Red peppers are red.
Red cabbage is purple but
is said to be red.
I am big on precise language. Why am I so damn mellow about whether a poem is a haiku? The answer hints at bigger things (like reconciling polished theory with rough-hewn reality), but there will also be a few jokes.
Yes, there are short poems that are not haiku. Limericks are not haiku. Googling «one word poem» yielded more hits than I expected (and infinitely more than I would like). U can read about one that made national news here. One word poems are not haiku. (As candidates for a one word poem about one word poetry, words like [prank] and [scam] come to mind.) On the other hand, trying to say exactly what is a haiku is a lot harder than it seems to many people. It is also a lot less important, and we should be thankful for small blessings.
A list of several common characteristics of haiku is a good starting point as a tentative definition. Such a list can be good for introducing people to haiku. Whether it should be carved in stone is another question.
Here is a plausible list of things one might say about a short poem in English, such that the poem “should” only be called a haiku if they are all true.
I got this particular list from a thoughtful comment by Sue Ranscht on a post with a 3-5-3 haiku. Amicably and implicitly, the comment posed the question that starts this post. It deserves an amicable (but explicit) reply.
Let me count the ways. Hmmm. Do I have enough fingers?
There is a downside to defining the word [haiku] in a way that excludes much of what the best haiku poets actually write and much of what the Haiku Society of America considers to be a haiku. What are we to call that stuff?
Jane Reichhold (1937-2016) was among the many eminent haiku poets who do not adhere to our 4-item list. She was also an advocate (so am I) of haiku with a characteristic that is not in that list: juxtaposing 2 contrasting images (rensô in Japanese). Rather than import yet another Japanese word into English, she wrote about “fragment and phrase” as parts of a haiku, in an insightful essay that was nicely formatted in a CDHK episode. The juxtaposition may seem incongruous at first, and much of the fun comes from realizing how it does make sense. Sometimes one part clarifies the other. Sometimes the fragment (the shorter part) is the punch line of a joke set up by the phrase, as in the essay’s clever classic
Another criterion not in our 4-item list is interchangeability of lines 1 and 3. While Jane did not advocate interchangeability (neither do I), it matters to some people. Should we have a 6-item list? There is no need to consider here the whole multitude of criteria that are sometimes important to some people. There is no need to try wriggling out of the contradictions between some of these criteria. This section’s takeaway is simply that there is no single authoritative list. Do U find that conclusion stressful? Maybe a musical interlude will help.
Back in 1800, Viennese concert-goers knew what a symphony was, with or w/o knowing much music theory. A symphony was an orchestral composition with 4 movements. Movement #1 might have a short slow introduction; otherwise, movements #1 and #4 were both at a brisk pace. Movement #2 was slower; movement #3 was a minuet at an intermediate pace. Performing the whole thing took a while, but well under an hour. And so on. That was before Beethoven began shredding the dictionary.
Did anybody abuse the new freedom by writing schlock that was long and loud? Of course. But some composers crafted some beautiful and enduring symphonies with great care and skill. Works like Dvořák’s From the New World are classics, tho in various ways they are not classical.
Saying that something is “a symphony” no longer says much about its length or layout. With no claim that they are all great symphonies, here are a few examples of the diversity.
And so on.
Maybe it would be nice if the word [symphony] had a more specific meaning, but we get by. When Prokofiev revisited the old layout from before 1800, he did not claim to be writing the first “real” symphony in decades. He just wrote his Classical Symphony. The title’s meaning is clear enough.
I wish those who advocate one of the narrower concepts of haiku would imitate Prokofiev. Speak of “classical” haiku or (better still) “traditional” haiku. Say which of the various traditions U have in mind. Want to make a discussion of a single tradition flow more smoothly by temporarily restricting the word [haiku] to that tradition? That might work, but it is hard to avoid any hint of permanently excluding other traditions in other discussions. Want to claim that working within your favored tradition tends to help people write good haiku? OK. I may well agree, unless U go on to claim that all haiku (or all good ones) are necessarily in that one tradition. Ain’t so.
Most of my own haiku (and many that I admire by others) do comply with at least 2 items in our 4-item list. Full compliance is common but far from universal. Want to be careful and focused when writing haiku? Pay serious attention to a list like this. But don’t let the tail wag the dog.
The 6-item list briefly contemplated at the end of §1 is much like the 7-item list of rules that was actually used in a challenging CDHK episode. The main difference between the lists is in whether rhymes or words referencing the poet (like [I] or [dunno]) are forbidden. Neither is common in haiku; both do occur.
I responded to the challenge with a cheekily titled but fully compliant haiku (This Haiku Is Kosher), followed by one that breaks a few of the rules (Not Quite Kosher). Which rules? In the unlikely event that anybody cared, I could say. As it happens, my Not Quite Kosher is a wry lament (about crediting an image illustrating This Haiku Is Kosher). The title’s double meaning would be lost if it somehow specified which rules in the 7-item list were being broken.
Not Quite Kosher
Zen frog bronze sculpture
(credit lost, like casting wax).
Dunno who to thank.
Suppose we want to discuss partial compliance with a list of rules in some detail. Would it be helpful to have a noun as a 1-word label to pin on my partially compliant haiku, so as to indicate exactly which rules it obeys? Not really. With 4 rules we would need 16 nouns. That would be burdensome. With 6 (or more) rules, we would need an absurd 64 (or more) nouns. Better to just say what happens with each rule, if there is any need to say it.
Maybe a single noun for obeying all the rules would still be helpful? No, it is better to just plop a convenient adjective (like [classical] or [compliant] or [kosher] or [traditional]) in front of good old [haiku]. Remembering which rules are relevant at the moment is enough of a cognitive load.
A cluttered vocabulary is not the only downside of a profusion of special nouns, one for full compliance with each of several lists of rules. People tend to confuse pinning a fancy label on something with understanding it. They also tend to assume that labels are mutually exclusive. When the recipients of labels are other people, the results can be nasty.
Tho willing to break the 5-7-5 rule, I obey it more than might be expected of somebody who knows about its origin in a translation error. I am especially respectful of 5-7-5 when I write an aphoristic haiku (as a zingy summary of some nerdy philosophizing) rather than a moment-in-nature haiku. With a linebreak after the comma, this post’s title could be a 2-line aphoristic haiku. (Yes, there are 2-line haiku.) Maybe a 5-7-5 aphoristic haiku will reinforce the point.
Precision < Accuracy
is great, if we speak about
what is really there.
Composer Philip Glass prefers “music with repetitive structures” over “minimalist music” as a name for his style. Descriptive names are indeed better than arbitrary ones, but only if we do not take them too seriously. Descriptive short phrases can become oversimplified facades that obscure realities too complex to be described well (not just named) by the phrases.
In music, any mishmash with a beat or a scale has an at least slightly repetitive structure. The sounds emanating from a beer garden or a rap concert are extremely repetitive. The good stuff is in between. While the musical lines in a piece by Glass have subtle variations, they are often too simple and repetitive to be interesting by themselves. Happily, they are not by themselves. Something special emerges when they are superimposed.
Neither Glass nor I can think of a good short descriptive phrase for his style, but I can offer a decent visual analogy that can be expressed concisely in a haiku. I should be doing my chores rather than responding to
But how could I resist a chance to put a link inside a haiku and pun on both the composer’s name and the title of one of my favorites among the works by him that I have heard?
Seeing while Listening
etched to form Moiré patterns:
See the sounds of Glass.
The following 3 quotes all come from the same person. Can U guess who?
The choices listed in the following poll have varying plausibility; they do include the actual author. Please have a go before scrolling down to see the answer and why it matters.
Scroll down for the answer …
The image of the US Constitution’s famous oversimplification “We the People” was downloaded and resized from http://mtviewmirror.com/wp-content/uploads/we-the-people-9.jpg.
All of the quotes are from a speech on The New Nationalism delivered 1910-08-31 by Theodore Roosevelt. More than a century later, the work has still not been done. More than a century later, pseudoconservatives still dump truckloads of ratcrap on anybody who opposes running the USA for the benefit of the biggest corporations and richest billionaires.
What to do in 2016? Yes, I feel the pull toward a protest vote like writing in Bernie Sanders (or Theodore Roosevelt). In what is not so obviously a mere gesture of protest, I could vote Green or Libertarian. But I will not. Unless U live in a cobalt blue or screaming red state, voting Green or Libertarian in 2016 is voting for Trump. In the real world, all options suck. Some suck worse than others. Much worse.
Yes, one can hope that the combination of Trump in the White House with McConnell and Ryan dominating Congress will be so blatantly toxic that “the people” finally wake up, rise up, and wrest control from the plutocrats. Alas, the 99% of us who are getting shafted includes bigots and nitwits. It includes those who bought the Fox News claim to be fair and balanced. It includes heavily armed crazies like Omar Mateen and Dylan Roof.
Popular uprisings do succeed now and then, as when the government of East Germany collapsed in 1989. Hey, the good people on the wrong side of the Berlin Wall suffered only 44 years (*) of communist oppression before that. More often, uprisings are either crushed (as in Hungary 1956) or seem successful for a while but descend into chaotic violence that spawns yet another tyranny (French Revolution; Russian Revolution; Arab Spring; …).
So I will trudge to the polls, hold my nose, and vote for Hillary. I will also remember a more familiar quotation from TR, excerpted below with a few letters added in italics:
While Hillary is deeply flawed, she is not one of those “timid souls who know neither victory nor defeat” detested by TR. For that matter, neither is Trump. He has other issues. While TR was far from being a pacifist, he could see the downside of putting an impulsive jerk in a position to start a war. That jerk also thinks appeasing the NRA is more important than making it harder for crazies like Adam Lanza to murder school children and their teachers.
The haiku by Dancing Echoes that is effectively reblogged below is one that I admire because it deals so well with big concerns. While I do appreciate haiku about particular fleeting moments in nature, I also like to try summarizing a general discussion or attitude very briefly, with a haiku.
I will complete my response to Carpe Diem Utabukuro #12 with my own new haiku shortly, but first I want to admit that a zingy summary may be a serious oversimplification if taken too literally. With an understanding about wiggle room, a forthright oversimplification is sometimes better than an attempt to dot every i and cross every t.
My haiku is not quite so extremely oversimplified as it may seem. I am considering Buddhism only as the attitude toward life that I take to underlie the organized religion. Peel away the legends and rituals. Peel away the historical adaptations to local circumstances. What do I find after much peeling? I find green tea, the sound of one hand clapping, and a haiku.
Buddhism in 6 Words
As in my earlier post arguing that oversimplification is unavoidable but can be done honestly, a whimsical example that is easily understood breaks trail for a serious example that is not.
Instructions for puzzles usually explain what the solution should look like, w/o constraining how to get there. The Jumble series of puzzles has been around for decades, originally just on printed pages but now online also. I sometimes solve the puzzle as printed in my daily newspaper. (Yes, I am that old.) Taken literally, the instructions for a Jumble do constrain the how, but in a way that strikes me as a harmless oversimplification in explaining the what. More precisely, it was harmless until the series went online.
The weird words in the title of this post are scrambled versions of the ordinary words wealth and nations. A typical Jumble puzzle invites the reader to unscramble several such scrambled words and then use the letters at some specified positions in the ordinary words to complete the caption of a cartoon. Printed and online versions of the puzzle for 2016-06-10 are displayed below. Both the layout and the use of “Now” in the printed instructions indicate that unscrambling comes before completing. Similarly for the online instructions revealed by the [HELP] button.
While I sometimes proceed in the instructions’ order, I more often guess the completion before unscrambling all (or even any) of the words. So what? I can put my pen anywhere on the page at any time. The sequencing in the instructions is just a convenient way to explain what would be a solution to a Jumble puzzle. One could rewrite and reformat the instructions so as to explain that w/o extraneous sequencing (as in the instructions for Sudoku), but it is not obvious how to write sequence-free instructions for Jumble that are as clear as the oversimplified instructions with extraneous sequencing. Why bother?
Here’s why. Look at the online version. That bright green square is a place for typing, if U so choose. The interface does a good job of allowing U to drag letters rather than type. After unscrambling all the scrambled words, U will see the available letters appear above the caption and can type or drag to complete the caption, just as U typed or dragged when unscrambling. While the interface displays several signs of good software engineering, it takes the informal specs too literally and mandates the heuristic of unscrambling all the words before doing anything to complete the caption. (Being a nerd myself, I can sympathize.) What began as a harmless oversimplification became a killjoy.
As it happens, I started by guessing the caption for the 2016-06-10 Jumble, then verified that my unscramblings of 3 words were consistent with my guess, and then used the resulting tentative knowledge about letters to be contributed by the word still scrambled as a hint about how to unscramble it. (A tiny example of how science works.) No can do in the online version. There is a [HINT] button that doles out a single letter in a single word. My preference for making my own hint is not just a consequence of my being compulsively self-reliant. My own hint is discovered and might be misleading because I might have guessed wrong at the start. The online hint is an infallible gift from on high. No fun in that.
If U want to work on the online version of this particular Jumble, U can click on its image to visit a page with today’s puzzle and then use the page’s calendar widget to go back to 2016-06-10.
Now it is time for the serious example, which starts in the same century as the scene depicted in this example, but on the other side of The Pond.
The other momentous document published in 1776 was Adam Smith’s The Wealth of Nations, with a then-harmless oversimplification that has become a now-pernicious dogma.
Smith’s readers were familiar with intrusive governments and quasigovernmental organizations like craft guilds. Mercantilist governments restricted who could sell what to whom. Guilds set the prices of what their members made. That was normal, as was censorship, state-sponsored religion, and commercial privileges granted by royal whim. Smith was aware that his readers might find his free-market ideas disturbingly anarchic, and he tried to reassure them with his famous fantasy about an invisible hand. He succeeded too well.
Smith remarked that, while he advocated much less intrusive government than his readers considered normal, there were still important government functions needed to make his free markets work. He mentioned some explicitly. Unsurprisingly, he did not mention those that would not be on anybody’s radar for over a century. Markets cannot work properly w/o transparency: potential buyers need to know what they would be getting and how much they would be paying. Apart from providing a trustworthy money supply, there was no obvious need for laws and regulations to make markets transparent. They seemed obviously transparent; nobody wearing a 3-cornered hat noticed that transparency was being assumed and might someday need to be enforced.
With the passage of time, Smith’s ideas took hold, the economies of his nation and ours grew richer and more complex, and economists eventually realized that markets cannot be perfectly transparent. What happens when they are seriously opaque? When getting pertinent info is costly? When some of the info floating around is false? When insiders have pertinent info that they act upon but keep to themselves? Long technical answers won Nobel Prizes for Kenneth Arrow and Joseph Stiglitz. The financial crisis of 2008-2009 and its precursors illustrate a somewhat oversimplified short answer that suffices for present purposes:
The shit hits the fan.
By the time the importance of transparency and the need for laws and regulations that enforce it had become common knowledge among thoughtful advocates of free markets, the invisible-hand fantasy had morphed into market fundamentalism. That dogma is a godsend for anybody who wants to act like a psychopath but suffers from the inconvenience of having a conscience. It is OK if I scramble to enrich myself and U scramble to enrich yourself, no matter how much we harm each other or anybody else. If the stupid gummint stays away and just lets “The Market” work its magic, everything will come out as well as possible in the real world, where resources are scarce and buying anything precludes buying something else with the same money.
Like religious fundamentalism, market fundamentalism is rigid, simplistic, and oblivious to the suffering it causes. The real world is indeed harsh. It is also vastly more complex than fundamentalists concede, perhaps more complex than they can imagine. Enforcing fairness and transparency w/o stifling useful innovation is not easy. More generally, finding a good balance between public and private economic activity is not so easy as it seems to market fundamentalists (or to socialists, at the other extreme).
Much longer (but still readable) discussions of opacity and other market failures can be found in books like The Roaring Nineties by Joseph Stiglitz. Perverse incentives lead to perverse behavior. Is that really surprising?
Is grass green? Not if it’s Japanese blood grass in autumn. Does a bear shit in the woods? Not if it’s a polar bear. Is the sky blue? Not at 1:00 AM. Something important is hiding in plain sight here. Everybody and their uncle have always known counterexamples to the claim that the sky is blue, and some of them have been celebrated with striking photos. On the other hand, when cartoonist Garry Trudeau wanted to poke fun at reflexive Republican opposition to anything proposed by President Obama, he used this same claim in the Doonesbury strip that appeared 2015-05-24 in my local paper. Clinging to his tattered hope for bipartisanship, Obama responds to an aide’s disillusionment by announcing something he thinks will be utterly uncontroversial: that the sky is blue. The last panel shows a subsequent press conference held by the Senate’s Republican majority leader.
Leader McConnell, is the sky blue?
I am not a meteorologist.
Whether or not U agree with Trudeau’s take on the attitudes of those who pass for Republicans nowadays (and whether or not U found the strip funny), I trust that U did recognize the question about the sky’s color as a more polite version of the question about ursine defecation. Even tho U know about sunsets. Even tho U know that everybody else knows about them too. What is going on here?
Well, not everything. The black and white cattle living on the farm near my house are not oversimplified. They just are what they are. Much of what I might say about them is oversimplified. Indeed, it is hard to find anything nontrivial to say about them that is just plain true (like 2+3 = 5), w/o any qualifications or exceptions. From a distance, they are black and white cattle, lounging on green grass under a partly blue sky. Look more closely, and a few of them have brown instead of black. Does it matter? Not to me. Maybe it would matter to somebody who breeds Belted Galway cattle. I just admire the bu-cow-lic scene and stay upwind. Does a cow shit in the pasture?
Overeating is something people often do. They should always try not to, and many of us can succeed most of the time. Oversimplifying is more complicated. Sometimes it is harmless (or even helpful, for certain purposes or as a temporary expedient); sometimes it is hardly better than lying. Trying not to oversimplify is generally good, but the cure can be worse than the disease. It may be better to oversimplify, be honest about it, and remain open to working on a more accurate formulation as the the need arises. A more accurate formulation may well be good enough for a long time, but not forever. Scientific theories and engineering calculations are like that. Guess what? So are ethical principles.
What we call “the” Golden Rule has been formulated in various ways by various cultures. A nice discussion appears on pages 83-86 in the book Plato and a Platypus Walk into a Bar by Cathcart and Klein. (The book is a great read, even if U aced Philosophy 101 and have already heard many of the jokes.) They use an old joke to illustrate how seriously oversimplified the rule is:
A sadist is a masochist who follows the Golden Rule.
It gets worse. Even when how people like to be treated is pretty much the same thruout a group, the Golden Rule stumbles. I was both amused and disturbed when cartoonist Scott Adams showed how badly it stumbles in a Dilbert strip I should have saved. The boss proclaims that company policy will henceforth be to follow the Golden Rule. Dilbert objects; the boss asks why. The resulting exchange goes something like this:
Would U like me to give U $100?
OK, follow the Golden Rule and give me $100.
The boss is reduced to sputtering indignation. Dilbert is clearly taking the rule too literally and ignoring an implicit consensus about exceptions. But what are they? I could not say where Dilbert errs.
Most of the formulations discussed by Cathcart and Klein are somewhat clunkier than our culture’s usual
Do unto others as U would have others do unto U.
They amount to saying
Do not do unto others as U would not have others do unto U.
Maybe people thought of the Dilbert objection and tried to get avoid it by prohibiting X rather than mandating Y. This does help, but there is still a problem.
Would U be disappointed if I refused your request to give U $100?
Please give me $100.
I see. U are just as hypocritical about the Confucian version of the Golden Rule as U are about our usual version.
If U fall off a boat and I hear U shout a request to be thrown a life preserver, I will try to do just that. Just don’t walk up to me and request to be given $100. What is the difference? People can start with our usual formulation of the Golden Rule, admit that it is grossly oversimplified, consider what seems reasonable in thought experiments like this, try for a more explicit consensus about exceptions, and remain open to considering more adjustments as more situations arise, either in practice or in thought experiments. Can we do better?
Immanuel Kant tried valiantly to do better with his Supreme Categorical Imperative, which is a fun read if U like reading tax laws or patents. Cathcart and Klein have the details.
As a former wannabe mathematician, I would very much like to see a nice crisp formulation of the Golden Rule (or of any other important general principle) that just nails it, w/o exceptions or vagueness. Nice work if U can get it. If I ever get stuck with trying to help socialize a child, I will give the kid our usual version of the Golden Rule, say that it is a great starting point for thinking about how to behave, admit that real life is messier, and offer to talk about it more as the need arises. I will not mention Kant.