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The
Haiku of Ernest John Berry (1929-)
New Zealand
http://www.styluspoetryjournal.com/main/master.asp?id=300
https://sites.google.com/site/worldhaikureview2/whr-archives/vintage-berry
Ernest J Berry was born 1929 in Christchurch. After a decade of shepherding in Poverty Bay and the Canterbury high country, he spent several years in business in Auckland before retiring to a wilderness beach in Mexico where he rediscovered his childhood love of [short] poetry. He un-retired in 1993 and settled in Picton where he adopted haiku as a retirement project. He has been deeply involved with the haiku movement world-wide ever since. Two of his many haiku books have been honoured with Merit Book Awards from The Haiku Society of America and he has long lost count of his successes in haiku competions. After founding Picton Poets in 1994, Ernie has taught haiku in workshop, secondary schools, poetry meetings and special-interest groups.
clouded moon
the sound of her slip
hitting the floor
Spring morning
the ring of temple bells
in my step
armistice day
searching in vain
for old mates
first love
wind mills turning
into dusk
autumn wind
the peace rose
blows away
September wind
a better view
of compost bins
wreckers yard
a ghetto blaster
comes to life
wreckers
yard
last year's colours
on the leaves
tidal
sand
the coastal pine's
reflected shadow
hospice
window
a protruding fist
flicks ash
memorial
service
no moment of silence
for my stomach
night
nurse
I walk down a corridor
of her perfume
landfill
yesterday's
headlines
still sinking in
scenic
drive
i'm interrupted
by her snores
convalescing
...
the window takes 2 1/4 hours
to cross the carpet
desert
heat
the lizard disappears
into a snake
spring
rain
the cameleon busy
being green
overnight
rain
a reflection by the runway
levitates
dawn
parade
old soldiers
dropping poppies
wet
garden
the puppy
brings it in
donation
box
how quietly
the summer rain
clifftop
the
acacia trees
windshaped
night
tide
the floating gill-nets
fill with starlight
redwood
forest
after the shower
puddles of light
piercing
light
the silence of
a cormorant
first
quiet hours
the dew-laden leaf
a little lower
aorangi
not too big to overlook
the mountain daisy
ocean
wind
that sharp smell
of flowing seaweed
summer
rain
i stop to listen
to the lake
storm
clouds
the cry of a shearwater
circles the sky
water
colourist
his row boat
begins to float
cherry
blossoms
on fujiyama
who cares
brisk
walk
the snail shell
keeps up
women's
hospital
shadows in the corridor
quickening
runaway
between
labor pains
distant rain
little
brother
his halloween pumpkin
waits for sunset
end
of drought
the overfull reservoir's
leaking moon
sultry
night
a jay in the bird-bath
empties the moon
harbor
view
another cruise ship leaves
all my longings
in
the flames
our old love letters
curled up together
doorbell
my
thoughts
dress up
night
fishing
knee-deep
in the Pleiades
liberated
village
the survivor holds out
his severed hand
war
widow
her old dog limps
beside her
our
wisteria
flowering well
next door
with
bottle of port
a pair of old seadogs
tack round the bar
parked
for the night
the sole remaining clydesdale
still smoking
old
family home
holding together
the morning glory
at
silly mid-off
looking splendid in whites
-1--2---3 seagulls
on
her kimono
billowing in the moonlight
a heron in flight
from autumn stillness a wooden shadow talks
under
the congoleum
the allies still
fleeing dunkirk
from the homeless under the bridge songs of solomon
retirement
home
my long-johns on the line
still jogging
memorial
pond
a legless soldier
reflects
Mother's
parasol
we unfurl the dust
of summers past
forest
dawn
fingers of light
smell of pine-oil
blow-up
globe
he points out the trouble spots
with his cigarette
wedding
day
she unlaces
her changing shape
into
the silence
between crashing waves
a curlew
desert
heat
the kangaroo rat disappears
into a snake
old
garden shed
the insecticide can
full of spiders
nearly
sunset
we reel in a salmon
redder than the sky
early
to bed
a wild winter night
in the downpipe
snowed
in
my frothy cappucino
too hot to drink
nibbling
on a leaf
a yellow caterpillar
lets in the sun
silent
rain
i stop to listen
to the lake
ground
fog
a cow looks up
occasionally
spring
dawn
pine needles dripping
the night away
collective
farm
one of the scarecrows
breaks her back
late
afternoon
the porch icicle
lit from within
empty garden her camelias in full bloom
my
nick name
engraved on the trunk
out of reach
pausing
at the post
she used to pee on
winter
chill
a vivid sunset
colours the buds
xmas
morning
toys on his windowsill
wrapped in sunrise
shaking
hands
with her feet
new daughter
riverbed
twisted
to fit
driftwood
desert
moon
crows on the joshua tree
going bronze
clifftop
........ti-tree
.................windshaped
forest
firemen
huddle
lighting up
eventide
home
a twisted hand tends
the windowbox
impressive
name
for a weed
i look again
dawn
service
elderly soldiers
dropping poppies
eulogy lengthening sighs in the cypress
moonlit
frost
nothing stirs
the silence
taking
off her face
after a long days work
avon lady
summer
a
little fish emerges
from a cloud
wildflowers
not
one good enough
to pluck
wedding
night
a satellite
winks.
moon
viewing
i stumble
on a pumpkin
contractions
-
the
darkness
between
stars
spring
rain
the chameleon busy
being green
vanishing point
the lark song
beyond it
wreckers yard
a ghetto blaster
comes to life
autumn sunset
the glow of bluegum
in the stove
early closing
the table daisies
stay open
cold morning
the hair stylist's cat
curls up
mental hospital
a no entry sign
blocks the exit
spring rain
we hurry inside
each other
childhood home
my overgrown
jungle gym
grecian urn
she blows away
the centuries
winter night
firelight draws in
the walls
cold funeral raindrops dancing along mahogany
heartwood
the softness
of a termite
stillness
across the lake
a cicada
crash site
his toy truck
up-side-down
wedding photos
in the 2nd drawer
first wife
memorial park
the length
of the grass
frigate bird
how easily it slips
into dusk
wet sand
an abandoned boat
in the galaxy
---------------------------------
HAIKU INDEFINABLE
words: Ernest J Berry
KEY: H – haiku; syl - syllable
" ~ poetry differs from every other art in having a value for the people of the poet’s race and language
which it can have for no other people." - T S Elliot
H is a brief poem of Japanese origin which evokes the emotions of a keenly felt, often momentary, natural &/or Zen-like experience.
Claims that English h must be in 3 lines of 5/7/5 syls, result from misunderstanding of the moji - or sound unit, of which there are (usually) 17 in one vertical line in Japanese h. (see footnote 1.)
As one English syl may contain several moji, 17 moji in English would obviously constitute far fewer syls.(see footnote 2.)
Japanese topics (dai), and season words (kigo), are not common to all cultures and climes so they are often adapted or abandoned. There are also many linguistic, cultural, historic, & religious etc factors which inhibit the formulation of definitions and guidelines for non-Japanese h.
Punctuation &/or capitals can so overwhelm and distort these tiny poems, that many poets forego either or both.
In the context of many centuries, the recently contrived ‘5/7/5 three-liner’ would hardly constitute ‘tradition’. Yet despite this, (and the fact that no national h society supports them), some authorities, individuals and ill-informed encyclopedists insist on this illogical formula.
Line quantity & disposition are more matter of habit than logic, though by Japanese standards, an English h should be in 1 line divided into a short and a long segment.
Currently, open-ended 3-liners of up to 17 syls top the pops, followed by 1 & 2-liners and a wide variety of inventive configurations, - none of which can claim divine right.
Footnotes:
(1) We use a confusing array of words for the Japanese ‘sound bite’ or ‘metrical unit’. They include ji, on, onji, jion, moji, monji, mora (L) et al. Any of these may be correct in context.
(2) English syls are often indistinct or dipthongic eg: fire, child’s, flower, whales, mind, scrunched, are all, single-syl multi-moji words; whereas ‘obedient’ [for eg]., could have either 3 or 4 multi-moji syls; - all of which makes syl counting for metrical purposes nonsensical.