From the readings and the video/podcast, I was particularly struck by this element of balance that seems so foundational to haikai art forms. The Shirane piece emphasizes the balance between traditional and contemporary; the classical language and the vernacular that was such a hallmark of haiku poems at the beginning of their emergence. Working with Arabic in translation, I often grapple with the question of the vernacular. The simple breakdown of Arabic is that dialects (or colloquial Arabic) are spoken, Modern Standard Arabic (MSA) is written. Yet the lines are blurred on this binary, as many artists and linguistic activists seek to increase the visibility and ‘literariness’ of Arabic dialects.
I think of an example from a Moroccan rapper named Moutchou, who recently released a song called ‘Mou3llaqate’ - a Moroccan-Arabized spelling of Mu'allaqat, the seven pre-Islamic poems considered to be the primary source of early Arabic poetry. For the song, the title mainly reflects Moutchou’s assertion that as one of Morocco’s first rappers, he holds the most significance in the rap scene. However, his clear interaction with the influence that the Mu'allaqat hold in Arab literature and culture is evidence of a general awareness of Arabic’s literary past, and a call to recognize that same literary value in the dialects, which are often stripped of their literary and academic value in the claim that they are merely colloquial. This case is but one example - connections to classical Arabic in contemporary, dialectal Arabic art and literature are widespread. I think that Juliet Carpenter expertly articulates this phenomenon in her Afterword to Salad Anniversary, as she describes Machi Tawara’s language in her Tankas: “[it] is thus not mere ‘young people’s Japanese’ but a literate and sophisticated mixture of old and new - with emphasis, throughout, on new.’” (Carpenter, 138).
Though, as Janine Beichman offers in her talk, the balance in haikai art is not just between the old and the new (to put it simply), but rather also between more metaphysical elements like imagination and mindfulness or rationality. Her approach helped me feel less intimidated by haikus, as I often felt that I was somehow missing the point; that with so few words, there must be some big, hidden meaning that I was not grasping. Listening to Beichman’s talk made me realize that the only way I could go wrong when reading a haiku is by not letting my imagination interact with the words, and therefore, by limiting myself simply to what I think must be the meaning. In supplying my imagination to the poem, I am able to find its beauty in its simplicity and applicability to my experiences.
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