsical blending of fantasy and reality through wordplay. Indian paintbrush, the plant, comes in bright colors such as a violet-blue or fiery red-orange in the wild, sometimes side by side. Looking at the simple visualization of the haiku, you imagine these red and blue blossoms, embellished with droplets of dew, which amplify the brightness of the colors of the flowers and simultaneously absorb and reflect the colors of the sunrise, which coincidentally, often contains blue and red. But then the haiku becomes more engaging and playful when you consider the double-meanings of words and blurring the lines between imagination and reality. Imagine those flowers used as a spirit’s means of changing the background of the rising and setting sun each day. Every morning, he uses the very color tones around him to paint the sky with a beautiful rising sun. We find this flower-paintbrush still wet, not with nighttime dew, but with the mystical paint used to bring such beautiful depictions of dawn to the sky. Though it sound like something out of a bedtime story, this haiku not only can paint a picture with sharp, intricate imagery, but also can tell stories that seem so foreign to us now, but were once very common among native peoples. Not only does Gay preserve the beauty of nature in these words, but he also preserves the nature of humans, both past and present, who take the time to imagine fantasy worlds around them.
sundial shadow:
a butterfly lands
and changes the time.
Gay, TSG, n.p.
Similar to the previous haiku, this particular work by Garry Gay also channels a whimsical side of the haiku genre. The use of a sundial in the first line immediately draws the reader to more ancient times, before our polarized watches and synchronized iPhones. My ancient civilization of choice is the Egyptians, but it does not greatly change the interpretation of the haiku of you imagine a different settlement. I happen to see some of the most advanced ancient peoples in regards to mathematics and the sciences. They had even figured out a universal way to keep time using only shade from the sky. But then we see a butterfly float in, a subject of many children’s tales and a notoriously docile creature, and it decides to have a rest right on the current pinnacle of (then) current technology. These peoples who had worked out the foundations of modern math and worked countless hours to create a universal time standard had just been fooled by a butterfly. Whether the people checking the time notice the butterfly or not, it is comical that such an insignificant creature can almost have the ability to control time and drastically affect our lives. Yet, this haiku is not only for giggling at those mischievous and oblivious butterflies, but it also comments on humanity and its achievements. We, as a race, dedicate our entire lives to enriching tiny niches of extremely specialized fields, but it is ultimately trivial. Just as I could have researched countless hours to finally devise the sundial, only to be fooled by a butterfly, I could spent years researching and proving some mathematical theorem, only for 9th grade geometry students to learn it up until the test and subsequently forget it. While Gay is poking fun at humanity’s focus on achievement here, it should not be seen as cynical. Instead, his commentary is aware and accepting of the way our lives are ultimately insignificant in the long run, almost adopting a “why fight it” attitude, rather than a discouraged outlook on life. This is why it is vital that Gay chose a harmless butterfly to be the “villain” of this haiku—anything more menacing would have been discouraging and not added any humor into the haiku to ease the realization of humankind’s insignificance in the grand scheme of things.
river baptism
for those of us not sure
the rain starts
Gay, UC, n.p.
For my last haiku of Garry Gay’s to analyze, I chose my absolute favorite. This haiku combines comedy, religious overtones, and irony into 11 short words, and it is put together flawlessly. With the start of the first line, the reader begins to imagine a more traditional baptismal ceremony, which often makes people feels as if the ceremony is more official or more binding. Just as the observers hide any skepticism they may have internally, irony hits. It is almost as if the powers that be have decided that those who may be internally questioning themselves or judging others at this serious event need a dose of reality: everyone needs a little repentance. Too scared to commit to an official religious cleansing? Someone upstairs has got it covered. I simply find this haiku hilarious, yet meaningful because of the religious overtones it undertakes, especially in regards to hidden thoughts or feelings of those who outwardly follow religion but harbor hypocritical or doubtful thoughts inside. Though this does not follow Gay’s usual antics of visually focused language, I personally believe this to be his best haiku, if only for the pure wit behind it.
Through his innumerable haiku, Garry Gay brings a unique point of view to the American haiku community. His photography-inspired haiku take readers into their own minds in order to explore deeper connections and their relationship with the world around them. Through strong, crisp visual imagery, Garry Gay brings readers to imagine remote moments in time, and then invites them to explore outwards and engage their other senses. Gay utilizes strong visual concepts in order to unlock the other senses for readers to fully immerse themselves in the moment of and connotations associated with each individual haiku.
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Works Cited
Booker, Bob, William Garrett, Garry Gay, and Peter Kastmiller. The Face of the Dragonfly. Oakland: Leanfrog, 1979. Print.
Gay, Garry. Along the Way. Liverpool: Snapshot Press, 2000. Print.
Gay, Garry. River Stones. Normal: Saki Press, 1999. Print.
Gay, Garry. The Silent Garden. Kentfield: Smythe-Waithe Press, 1982. Print.
Gay, Garry. Under Currents. N.p., 2007. Print. |
