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ALL THAT ASIDE: Partial answer to Question 1:
1) Why do you write [xhaikux]?
 
 Re: Field Notes: Where do your haiku begin?
« Reply #21 on: June 19, 2013, 08:35:08 AM »
 
Richard Gilbert:
 
 
silence, what is
 
to be mentioned: 
 
as far as how to speak where things concatenate
 
seems to be there is no me to be
 
I say "I prefer," the preference for a given word, 
 
definition of rhetoric: 
 
to persuade. silence 
 
is what I see, the power of symbols to create reality. it serves no purpose 
 
to belittle language, what is silence 
 
for a languaged being.
 
options.
 
an argument against.
 
opting out.
 
co-opting in.
 
choosing "not."
 
choosing not to knot or unknot.
 
no having to cut silence in two.
 
before / after.
 
craving something.
 
just a minute or moment.
 
between space and fear.
 
not having to compose a list.
 
not having to beg a word for prayer.
 
mostly not.
 
not that anyone would care to listen.
 
not a performance.
 
not silence, not the choice not to utter.
 
not shutup not invisible not mine.
 
that's what i like; when i prefer not
 
to communicate.
 
you remember the shapes of silence
 
as time transmits space, time unburdens itself
 
time does not dream or have a past or a book
 
time fuck shit piss blue mine love mend leaf kiss must call
 
an instrumental four letters, analogous
 
silence because I want you to find out
 
silence because I want you to look
 
silence because I want you to take the time
 
not to speak, silence because the ear
 
is made more sensitive to pressure variation
 
surrendering to the plenum of acoustic space
 
alive with endless reflection; all what has
 
been said, to rest to rest to rest, at times
 
silence is like this repeating itself
 
a book with pages of folded knowledge
 
silence has levels of silence,
 
resting silence
 
thoroughly resting silence
 
completely thoroughly resting silence
 
silence which is neither thought nor unthought
 
silence which has no name
 
so with a will I need to be
 
so I must call to you
 
without sound.
 
                                               ***
         
         Haiku as groupings of trees
 
it was in the trees that the smell of the air came through her writing
never at night in the radiator sounds of home-baking and old bones
along the slice of water and sky where beneath the surface a poem
glides along. time stopped for the present. a moment or two. then 
with new determination an ecology of selves shining and new 
what was in the trees to begin with just before and just after love
when he had almost saved her. that she could write.
 
 
as a body born of words, inasmuch as clinginginto forms thoughts
as a body bones of words, in arrears as forms of whatstheuse of 
words to which the world happens to be. how my furthering 
unfurls against moving horizons as she writes preoccupations. 
not everyone is safe, who can be saved, who can be safe and 
these days our world tilts while I hold the sun without capture:
backlit skirted pantsuit in umbral fortitude descending the nautilus day.
 
taste the asian pear, gingko berry, the seed hidden within.
moon cradled you recall the voice of another I might be the distance
measured by drawing out string from here to there: do you remember
someone will remind you one day will say not I am here but I am there
that the thine that becomes the subject of one stroke of genius no as-if
about it, on the beach by the trees between two moments. that is me.
                         ***
 
Commentary on track
 
I don't know that I can write "where do your haiku begin" in a prosaic manner. I seem to psychologically strongly resist the thought -- so I’m glad you left the form [thread moderator: Peter Yovu] and genre style open, as to comments. A lot of my writing is about some kind of contemplation of origins and poetic/consciousness process-experience (in my fantasy). Referring to the two poetic statements I sent to you [the poems above], I feel they are sincere or honest in addressing the question, in that their answers have arisen as unintended consequences, coming to your question at a tangent. In both writings, I later published a line (of four-letter words from “silence”), and several lines from “trees” as haiku, with little or no alteration. 
 
As praxis, the answer of “where do your haiku come from” is “they came from there” (in these instances). In the midst of composition of (such) a longer piece, when writing those (later-extracted) haiku lines, I was sometimes partially consciously possibly aware of perhaps composing something with the power and form of haiku then and there in it; like hey, that cuts well, says it; yeah, Daddy-O. Yet it was after the fact of writing, later (much), working from an editorial head – like almost everyone, I’ve come to realize – that I saw there was autonomy. Luckily Roadrunner Haiku Journal is open-minded regarding experiments—the fact of R’r’s existence can’t be overstated; I felt encouraged, knowing there was potentially a place for them, a collegial, even receptive audience—unlike the longer poems themselves, which were posted as notional letters to a few friends; kind of like nightstands with doilies. 
 
This compositional method isn’t typical; it’s just something I thought to try. The pieces were written within a week of each other; and I was thinking about haibun; the idea of embedding haiku into longer poetic forms; loosening the genre-concept of poem versus prose; hardly new ideas. Yet if writing for the reader always ends in 'goodbye'; to give that goodbye gist is something like mono no aware -- that cutting moment of resolution, wholeness/emptiness in presence/absence -- where a world breathes, dissolves, and conjunctives such as ‘and’; an abiding ‘with’ or an ‘or,’ or ‘however’ may exit the palette (so, an elemental palette?), along with similes like ‘like being’: A flowering world, lacking simile? Isn’t language always “like” something? Isn’t a poem, read, heard or sung a dynamic simulacrum? Simulacrum, yet paradoxically, the real thing. It's good to ask the question, though as a self as a national park as a managed trail as an air there I don't immediately find the ferry. Haiku take us here to there; wee ferries of the invisible or surely certain ineffable secret fantasies. Plus cargo. Like any good instrument that places the cosmos in your hands, it takes time to work the tools; the payoff is they can effect novel navigations to near and foreign shores. That's why I like reading excellent haiku, because haiku always begin there. And goodbye.
 
Haiku taken from the longer poetic writings above, and later published:
 
there in the trees to begin with just before and just after love
 
moon cradled you recall the voice of another I might be the distance
 
(Published in R'r 11.2, 2011.)
 
 
about it on the beach by the trees two moments between that is
 
 
time fuck shit piss blue mine love mend leaf kiss must call
 
 
along the slice
           of water and sky
     never at night
 
 
as a body born of words
as a body bones of words:
preoccupations she writes
 
 
that the thine that becomes the subject of one stroke no as if
 
(Published in R'r 12.2, 2012.)