Switzerland Inspired: Haiku and Senryu Poetry

By Paul Douglas Lovell

You might not associate haiku poetry with Switzerland, renowned for its luxury watches and chocolatiers. A landlocked destination for skiers and spa visitors, it lies in the heart of Europe.

 

From the Swiss Alps to the Jura mountains via a network of green corridors, the impressive peaks and stunning lakes play host to a biodiverse population of wildlife. Wild lynx and resident wolves roam freely in the forests, protected by laws, that cover 32% of the country and also provide a home for rare flora and fauna.

 

Such an abundance of nature cannot help but inspire poetic notions.

 

Inhale the alpine mountain air, follow a breeze across a field of bowing grasses, close your eyes. Listen to the idle clonk of cowbells, the caw of crows and, in the far distance, a farm dog. Slowly exhale and open your eyes to the splendour of Switzerland.

 

This collection of haiku and senryu poetry spans a decade and reflects scenes I have witnessed. It tracks my progress, learning as I go. 

 

This book is not so much a "How To" but more a "How I". I have studied the rules pertaining to short form poetry, but I tend to  view them as guidelines only. Some I comply with, others I ignore. Poetry comes first.

 

I am sharing these whimsical wonders with you to entertain and delight. Be they ordinary or remarkable, they are all special in their simplicity. Read them slowly to savour the essence.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Paul Douglas Lovell
• Release date: Feb 24, 2024
• ISBN: 9798224884773

Paul Douglas Lovell

The best word to describe Paul Douglas Lovell is "unconventional" and it makes sense that his author bio would also be far from typical. Coming from a motherless family of five children, this runt of the litter had to scratch and scramble for any attention he received. In his book, Playing Out: Swings and Roundabouts, the reader finds a young Paul in the 1970s living on the margins of society. Homelife was always unsteady with the threat of eviction and a struggle to pay for amenities. It was a cold and hungry existence. Petty criminality and abuse further distorted his outlook on life, and he quickly became a problem child. His time at school was spent on everything, but learning. Empty Corridors: Learning to Fail finds Paul attending school in the 1980s, without much change. He was still labelled a problem. His academic knowledge, that of an eleven-year-old, he left school without qualifications, struggling to read and lacking ambition. Yet, within a year, a seed was sown. Paul yearned to become a writer. Even at 16, he knew he had enough fodder for a book, though it would be years before he would commit any of it to paper. That required courage and understanding of his past. He tried his hand at fiction, keeps a sealed envelope containing his first draft complete with grammatical errors and misused words. One saving grace, Paul was a clean slate, and, once he moved to London, he spent time gaining whatever knowledge he could. In Paulyanna: International Rent Boy, the reader finds Paul living in London during the 1990s and working the streets, a profession he fell into and one that suited him. While unorthodox, and regardless of ethics and judgments, he felt valued for the first time in his life. Being paid for being himself felt like an achievement. He was encouraged to take a beginner writing course and a course in media studies.  He obtained a job in a production and distribution company. Music television was the perfect employer, Paul was tasked with writing synopses of the concerts to  further practice his art. He moved to Switzerland in 2000. Began working as a classroom assistant in a kindergarten. The irony of scrawling "Mr. Lovell" on the blackboard when he covered a class of rowdy teenagers brings a smile to his face   Paul now spends his time writing memoirs, haiku, and creating collage, comics and images.

Book preview

Introduction

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Trying to understand all the flounce and bluster of poetry can intimidate not only a newcomer to writing but would-be readers also. Poetry can appear too difficult to understand and, therefore, impossible to write. Unsure how to perceive what is written or what may be implied can push a simple rhyme into, let’s say, an out-of-reach dimension. 

I’m quite a literal person and I often fail to see anything other than the main message in what I read. So, when judging what I like, rather than wrack my brains in vainly seeking further understanding, I keep it simple. Lazily, I want to be moved but I don’t want to have to toil too hard to get there. An instant impression that provokes an honest emotion is what I prefer.

When constructing or relaying a scene in my haiku, I often include secondary images, hints at something other, and plays on words, though not to the detriment of my initial poem. I cater to the average person: to someone not unlike myself.

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upon the scaffold

in the pale light of the moon

life hangs by a thread

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I was first introduced to haiku by a friend, Emma Purshouse, who was poet laureate for the City of Wolverhampton 2020-22.  She is a talented comedian and performance poet who understands the value of words and how the strength of a well-chosen phrase can deliver more by giving less. I was encouraged to exercise, mentally, via the medium of this short-form poetry. To train in becoming economical with words. Still relatively new to writing and about to begin the process of documenting my experiences into a series of memoirs, haiku, with its efficiency and preciseness, seemed like the perfect channel to guide my thoughts and help set the pace of my paragraphs.

I find myself in awe of the sparse simplicity of this traditional Japanese poetry. It is so effective in relaying the atmosphere of a scene, able to eke out the minute splendours of life or even the savagery of the natural world with a calmness that permits the reader to fully enjoy the moment, unhurried.

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feather see-saws down

its light delicate splendour

lost upon the ground

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It’s amazing how such scant lines can express the gravitas and significance of what can easily be overlooked. Spotlighting a bristling barb on the underside of a stinging nettle, so to speak. I can communicate a great deal of emotion using the bare bones of expression when picking the choicest adjectives, verbs and nouns to capture what I want to say. I utilised haiku as a self-editing tool to hone and improve my vocabulary. I strove to create poetry in celebration of my own surroundings: images that I could share with my readers.

My initial aim was to invigorate the reader’s passions by drawing on nostalgia, attempting to stir up dormant memories they already possessed. Blowing on the embers, I hoped to reignite the flickers wavering at the back of their mind. Reliant on past experiences, my prudent lines endeavoured to capture fragments from our childhoods: those days of old, when we were closer to the earth, closer to the ground.

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crystal and opaque —

in the sandbox, sprinkled grains

fascinate the child

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Timing is significant in enhancing the poem’s impact. The leisurely reading of haiku plays a crucial role in fully enjoying them. Ideally, one reads them slowly, each line given time to evoke a mood, to allow thoughts to flare up and then to simmer down, before moving on to the next line. I find slowing down time vastly helps to stretch those lazy summer days of childhood, which fits well with my melancholic memoirs.

Typical of a British, working-class childhood, Playing Out: Swings and Roundabouts, set in the 1970s, leans heavily on haiku-style imagery. Much of my time was spent outdoors where muddy puddles soaked up my contemplation to steal away the minutes: minutes of which I had a surplus. Who knew that these daydream moments would set, blancmange-like, to be eaten up by my readers in later years.

Not all of my poems are haiku-pure, in the Japanese sense. Traditional Japanese haiku consist of a single line of text containing seventeen mora and convey emotionally suggestive scenes of nature. The poets divide words into mora in a similar way that we separate our words into syllables. However, when read aloud, their poems possess a tempo that is more beat-like, delivering a short, staccato rhythm. English syllables can be both long and short. For example, take cat and corn, two single-syllable words, but only one has the rat-a-tat rhythm. I write using the adapted, Westernised version of seventeen syllables laid out in three lines. Five syllables in the first line, seven in the second and a further five in the last.

There’s an extensive clan relating to this short form poetry: much to occupy and inspire would-be writers. Haiku is just one type. I will briefly introduce the basic premise of a few of these family members.

Similar and a not-too-distant cousin to haiku is senryu. With a focus on human nature, senryu can sometimes be humorous, dark and ironic. They consist of three (non-rhyming) lines. However, mine will often rhyme because that’s how my mind constructs them and I prefer not to spoil their natural flow. What is lost in rhythm I make up for in rhyme.

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through the open door

passers-by smell a bargain —

second-hand bookstore

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Also related are monoku, a single line of seventeen or fewer syllables.

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Winter at the summer fair a spring in her step autumn in her hair.

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Adhering to a thirty-one syllable structure are tanka, short poems. These often contain metaphors and similes, which are regarded as something of a no-no in haiku.

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please do not disturb

cocooned beneath silken sheets

logs that house spiders

are gently placed to one side

to be chopped another day

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There are some variations, namely renga and renku, in which writers collaborate by taking turns. Each contributes one stanza to create a linked poem. The first line of a renga, written using the form of 5-7-5 syllables, is called a hokku, and the first line of a renku is a haikai. The second link in the poem, consisting of two lines each containing seven syllables, is contributed by another poet. The third addition is once more composed within a 5-7-5 framework. This alternating pattern of 5-7-5 and