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summer moonlight the potter‘s wheel slows


chessmen in boxes . . . the café‘s ceiling fan turns by itself


In the first example, the potter‘s wheel is turning both before and after the moment of the poem, although we do perceive a change in the wheel‘s speed. Because that change of speed is a continuum, we cannot pinpoint the exact moment when the change in action started, at least not within the poem. In the second example, the fan keeps turning, so there‘s action in the poem, but we don‘t see the fan either start or stop, so the ―moment‖ in the poem is actually static (unchanging action) rather than dynamic. As a contrast to short moments, the following moment is longer—the minutes it takes to do a particular


seasonal task:


first Christmas— our baby sleeps through the unwrapping of his gifts


Now consider this haiku:


old folks‘ home the square of light crosses the room


An afternoon goes by in this poem. Some people would say that it presents too much time for a haiku. Such an attitude presumes too narrow a sense of what a ―moment‖ should be in a haiku, it seems to me. As a teenager, I spent a summer working in a nursing home, and saw how time flows differently for its elderly residents. I see time, for many of them, as having greatly slowed down, perhaps to a point of ennui, and I wanted to present the idea that the crossing of the light, which takes an entire afternoon, isa moment for the very elderly. This is a dynamic moment, but obviously a long one. I hope, too, that the poem conveys a measure of sadness, perhaps even loneliness, as a result. Sometimes it‘s hard to tell when a moment starts or stops, or a difference of interpretation alters our


perception of the ―moment‖ in the poem. For example, in the ―chess men in boxes‖ poem already mentioned, if we interpret the fan ass


ta i rtngto turn by itself, then the poem would indeed have a dynamic moment rather


than a static one. An action, however small, may be interpreted as ongoing as opposed to being an event that starts or stops, or we may perceive something as being in a state of being rather than as an action. Consider the following one-liner:


deserted park hail on the chessboard


The hail on the chessboard may be about to melt, so there‘s possibly an implied action about to happen. On the other hand, ―on‖ could be interpreted as ―falling on.‖ If so, hail is falling, and thus the action seems dynamic. Nevertheless, because the falling of hail is ongoing, at least in terms of the poem, there is no actual start or stop to the action conveyed in the poem itself. Thus this poem could be read as having dynamic action, yet the poem is still not a ―dynamic‖ moment. Even though action is happening here, the poem still presents a state of being, like ―summer moonlight‖ and ―chess men in boxes‖ poems. And of course, it‘s ambiguous, because the description could also be interpreted as lacking the action of ―falling.‖ Rather, it could be that hail that has already fallen is just resting on the chessboard, and though we know it will melt, for now the hail is simply there, its whiteness contrasting with the chessboard‘s black squares and blending in with the white ones. In this interpretation, the poem is static rather than dynamic, even though readers may readily infer the dynamic action of the hail falling or melting. These inferences are part of what give poems their reverberations. These inferences sometimes arise from how time—and the moment—is handled in haiku.


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