Fleeting Verses

migratory birds 

taking home 

a piece of sky 

 ~ teji sethi

(published in the Haiku Foundation, Oct 2020)

I had read somewhere that Nobel laureate Rabindranath Tagore, during his visit to Japan in 1916, was captivated by the beauty of a poetic form that was both succinct and profound. He went on to translate some of these Japanese poems into Bengali and experimented with the art form.

Haiku is believed to have travelled to India around that time, though its roots trace back to ancient Japan. This art form, more than 400 years old, is considered the shortest non‑rhyming poetry form. It came to be known as haiku in the eighteenth century. Previously called hokku, it was the opening verse of long collaborative poetry composed in those days.

Traditionally, haiku is written in three lines, following a 5‑7‑5 syllable pattern, for a total of 17 syllables (sound units). In English, however, haiku does not strictly adhere to this syllable count and is generally written in short/long/short lines, often in lowercase.

Japanese poets who cast their spell through this form of poetry include Matsuo Bashō (1644–1694), Yosa Buson (1716–1783), Kobayashi Issa (1763–1827), and Masaoka Shiki (1867–1902). They are regarded as the masters of haiku literature. While Matsuo Bashō is considered the pioneer of hokku, the credit for giving the form its modern name, haiku, goes to Masaoka Shiki.

The soul of haiku lies in its ability to capture an image of nature in a simple, unadorned manner. What makes this form unique is its mode of expression. Unlike other genres of poetry, haiku does not rely on elaborate poetic devices. Haikai is not cerebral—it is spiritual. The austerity of language in haikai is palpable.

the sea darkens

a wild duck's call

faintly white

~ Matsua Basho 

ah, if I turn around

that one who passes by

is nothing but mist

~ Masaoka Shiki

The soul of haiku has been interpreted from many perspectives–to convey an aesthetic image, to appreciate nature and transience, and to accept death within us and everything around us. Haiku embodies both the birth and death of each moment. Everything is stripped down to its most essential state. In Japanese aesthetics, imperfection, impermanence, and incompleteness—known as wabi-sabi—are celebrated as expressions of beauty in art.

What I call the seven tatvas of haiku are the elements that make it an experiential poem. Just as the poise and grace of a dancer lie in their movements, the essence of haiku lies in these tatvas:

kigo – a seasonal reference,

kireji – a pause, ma – space

makoto – truth

karumi – lightness

zoka – the creative force in nature

yugen – mysterious grace

as it goes with

the wind this cherry petal

so shall I

~ teji sethi, India

(Honourable Mention, Fifth International Cherry Blossom Haiku Contest, May 2021, organised by Bulgarian Haiku Union)

his last trip

on the waters of the Ganges

a floating urn

~ teji sethi

(published in Under the Basho, Aug 2020)

These poems, though written in just three lines, carry the weight of a poet’s moment of truth. Having been born into a family that migrated from the other side of the border, readers often find remnants of separation and partition woven into my haikai pieces.

crossing borders

I carry the weight

of a throbbing silence

teji sethi

(published in haikuKATHA Issue 4)

Shared below are two haibun (prose with haiku) from my book ‘Moss Laden Walls”

FRAGMENTS

Every day braiding my hair, she narrates tales of her hometown. My thick black hair wrapped around her long bony fingers, she takes me into the katrahs and lanes of Lahore. Her eyes lit up as she speaks of bazaars, her favourite jalebis and dahi bhallas, the kind of salwars she wore, and the mattha patti that adorned her broad forehead on her wedding day. She gets lost in the echoes of the past, and our daily ritual ends in a sigh — ‘puttar jis Lahore nahi vekhaya o jamya hi nahi’

weaver bird ...

picking up the strands

of unwritten stories 

TAPESTRY

Her pashmina drapes were my favourites. She often said — the finest of weaves is weightless. With them around her shoulders, my eyes could never appreciate their intricate patterns. There were finer things that caught my sight — the lines on her face interlaced with cross-border tales and her deep eyes that welled up at the mention of ‘Chenab’

buried memories ...

scent of dampness

seeps through the walls

To a reader, a haiku may convey diverse meanings—and that is the beauty of this form. When you read a poem, you attach personal experience to its interpretation, creating a new image. A single poem may invite myriad elucidations. The commentary by editor Kelly Sauvage Angel on one of my haiku reveals the many layers within this eight‑word poem.

an aged banyan 

roots as deep 

          as beliefs 

~ teji sethi, India

(published in the Haiku Foundation, connection with the natural world, Dec16, 2020)

This haiku by Sethi humbles me. Not only does it offer an extremely resonant juxtaposition, but its depth and complexity continue to unfold in a manner that propels one into the most expansive of realms, the spiritual while remaining utterly free of the tethers of religious dogma.  Indeed, the history and mythology of the banyan are rich, allowing our understanding to manifest in whatever guise is most meaningful to us; at the same time, one can hardly glance over the banyan’s unique anatomy with its elongated aerial roots which, while expansive, extend underground to an extent that would prove insufficient for support as a single-root system.  While the more obvious metaphorical interpretation may leave us chuckling or nodding in agreement, we would be remiss to disregard the tree’s cultural and religious significance, whether as the site of the sermon of the Bhagavad Gita or within the context of the “world tree,” with its roots stretching to heaven. 

And, to whom is this piece referring? Perhaps the “aged banyan” is an older member of the poet’s community or an allusion to the depth of our collective failings—or our mythic potential.

The mystery of haiku eludes me. The deeper I delve into this poetic form, the more it enchants me. What first appeared as serendipity on one winter morning at the Katha National Writer’s Workshop, IIC, Delhi has now become a lifelong quest.

on an endless quest of self musk deer

(one-line haiku published in the Haiku Foundation, March 2022)

Teji Sethi