Cum a inceput un haiku sa ia fiinta intr-o librarie pariziana

(http://blogs.suntimes.com/ebert/poetry/so-much-depends-upon-a-red-whe-1.html)

(click here for the English version)

Totul a inceput intr-o librarie mititica din Paris, pe undeva prin Marais. Era o librarie de limba engleza, unde puteai gasi editii de mult epuizate, pe care probabil ca nu le-ai mai fi gasit nicaieri in alta parte.

Poate exagerez putin. Mai sunt cateva locuri la fel, si ca sa vorbesc numai de librarii asemanatoare pe care le-am vizitat cat am fost in America, as aminti despre Capitol Hill Books  in Washington, pe langa Eastern Market, apoi in Baltimore, Clayton Fine Books pe Charles Street, apoi in Cambridge, langa Harvard Square, sau in Greenwich Village pe undeva pe langa Houston Street. Sau in Brooklyn, pe Bedford Avenue. Sau Georgetown Bookshop in Bethesda (numai ca aceasta a disparut intre timp).

Hai ca m-am intins la vorba. Oricum, libraria din Cambridge are numai carti in franceza, pe cand in cea pariziana din Marais gasesti numai proza si poezie in engleza. Asta-i treaba.

Libraria aceea din Paris are un nume curios (si bine inteles englezesc), The Red Wheelbarrow (adica Roaba Rosie).

O camera ingusta, ocupata de rafturi pline de carti, parand a fi intr-o dezordine frenetica. Ma gandeam la numele librariei, de unde venea, imi era rusine sa intreb, asa ca mi-am lasat imaginatia sa se joace. Sa fi fost oare Roaba asta Rosie titlul vreunui haiku? Un poem minuscul, al carui sir de cuvinte aparent fara sens sa te biciuiasca precum un kōan, incarcat cu intelesuri imposibil sa le descifrezi?

(http://blogs.suntimes.com/ebert/poetry/so-much-depends-upon-a-red-whe-1.html)

Mica librarie englezeasca din Paris era de fapt prima mea intalnire cu William Carlos Williams, dar aveam sa imi dau seama de asta mai tarziu, dupa cativa ani, atunci cand aveam sa ii descopar versurile, iar  Roaba Rosie avea sa capete brusc inteles. Era un haiku? Da si nu, as spune, termenul defineste o forma poetica foarte precisa, dand totusi voie, macar din cand in cand, si unor mici libertati.

A fost o a doua intalnire in care asocierea Roabei Rosii cu un haiku a inceput sa capete o forma concreta. De data asta nu la Paris, ci pe sol britanic, in West Midlands (de fapt pe Internet): un colectiv de tineri creatori de film, Black Country Cinema. Unul dintre ei, o veche cunostinta de pe web, Mattie (Mathew Carter) regizase un haiku video: o perla minimalista, filtrand superb intelegerea sa profunda a artei lui Kiarostami.

HAIKU VIDEO - Duminica Dupa Amiaza


(video by jovossuck123)

Iar intr-un comentariu facut acestui video, cineva semnand videogoatbird a citat The Red Wheelbarrow, poezia scrisa de William Carlos Williams! Legatura dinte Roaba Rosie si haiku era deci stabilita!

so much depends
upon

a red wheel
barrow

glazed with rain
water

beside the white
chickens.

(http://blogs.suntimes.com/ebert/poetry/so-much-depends-upon-a-red-whe-1.html)

Williams a explicat odata geneza acestui poem: a izvorat din afectiunea pentru un negru batran, Marshall dupa nume; pescar prin zona  Gloucesterului; el povestea despre munca lui care il tinea  in apa rece ca gheata. Williams l-a simpatizat mult de tot pe batran, si cam la fel de mult pe fiul acestuia, Milton. In curtea lor se afla o roaba rosie inconjurata de pui de gaina. Iar toate astea s-au transformat incet in poezie.


dépend tellement au moment

une brouette rouge de roue

glacé avec de l'eau pluie

près des poulets blancs.

(http://poetry.bryantmcgill.com/~W/William_Carlos_Williams/William_Carlos_Williams_The_Red_Wheelbarrow_French.html)

so viel hängt ab

von einer roten Schubkarre

glänzend von Regenwasser

bei den weißen Hühnern

(http://www.welt.de/print-welt/article504259/Die_rote_Schubkarre.html)

tantas cosas
dependen de

una carretilla
roja

lustrosa por el agua
de la lluvia

entre gallinas
blancas.

(http://zaidenwerg.blogspot.com/2010/11/la-carretilla-roja-william-carlos.html)

Hai sa o incercam si in romaneste (numai sa nu trageti in pianist):

Atat de multe depind
de o roaba rosie

Lustruita
de apa ploii

Alaturi cativa
pui albi

The Way a Haiku Began In a Parisian Bookstore

(http://blogs.suntimes.com/ebert/poetry/so-much-depends-upon-a-red-whe-1.html)

(click here for the Romanian version)

It all began in a small Parisian bookstore, in the Marais. An English language bookstore with some out of print titles you can probably find only there and nowhere else.

Well, maybe I'm exaggerating a little. There are a few other spots like this one, and to say here only about such places that I visited in the US, in DC, the Capitol Hill Books near the Eastern Market, and in Baltimore, the Clayton Fine Books on Charles Street, in Cambridge near Harvard Square, or in Greenwich Village some place near Houston Street. Or in Brooklyn, on Bedford Avenue. Or the Georgetown Bookshop in Bethesda, but this one is no more.

Wait a little, the bookstore in Cambridge I'm talking about had only French language books, while the Parisian one in the Marais was featuring English language novels and poems. So it goes.

The Parisian bookstore had a curious name, The Red Wheelbarrow. It was my first encounter with it, and I was shy to ask the people there about the origin.

The space was very tiny, and the shelves were jammed with books, seemingly in a total disorder. And my imagination began to play. Was this Red Wheelbarrow the title of a haiku? A tiny poem, whose apparently nonsensical string of words was wiping you like a kōan, jammed with hidden senses impossible to decipher?

(http://blogs.suntimes.com/ebert/poetry/so-much-depends-upon-a-red-whe-1.html)

That small English language bookstore in Paris was actually my first encounter with William Carlos Williams, and I realized it when, after some years, I discovered his poems and so the meaning of the Red Wheelbarrow suddenly made sense for me. Was it a haiku? I would say, yes and no, the term designates a very precise poetic form, while also allowing now and then some fuzziness.

It was due to another encounter that the association between Red Wheelbarrow and haiku started to take a concrete shape. Not in Paris this time. This chance meeting was now on British soil, in the West Midlands (on the net, actually): a collective of young filmmakers, the Black Country Cinema. One of them, an older web acquaintance, Mattie (Mathew Carter) created a haiku video: a minimalistic gem, superbly filtering his deep understanding of the art of Kiarostami.

HAIKU VIDEO - Sunday Afternoon


(video by jovossuck123)

And in a comment to this artwork, another interesting video artist (whose pen name is videogoatbird), came with the poem of William Carlos Williams! The link between the Red Wheelbarrow and haiku was now made!

so much depends
upon

a red wheel
barrow

glazed with rain
water

beside the white
chickens.

(http://blogs.suntimes.com/ebert/poetry/so-much-depends-upon-a-red-whe-1.html)

Williams came once with an explanation: this poem sprang from affection for an old Negro named Marshall; he had been a fisherman, caught porgies off Gloucester; he used to tell how he had to work in the hold in freezing weather, standing ankle deep in cracked ice packing down the fish. Williams liked that man, and his son Milton almost as much. In his back yard there was a red wheelbarrow surrounded by the white chickens.

And the affection for the old man somehow got into the writing.



dépend tellement au moment

une brouette rouge de roue

glacé avec de l'eau pluie

près des poulets blancs.

(http://poetry.bryantmcgill.com/~W/William_Carlos_Williams/William_Carlos_Williams_The_Red_Wheelbarrow_French.html)

so viel hängt ab

von einer roten Schubkarre

glänzend von Regenwasser

bei den weißen Hühnern

(http://www.welt.de/print-welt/article504259/Die_rote_Schubkarre.html)

tantas cosas
dependen de

una carretilla
roja

lustrosa por el agua
de la lluvia

entre gallinas
blancas.

(http://zaidenwerg.blogspot.com/2010/11/la-carretilla-roja-william-carlos.html)

Let's try in Romanian (and don't shot the pianist):

Atat de multe depind
de o roaba rosie

Lustruita
de apa ploii

Alaturi cativa
pui albi


(William Carlos Williams)

(Vlog of Mattie)

(Black Country Cinema)

William Carlos Williams: This Is Just To Say

(image: Stephen Coles in http://stewf.tumblr.com/post/354368889/suomi-hand-script)

You could ask what makes this poem, well, a poem. William Carlos Williams gave once the answer, mockingly, it has to be a poem because it goes that way. Metrically speaking, there should be no complaint. If we go now to Cliffs Notes, an excellent website about seemingly everything, American poets of the 20's century included, we'll find there that building on sibilance and concluding on so cold, the poem implies that sweet, fruity taste contrasts the coldness of a human relationship that forbids sharing or forgiveness for a minor breach of etiquette. Maybe to savant for me.

William Carlos Williams was one of the masters of the Imagist movement, and he was trying in his verses to see the world just as it was, to look for what was not in ideas, but in things. So, another, more straightforward, interpretation is that the writer of the note on the refrigerator seeks to replace the experience of eating the plums with a clear, succinct description--They were delicious / So sweet and so cold"-- forgiveness (that --Forgive me-- in the end) depends on the success of the description (I quoted here from Wiki).

What should I say in the end? Consider it the same way you take a Haiku: it's written in plain American which cats and dogs can read (quote here from Marianne More), but it implies a lot of craftsmanship. I will put here again the comment that I found about Williams, he is the master of succinctness and subtle interactivity. Isn't it true also for a Haiku?

-----------
Here is a French version (C'est Juste Pour Indiquer):

J'ai mangé les prunes qui étaient dans l'icebox

et que tu sauvais probablement pour le petit déjeuner

Me pardonner qu'ils étaient si doux et si froids délicieux

German (Dieses Ist Gerecht Zu sagen):

Ich habe die Pflaumen gegessen, die im icebox waren

und das Sie vermutlich zum Frühstück speicherten

Mir verzeihen, den sie köstliches so süsses und so kalt waren

Spanish (Esto Es Justo Decir):

Yo he comido los ciruelos que estaban en el icebox

y que usted ahorraba probablemente para el desayuno

Perdonarme que eran tan dulces y tan fríos deliciosos

Gotcha, I'm stopping here :)

(William Carlos Williams)

William Carlos Williams

passport photo, 1921
http://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/en/f/fd/William_Carlos_Williams_passport_photograph_1921.jpg
(source: Beinecke Rare Book & Manuscript Library, Yale University)

He is the master of succinctness and subtle interactivity, this defines him perfectly. It's a comment I found in a blogpost dedicated to the most famous poem of William Carlos Williams. I will speak some other time about this most famous poem (as I will speak about that blog, authored by Roger Ebert).

Allen Ginsberg claimed that William Carlos Williams essentially freed his poetic voice. Williams was perhaps the main mentor of the great generation of the fifties: the Beat Generation, the San Fransisco Renaissance, the Black Mountain Poets, the NY School, and beyond. I had the privilege to meet some of today's NY writers, a Steve Dalachinsky, an Eve Packer, and, above all, the person whom I love beyond all our quarrels, my sister Jill Rapaport. All of them, directly or indirectly, found the courage to free their poetic voices in the literature of William Carlos Williams.

• The Way a Haiku Began In a Parisian Bookstore (The Red Wheelbarrow) (1923)
• This Is Just To Say (1934)

(A Life in Books)