(set another course again)
twenty-nine compound haiku
by Jeffrey Little
the creek seen as composite, a group of paintings by Karoline Wileczek
Author’s Note: I needed to do something different. I’d just finished a large group of mutated autobiographical poems about coming of age in small town full of weirdos called Growing Up Strange and I was in danger of falling into that seductive trap of repetition, and style. It’s simple to take a groove and to make of it a rut. I needed to find a way to pull myself out of the work, so that I could find another way in. I can tell you, I was not thinking of haiku.
I’d scrawled a line; likely another dead end. It was a five-syllable line. It didn’t seem too promising so I figured, why not, try following with a seven-syllable line. Once that was done, just finish it up and forget about it. That last line implied another, but as far as I knew, haiku don’t lattice. No matter. I come out of jazz, Sun Ra and Lester Young, as well as the early veins of punk rock, Minutemen and Germs; what are rules, really? I just walked where the poem took me. When it was finished, I didn’t know what I had; I just left it there, a curiosity.
A few days later, still struggling with the direction of my writing, I took a look at that poem again. It offered me up a few outs. What if I used the 5-7-5 as the base stanza for poems that adhered to at least a few basic rules of haiku, but also allowed me to make up a few of my own? No enjambment, or punctuation, allow for the use of a cutting word (or not), ground them in nature but make space for the semblance of narrative. Allow for the spoken “I”. Language poetry. I had to keep myself in the project, but at an angle.
After a while I didn’t worry so much about these rules. I started to think syllabically. And while a style certainly did (does) develop, the restrictions of line acted as a guardrail of sorts that kept me from the pull of the rut. Of course, other ruts develop, favorite words, modes of countering the line, point, counterpoint, but they seemed more like surface issues, at this point, easy enough to find a way out.
I didn’t know what to call them. I am not a haiku poet. I took what I could from the architecture of the form, and tried to make it into something that I could use. Still, it would be disingenuous to avoid the word. So, compound haiku. Probably an oxymoron. I consciously avoided researching the history of a form it was never my intention to be “true” to. I can only assume that there are/were others out there doing similar things. But it doesn’t really matter. This is poetry, after all. Lots of doors in this house. I’d be lying to myself, however, if I thought that there wasn’t some aspect of fidelity to the haiku form that inheres in whatever it is I’ve done here. Still, that’s not for me to decide. — JL
Contents
(ask fat doctor sun) (living on the melt) (more place than no place) (woods is fucked-up dark) carbon dating fails) (we rise knowing only this) (scrub down then scrub down again) (tokens the snowpack accepts) (one bored owl shits bones) (we are built in change) (spools off gone bowling) (there was a clarinet there) (had a dowser made) (off-world to nohow) (digits synthesize broken) (bacon cooking slow) (lot of shade fell since the sun) (river duck is pissed) (spring month in paris) (other ways to hail a cab) (siren shepherd see) (seven steps alter the tense) (repository sanctum) (the walking path at first flap) (three thumbs make for town) (bringing quinine blank) (winter colder come) (what home was has turns) (the annihilated man
(ask fat doctor sun)
crabs in white oak trees what we do here is secret ask fat doctor sun the marsh log’s séance elixir and chicken king spells warm down to roots salt the backroads white we reshaped the tin sweat shacks danced down mosquitos
(living on the melt)
winds cold shear on in a fjord rolls as if time passed seemed no use to lie pack ice cracks and calves currency clearly dictates living on the melt near frost the mind clears three cloven sheets fold open many blues chanting
(more place than no place)
feed mill all shadows this black slag used to be walls the new math takes time woolworth’s bargain box a goat’s head and eight-track tapes misremembered time dulled and doomed in trees arboretums don’t sell beer divorced an in-law trash burns in barrels a line forms across the sky rising geese and gone more place than no place lost in these rounded turnings reliquary keeps
(woods is fucked-up dark)
deep shade in redwoods trees know these vines here conjure woods is fucked-up dark lost by a clearing mycelium takes roll call moss-lined clawfoot tubs molted snakeskins run new dens where the old dens were mammals comb their pants brush lets green floors breathe places the eyes can’t see to wood goblin lounge bar stirring takes the crowns this is where we stop walking old growth and strangely
(carbon dating fails)
shitfaced a cloud falls eggs begin to write strange songs endings are tricky one cask filled with scars sewing machines halve the rain carbon dating fails nuclear options swapping a paw for short pants wait the sun’s return weather names us fools dissecting table with trees all without a net renamed the sunset two footprints settle on cause what here is given shallow hills go home nothing but the staid remains thrown chairs ecliptic still the one cloud sits bag up the lederhosen milk the day and sing
(we rise knowing only this)
dusk defines starlings i drove through these parts before rolled steel tuned retro played catch with brick walls the neighbors sit and drink tea to die then seems strange morning simply is we rise knowing only this blue flames on the stove all the torn instants dog howls and itchy blankets jackets by the door
(scrub down then scrub down again)
discarded face masks the wind holds court in the trees rain here is worldly pubs locked tight gone dark bicycles weave through parked cars wait some still the same seen first each surface scrub down then scrub down again what’s not there is there fever bends to brood a branch of pine made heavy takes on weight and snaps safer not to think odd things were busy in the air mornings brought to chill we five watched the box one cloud soon struggling to rise scanned the horizon dusk now half empty the cornfields can’t stay the same evening starts as song
(tokens the snowpack accepts)
yak grunts at hat box peaked mountains quickly too cold time to sing since passed thoughts people graveyards the bone man melts into place voices lost on waves busby seeks new head tokens the snowpack accepts silence opens doors
(one bored owl shits bones)
thumbprints and primers heavy the chains stole the shore lost return’s longing earth set not simply watch the plastic bags sail free one bored owl shits bones conjured a sinking on the sea floor spoke to kin troublesome to breathe the middle passage syllabic these husks of time there is no reset
(we are built in change)
today one woman dowsing she makes waters shown tomorrow thousands we move by degrees infant maiden mother crone we are built in change found time in cold rain talked a while with Alice Paul native steel forged fierce smoke takes to a fire circles inside of circles finding open out felt once seen bedrock equinox strangely evolved seeds the day’s transit what's taken returns bodies words old songs and homes we here will sing then
(spools off gone bowling)
sound made color felt cut away the morning ice mortgaged the unseen caught the passing dawn the rock salt and thin boot two tools for the stone age this shack hewn juju old thoughts scissored in the cold noonday’s fallow bowed woke twice for certain found the hidden warp in light spools off gone bowling charcoal threads the dusk risen birds follow the screw turned the painted face meals mark an ending clouds stall and the focus sinks the same scene reshown
(there was a clarinet there)
1. no wind to speak of wet blacktop combs the sizzle midnight’s round angles alleys sidestep light a germ goes incognito older dog older silent howls take sand walls belayed by intention brick more better built stumbled then into there was a clarinet there one black stick made dawn 2. jesus allah jim worked the morning paper home steel boy blows the save delmore with hotplate how to make the ghosts mean more i don’t know the date pie charts and box scores branch with leaves in window space do the secret math burn yearbook again learn how to snake a clogged drain thought i had a cat 3. tuesday as guard rail heard once way in is way out seemed impossible cicada change time read two books about the moon none of them made sense threw up just because just where does everything go the library called i counted to ten counted to twenty-four twice fifty fucking eight 4. recall the bus now windows and the slide through sleep working paid for things trees waltzed their way in an anchor dragging behind trees know all trees are wait for shards down home in its way the light caught snug one more stop to where it was bone deep dark heard the purple sound of reeds clarinets i knew
(had a dowser made)
dust bowl sidewalk shoes a dry socket thunderclap sand pile dreams salt lick saw grass fly sideways wind fueled chaff fresh from the hills dirt can’t hold its dick that damn sun means hurt counted out the alphabet thirty-seven nine lost my sister’s hair days after the head’s last change tin pail with rust spot never heard no birds folks gone wrong about those birds off kid runs his gun had a dowser made a patch of haunt corn wandered rod points straight the moon
(off-world to nohow)
for Darby Crash
off-world to nohow simpler just to cut and stun clotheslines walk and growl spent years in pieces clouds flanked the turnstile’s vigil lost scent finds wander wind grows old in trees two hound heads meet near the stream shock freed-up spurns fear what bamboo said when red was this wolf spider once bastard took my thumb
(digits synthesize broken)
hard ticket science wait for what you wait for when language sees through cars first the tourniquet digits synthesize broken walk with strings attached sunrise on the sprawl gin-smoked theories slide again finding the other a blue cleft sincere untitled the salve that works spun shells sound sentence
(bacon cooking slow)
bacon cooking slow pop died a husk mom went pissed we shrank back in holes place gladhands stasis lights curled off into midnight drove the good road out red shift continues memory is time’s daft shill none of us are here
(lot of shade fell since the sun)
On the Centennial of Negro Leagues Baseball
just show me the scales crooked as everything else I’m go watch the Greys dreamed of Josh Gibson past eighty and making bank woke up still no sun one whole slice of town community ownership all the good things good seen Cool Papa Bell James Thomas of the Crawfords high priest runs the path bigger here than ball what opens finds the outside calls to calls then cause Satchel’s no-see-um stutter pitch cold deep midnight what you did today been one hundred years lot of shade fell since the sun picks up what remains lost but echoes are the king Oscar Charleston clocks soon stop to move opening ended obverse glory in the ghost listen at the birds
(river duck is pissed)
river duck is pissed styrofoam a stone insult carves one notch revenge locate the off ramp in sausage man walks upright traffic takes the train shorter this breezeway saw river duck’s ascension air above mountains beat the big brain back the culverts take what is theirs down time opening the first step means flight river duck mutates the steam we can’t know what’s here molds bent in casting without feet the bed fits best windows recover nothing stays insane blunderbuss for a kill shot river duck is pissed
(spring month in paris)
hot sauce digs pleather in a cake dome red looks right spring month in paris cut peat in bog pants southpaw as affirmation moves with easy grace most fog likes walking treason waves valid bus pass find the one way out
(other ways to hail a cab)
assateague island haymakers and wind scuffed gulls scuttling crab finds beer forks in song bluster other ways to hail a cab beach cops sweep unseen sand blinds and kicks some colloidal hump through the sound posed near tent by horse dune smacked goldenrod one-eyed pony wields a knife in too deep to care
(siren shepherd see)
sing him of end songs the root paths two sisters weave siren shepherd see they will help him cross scabs of a bold rage flaking each will take a hand philly grew them fast triangulate the funhouse somehow steered on through what then were the odds close the old circle open ride the low light out
(seven steps alter the tense)
night droning lowly the way pills game the system oddly babies cry chaos takes on sand seven steps alter the tense exits spin one way waiting means waiting buildings lord their own climate the hours tied down tight looked at leads no place landlocked the load bearing walls morning empties same
(repository sanctum)
for Ruth Bader Ginsburg
trees fall every day nurse logs on the forest floor leaves seek shared sunlight beyond the landmarks some giants seem themselves small they'd be wrong in that found the seam inside repository sanctum lace collar baseball
(the walking path at first flap)
a monk moves in fours the walking path at first flap categorical sculpt the driveway sand the smaller rocks i will eat someone spoke of bells this one sun rewound carrying beer then buckeyes standing by a screen found myself in woods odd chanting and leaping cows remembered nothing
(three thumbs make for town)
walls rise slow with sun sell price a green fat head george three thumbs make for town clouds skirt right to left single demolition stand couldn’t halve the split concrete remedies rebar the essential sham ate strange things chewed twice had some cousins once small old thoughts brought it back home theorems sprain dogma
(bringing quinine blank)
worms and walls to chance perpetuity blames silk rugs lost in the corn this is where it counts red smoking jacket makes good cooked the seed guitar tracks speak to the cause we chucked dry clouds to bait rain bringing quinine blank late last night they ran loose watch and the disco shirt cracked shells go milk crawl changed to first channel bowls of some electric howl silver bones feet first tales to fog the hardly damn the seeds man it’s end time spent pines and shit grass
(winter colder come)
rain keeps its own edge the raw fresh cold was calling split cheap chairs to burn nature is a chant offerings Alice Coltrane work what words we can snow blankets what’s seen hospital beds and waiting winter colder come blues dream wide-awake echoes heavy in the coals music stomps on home wooded trails broaden find the moon and ask it nice old wild ghosts in trees
(what home was has turns)
tired dogs float in space horror and noon’s intrusion dirt cellars listen what home was has turns sliding down the hill loosed time the church bells toll lunch remember forward acrid smell of poured metal farms outside of town a single stoplight parades and strange thunderstorms riddles of approach south down Gettysburg someone named it Littlestown landscapes filled with crows didn’t stop to breathe the witch’s house taught focus kid’s thumbs took missing cars imply distance to return means farther from best to wait back here
(the annihilated man)
1. buried me right here dying proved all sorts of shock seventeen last gasps then seventeen more half-empty left at the bar we didn’t go back melted things for fun no eyes in the extinction broke down half cave sloth i was skinning time catch more rocks and buy weird beer meanwhile damn haiku 2. it’s about timing a good change-up and long squall folk din makes dada so i shook through done walked clean into squared juju thick leaves left two marks sent the cold masking that shit mirror lied bleakly i knew who i were seen mom killing birds gassed up the capstan and gone twelve mile west haiku 3. off chance the egg chains certainty quakes and runs south gators seized the crawl this is what i mean the bank blanched seeing three pens more ink for dixie seventeen made me before the dirt’s change basking seventeen made more theses of nowhere old shack in the woods felt fine turnstile greased haiku 4. woke up in a sweat translated excerpts of place saw dreams buy cheap beer new clothes shake the man manimal raced ten furlongs heard strange steps approach this one greets that one seems i had me by the balls cloud me saw new words germs make acrid smoke the annihilated man flew by burned haiku 5. ate a flag today ate a flag yesterday too lexicon sunday i taught fools shampoo wormwood bookshelves love the crash pretend more better wall shelf seen quaking seventeen sides makes the lung stake me to go-go i fried what i was freed of the egg i made mine bone sauce in haiku 6. turned some in past tense weren’t no fun seeing shiloh still it looked less me fixed the albatross here was something locked and toed pivot lattice sun watched me set thick ropes i never wanted to go most of us is shuck set another course set another course again last haiku cheats home
Jeffrey Little: “As a child, I ate small stones from the open air buffet of our familial driveway while I pondered the being-there of my one Tonka truck. Sadly, those days have passed. Since then, I’ve authored a number of books, including The Hotel Sterno and The Book of Arcana, both from Spout Press, as well as Five and Dime from Rank Stranger Press. Also some chapbooks, a poster, and a flash here at Mudlark. I am supposed to mention here that I am a 2001 recipient of an Established Poetry Grant from the great state of Delaware.”
Other Jeffrey Little Mudlarks: Counting to Zero and Versus, Flash No. 136 (2020); The Secret Life of Nouns, Poster No. 154 (2018); Is Nature is as a Sound is as Zero is as the Hook Dog Blues, Issue No. 47 (2012); Biography As In Syntax: The Babble Poems, Issue No. 22 (2003); and crayola in arcana, Issue No. 15 (2000).
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