It started spontaneously one day, when Janet, living in Arkansas and two or more months ahead of the seasons where Dana, in the mountains of central Pennsylvania, was living, sent a haiku about the beauty of the season instead of a prose email. Dana responded in kind.
The messages were short and structured, and because of that, became more frequent due to the desire to talk about what was happening around us…and within us, though both of us are fairly reticent about direct expression of emotions. The subtexts of poetry, even in one of its briefest forms, allow for the kind of indirection (and plausible deniability of any attempt to equate speaker with author) that permits full expression without full exposure.
We wrote dozens of these, and then, due to a serendipitous workshop on other forms of east Asian poetry, we learned about “renga.” This form consists of a traditional haiku, followed by a response in two, seven-syllable lines. This form seemed naturally suited to our type of conversations, so we tried it. Our first renga began with an ostensibly safe topic, the weather—but the weather itself was dangerous, and the conversation quickly began to show signs of emotions we would not have directly stated.
Renga 1
Storm Clouds
2/2/24
Storm clouds loom heavy
across distant horizons —
ominous portents. JNR
Wind and lightning fly fearsome
as bountiful rain destroys. DJSW
Does humanity
outstrip nature’s potential
to cause disaster?
Linked hands: giving, receiving,
with minds as one, can prevail.
Always a coin has
two sides, one smiling brightly,
the other frowning.
If we turn away from rain,
we will never see the sun.
Yet we must turn from
the sun to see a rainbow —
a trick of the light.
A coincidence of time
transmutes rain and sun to hope.
Looking back at this now, a year later, without reading the prose paragraphs in the emails that accompanied each version of the poem as another stanza was added in response, it’s easy to recall our discussions of climate change and ecological destruction, but also to see how determined both of us were to remain hopeful about an increasingly uncertain future.
But it wasn’t enough. We both had more to say, so the conversation began again later that day. This poem contains one sequence in which Janet replied to Dana, then wrote a haiku immediately afterwards because she wasn’t finished with the idea. This resulted in Dana writing a response instead of a haiku, switching the roles of the writers. In between, though, Janet asked in the body of the email whether it was okay for her to break the pattern, to respond and then to pose a follow-up. This became part of how we negotiated with each other; when one writer ran ahead of the other and sent more than one haiku at a time to express her thoughts more fully, she asked whether the other could work with the change in pattern (and sometimes, direction or tone) to fill in her own ideas. That we’ve known each other for almost a quarter of a century didn’t and doesn’t matter; we still ask. Every change in the expected patterns added to the challenges of the form, but also resulted in more natural flow in the conversations. Few real conversations are structured so that participants control the direction absolutely equally, nor are comfortable conversations structured purely as question and answer. We were having a conversation—and we were creating poems together.
Renga 2
Powerless
2/2/24
Innocence is no
defense, nor can worry shield.
Gentle souls, prepare. DJSW
Neither philosophy nor
insurance can protect you. JNR
When Nature rages,
all we can do is listen
and hope help will come.
But hope is a frail seedling
until someone nurtures it.
Friendship grows and blooms
even in rocky gardens…
roses thrive with leeks.
Thorns with sweet, hidden with tall,
hearts on sleeves can save us all.
February is the shortest month but seems to last the longest. Sometimes, when one of us was feeling down, the other tried to lighten the mood—and succeeded.
Renga 3
Finding Hope
2/8–2/19/24
Another day passed
with only memories to show
its eternal worth. DJSW
Yet love lives in memory,
mystery lives in shadow. JNR
When the sun returns
leaves rise, bow to its power
and birds sing praises.
Their songs bring light to shadow
and brighten love’s mystery.
Someday, might we rise
and sing praises to the sky,
at peace in its light.
Remembering friends in song,
celebrate the dawning day.
In February in central Pennsylvania, winter is generally at its solidly gray worst, though days are getting longer—but in south Arkansas, spring is well underway, and longer days add to the feeling of renewal. Janet was seeing the sun when Dana was wishing for it, needed it. Janet sent her some.
Renga 4
Oh, What a Beautiful Morning
2/21/24
heading north paused to welcome
this glorious day. JNR
Here, seeds set on snow comfort
winter birds waiting for spring. DJSW
In their breasts they know
what we too often forget —
ice will one day thaw.
So we live on borrowed hope
when winter mocks spring’s return.
But hope is still hope,
whether borrowed or homespun.
Cherish its promise.
Frozen sunlight, clear blue skies,
a feast of celebration.
We both observe bird behavior and see in it at times analogues to human behavior. Sometimes the birds’ approach to co-existence seems superior.
Renga 5
A Feast of Peace
3/1/24
Robins and waxwings
engulf hollies, cover ground —
communal dining. JNR
The berries fall, ripe and red
ready for the birds’ return. DJSW
Sharp claws, sharper eyes
rummage through the leaf litter —
no berries remain.
But no feathers are ruffled,
and all fly off satisfied.
They flock together,
companionable strangers,
waxwings and robins.
Sometimes, the push and pull between reality’s message and hope led to clear differences in viewpoint, shifting the conversation towards debate and making us both aware of who was feeling more stressed. Though we have not discussed it outright, neither of us wants to pull the other into our dark days, and we’ve both tried to offer counters to hints of such in the other. But sometimes, hope did not entirely overcome reality’s harshness. We may live in different places geographically, but we both have to live in reality, at least most of the time.
Renga 6
Weather Report
3/10/24
Snow squalls as spring comes
disarms warm days, early buds.
Nature resists change. DJSW
But Nature is a jokester —
white dunce caps on early blooms. JNR
Each year is different,
each year, the same. Spring must come
with snow and hard rain.
Warm rains wash away late snows,
bring the waiting earth to life.
And winter blows back,
frosts last year’s grass and new buds,
forces spring to fight.
Inevitably winter
must yield, flowers bloom once more.
No season holds more
than its share of time, but none
yields its ways with grace.
It’s natural, then, that we
perhaps fear tomorrow’s dawn.
Sometimes, we just wanted to vent about something that irked us. We’ve both encountered entitled people who have no idea of what they are missing out on because of their wealth, their ideas about appropriate ways for people like themselves to use it, and their scorn for those who live more simply, for whatever reason. We generally prefer to enjoy our simple lives with their challenges, joys, and searches for meaning, but sometimes we lose patience and judge in return those who disparage anything but conspicuous consumption. We could have had a bitter gripe-fest in prose. The grace of the form we’d chosen and the need for concise language rounded the edges and gave us a way to present the contrasts as counterpoints. The haikus depicted one way of life, the responses the other—yet both writers were in complete accord as this conversation—which could be read as a contrapuntal poem as well—developed.
Renga 7
Getting By
3/16–3/22/24
How do you do what
rich people do when you don’t
have enough money? DJSW
What do the wealthy enjoy?
Travel, and luxury cars… JNR
You save up for years,
buy an old car, sturdy tent,
gas, and campground rent.
Showcase homes with swimming pools,
manicured lawns and gardens…
Starlight and campfires
light the nights, with friendly music
and laughter drifting.
Private isles and teak-decked yachts
to sail to far-flung Edens…
Overhead, people fly
north and south, east and west, and
miss all in between.
Glitzy gowns, exotic furs,
designer jeans and diamonds…
Corn, soy, and wheat fields—
hayfields—and meadows where
cows and horses graze.
Your own movie theater,
popcorn topped with truffle sauce…
Battered signs welcome
you to places where locals
eat what rich folks scorn.
Consumption driven only
by a need to overawe…
A long loaf, quartered,
cheese, tomatoes, mustard:
a picnic for four.
Nannies to raise your children
so you won’t have the hassle.
Folks tell you stories
about what was and what is,
say farewell with smiles.
Dwellings large enough to house
a town’s people, but no home…
Roadside signs proclaim
local history and sights
on quiet narrow roads.
Vacation where you’ll be seen,
but you’ll not see the locals…
Highway cloverleafs
skirt cities where you do not stop.
Bright lights warn, “Move on.”
Financial power to buy
politicians and judges…
Trace old trails to woods,
waterfalls, peaks, deserts, lakes,
coastal sea to coastal sea.
One place just like another,
sanitized of history.
So, what do you miss,
traveling this way and never
meeting a stranger?
In the deep South, every spring is marked by pollen, falling like spring snow, and like spring snow, thick enough to be both visible and in need of sweeping off of any human-made object needing to be used. While Dana was sweeping fluffy snow off her windshield and remembering the pollen seasons of her own days of southern springs, Janet was sweeping pollen off of hers.
Renga 8
In the Air
3/19–4/15/24
Pines, oaks and willows
all in bloom, shedding pollen—
the yellow season. JNR
They cast their wiles to the wind,
make the air their matchmaker. DJSW
Such faceless matings
carry no obligations—
no love, no upkeep.
They insist both invited
and bystanders must join in,
breathe in pollen’s haze,
inhale, sniff this public sex—
something to sneeze at!
There are times when simple appreciation for the natural world hit us both. Janet, living in relatively flat country, shifted her perspective to higher elevations, making this poem perhaps the most true to the intent of renga and distilling the descriptions in a triumphant conclusion.
Renga 9
Skylight
3/29/24
Morning sky sunlight,
horizon-level, tinges
mountain slopes red-gold. DJSW
Climb the mountain paths of gold,
walk the highways to the sun. JNR
While the moon still shines
in the west and the sun shines
in the east, catch light.
Play with it until it bursts
from your soul and lights the world.
Both Janet and Dana went out to observe last year’s full eclipse, despite cloudy weather in both locations. Even knowing they’d experienced it a couple of hours apart, both found it a moving experience—and poetry the best way to share the feeling.
Renga 10
A Mid-day Midnight
3/4/24
A mid-day midnight,
birds shelter from shadow —
a rainy eclipse. JNR
Here, the clouds are thick and gray–
no sun, just full dark in day. DJSW
Evening birdsong
but no sunset hues, just clouds
hiding what’s obscured.
A bird sits hunched on a wire
while people stand in silence.
Despite the weather,
this movement of the spheres still
conjures wonderment.
In ages past, people feared
light and warmth would not return.
But the dark will pass,
light will return, the sun will
warm the earth again.
Knowledge does not prevent awe,
nor diminish the sky show.
In this exchange, we take turns countering the other’s discouragement about the seasons’ push and pull as winter tries a late return in Pennsylvania while Janet, who spent many years in more northern climes, is already seeing the end of spring and experiencing summer heat in Arkansas. At some point during the day, Dana saw winter coming back and changed her mind about praising spring. Ultimately, the two lines of thought converge.
Renga 11
Yellow Flowers
4/24/24
Even in the rain
sunshine brightens the roadside —
yellow flowers. JNR
Apple blossoms wreath the trees,
rejoice in the rain’s cool touch. DJSW
Hard-packed clay absorbs
sweet water, holds it for trees
and moss to flourish.
Pear blossoms reach for the sky
bare branches cradle wet leaves.
Possibilities
nestle within pale petals,
promises of hope.
But spring is fickle, and rain
can pause to let frost return.
Unexpected cold
trims spring flowers with diamonds –
beauty undamaged.
Even on the grayest days,
spring’s colors herald sunlight.
Mist softens outlines,
mutes colors, but cannot stop
spring’s progression.
None can resist spring’s beauty
and temper, nor Earth’s orbit.
Dark to light to dark,
season to season, changeless
yet ever changing.
We humans sometimes want more than we need. In this one, Janet reminds Dana, a fellow fiberholic, that succumbing and acquiring still more means to create beauty that might ultimately remain a dream whose potential is never realized, is worthwhile. We recognize each other’s dreams of projects as the desire to bring beauty into a world that does not always provide enough of it–recognize, too, that maybe that set of materials will never evolve beyond the dream—and always encourage the other to believe in the dream’s possibilities, even as we try to resist temptation ourselves… no fabrics were purchased during this exchange.
Renga 12
Dragon Thoughts
5/3/24
Browsing and dreaming
my way through a catalog
of cloth, thread, and yarn, DJSW
Colors and textures feed my
obsession, bleed my wallet. JNR
Possibilities
hint at acts of creation
fingers itch to touch.
Colors and textures thrill my
heart, fill me with new ideas.
Beauty without form:
imagining holds power,
and planning brings joy.
Colors and textures prancing,
dancing to music unheard.
Patterns shift and shine,
self-combine and self-design,
and so become mine.
Rich colors delight my eyes,
rich textures invite my hands.
Buying and storing
this delight does not come free.
But the urge is strong.
So strong, it colors my days,
gives texture to sleepless nights.
So, like a dragon
I sit on piles and sift the gold
of soft things and dreams—
and think of what’s possible
with this color and texture
until the next time
some pretty thread, yarn, or cloth
captures my fancy.
Imagine what’s possible
using color and texture.
Is this wanting, then,
all in my head, fantasies
born of flimsy hopes?
But color and texture let
imaginings become real.
Am I crazy then,
to believe I can weave dreams
real from light and air?
The color of air, texture
of light, breathe life to our hands.
Hands in, hands on: hands
must make good on eyes’ desires,
mind’s imaginings.
Some of 2024’s cicada hatches coincided in south Arkansas and parts of central Pennsylvania. Hearing the curtains of sound descend as soon as the sun began to set, then experiencing the crescendo that rose and re-set the noise level to its night-time high, we both were caught up in the drama of years of sleep followed by millions of individual awakenings with a single-minded purpose.
Renga 13
Cicadas
5/13/24
Like hollow echoes
heard in a long-empty room —
distant cicadas. JNR
Their buzz mingles with crickets’
and treefrogs’ chirps and rhythms. DJSW
Monotonous chants
sung by long-trapped prisoners
rise in sun-warmed air.
What songs might we sing when we
feel warm light after cold sleep?
The joy of sunlight,
freedom to fly unhindered –
of these would we sing.
Would wings appear just in time
to fly us to our soul’s mate?
From wingless to winged,
alone to forever whole —
metamorphosis.
So few dusks, so few warm nights
to spend years of dreamed desires.
Croaks, stridulations —
all carry the same message.
Let the good times roll!
The cicadas broke the renga spell. From this point, we reverted to haiku for a while, then went on to experiment with other forms. Sometimes our correspondence is “just” prose—but often, it is poetry we use to speak our hearts so we don’t have to express directly ideas and feelings that don’t fit neatly into the restrained and orderly confines of declarative sentences. We both write independently and share our work, but our writing together as part of our long-distance conversations has made us think and care more deeply, about our topics and about each other.
