Tag Archive for James Preller Haiku

Recommended: Three Haiku Books for Young Readers

I’ve written about my own haiku journey of late, how the past few years have seen me writing increasingly in that short form. The deeper I get into it, the more I learn — but also, the more I realize I have yet to learn. It’s a deep, deep well and I love diving into it.

In children’s books, which is my home as an author, there’s a great many haiku collections available. I’ve read a great number of them recently and wanted to highlight a few that I felt were particularly worthy of your attention. My apologies if I’ve overlooked some worthy additions; I didn’t try to be comprehensive. Feel free to leave a comment if you’d like to mention one of your favorites.

 

ONE LEAF RIDES THE WIND

by Celeste Davidson Mannis

illustrated by Susan Kathleen Hartung

 

This book is essential for anyone who wishes to explore the origins, depth, and sensibility of the haiku. Written in a conventional 5-7-5 format, the haiku here are easy to read and accessible, while showing a far deeper sophistication and appreciation of nature than most children’s haiku collections. The poems are set in a Japanese garden and do much to honor the origins of this beautiful art form. “Just as each element of a Japanese garden contributes to a calming, satisfying whole, the elements of this work . . . all meld together into a lovely whole that both entertains and educates.” — Kirkus Reviews.

One leaf rides the wind.

Quick as I am, it’s quicker!

Just beyond my grasp. 

 

 

COOL MELONS — TURN TO FROGS!

The Life and Poems of Issa

by Matthew Gollus

illustrated by Kazuko G. Stone

 

This book is a marvel, and a magnificient next step for any young reader wishing to learn more about haiku. Matthew Gollub masterfully blends a picture book biography on the Japanese haiku poet, Issa, juxtaposed alongside side a number of Issa’s own poems, translated by Gollub. Here we gain an insight into the sense and sensibility of a haiku poet. The illustrations deserve special mention for they convey the culture and lyricism of traditional Japanese artwork. Gollub demonstrates a rock-solid knowledge of the haiku and its history. His translations, like most these days, do not adhere to the conventional 5-7-5 syllable scheme.

A withered tree

blooms once again —

butterflies holding fast.

 

GUYKU

A Year of Haiku for Boys

by Bob Raczka

illustrated by Peter H. Reynolds

 

This third book is not at all like the others. For starters, this 2010 collection hinges on a dubious conceit, that the haiku here is “for boys.” Whatever that means. Moreover, the haiku here are senryo (SEN-ree-yoo), a poem that is structurally similar to haiku, that highlights the foibles of human nature, usually in a humorous way. A more formal haiku is almost always written in the present tense, focuses strictly on nature, contains a kigo or seasonal word, and includes a pause or grammatical break (often between lines 2 and 3). As always, Peter Reynolds’ illustrations are warm and inviting; and Raczka writes with wit and whimsy and lightness, completely winning me over by the end of the book. It pairs nicely with the above titles.

Lying on the lawn,

we study the blackboard sky,

connecting the dots.

James Preller is the author of All Welcome Here,  a book of linked haiku that celebrates the diversity, kindness and community of the open classroom. It is written in traditional 5-7-5 format, mostly in senryu, and illustrated by Caldecott Honor-winning Mary GrandPre. 

 

 

“Caldecott Honoree Grandpré captures the day’s variable moods in pictures of absorbed, interacting kids of various skin tones and abilities. … a cheery take on the joys of camaraderie.”Publishers Weekly

Lively haiku pairs with vibrant art to showcase various facets of the first day of school. Cartoonlike, expressive mixed-media illustrations are an eye-catching blend of bright colors, patterns, and perspectives; the multicultural kids and adults further the sense of inclusiveness. With its reassuring and upbeat elements, this may also help alleviate first-day fears as it highlights the many positive opportunities that await.”― Booklist

“This is a back to school book, during a year when back-to-school is anything but normal. However, this year is the exception. Next year, or the year after that, back to school will be the same with dozens of eager young five-year-olds nervously getting on the bus, going to school and wondering the same things. This book is for them and it’ll still help them this year as they go into the dining room or living room.”―Daddymojo.net

Sneak Peak: Final Art & Sketch from ALL WELCOME HERE, Coming in June!

Sneak peak at a spread from our upcoming picture book, ALL WELCOME HERE, illustrated by the great Mary GrandPre. Coming in June (we think!), from Macmillan. It’s a first day of school story, told in connected haiku. Do yourself a favor, click on the image to see it larger and appreciate the colors and details in Mary’s artwork. She is best known, of course, for doing the art in the U.S. editions of the Harry Potter books. So talented — and kind, too!

 

Just for comparison, here’s the rough sketch Mary submitted to the publisher. Here’s where much of the most important work takes place: the thinking, the plotting, the visual organization. Here Mary takes two separate haiku and unifies them in one “moment” that captures several distinct realities, if you will. As much as I admire Mary’s palette and technique, I might most respect her intellectual rigor. The way she thinks about her work before dipping a single brush into paint.

Sometimes in this business you just get lucky. That’s how I feel about Mary doing the artwork for this book. Lucky me.

Look Who’s Illustrating My Next Book

Yeah, this artist, the great Mary GrandPre. Maybe you don’t know her name, but I’m pretty sure you know her work.

So. How does that happen? How does it work in publishing, the writer-illustrator connection? I get asked that a lot.

Though there are exceptions and variations, my book with Mary followed a well-established pattern. Back in 2016, I submitted a manuscript to my editor which was accepted for publication. Just words on a page. In this case, interconnected haiku.

Looking back on a my original submission to Liz Szabla, my editor, dated 4/22/16, I laid out my basic vision:

 

 

This collection of haiku celebrates the first day of school and a vision of community. It provides a loose, flowing narrative that carries readers through the multi-faceted moments in a school day as it touches a diverse variety of characters while they move from the bus stop to the morning pledge, to recess and lunch and the final bell.

The poems offer the illustrator opportunities to show a rich variety of children –- wild and brave, silly and earnest, friendly and a little frightened. Through the artwork, illustrations should highlight recurring characters and allow readers to see happy interactions and first steps toward friendship. We are witnesses to the beginning of a new, diverse, and open-hearted community.

There’s flexibility here. The final number of poems depends entirely on layout and editorial’s vision for the book. There are 39 included here (which strikes me as slightly high, compared to other haiku collections of this nature), whereas it could be decided to go with as few as, say, 23 poems –- allowing room for effective double-page spreads for a single haiku. 

Later in 2016, or possibly early in 2017, I was informed that Mary GrandPre had agreed to illustrate the book. I did not immediately recognize the name. The look of the book would be up to Mary, the art director and designers at Feiwel & Friends, as overseen by Liz. Often, that’s the beginning and end of a writer’s communication with the illustrator. My manuscript did not come with notes to the illustrator, as many do, beyond what I shared above.

To my delight, I did receive a lovely, complimentary email from Mary, asking for my thoughts about possibly cutting some haiku. There was a conflict where the weather described was inconsistent. We went back and forth — Mary was gracious and lovely — and I was very happy to eliminate some, because that was always my intention. I had individual haikus that highlighted the statue of liberty, a student in a wheelchair, and a teacher in a hijab. We realized that since those images would be reflected in the book visually, we were able to cut those haiku in order to make room for others.

For example, I believe everyone hoped there might be at least one spread where there was just one haiku. It turned out to be one that centered on the school library. I wrote:

 

LIBRARY

The library door

Opens: Hear the whoosh and thrum

Of the school’s heart beat.

 

Note on the haiku, which followed the traditional 5-7-5 syllable/line count: a haiku does not usually come with a title. But for this book, because it was intended for very young readers, I cheated a little and gave each one a title in the original manuscript. Somewhere along the line I fretted about that, it was a little impure, and asked Liz if maybe we should eliminate the titles. Liz replied that she liked them, believed they worked, and that they also added a visual element to the pages. I said, as I recall, “Okay!”

At a certain point in the process, it’s the only answer available. 

All Welcome Here will be published on June 16, 2020. I’m so eager to hold it in my hands — I’ll probably receive a printed copy in early May, best guess — but I’m more excited to visit schools and, perhaps, even develop some haiku workshops for students of all ages.

So, yeah, Mary GrandPre. How cool is that? How lucky am I?

Can’t wait.

 

INSPIRATION: When Trees and Haiku Meet — Robert Bly, A Pine Tree, and Basho

 

I try to spend some time each day thinking in haiku. Often I find that space while walking the dog in the woods or by the river or an open field. It’s a quiet, interior time without earbuds or podcasts. My haiku is almost always written in the traditional three-line, 5-7-5 form, with a focus on nature. I usually try to include a kigo word (a reference to the season of the year) and a division, breath, or caesura (often in the form of a colon or a dash that both separates and connects). There are endless variations, and that’s the beauty of haiku. Sometimes a lighthearted one might come, more senryu than serious haiku, and that’s what gets written. It’s something I started doing with more intention a few years ago. I’m not saying that I’m great at this. My focus is on process, not product. Basho’s great line, “The journey itself is home.” I accept that most of the ones that come to me aren’t going to be exemplary.

Thinking in haiku has given me an outlet for calm reflection, a brief time for thinking outside myself and the endless, grim news feed of our troubled world. This morning I wrote this one:

 

This pine has a life             

Of its own: there is nothing

It requires of me.

 

However, I’m not posting today to show one haiku. Mostly I was eager to share one of the sources of my inspiration, taken from the introduction to Robert Bly’s book of prose poems, The Morning Glory

I love this passage so much, as if it were written precisely for me, bringing together in one page my growing enthusiasms for trees and haiku and poetry and, importantly, this essential idea of getting “the self” out of the way. I hope you like it. Maybe Bly’s passage here, along with Basho’s haiku, will inspire thoughts and feelings in you, too. Embrace the process. Forget thoughts of “good” or “bad.” And see what happens. 

 

While we’re gathered here, I might as well tack on a few others . . . I’ve got hundreds of them.

I have failed to learn

The name of the bird that calls

From the high poplar.

Three twisted sisters

Beneath the great canopy,

Roots and arms entwined.

The soft grasp of dusk

Upon the winter shore: black-

Hooded plover waits.

Steel-gray buckets tapped

Into maples; the crows watch

From snow-covered limbs.

January rain –-

The old cat stretches, circles,

Eyes slant shut again.

The beech holds its leaves

Shimmering like winter moons

Papery and light.

 

On Practicing Haiku

I am trying something new: come this March, I’ll be teaching a Haiku Workshop for continuing ed in my local community.

Here’s the write up:

Haiku Workshop *NEW!* Location High School – Room D120 Instructor Preller Length: 6 weeks Starting Date: March 11 Day & Time: Mondays, 6:30-8:00p Fee: $50 An exploration of the haiku, from traditional to modern, that includes reading a wide range of haiku, writing and sharing our own, and analysis in a workshop setting. One guiding principle for this class comes from the quote, “The smartest person in the room, is the room.” The teacher will serve more as guide than expert. Hopefully we all learn (and teach) together. Participants will be expected to read haiku, write your own, and discuss in class. James Preller is the author of many books for children and he’s eager to share his enthusiasm for the art of the haiku, and to learn more about the craft in a group setting. Limit of 15 students.

Rather than “teaching” per say, my vision for the workshop is that we’re making stone soup. Everybody brings their own ingredients. My role will be to help stir the pot, at least in the beginning.

I started writing haiku in earnest early in the Trump era. I found myself spiraling into darkness. Jumping on Facebook, reading the news, and hovering over the “angry” icon. Every day, upset and disillusioned and angry. And I eventually realized that I couldn’t continue to live like this.

Not sure how I arrived at it, but I decided to try to write at least one haiku first thing in the morning. Spend ten minutes, get something down . . . and then proceed with my regular program of getting upset, disillusioned, and angry.

People ask, “What are you going to do with them?” And my answer is nothing, hopefully. I’m not looking at it that way. Oh, maybe someday I’ll read them again, self-publish a selection, but that’s about as far as I can imagine.

It’s not about the results.

It’s about the process.

The act of stepping out of myself. Of seeing. Of being actively engaged in the natural world. Looking at that cat lying in a slant of sunlight. The way the fog lingers in the treetops. Those seven crows out on the front lawn.

However you feel about haiku — and it’s perfectly okay to not love it — I read so many that leave me flat, bored, restless — hell, I write so many that miss by a mile — I’ve come to believe there is value in the act of attempting one.

For starters, as a writer, haiku speaks to the essence of good writing. Clarity. Conciseness. A focus on the particular thing. Back to William Carlos Williams, “No ideas but in things.” Back to Ezra Pound and the Imagist movement. Get the ego out of the way. Deal with the thing itself. Or the magical juxtaposition of two things in close proximity. This is good practice for any writer of any genre.

Secondly, the haiku is about the present moment. About presence and attention. It is, at its ideal, a moment of heightened perception. Of truly being in the world, however fleetingly. In a time of social media, a time when we seem to be more and more detached from the natural world, haiku can bring us closer to the elements, reconnect us to be being human creatures on this earth.

So, yes, I do currently favor the values of traditional haiku in its focus on nature and the present moment. There are strong proponents and powerful arguments against the 3 line, 17 syllable approach. Many modern American haiku poets prefer a 12 syllable count, for example, and see that as closer to its Japanese origins. Some are experimenting with the one line haiku. Shrug, whatever. It’s all good, and yet inconsequential to me. For now, I like the even playing field of the 5-7-5 format, the strict demands of that specific structure. But people should write whatever they want, I have no axe to grind.

Anyway, I’m teaching this class — guiding this class — stirring this class — in the hope of interacting with other people. Reading and writing and thinking about the natural world, about language, about poetry.

That’s my haiku journey.

One other thing that I’ve discovered. By trying to write haiku, I’ve been confronted time and again with how little I know. Or, in a positive way, how much there is to learn. Today I spent time reading about recent experiments with evening primroses and how they might “experience” and respond to the vibration of honey bee wings by producing more nectar. A survival strategy underscoring the interconnectedness of things.

As a result of that, I made these two attempts . . .

Primrose hears the buzz

Of honey bee, makes herself

Sweeter than ever.

She hears him draw near,

Sweetens her nectar, beckons:

Evening primrose.

 

Writing haiku calls upon me to learn more about the natural world. This realization fed directly into a middle grade novel I just finished, Blood Mountain (Macmillan, Fall, 2019), about two siblings lost in the wilderness. It won’t be a recognizable connection to any other reader, but I know it’s in there, feeding the surface.

I think by writing the haiku, I’ve become a better observer, a better writer. Or maybe just a little happier.

By the way, I posted about this experience recently — and even dared to share a few random poems — and you can check that out by stomping on this link right here.

Carry on!