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Despite a continued fascination with kigo, signs of frustration in the Australian haiku community with how meaningfully to apply it have been apparent for some time. Ross Clark (1993) pointed out that “although Australian poets are increasingly becoming interested in reading and writing haiku, there is not, as yet, a theory of haiku appropriate to this hemisphere and this climate” [Clark, 1993]. This is a clear reference to the limited reach of kigo outside of its country of origin. Although many of our experiences of nature and the seasons are shared globally, they are not universal. Haiku’s reach outside of Japan will be limited if it is restricted to the truths and observations of a single culture (Kacian, 2000b). Yet, kigo continue to proliferate both in Japan and here, which speaks volumes about their importance to the structure and traditions of haiku. Clearly, Australian writers of haiku want kigo, but what kind of kigo have they got?

4 _{An international saijiki called the World Kigo Database, created to provide haiku enthusiasts with ”an} opportunity to deepen the understanding of kigo issues and to appreciate the climate, life and culture of many different parts of the world” is an ongoing project coordinated by Dr Gabi Greve of Daruma Museum, Japan. She has been collecting words from poets from around the world, the tally currently totalling 6000 season words.

70 If kigo equals nature and haiku is a form of nature writing, then one only needs to pick up any haiku journal produced in this country over the past thirty years to find examples of haiku containing Australia’s natural flora and fauna. But in reflecting on haiku in this country and the forces shaping its evolution, Reeves (2006) questioned “whether current haiku practice expresses a uniquely Australian flavor.” She noted:

A scan of work published in Australian outlets over the last ten years shows a trend towards simpler, more concise expression, with more emphasis on the spirit or mood behind the poem, rather than on strict rules and syllable counts . . . To flavour Australian haiku with the feel of our hemisphere and climate we draw not on the dictionaries of season words compiled by Japanese poets to indicate the time of year they are writing about, but on imagery familiar to Australian readers and which evokes the particular feel of our surroundings.

Reeves makes a good point in highlighting another problem of the transferability of haiku. Where does emulation stop and assimilation begin? To begin the discussion on Australia’s experience with kigo, we will examine four acclaimed Australian haiku taken from various sources as a discussion in point;

climbing the bush track, a bulldog ant going down; the spring morning

Norman Stokes (First Australian Haiku Anthology, 2003, p. 50).

flooded road a soft-drink bottle turns left

71 record heat

a soon-to-be mum backs into a wave

Ron Moss (With Words International Online Haiku Competition, 2009).

bushfire season from dry leaves the crackle of lizards

(Vanessa Proctor, Second Australian Haiku Anthology, 2006, p. 38).

Like their Dutch and Swedish counterparts, there is a strong presence of emulation, with all of them rooted in nature and oriented towards shasei-style objective realism. The form and content of these haiku is heavily derivative of classic Japanese haiku, written as they are in three lines, most containing a seasonal reference, with Stokes even employing the traditional 5-7-5 syllable count.

The use of kigo and local imagery invites closer inspection. Each of the above haiku contains easily identifiable kigo phrases (‘spring morning’, ‘flooded road’, ‘record heat’, ‘bushfire season’) placing them firmly in one season or another. In addition to these classic kigo phrases, the authors use identifiably Australian imagery that affords the poems the local flavor Reeves was positing. Stokes encounters a bull ant on a bush track on a spring morning walk; Ford captures the devastation of the rainy season with a simple, stark image; Moss’s image of the sweltering summer heat is accentuated by the presence of a pregnant woman trying to cool off at the beach.

Proctor’s poem is even more notable for the presence of a ‘double kigo’. ‘Bushfire season’ is juxtaposed with the visual and aural texture of lizards scampering around the local terrain. ‘Dry leaves’ would qualify as a summer season word in any saijiki north of Coolangatta, yet in

Proctor’s poem, it is reduced to the status of additional imagery. In her poem, and the others, the local flora and fauna is not a structural imperative for the poem, as kigo is, but mere, albeit local, scenery. Here, we are witness to the literary contortionism of English language haiku, where kigo and seasonal references, while producing fine haiku, are not necessarily one and the same thing.

As we will see below, in the absence of a kigo culture or an agreed collection of season words, Australian writers have attempted to make some accommodation with it. The majority of Australian haiku are ‘nature poems’ with seasonal references, but the question is whether their

72 haiku, with or without the assistance of a prescribed approach to kigo, are able to reflect their own culture and add the depth Shirane and Gilbert speak of.