The Haiku Apprentice. Abigail Friedman

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      As a child, I learned how to write haiku at my mother’s side. It wasn’t until I went to college that I joined a haiku group. There was a famous haiku poet at my college, Yama­guchi Seison. My mother told me I should write to him and tell him of my interest in haiku. I did so because of my mother’s encouragement, and that’s how I joined a haiku group.

      Sometimes, while reading aloud, she would stop and give us insights into the shared enjoyment of haiku.

      It is wonderful to write haiku alone, to contemplate it, to read and reread it, and to polish it in private. We can learn a lot about our writing doing this. Yet joining with others and sharing haiku is an essential part of the haiku experience. Think about what a haiku represents. This small chalice of only seventeen sounds is, in truth, an expression of the nature of your heart and soul. There is something magical about sharing this piece of yourself with friends who have gathered together to read haiku aloud.

      The Numamomo haiku group was filled with a spirit of warmth and common purpose. We were doing haiku as a group, but instead of social pressure I felt as in a warm embrace. Kuroda Momoko did not tell us what is beautiful, but asked us to judge beauty on our own terms. This was unlike learning experiences I had had at school or at work, and there was no place for my competitive streak. The only expectation seemed to be that I contribute haiku true to myself. I left Numazu brimming with enthusiasm, determined to come up with at least one good, “true-to-myself” haiku for our next gathering. Of course, I had no idea how to do this.