Conversation with the Editor / Xavier Martin / Editor of The Lily & The Aster, a book of haiku, by January Nicole Wilson

Last week, I conducted an interview with Xavier Martin, the editor of The Lily & The Aster. He sat down with me and I asked him a few questions about the book:

JW: What was your first impression of the manuscript?

XM: Your manuscript came as a surprise. Here was a new form of poetry for you - the haiku. I was fascinated by this new shorter form. The form uses metaphor and contradiction in new and important ways. The frame or structure is more restrictive and has more rules than the open form you used in previous books. But, I think that you've been quite successful with haiku.

JW: What was your favorite poem from The Lily & The Aster? Why?

XM: The chapter called Rain was my favorite chapter. It captures the essence of what haiku are. I love the simplicity of the poems contained in this chapter. The poems use mainly nouns. There are not too many adjectives. They are direct poems with clear and beautiful messages. They are poems that talk about nature, about reality, about what the senses perceive. I particularly like:

“Naked to the rain,

 the rose bush is pelted

into submission”

It’s a beautiful and powerful image. One can see the rose bush just by reading these short poems. You do not need anything else. There are no extra words. The simplicity of the poem is one of its great strengths. I love this haiku.

JW: What defines my literary style in this book? 

XM: The haiku defines your work. You capture the essence of what a haiku is and you adapt your style in order to be able to express what you want to tell us. It is a new style, but one can still recognize you in your haiku.

I love the images that you create and how you play with language. Haiku require precision and you always find the right words to create an image. I also like how you tend to use contradictions to capture the varied angles from which you can see one issue. The sense of your haiku can suddenly change in the last sentence where you tend to use metaphors to give a new turn to a poem.

As for your travel essays, your use of memory is remarkable. You take an introspective look at what your travel experiences mean to you. You share very personal experiences and you open up to your readers. There is a lot of generosity in these chapters.

JW: We worked on a number of key elements of this book before finishing the final product. What were the most memorable?

XM: Working on the travel essay concerning Spain was quite memorable, in part, because I am from there and I was interested to learn about your experiences there. Developing this essay was a great challenge. It was difficult to capture and portray the experience on many different levels and at the same time make it readable and entertaining. There were many anecdotes and it was difficult to arrange them in a way that the chapter would flow well. In the end, I really think that you did a very good job.

JW: Why did you take on this project?

XM: I took on this project because I enjoyed working with you on your second book so much. I love witnessing the making of your books--how your ideas evolve and take shape in the form of poems. I feel that I have the opportunity to see how your poems evolve from an idea to a powerful poem.

JW: Would you say my haiku struck a balance between being profound and being playful? Elaborate.

XM: I was particularly impressed by your haiku in this respect because these poems are so short and you are constrained by very strict rules. You have to think a lot about what you are saying and I think that what you've done is quite remarkable. It is the first book where you systematically use the structure of haiku to express your emotions. I do not have any doubt that we still enjoy many more haikus from you. You have truly mastered the art of haiku!

Introduction to The Lily & The Aster

Now that you have gotten a look at the poetry inside the book and a look at the trailer, how about we take a step back and look at the prose that introduces the book. Here is your chance to get a look at the Introduction to The Lily & The Aster:

Introduction -

Why haiku? The answer is simple: haiku is a Japanese form of poetry that is amazing in that it can be used to portray the unseen, to point out an irony or to colorfully depict a scene usually in just 17 syllables or in just three lines with 5-7-5 syllables.

Haiku is always about more than what is given on the page. It captures a feeling, a moment, an attitude towards nature, towards life, towards being. At its best, haiku transcends the words on the page and communicates something elusive.

Poet Sonia Sanchez had the following to say about the beauty and power of haiku:  

“This haiku, this tough form disguised in beauty and insight is like the blues, for they both offer no solutions, only a pronouncement, a formal declaration—acceptance of pain and humor, beauty and non-beauty, death and rebirth, surprise and life. Always life.”

If you pay close attention to the silence, the pauses in each haiku, there may be an “aha moment.” That is yours to claim.

As in life, so it is in love. Love has its cycles of death and of rebirth. Love has its seasons—seasons of longing, of passion, of maturity and of loss. In nature we see symmetry to life and love. Some of the haiku and other poetry here are a reflection on life and on love as seen in nature.

I chose haiku because they are a powerful and concise way to express an emotion, an idea. Although haiku is a rigid form with specific rules, haiku is also flexible, with rules that can be adapted. For instance, even the great Japanese haiku masters wrote and published haiku that were a syllable or two more or less than 17. And like so many of my predecessors, I reinvent the form to tell a story with long and short haiku.

 

You will find short poems as well as short essays here in addition to the haiku. The short poems vary in subject matter from love, to nature, to politics.

It is always interesting for me to learn more about a writer, especially a poet, once I have read his or her or work. In that spirit, I am also including a few short essays composed from journals I kept while spending an extended period of time in Romania, Spain and Ghana. I would like to share these with you because my travels have so fundamentally shaped who I am and how I see the world. They have had an impact on my poetry in more ways than one. The stories I tell are too short to publish as a stand-alone book, so I thought it a fitting little surprise to include them here.

Chapter 2 - Confessions of Joy - SNEAK PEEK at New Book

Here's your chance to get a look inside my new book of poetry, The Lily & The Aster, including a look at haiku and short poems:

Chapter 2: Confessions of Joy
1.
Each drumbeat
is a winged bird sent
off towards heaven.
2.
Nothing beats
playing a djembe
with the thunder.
3.
Dancing
breathing life
like the night air.
4.
Your song,
like one long exhale
thrown skyward.
5.
Your music journeyed
to a place unknown
to words.
6.
Your song
A confession
of joy.
7.
Your dance
transforming your beauty into
a butterfly.
8.
He is the Miles Davis of the djembe
Full of flourish and experiment
Classic but not derivative
Mastermind of the stage
His feats incongruous to the scale of his fame
His shortcomings lauded beside his accomplishments
And yet he is a perpetual enigma,
When he picks up that drum
His genius demonstrated in the spectrum of rhythm in his repertoire
Children respond instinctively
Elders swept into the beat
Dancers ensnared by the rhythms
All to create a cacophony of happy faces
Clamoring for more
9.
We listened to our music
and reveled in the sound.
We didn't take it for granted.
Music was a matter of fact.
It just was.
10.
So I'll seek rest and I'll listen
to the peaceful noise of gentle
rainfall and the threatening
tumble of thunder and be calmed
by the whistling whir of the
radio, the low thump and cradle
of easy blues music while I lay
fingertips pressed over closed
eyelids releasing the day's
unease.

On Book Editing

The process of editing can be trying. If one is working with the right people; however, it does not have to be. I have two separate editors to help me through the process: a general editor and a line editor; each is tasked with differing yet consonant agendas. I think I am working with the right people because working with an editor has opened my eyes to the potential of my own work.

Both of my editors have easy-going personalities and both are knowledgeable and well-read. This makes working with them quite pleasurable and always a learning experience. They play quite different roles, however. While on the one hand, my editor is responsible for the overall flow of content, as well as matters of style; on the other hand, my line editor is responsible for grammar, punctuation and spelling. Ultimately, each is tasked with making the text stronger and more cohesive.

They work in different yet complementary ways. Whereas my editor encouraged me to look at the big picture, to stand back and connect each part of the story scene by scene, or poem by poem, to ask how the unifying theme flows through every paragraph or every poem; my line editor has a knack or an eye for detail. She asks how things could be changed on a micro level for a smoother flow, a more fluid read. She works to dissect the text and rebuild it sentence by sentence.

I liked working with the two of them because each was methodical with his/her comments and served as a good listener, a sounding board when I needed it. It helps that I have worked with this editorial team on a previous project, so they know how to communicate with me.

Working with the two of them has been such a pleasure. It has opened me up to the possibilities of my own work. Working with my editor, in particular, has helped me appreciate the richness of my work, that there are alternate interpretations, multiple layers or shades of meaning to my poetry. Rather than having my ego busted, I get an ego boost by working with my editor.

To conclude, I think that I am working with the right people because they are well-qualified for their roles and because they have helped me understand that book production does not have to be painful. At its best, it can be quite inspiring.

Haiku poetry...

1.
In the stillness of
Day, watch the snow fall
Effortlessly.


2.
Under the pale stars,
A winter sky pregnant with
Possibility.


3.
The wind whispers
Hushed stories of bright days
And blue skies ahead.



....From The Lily & The Aster - available in stores April 2012.

More Haiku...

1.
A crater-faced
Moon is shy
Even with the stars.




2.
The fire-flies fix
Themselves in the sky
Feigning the stars.



3.
The sun and the moon
Like brother and sister
To the wind.

From The Lily & The Aster which will be available in stores April 2012 

Travel Essay Excerpt: Madrid

Here's another excerpt from a travel essay.  This time I have documented an extended trip to Spain. I began this essay years ago. It's a coming of age story based on my study abroad in Madrid. Follow my adventures in Spain as I fulfill a prophecy, get tangled in an age old debate and more. The full-length travel essay appears in The Lily & The Aster.


As I made my way through Barajas International Airport and came down the final escalator, I noticed the taxi cabs just outside the automatic glass doors. The cars were painted white with a diagonal red stripe crossing the front passenger side door. Just as I had imagined them and, more practically, just as I had read in the travel guide.

Just then a man of roughly 50 came up to me and asked where I needed to go. “Eloy Gonzalo 23,” I said trying not to sound too American. “Ay, de acuredo. El centro.” I nodded not having a clue as to what he meant. Just as he went to grab my bag and head back up the escalator, I got smart. “What color is your car?” I mustered in Spanish. “Negro” he said. “I’m sorry,” I said, as I dutifully took my bag from him, and headed back down the stairs.

Sure, he could have driven a private car for clients, but I was not going to take any chances.

On the way to the apartment near the center of the city, I noticed a familiar site. There was graffiti under many of the overpasses. This place was seemingly less and less foreign. It said to me: Welcome to Madrid, a city of 4 million by the turn of the millennium, nearly a half a world away.

When I arrived at Eloy Gonzalo 23, I was impressed by the charming stairway and tiny elevator inside the building where I would live. The elevator paled in comparison to the tremendous size of our elevators in the United States. In the States one can fit several bicycles in a building’s elevator. While in Spain, one would be lucky to fit a small dog in the space. Teresa, my host mother, was there when I arrived. She took my bag and said “Bienvenidos.”

After I explained a little bit about my trip in my non-native Spanish, she explained to me that she had lived in Madrid with her husband and two daughters for twenty years but that she was from Seville. Seville was her home.

I had arrived in the afternoon just in time for siesta. Teresa offered me a snack—a late breakfast of tea and day-old bread—“pan y te.”  This was my first taste of the Spanish baguette.

After breakfast, Teresa showed me to my room for siesta. I was too tired to unpack. As I lay my head on my pillow, I realized that I was completely exhausted. But I did think about what a whirlwind the trip itself had been. As much as I reflected on the past, I looked toward the future.

There was so much I wanted out of Madrid—out of Spain. This was the Old World and study abroad was an open invitation to discover the culture, history and art that lurked around every corner. Immersion was my goal and I was fortunate to be staying with a host family that was generous of heart and of spirit. Not to mention that my host mother was a fabulous cook!

As I went about life in Madrid, doing errands and other day-to-day things, I noticed that American music seemed ubiquitous. All of the clubs, bars and Cortes Ingleses were filled with American music. There were American movies, tv shows and so many other forms of entertainment that were so decidedly American.

I wanted to see something outside of all of this. I felt like such a tourist. If I had a dollar for every time I found myself in a McDonalds, I would be one wealthy woman.  It was too easy to escape things Spanish and I wanted something very different.

One night I watched a movie with my host family called, Leaving Las Vegas. It is a sympathetic look at a romantic relationship between an alcoholic gambler and a prostitute. My host family was less than sympathetic. For Teresa, the story was too indulgent. The two protagonists were losing themselves in their vices, sex and alcohol, and deserved no pity. “Americans are infants,” she noted.  For Teresa, this movie made a broader statement about Americans, our weaknesses and our tastes.

I was so deeply conflicted. I did not fully understand Teresa’s comment. Certainly within the context of the story I could follow her reasoning, but why the broader judgment? It would take getting to know my host family and getting a bit closer to the Madrid I did not know. I knew that there was something missing.

One day, after lunch, one of my host sisters, who was the same age as me, took me aside and told me that my life was going to change. I had only known her for a few days, but we had similar ideas on many issues. I wanted to hear what she had to say.

“You know, you’re just like the last young woman we had here.”  Never reserved with her opinions, she went on, “Reticent, reserved, timid.” She smiled widely and I could tell she was well-meaning even if I was horrified. “Your life will change here in the next few weeks. You’ll be out late, you’ll drink, you’ll make new friends.“

How I longed for a change and how I hoped her prophecy would come true.

It was my first Friday night in Spain and I had the apartment to myself. I greeted the evening with great anticipation and even greater apprehension. I paced the length of the short hallway, taking deep breaths, wondering how I managed to get myself invited to a group outing outside of our orientation schedule. I guess someone in the group had warmed up to me.

At least it was only a short metro ride down to the center of the city—down to Puerta del Sol. I listened to The Roots play, “Things Fall Apart” on my Discman, hoping the group’s songs would inspire me, settle me down. Before I left I put on a touch too much make-up. I must have checked the mirror a half a dozen times on my way out of the door.

Upon entering one of the many bars in Puerta del Sol, I spotted Amy. We entered the bar and met the group. 

We were a small group, which made conversation easy. First we discussed the host families we were staying with. After only a week with our hosts, there were some startling revelations: Joey noted, “My hosts don’t do any cooking.” “My host mother is uncleanly,” said another. Silently I realized that what I experienced with my host family was relative peace and happiness. No one seemed to notice that I had not chimed in to complain.

The group of other American students from Duke University brought out a side of me I had never experienced before. I indulged a more adventurous, wilder side. This was the first of many reunions that would occur in Salamanca, Barcelona, Toledo and other cities in Spain for our group.

The next morning, the adventure took its toll. I had a terrible headache. My host sister said there would be drinking; she failed to mention that I would get sick— a startling oversight.

Key to Spanish culture was the nightlife. Everyone engaged in “la marcha” once in a while. It was not uncommon to leave the house at 12 am and return at 6 or 7 in the morning. This starts at a young age. For kids of 16 or 17, it wasn’t uncommon to go out in groups for dancing and merriment. Being social is critical to Spanish life.

I was quite a shy person, but I loved this about Spain. Whereas I was coddled in my shyness at Brown, in Spain, I was thrust out into the light and forced to face my fears head on. The trip to Spain and what happened there form a fundamental part of who I am.

Fall Haiku

Here is some fall inspired haiku for a frigid fall afternoon:

Fall leaves fly

Off the ground—

Little birds.

                                                                                *
                                                                               

Like a plume of smoke

Above a Cuban cigar—

This autumn sky.

                                                                       



                                                                                 *

A man with a horse:

His whisper caught on the wind

Murmurs of comfort.

Travel Essay Excerpt: Bucharest

Recently I uncovered a travel journal and I decided to put together an essay containing observations from a trip to then newly post-communist Romania. What follows is an excerpt from that travel essay which will make up part of a longer memoir.

We had no trouble with our flight into Bucharest the next morning. We sailed in smoothly. When we landed, I realized how grateful I was to my Aunt Lucy for inviting me on what would be a life changing trip. And immediately as I arrived, I could see that Bucharest was both like and unlike anywhere I had been. I was alarmed at the amount of litter in the streets, at the poverty and how seemingly old the city was. Perhaps it should have come as no surprise but take nothing for granted when you travel. And I was scared. Scared in the way only a 15 year-old could be. Scared of the unknown. I was taking a big step by just coming on the trip.

When we arrived at the house, I was surprised to note the spaciousness of our host’s living quarters. Bob was a diplomat and Teresa was a dutiful mother, but that meant very little to a 15 year-old. They had a son, John, who was not much younger than I was. There were other guests at the house: Lauren, who was just a bit older than me and who had traveled to Romania independently. She would become a trusted ally for me during the trip. Margaret, the Catholic-American nun, who looked after children living with HIV/AIDS during her time in Romania.  She would remain a sage, sharing her insights about Romanians and all matters of human nature. She was a dynamic woman.

Before dinner, we took the car out to run errands, like exchange money and get photocopies made of our passports. And, finally, looking at the relative poverty that existed next to extreme wealth, I had a point of comparison. I grew up until the age of 7 in the city of Philadelphia in Germantown, which had an amazing variety of old architecture next to new. What I was not conscious of at such a tender age was that, like in any city, extreme poverty could exist just blocks away from instances of extreme wealth. Co-existence is typical in any city. 

No example is more appalling than the parliament building in Bucharest, which we visited on our second day. The building is the second largest in the world – second only to the Pentagon in size – and is a stunning feat of architecture and interior design. Gold and marble were used in nearly every room of the building. Moreover, it is a stunning sign of waste and extravagance.  On the second day of my arrival, I witnessed up-close all of a city’s potential squandered in just one building. The juxtaposition of relative poverty to the parliament building was unsightly.

After the parliament building, we visited various churches. It was not unusual to find a church built inside a synagogue, built inside a mosque. My aunt and I came across one such monstrosity, and who was waiting at the front entrance, but a young girl with her younger brother. I will never forget them. They were alone and much too young to be alone. The young girl was wearing red patent leather shoes and the boy had a newly shaved head, exposing large, raised white bumps. One thing I was sure of was that with the demise of communism many government programs broke down, including the healthcare system. What I was not sure of was if this little boy would get the care he needed, when he needed it. First world healthcare was a world away.

During our excursions, we visited a Holocaust Museum which caused me to ask myself, why the Jewish people were persecuted? As I traveled from museum to museum the reasons multiplied. Upon reflection, I recognize just how deep, complex and unfortunate the rift was between Jewish people and some other Europeans.

Through it all, we still found time to shop. There was always time for clothes, shoes and souvenirs. And I found a dress and platform cork-bottom sandals that I adored. The more I saw of this city, the more I became certain of its potential. I admired the fashion sense of women in Bucharest. I wondered where they found their clothes. As I looked at the buildings, I realized that with a coat of paint and a good cleaning, many of the city’s buildings could be quite beautiful. What I could not understand then was that, in such a centralized system, it took the well oiled mechanics of working city politics to achieve that uniformly across the entire city. “What a dream the city of Bucharest would be,” I said to myself. I also noted that poverty did not appear to be quite the problem that I noticed around the airport. As a result, eventually, I felt as comfortable on the city streets of Bucharest as I felt in New York City.

One thing I was sure of was that the average driver in Bucharest drove rather quickly and erratically. Margaret figured, “it was as if the drivers were adolescents getting a new taste of freedom. They were rebelling because they could.”

I think that what Margaret meant was that, because society was not as closed as it had been and the state retreated from everyday life, Romanians were just getting a feel for who they were. That said, I did not witness any accidents during my time in Romania even though drivers drove as if there were no speed limit. Learning to become responsible drivers would come with time.

Richard Wright - Haiku Poet

Did you know that well-known novelist, Richard Wright, who gave us Bigger Thomas in Native Son, is also a prolific haiku poet? Having written more than 4000 haiku and having published 817 haiku, Wright made a tremendous contribution to the genre during his lifetime. I do not doubt that Wright seems capable such poetic prowess given the plethora of artistic works he produced, but the clumsy, foolhardy nature of Bigger Thomas does not lend itself to poetry.

In his book, Haiku: This Other World, the best and most complete volume of haiku that I've read this year, Wright takes notes during his time in exile in France. He spends a year and a half observing his natural surroundings and putting that work into haiku form. What results is a stunning account of “This Other World.” The book is the most complete compilation of his haiku poetry, featuring 817 of his haiku poems.

Written at the end of Wright’s life, in exile and on the heels of the death of his mother Ella, his daughter Julia observed that his obsession with haiku was something of an effort “to spin these poems of light out of gathering darkness.”

What is special about Richard Wright’s haiku is that he has a neat way of turning a phrase and he has a way of making each haiku his own, of reflecting his particular viewpoint. At first glance, I wondered what the big deal was about a few short poems written about nature. As I got into the poetry, I discovered something provocative, artistic and playful about Wright’s haiku. His poetry had a particular magic about it and it captured something elusive. I also noticed that the pauses between each haiku were heavy – full of thought and reflection. This is typical of good haiku.

When reading Wright’s haiku, I found my own voice. I saw in Wright a great challenger, a sparring partner, of sorts. As soon as I came across one of Wright’s haiku that was perplexing or jarring, I tried to come up with something better written on the same topic. I tried to spin a phrase in an interesting manner, careful not to mimic Wright but inspired to write something better. For instance, I wrote the following:

The fog lifted its

Cold, wet feet to climb out of
The bay and up the hill.

Inspired by the following haiku by Wright:

My cold and damp feet
Feel as distant as the moon
On this autumn night.

Moreover, I wrote:

Every year the geese

Journey south and return with
Loud stories of pilgrimage.

Inspired by Wright’s:

High above the ship
On which immigrants sail,
Are departing geese.

To conclude, Richard Wright’s haiku poetry has been an inspiration for my entire book. His witty and imaginative haiku have truly brought out the best in me. You can find more of his haiku at the following link: http://terebess.hu/english/haiku/wright.html & you can find more of my haiku in my book due out April 2012.