An Open Letter to New and Aspiring Tanka Poets
To begin, let me be frank: I am not a scholar. Hell, I don't even possess a college degree (the Devil, you say), and, typically, my only commitment to research involves smelling ground beef smashed into eight ounce patties before tossing them onto the greasy surface of the grill. That's right, I'm a cook; just a cook. Truly, I'm not even required to wear chef's pants where I work. (It's faded blue jeans with the knees blown out all the way, babe).
Such as it is, how could any opinions I have regarding the poetic form known as tanka possibly be taken seriously? Well, I'll be the first to say it: they shouldn't. Don't listen to me. Rather, adhere to those who consistently do their homework and present us with abundant evidence and annotations, people like Sam Hamill, Jane Reichhold, Michael McClintock, M Kei, and many others. These enthusiasts have spent long hours scrutinizing nearly every aspect of tanka, and they deserve the warmest reception for their efforts.
On the other hand, tanka, unlike haiku, is thought to be a form not locked away from deep pathos. "Pile on the emotion" is often the advice given to newcomers. So, then, since I am—except for maybe in my ex-wife's eyes—undoubtedly a human being, and since the trajectory of my life has certainly brought me to collide directly with things like joy and pain, love and loss, perhaps I do possess an adequate amount of credentials to, at the very least, offer my own subjective impressions of these incredibly-addictive little poems.
my friend died last night, I'm told long distance I go up to fix the fence where the horse got out
Dave Bacharach
I've been known to declare tanka as the perfect poetic form. Why do I feel this to be the case? Probably the strongest reason I can give is tanka's obvious lack of excess. The best poetry, in my opinion, zooms in on the heart and lungs of a moment, undistracted by the ball game that's on TV in the other room. In this sense, tanka is not, as some might think, just an abbreviated depiction of a moment, but one that is certainly more focused. Of course, this does not mean that there's no room for connotative gestures or metaphoric language. It also doesn't mean that only poems confined to five lines are capable of effectively representing the essence of a moment. Read free-verse poets like Ted Kooser and Dan Gerber and the evidence will clearly suggests otherwise. However, there is something comforting in knowing that the best and worst of what we are can be captured so clearly, and with such brevity. So much for epic poems.
eagerly we follow the hog trail cut through our woods, neophytes that we are to most things wild
Janet Davis 90
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