Eric Sharp • Eric's Haiku •

Carl Patrick's Haiku: Nothing Special One of the most effective contemporary voices in English-language haiku, Carl Patrick of the Spring Street Haiku Group in New York is truly unique in his approach to the poetry. He was born on July 7th, 1937 and hails from Houston, Texas. After moving to New York he met Dee Evetts, the founder of the Spring Street Group, and along with his critical work on many haiku anthologies- Patrick has been writing award-winning haiku ever since. When a unique approach is taken, as is the case with Mr. Patrick, it is often of great insight to take a closer look at their development as an artist. As literary connoisseurs we must take time to examine the growth of Patrick’s aesthetic both in its relation to the classical origins of haiku exemplified in Basho, Issa, and Santoka, as well as modern influences felt by writers of English language haiku such as Michael Dylan Welch, Lee Gurga, and George Swede. Despite the diversity of subject matter, Patrick always seems able to convey his images in a singular way. When speaking about him in the context of Amann’s Zen principles relating to haiku, Patrick could most accurately be described as a poet who exemplifies the ‘nothing special’ quality in his writing. He doesn’t look to capture a life changing event, rather the events he captures are augmented in meaning resulting from his poetic framing. This Zen-like quality reminds us of Basho’s treatment of his surroundings as one in tune with his environment, and able to write on any subject he wished with equal magnanimity. not a cloud in sight I put the red flag up on the mailbox      A Small Umbrella. New York: Spring Street Haiku Group, 1995 The beautiful imagery of the red flag against the perfectly blue sky is the image that Patrick contributes in this poem. He does not give us any unnecessary emotional context- suggesting, for example the foreboding quality of the letter being sent, or his feelings towards the postal service, or even his opinion of the mail box itself; he simply gives us an objective glimpse. Though I suppose the habit could be somewhat frowned upon by haiku purists (who are these haiku purists anyway?), I think what I like most about Patrick’s haiku is the amount of content linking that he uses. In many of his pieces, he sets up the scenario for us and then after the karigi, he tells us how the event plays out. His haiku moments are incredibly subtle, and often, it seems very difficult to detect a break at all-the images are so cohesive. at the fruitstand taking off my mitten to feel the coconut      The Haiku Anthology (142) For instance, in this haiku, Patrick uses both a scent link in the fruitstand as well as a content link with the same object since we all know what its like to walk down the aisle of a supermarket. We can each relate this image to a specific instance in our lives, or to be even more general—associate it with a certain feeling or comfort level that is connotative of the environment. The other interesting thing about this piece is Patrick’s use of the mitten in the second line. This gives us a very good seasonal element, though I doubt mittens are listed in any traditional Japanese lists of season-words. The juxtaposition of the mittens against the fruitstand makes us at once aware that he is indeed in an indoor situation, and also that it must be considerably cold outside because he’s wearing mittens to begin with. We get the image of someone all bundled up and pining for warmer climes, when all of a sudden- they see a coconut and reach to touch this harbinger of the oh-so-distant tropical life. Perhaps to make sure that it is not a mirage. This piece seems particularly reminiscent of George Swede in its senyru-like quality. The primary image of the fruitstand seems wholly connected with the image of the coconut, and so one could argue that they are too similar. However, this also shows Patrick’s ability to take us completely into the moment, whereas other poets whose caesurae are more evident often succeed in dissociating the reader just enough to make the poem less cohesive with our own lives. the nightlight glows on the rim of mother’s wheelchair      After Lights Out. New York: Spring Street Haiku Group, 1996 Although his haiku are very ‘human,’ Patrick has the subtle treatment of the subjects down to an art. In this piece about his mother, we get all sorts of connotations because the vast majority of us know what it is like to look at our mother’s when they are not looking back. Perhaps in the dim light of the nightlight as Patrick seems to be suggesting in this haiku. The special thing about this piece is how he captures the life of his mother, without mentioning his mother. He simply describes a view of her wheelchair. A symbol to be sure, of age or infirmary, but even more than that, it gives us a feeling that this person is very sage indeed, and that everything they say must be taken fully into account. We can envision the metal rim of the wheelchair in the amber light of the nightlight, and it takes us back to the days when we needed such devices to get to sleep and those who turned it on for us every night after tucking us tightly under the covers. We remember our own nurturing mothers and what they mean to us. In this way- Patrick has given us a haiku that is instantly recognizable not only because he mentioned the word mother, but also because he sees this physical contraption (the chair) as a symbol of her strength and endurance. Another of Carl Patrick’s great strengths comes in the brief, yet ever-telling one-line haiku that he presents. Not too many authors can pull off the one line format because of the intrinsic difficulties it presents. For instance, some authors run their words together in an attempt to create a poem of one very long and complex word; an amalgamation of several smaller ones. This works very seldom, because the reader is taken aback by the sheer size of the word they are presented with, and they can scarcely glean anything meaningful because of the aforementioned abstraction. Patrick, on the other hand, does his best to keep the one-liners brief and to the point. One of his best is a mere three words long. The reader is presented with one solid image on which to gorge their senses. As Cor Van Den Heuvel describes Patrick’s haiku in general, ". . . Washed in colors of his imagination, things glow in his haiku-but only to disclose their own ineffable essence." The following are excellent examples of Patrick’s one-line haiku. anthill on grandpa’s grave      In the Waterfall. New York: Spring Street Haiku Group, 1997 one cricket sunset      After Lights Out. New York: Spring Street Haiku Group, 1996 In the first example, we get another great image and the implications surrounding the mention of a family member’s name. The anthill on top of the grave can symbolize grandpa’s industry, as well as the recent passing of someone so dear. Perhaps the ants have picked this location because the ground is still loose from the ceremony or newly packed. Or perhaps this sight is happened upon even before the funeral has taken place and the anthill is resting instead upon the displaced dirt sitting aside the open grave. In any event, Patrick’s brevity in his one line haiku is welcome because of its straightforward nature. There is no punctuation that forces us to feel one way or the other, and for the lack of a better term, Patrick’s approach does not bask in its own glory as a ‘one-line marvel,’ as some authors do with the three line format as well. When the exploitation of the one line format occurs (and what I refer to here is not so much the form, but the content) it seems that the author is trying to boast of their abilities as a writer of haiku, rather than the objective eye that is appreciated in the work of Patrick. Saying in essence, "I am haiku poet, hear me roar," whereas Patrick’s approach has always been that ‘nothing special quality.’ In the last haiku we will examine, (one cricket sunset) Patrick gives us an interesting paradigm indeed. Not only does he remind us of the greats by emulating the one-line format born of the long-standing precedents in Japanese haiku, but he also places himself very much within the modern haiku tradition by giving us one glowing image compounded with the implication of sound, and sight all at once. This scent-linking pervades much of Patrick’s newer work. We can hear the tone of the cricket’s call and place it in whatever sunset we like. We can associate this piece with our own childhood, with aging, with rebirth, with peace, or virtually any other subject that our heart happens upon. Without even mentioning one specifically, we get the sense that this takes place during the summer, although it is never specified. This is yet another wonderful example of Carl Patrick’s simple approach to the art form. He does not see haiku as something to be exploited for one’s own gain, and despite the laud he’s received and the respect he commands, he remains one of the must humble, and then necessarily pure voices in English language (or any language) haiku today. Attuned to the Zen idea of an artless art, Patrick shows us how to write haiku, not by writing ‘haiku’ per se, but by giving us a slice of life with every poem. He knows what it is to be alive and watching everything around him, and the haiku community is all the better off for it. —Eric Sharp Bibliography: The Parakeet’s Mirror. Spring Street Haiku Group. 1993 Wood Shavings. Spring Street Haiku Group. 1994 A Small Umbrella. Spring Street Haiku Group. 1995 After Lights Out. Spring Street Haiku Group. 1996 In the Waterfall. Spring Street Haiku Group. 1997 Pink Bulldozer. Spring Street Haiku Group.1999 Van Den Heuvel, Cor. The Haiku Anthology. New York: W.W. Norton and Company, 1999.