Posted on by Sonia Dogra

Nature and Poetry: Learning the Haiku

Dearest Reader,

It’s supposed to be spring, but here in Jodhpur, it feels more like early summer. As I walk to the lake every evening, I chase the setting sun and watch the sky slowly burning. The sultry orange is breathtaking. All winter and even now, I’ve been trying to capture the colours from different locations.

Rajasthan is also famous for its migratory birds. Flocks fly over my head and I turn the camera upwards. My heart is a mix of emotions- feelings related to homes are a heavy load to carry. As we age, the only idea of belonging circles back to our childhood home. Anyway, not one picture comes close to the shades that linger in my eyes. My son, who sometimes accompanies me, says I waste precious moments on photography and I know he’s right. Perhaps I should stick to the Wordsworthian methods of ‘recollecting emotions in tranquility’. But for now, I’m persistent.

Back home, my plants are springing to life. I can see tiny sprouts on bare branches. It reminds me of my children, years ago, when they woke up after a long sleep. The house felt alive with their noise. Now they are young adults, doing their own things, living inside closets like winter.  

Butterflies and birds are frequent visitors on my terrace nowadays. The saddest part about beauty is the impermanence- a butterfly merely lasts a few days. I watch one for a long time as it sits, pinched between a gossamer on the branches of a ficus bonsai, only to realise much later, that its stillness is the end of its journey. I want to write an obituary, a poem maybe, but words are hard to come by when I need them most. So, I stay in my place and stare at the whiteness of the butterfly against the grey of the gossamer. I wonder if I was watching it in its last moments as well. Or did I come after it was gone? Was the butterfly aware of my presence? Did it want me to do something? Could I have done something? After all, in matters of life and death, one is pitted against destiny. It’s an easy excuse to find solace.

You might be wondering where this is leading. Not necessary we should always be getting somewhere. I have longed to go to many places, to see what they’re up to and yet been okay wasting away at one. That’s worth it too, right?

So, while I’m not particularly trying to get somewhere, I want to share two haiku with you. I’ve always loved short-form poetry, but been too nervous to write it. I’m not a person of few words. Economy of words is a rare talent. But when Namratha Varadharajan brought the haiku to Poetic Adventures last week, I knew the writing universe was trying to nudge me. Namratha has broken the haiku writing process well in her Substack post. You can read it here. I went down a rabbit hole as I followed the links shared by her, and I don’t know for how long I was reading. Finally, I brought the butterfly and winter evenings to the haiku. I hope I’m at least twenty percent there and you like my attempt.

sun di(v)es—

flamingos flock

grains of orange sand

****

spring afternoon

grey gossamer wraps

a white butterfly

****

While I wait for Namrata to tell me how successful I’ve been at this, I can only say that I’m glad I tried.

Thank you to you, dear reader for stopping by. See you again next week, enjoy the weekend!

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28 Replies to “Nature and Poetry: Learning the Haiku”

  1. Pingback: Wall – A Hundred Quills

  2. So beautiful, Sonia! Your descriptions carry so much life and weight, that I feel like I’m experiencing everything you see firsthand. You’re an incredible writer, and you manage to capture the subtleties of everyday life with such beauty. It’s always a privilege to visit your blog!

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    1. Thank you, Damyanti, for these very kind words. Mean so much because sometimes I wonder if it’s okay to keep blogging but none of the other spaces have enough patience to deal with my long monologues. It’s the apt place to speak my heart out.

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  3. Loved those images – beautiful words, mostly, and the photo. Wordsworth lived about 20 km away, but might struggle to find any daffodils yet. Late winter, still, 5C max, no snow now, but drifts of snowdrops, all over our garden.

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  4. Hey Sonia, i read your post earlier but had to come back to comment.

    I loved your prose! It is lyrical and reflective: I was lost in my own set of reflections after reading you.

    Your haiku are really good. I especially loved the (v) and use of colours. The orange. The grey gossamer. And the butterfly. Lovely moments, well captured.

    Incidently, haiku are used extensively to capture a moment on the page. A photo can capture an image, whereas a haiku can capture more: the five senses as well as the feeling behind the moment.

    thanks for writing this wonderful piece, Sonia. Enjoyed reading it.

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  5. What a beautiful post. Firstly, I’m sorry for taking so long to visit you, I am behind with quite a few posts, but I’m glad to catch up with you now. I love all your insights here. Though I do feel that time taking photos is never wasted! Although if your son was referring to the taking of the photograph as taking away from experiencing the moment then yes, there is that, and it will always be the photographer’s dilemma 🙂

    I love how you describe the lifespan of a butterfly and that at times, you have watched its last moments. It is fascinating how they go through such a radical transformation only to live with their wings for such a short time. An obituary poem would be utterly appropriate in this case 🩷

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  9. Personally, for me, there is a lot more here than what it seems. A place to be one with, a space to lose oneself in, a moment to reflect, all coming together. It can be the warmth of stillness or cold of the eternal. I can’t tell them apart right now. But I like that it is reflective in mood and atmosphere. Thank you for this.

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  12. I loved the Narration. I don’t understand haiku as such, but I understood your attempt very well!

    ‘young adults living inside closets like winter’ was beautiful!

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  13. Tremendously lovely. And clever!
    Di(v)es… you did excellent with the haiku. Wowed me indeed. And then not—I know you’re this good.

    Your narrative is tops too lady. I agree. You’re NOT wasting anything. That photo is moving. Thanks for that. Bless you.

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    1. Many thanks, Selma. It means so much when a consistent poet like you who is well-versed with so many poetic forms says this. I appreciate it so much and really glad to connect again.

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