Transmotion Vol 1, No 1 (2015)
Vizenor, Gerald. Favor
of Crows: New and Selected Haiku. Middletown: Wesleyan University Press,
2014. 168 pp.
http://www.upne.com/0819574329.html
"The first to
come / I am called / Among the birds. / I bring the
rain. / Crow is my name" Song of the
Crows, Henry Selkirk
Gerald
Vizenor poses a hefty 26-page introduction that gives insight into his fifty
years of working with the form. "My very first literary creations were haiku
scenes, and since then, that imagistic sense of nature has always been present
in my writing. I may never know if my haiku are right by nature, only that the
scenes are my best memories. In this way, my sense of presence, haiku
creations, and survivance is in nature and in the book."
Books
such as this are fortunate to have introductions in them. They give direction. They are a map of where the book is going.
A history of where the form has been. Giving the reader a handle on more than
the reader knew would be there.
Recently
I have had to rethink my idea of nature. The native ideal of the earth as a
living being, a relative, is still true. But I've also seen another side. I
live part-time on a county road in rural Texas to help a part of my family. The dust, drought, heat, hot wind, occasional cats abandoned on the
road, the litters born from them. The animal fights I hear in the night.
The grasshoppers, red ants, a multitude of small brown ants, bugs and spiders—large
brown fiddle-back spiders. The harshness.
"from the half / of the sky / that which lives there / is
coming / and makes a noise" [an early anishinaabe
song recorded by the ethnographer, Frances Densmore].
Occasional
intense storms come across the land with nothing to hold them back. It must be
a cumulative hardship I pick up in the air. A historical longing, hunger and
need. The horses in the field pull up roots of grass as they eat, making a
ripping sound.
I
think of haiku as a clutter of fragility with a wham of recognition on rice
paper. The termites would eat them here. Words would be gulped. But haiku is
sturdy enough in Vizenor's hands to handle the
hardness of the Texas terrain.
This
one—"dusty road / horses at the rusted gate / scent of mown hay" Of course,
the smell of the diesel tractor and the roar of mowing is implied in the smell
of hay. And maybe the desire of horses to leave the enclosed
field.
And
another—"ant mounds / flooded in a thunderstorm / restored by morning." Yes,
that is exactly the way it is.
The
vibrancy of haiku lives in Vizenor's new collection. The
crows have brought their blessing—the distant likenesses, the
reverberations, the tenuous link of one thing to another, the bright and
unexpected connections.
It
was Vizenoresque to find the word "tease" on the
first line of the introduction. The haiku is a tease of nature. The winnowing of an impression. The
opening of an image. The haiku on the page seem like clothes hanging on
a line in the country. Or with three haiku on each age, the view from a three-story
building.
"Haiku
is visionary, a timely meditation, an ironic manner of creation, and a sense of
motion, and, at the same time, a consciousness of seasonal impermanence."
Vizenor's images are
startling—the pressure of ice that pushes a hole in the bucket of frozen
water. Large ice chunks floating on a river reflecting the full moon in the
river itself broken with ice and in turn breaking the moon hurtful yet playful
almost as a ball bouncing. The union of water across the
stones and birds copying the sound in a tease or costume of mimicry. River
stones under thin ice like an ancient bridge of little people.
The
haiku is fleeting as milkweed fuzz in the wind and transitory as understanding
a passage of eternity. Vizenor's work opens the human
soul—"honeysuckle climbs / a withered fruit tree / reach of memory." You see how
the universe can be held in the smallest seed—the withered past that once
bore fruit, but no longer does, still has life of another kind growing upon it.
To me, there is a longing for something past, or someone. It even could be the
story of the loss of the native way of life, but with acculturation, another
life has come.
Vizenor's word, survivance, also
is there in the opening of the introduction. It is the survivance of the native
mindset after all that survives. Vizenor explains
that he sees the virtual world in haiku. Almost as if they
were film. Or images on a scrim. "The fugitive
turns and transitions of the season."
Vizenor,
an expansive writer of all genres, finds the largeness of his craft even in the
haiku. [It] "was my first sense of totemic survivance
in poetry, the visual and imagistic associations of nature, and of perception
and experience. The metaphors in my initial haiku scenes were teases of nature
and memory. The traces of my imagistic names cut to the seasons, not to mere
imitation, or the cosmopolitan representation and ruminations of an image in a
mirror of nature."
I
think what is important in FAVOR OF CROWS are the towers of the haiku, the essay
on the form itself, and the overall sense of not what it is, but what it
causes—a living energy, a causer
in its own right. A generator of a comprehensive city that is
built within the book. All of which haiku is for Vizenor.
I
also need to say something about the haunting cover, Crow's Mortality Tale, Rick Bartow. It is the head of a creature
that looks something like a bear or maybe a bald man. It has one human eye and
one animal eye. The chartreuse ghost in the background.
The blue hand in the foreground that often is seen imprinted on Ghost Dance
shirts in museums. It is an accretion of thought, memory, artifact, innuendo that
provides a conceptual shadowing of the haiku Vizenor writes.
He
also ties together Japanese and Chippewa cultures. The White Earth Reservation
in Minnesota and the pine islands of Matsushima. Basho to Vizenor who sees haiku as a native dreamsong.
"...the dispositions of manidoo
and shi are
perceptive moments of presence in nature..."
The
solid world is pulled apart like a milkweed pod, and the fuzz spreads its
down on the wind. The coilings and connectives. The taking apart of a part of the world to see beyond the world.
The interpretations and exigencies. The
governmental agency for dispersing rations. Or Vizenor's
haiku as totems like the small stone bears I have in my china closet. One with a book in its mouth. The other with a parchment
tied on its back.
"The
anishinaabe dream songs and tricky stories of
creation that bear the totemic nature, elusive ironies, and tragic wisdom of
natives were traduced and depreciated by the hauteur of discovery, the cruelties
of monotheism, and the pernicious literature of dominance."
Vizenor
also mentions the history of his family as well as the removal of his Anishinaabeg tribe to the White Earth Reservation. The wounded in spirit.
Vizenor's new collection still
finds him in his waders in the steady stream of the evocative.
Diane Glancy, Macalester College