Under the Sun

Well, I won a competition. I wrote a haiku that lots of people saw and that brightened up their day and that the judges voted the best. Except, of course, it didn't scan like a 'traditional' haiku.

Of course, as others have pointed out, it's not in Japanese either. If you're going to be a fascist for traditionalism, you might as well go the whole hog.

I sent a few entries in, as did many others, I suppose. forgot about it for a few weeks, then got a phone call for a quick interview. It seems I was a high contender, for the following piece:

Beneath the morning sun
The city is painted gold
People move like bees through honey

The interview can be found here.

There are a few points worth noting here. One is that I had gone for the feel rather than mechanics of a haiku in this case. Second was that they'd decided to waive that rule anyway. Third was that bees don't actually, as a rule, move through honey. Still, nearly everyone seemed to have overlooked that, and it had worked as a metaphor for me, with busy bees commuters moving through hazy morning sunshine in a half asleep but happy daze.

But, yes, it wasn't a REAL haiku because, as far as I could tell, it didn't scan correctly. I'd gone for the mood of a haiku, familiar as I am with their musings on simple natural phenomenom, and usuallyone line that balances against another description split over two lines. Something like this haiku I've just stolen from online:

The wind of Mt. Fuji
I've brought on my fan!
A gift from Edo

By this token I haven't got a traditional haiku in terms of mechanics, but have in terms of feel. But look, here's a 'Bashō classic' haiku:

The first cold shower
Even the monkey seems to want
A little coat of straw

...which, somewhere between Japanese and English, has gained way too many syllables in the translation. And yet it's a classic.

In any case, I thought ti'd be unlikely that I'd win, seeing as it wasn't a proper haiku. And the whole bee/honey thing - people were bound to notice that sooner or later, weren't they? Yeah, of course.

So it was a bit of a surprise on Monday to get a call to tell me I'd won, and then a second call for an interview with the papers. This can be found here.

You can see, if you check it, that some of those die-hard haiku fans weren't happy, and so I offered some vague hint at an apology. It seems that people took part in the challenge from several points of view. I was chasing my own muse, others found themselves wanting to stick rigidly to the mechanics, and then felt grumpy when the winning entry didn't adhere to 'the rules', even though those rules had been waived.

I felt a little bit sad for the poor bastards, but not so sad that I'd give up my prize, a free pass for the rest of the year to 'Words on Monday' at the Kingsplace auditorium. At best it'll help me learn creative techniques that will actually push me in a direction I want to push myself, at worst it'll vaguely put me in a creative headspace and help me feign creativity.

Anyhow, thought it might be worth fleshing out the details with the opening lines to an unfinished story that I began to write several years back. It's thanks to this, and the earlier 'vignette' below it, that I had the image of a golden sun rising over the city in my head in the first place...

I stare out across my city in the mid-morning sun, the buildings below basking in the warm golden glow. Through the window of this office, looking down at the world many storeys below, I cannot help but smile down on this, my city, so peaceful, so beautiful. The summer sun slowly rides higher in the sky, cool blue shadows disappearing in the cracks between buildings, the roofs of the buildings tinted bright yellow. Far away the river glitters through the spaces between the grand buildings along the north bank. My city, so peaceful, so beautiful, and yet still so distant. Up here, where I can see the whole city stretched out beneath as if I flew out on wings, I imagine myself somehow a king over this thriving wilderness, this golden world.

"Mr Martin?"

I stop in my thoughts for a second, my eyes resting somewhere on the horizon. It's several minutes past eleven. I'm wanted elsewhere, back in the real world. But out there, beyond the glass, beyond this tower block, I feel myself drifting, floating, flying, watching the world beneath me bussling with life, yet so far away. The air buffeting me up carries the distant sounds of traffic from the streets below to my ears. I close my eyes, press my forehead against the cool glass, and smile, imaging myself suspended in space, wrapped in the warmth of the sun above, the subtlest echoes of the city whispering to me, reaching for me, praising me...

"Mr Martin?"

In my mind the golden landscape beyond the glass turns a little colder, a little darker. A smile flickers across my lips, but my teeth grit a little tighter, my hands find themselves folding into fists as I ready myself to turn around and face the young man at the door. I hold the position for a few seconds, concentrating on the air being drawn into my lungs, and being forced out...

"Mr Martin!"

And THIS is the original inspiration, which might help explain what the story was about - a little more horror than initial impressions of the above might've suggested, and it actually works as a conclusion to the above snippet of fiction too:

The voice stops...

Hands clapsed snugly behind your back, you turn to face him...

Beyond him the City spreads out like a cloak...

From up here, in this tower, you can see for miles...

Far away the river winds like a snake through the twinkling cityscape...

He’s angry... what are you looking at...?

“What are you looking at?”

You wonder what it would be like to fly out from up here...

To launch yourself from this high tower and soar...

But he’s not interested...

He cannot see...

His head all full of figures, of facts...

Words, abstracts rules, the bars of a cage......

You take him to the window, show him the world stretched out before you...

This, the City, the Kingdom, bathed in sunlight...

And then, when he laughs, you show him...

You show him how to fly...

The only other thing to consider is, can my winning haiku actually work as a 'traditional' haiku, consisting of 17 on (syllables), in three metrical phrases of 5, 7, and 5 on respectively.

The morning sun shines
Painting golden streets below
Bees move through honey

You know what? On reflection I still prefer my original.