Well that’s it! You were great company. I’m still writing haiku so maybe we’ll catch up with another reading sometime.
Thanks especially to editors – Paul Chambers and Joe Woodhouse (Wales Haiku Journal), Caroline Skanne (hedgerow: a journal of small poems), and Alan Summers (The Pan Haiku Review/Blo͞o Outlier Journal) who were the first to publish many of the haiku included here and continue to do so.
I’m not a prolific writer of haiku so it’s been an honour to have some of them taken up by other well known journals. Thanks then to the editors of …
failed haiku – a journal of English Senryu
Presence Haiku Journal
first frost – journal of haiku & senryu
tsuri-dōrō – a small journal of haiku, senryū
Scarlet Dragonfly Journal
民句 folk ku: a journal in honour of Masaoka Shiki
With special thanks to Colin Blundell, a former President of the British Haiku Society and fellow traveller along the byeways of ‘Jefferies Land’, who unwittingly, sparked my interest in writing haiku.
To Paul Chambers the then editor of the Wales Haiku Journal, and award winning haiku poet, who took my very naive, gawkish first attempts at writing haiku and helped me work them up into something worthy of the name.
And to Jodie Hawthorne of King River Press whose energy and enthusiasm for following her own dreams inspired me to follow mine.
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About the Author
‘I’m older than I look … and younger than I am’ — Clive Bennett
Sometime philosopher, thinker, dreamer, birdwatcher, poet, and occasional writer. Living and writing in beautiful North Wales.
So why did I start writing haiku – I wasn’t a poet and didn’t read poetry. Wait! Haven’t we been here before. I wasn’t a writer either – although I had tried my hand at a couple of creative non-fiction pieces for bird watching magazines. But then a period of enforced rest, after major surgery, got me thinking about life – as you do – it’s transience!
All I could really do was read (I’m not a TV or Netflix person). And think. I’m quite good at thinking. So back to reading Richard Jefferies and thinking about life. In my youth I had walked the same hills, downs, woods and meadows as he had – and sometimes in some quiet corner of a meadow or a wind blown hilltop I could (almost) feel his thoughts.
This then was when I happened upon Colin’s book – Something beyond the Stars (1993). A book of Found Haiku from the Notebooks of Richard Jefferies.
So to help pass the time, I started looking for ‘found’ haiku in some of Jefferies’ other works. This is beginning to feel like it’s turning into a monologue on Richard Jefferies. But I find his books a constant source of inspiration. Many of my haiku have started life in his writings and essays – a pairing of his prose with my haiku; his prose reimagined. So I make no apologies for yet more haiku intuited from his words …
For Richard Jefferies the freedom of a bird’s life was appealing, as was a bird’s ability to live in tune with its surroundings and take delight in the natural rhythms and beauties of the seasons.
[…] “Presently a small swift shadow passes across—it is that of a hawk flying low over the hill. He skirts it for some distance, and then shoots out into the air, comes back half-way, and hangs over the fallow below, where there is a small rick. His wings vibrate, striking the air downwards, and only slightly backwards, the tail depressed counteracting the inclination to glide forwards for awhile. In a few moments he slips, as it were, from his balance, but brings, himself up again in a few yards, turning a curve so as to still hover above the rick.” […]
Wild Life in a Southern County (1879)
Jefferies’ passion for birds shines through his text. His description of a Whitethroat below like no other and probably never equalled. …
[…] “Suddenly he crosses to the tops of the hawthorn and immediately flings himself up into the air a yard or two, his wings and ruffled crest making a ragged outline; jerk, jerk, jerk, as if it were with the utmost difficulty he could keep even at that height. He scolds, and twitters, and chirps, and all at once sinks like a stone into the hedge and out of sight as a stone into a pond.”[…]
The Life of the Fields (1887)
But is there a haiku to be ‘found’ …
bursting through his song a whitethroat
But ‘finding’ haiku, fun and somewhat addictive as it is, isn’t like actually writing haiku – not really, is it.
They were awful years. Working in a 9-5 office job ripped the heart and soul out of me. As someone born of the outdoors – the claustrophobic spaces, the bright lights the noise and people, so many people – was unbearable! When I could, I would bunk off and go for long walks across the fields, or up on the hills and downs, with Richard Jefferies my guide and companion. And think thoughts.
“Stepping up the hill laboriously, suddenly a lark starts into the light and pours forth a rain of unwearied notes overhead. With bright light, and sunshine, and sunrise, and blue skies the bird is so associated in the mind, that even to see him in the frosty days of winter, at least assures us that summer will certainly return.”
(Out of Doors in February – Richard Jefferies 1882)
up on the downs a skylark takes me higher
Sometimes, in late summer or early autumn, I’d stay up on the downs and watch the stars appear, one by one – mirrored by the cottage lights in the valley far below …
It was a strange feeling – like being between two worlds – a childlike feeling of wonder and awe at the infinity of the night sky, yet comforted and reassured by the human presence below. The curlew’s call a portal between the two.
lights twinkle in darkening skies a curlew’s cry
But in spring and early summer, still waking with the birds, even on a work day, I would walk across the fields to the river … listening to the birdsong. Neither night nor day, there was a tangible change in the air and an imperceptible, almost subliminal lightening of the sky.
The blackbird’s whistle is very human, like a human being playing the flute; an uncertain player, now drawing forth a bar of a beautiful melody and then losing it again. He does not know what quiver or what turn his note will take before it ends; the note leads him and completes itself. It is a song which strives to express the singer’s keen delight, the singer’s exquisite appreciation of the loveliness of the days; the golden glory of the meadow, the light, the luxurious shadows, the indolent clouds reclining on their azure couch. … Now and again the blackbird feels the beauty of the time, the large white daisy stars, the grass with yellow-dusted tips, the air which comes so softly unperceived by any precedent rustle of the hedge, the water which runs slower, held awhile by rootlet, flag, and forget-me-not. He feels the beauty of the time and he must say it. His notes come like wild flowers, not sown in order. The sunshine opens and shuts the stops of his instrument
(From Jefferies’ essay ‘The Coming of Summer’)
sunny days tease a blackbird’s song
And on weekends I would roam the fields, woods and water-meadows, all the day long, as I did when a child.
‘Butterflies flutter over the mowing grass, hardly clearing the bennets. Many multi-coloured insects creep up the sorrel stems and take wing from the summit. Everything gives forth a sound of life. The twittering of swallows from above, the song of greenfinches in the trees, the rustle of hawthorn sprays moving under the weight of tiny creatures, the buzz upon the breeze; the very flutter of the butterflies’ wings, noiseless as it is, and the wavy movement of the heated air across the field cause a sense of motion and of music.’
(An extract from Jefferies’ essay, ‘Woodlands’, from ‘Nature Near London’)
a warm wind across the meadows the hum of bees
Now, many many years later, happily married (I met my darling wife through work so it can’t have been all bad) with grown up kids, my walks and introspection, have been, and continue to be, a rich source for my haiku.
Why don’t you join me some fine morning – or at least poke your head outdoors and listen, just for a moment, to the birds … waking up.
The swinging ‘60s. Bob Dylan, the Beatles and Birds! No not the mini-skirted ones hanging out, downtown, in parks and city streets, nor the collared dove, though I was seduced for a while. And a pretty girl can still turn my head today, much to my wife’s annoyance. Think Felise in the novel – ‘The Dewy Morn’ by Richard Jefferies.
The Dewy Morn – 1948
“Felise walked up out of the water on to the turf and sat down at the edge of the shadow of the trees. … She thought of nothing but the sun and wind, the flowers and the running stream. She listened to the wind in the trees and began herself to sing – singing of ‘the woven embroidery of the earth’ threaded into her very being …”
Pure beauty (of imagination). And nothing to do with sex! Well maybe it is. I don’t know but that’s all you’re going to get. Now back to birds.
I saw plenty of birds on the local allotments – the only bit of green anyways near a stones throw of our new home. It became my ‘local patch’. I ticked off most of the commoner birds – blackbird, song thrush, woodpigeon, dunnock blue and great tits, chaffinch, goldfinch, whitethroat – and yellowhammers. It was also on my way to school – well sort of. I was often late!
But there were distractions at school too. No not girls. Well maybe!
daydreaming waiting for the bell my piano tutor
I had a sort of crush on my music teacher – she was kind and beautiful. I imagined her a bit like Felise. She seemed to know how I pined for the woods and fields of my early childhood. Even today, on the rare occasions I hear the song of a yellowhammer, the memories come flooding back.
humming along to Beethoven’s fifth
Grass Meadows – Coate
[…] ‘There is sunshine in the song – and whose colour, like that of the wild flowers and the sky, has never faded from my memory. His [Yellowhammer] plumage gives a life and tint to the hedge, contrasting so brightly with the vegetation and with other birds. His song is but a few bars repeated, yet it has a pleasing and soothing effect in the drowsy warmth of summer.’ […]
Wild Life in a Southern County (1879)
There was a lake too, a short cycle ride away, where in the summer hols, I would go to watch birds. And think! At one end there was an old church idyllically located on it’s own Island with a little stone bridge over the moat …
still waters a fish jumps … through my reflection
Colin kindly commented – “This is, dare I say, ‘perfect’ (as perfect as these things ever are) where ‘reflection’ means two things at the same time – something on the water and meditation interrupted by the conceptual fish that often disrupts ordinary thinking in everyday life.”
And on days when midsummer clouds scudded across the sky, I would sit under some willows and read Richard Jefferies – a kindred spirit who seemed to think and feel the way I did.
coot skitter among lily pads summer rain
They say that schooldays are the best days of your life. I’m not so sure. But they were a hell of a lot better than the following years.
A serialisation of my semi-autobiographical ebook of haiku. A sort of poetic memoir. A story of “inspirations illustrated with wonderful poems and writings” (Andrea Stephenson).
I’ve quoted Richard Jefferies rather a lot. He and I share an affinity with nature and the countryside, with my haiku often ‘found’ or intuited from his prose, an effective foil to his ‘gushing’ (R.H.Blyth) writing.
Oh and it also has the odd bit of music and occasional birdsong too.
The front cover and coloured illustrations are from woodblock prints by Ohara Koson (Ohara Hōson, Ohara Shōson Kanazawa 1877 – Tokyo 1945) who was a Japanese painter and woodblock print designer of the late 19th and early 20th centuries, at the forefront of shinsaku–hanga and shin–hanga art movements.
Koson is known for his depictions of birds and animals, which were often set in naturalistic landscapes. His prints capture the essence of his subjects with delicate lines and intricate details. Koson was influenced by the work of the Kacho-ga artist Imao Keinen, and his prints reflect a similar interest in the beauty and intricacy of the natural world.
The black and white landscape photos were prepared by Miss Bertha Newcome and published in “Richard Jefferies A Study” by H S Salt 1883.
The birdsong recordings are used here under the Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivs4.0 license. These and many more can be found at – Xeno-Canto – a website dedicated to sharing bird sounds from all over the world.
All rights reserved. This ebook, or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review. Any errors, omissions or inaccuracies, grammatical or otherwise, are entirely my own.
[Suddenly] “… a lark starts into the light and pours forth a rain of unwearied notes overhead. With bright light, and sunshine, and sunrise, and blue skies the bird is so associated in the mind, that even to see him in the frosty days of winter, at least assures us that summer will certainly return.“ . . .
distant bells across the fields skylark song
(Out of Doors in February – Richard Jefferies 1882)
So how come I started writing haiku – I wasn’t a poet and didn’t read poetry. Not since school anyway although the line ‘we have no time to stand and stare’ (‘Leisure’ W.H. Davies), had somehow stuck with me. I wasn’t a writer either. But I loved reading. And had done from a very young age. Mum had lots of books. I discovered the North Pole, messed about on the river, travelled to the centre of the earth, followed Alice down the rabbit hole and walked with Richard Jefferies up Liddington Hill – countless times …
My Creative Muse – Richard Jefferies 1848-1887
It was quite by accident. I had picked up a book (more about that later) by Colin Blundell ’Something Beyond the Stars’ (Found Haiku from the Notebooks of Richard Jefferies). I didn’t know Colin from Adam (although I was to correspond with him subsequently – Colin that is).
Sadly I never got to meet him, but we shared a passion for the nature writing of Richard Jefferies. Colin believed that within Jefferies’ eloquent prose there were zen-like moments of ‘suchness’ which could be ‘teased out’ or ‘found’ and expressed as haiku. Moments Jefferies himself said he sometimes ‘lacked the words’ [Sic] to express.
Richard Jefferies, widely considered the father of English nature writing, was perhaps the most brilliant observer of nature of the 19th century. I’d read a lot of his work but this was something new, different and exciting. I didn’t think anyone had looked at his life in this way before. Indeed, as Colin argues “his whole philosophy could be said to be built upon such haiku-moments.” I would go further and say that much of his writing is prose written in the manner of haiku. Now there’s a thought!
So what better than to find my own haiku in his writing …
Here’s a favourite passage of mine from ‘The Story of my Heart’ (1883) – his spiritual autobiography.
“There were grass-grown tumuli on the hills to which of old I used to walk, sit down at the foot of one of them, and think. Some warrior had been interred there in the ante-historic times. The sun of the summer morning shone on the dome of sward, and the air came softly up from the wheat below, the tips of the grasses swayed as it passed sighing faintly, it ceased, and the bees hummed by to the thyme and heathbells.” . . .
summer grasses dreaming the dreams of warriors
Similar, perhaps too similar, to Bashō’s ’Summer Grasses’, my intuited haiku (monoku) is meant not as an allusion, though it is that, albeit a weak (in content) one, but more an example of how Jefferies approached what he saw in the world around him with a sensibility akin to Bashō.
Summer grass the only remains of soldiers’ dreams
(translated by Jane Reichhold)
Here’s another favourite …
“‘There’s the cuckoo!’ Everyone looked up and listened as the notes came indoors from the copse by the garden. He had returned to the same spot for the fourth time. The tallest birch-tree—it is as tall as an elm—stands close to the hedge, about three parts of the way up it, and it is just round there that the cuckoo generally sings. From the garden gate it is only a hundred yards to this tree, walking beside the hedge which extends all the way, so that the very first time the cuckoocalls upon his arrival he is certain to be heard. His voice travels that little distance with ease, and can be heard in every room.”
The Hills and the Vale (1909)
sunshine filling every room the cuckoo’s call
There is a spirituality in his writing suggestive of an ‘animist’ approach to nature. He clearly felt that all things—plants, animals, stones, even weather—are sentient and alive. And once described the downs as being ‘alive with the dead’.
“… there was magic in everything, in the blades of grass and the stars, the sun and the stones upon the ground”
(Bevis, 1882)
All of which of course lends itself to haiku which too has its roots in animism.
Coate Farm – Richard Jefferies’ Birthplace
I’ve always felt at one with nature (and the wider Universe). The warrior buried in the mound is as real to me now as it was to Richard Jefferies then. And so my haiku storey begins. But I’m getting ahead of myself. Perhaps it all really started way back in childhood all those years ago.
