The Light of a Candle

"The light of a candle

Is transferred to another candle –

Spring twilight"

INTRO

Before I expose a single phrase about exotic Japanese poetry, I would require you to perform a peculiar experiment, in unison with me.

Close your eyes for three consecutive seconds.

Ready? One… two… three.

Now open them. In the requested trio of seconds (hand gesture) you inhaled an average breath, perhaps two. In the wake of exhalation, heartbeat slowed, or perhaps might have picked up. A peculiar anxiety may have ceased for some, perchance a spark, a glimmer of hope surfaced. For the haiku I am about to share is not a mere poem, but a message, it is fleeting moment, a suppressed emotion, a downright experience. Precisely what a haiku ought to be. And the verses will alter your life… (pause) if you absorb them.

BODY

            THE HAIKU

(Recite the haiku)

I would like you to attempt painting this vivid picture to your mind’s eye.

Slowly/quietly- A obscure chamber. The twilight barely creeps through the sheer, lightweight curtains that swing elegantly as the night breeze travels through the windows. A candle, burning lonesome in a trembling hand. The air is laden with the gentle fragrance of warm wax.

And then – pause- a hand summons another candle, this one ice-cold and hopelessly dark. As the new rod of wax is held over the candle that is aflame -pause- the wavering light is transferred to the other. Louder- both candles now blaze with pride, with gratifying beauty, with aspiring hope… and so inch by inch, the entire room is filled with blessed light.

Sharp, powerful – I am certain that all of you, together and individually created entirely different images in your mind… for poetry is a distinctly personal experience, with a universal truth at the very core.

(smile, pause) I remember, when I was little more than a toddler, half a dozen years ago, I had a delicate book of poems. I was fascinated by the eloquently composed little stories held together by playfully rhyming lines. Each work of art felt so remarkably close, like my very own, peculiar world, a tiny collection of curious words. Only in this enchanted booklet had I stumbled upon the magic plane of existence that entirely absorbed me. It might be difficult to comprehend, however, at the time I voluntarily memorized a handful of those adorable poems, for I intended to recall them till the proverbial end of time. Then one day, I placed the fragile booklet of poems on the shelf and never bothered to pick it up again.

For me, poetry represented a path of discovery to what one’s imagination holds, and all the wonders of reading and voluntary study. What does poetry mean to you? (pause)

Nonetheless… (pause) Poetry is dead. The vast majority of the youth do not remember the last time they proposed to read a poem, purely out of their own will. Now, I’m not talking about erudite scholars who are specifically interested in the details of poetry and look up way too many poets. I for one respect individuals who take an interest in verse, if not envy them. Nevertheless, society completely and tragically forgot about the mundane miracles one calls poems.

But why is that? We all are aware that the more rapidly technology advances and as our surroundings become increasingly modern each day, the more our cognitive skills and sense of reality decrease and we slowly but surely lose our imagination and will to create. Your mind is capable of wonders, yet scarcely do you make use of such talent. You are capable of the embedding delicate emotions, unique moments into a series of words so that everyone who reads them, may resonate with you. Like the haiku reminds us, the light of a candle is transferred to another—imagination does not vanish when shared, but multiplies.

I long to be the light that ignites a flame in each and every one of your hearts. I wish to remind you that there are innumerable things outside our phones, or social media. I dream to inspire you to spread this universal truth, this message, that lies behind this haiku, for I will not let the flame of hope in poetry, nay, humanity, grow dim and vanish. I fancy spreading it, causing it to grow mightier than ever.

Admittedly, haiku never speak merely of what they readily show. Similarly, as no doubt you have found, this speech is not simply about poetry, but so much more.

You are poetry… do not let it die.

Baki Hanna X. R