my turn now
By Vincent Tripi
Illustrated by J. Hyde Meissner
We currently live in the fastest-paced era of our history. In the time of instant internet, phones in our pocket, and a media cycle more rapid than ever, it can be hard to pull our attention from the screen. Our days are filled with work and labor. Our leisure takes place in a digital world that is never leisurely. Sometimes, it feels almost impossible to leave the online sphere behind, take a breath, and center ourselves in the tranquil and quiet natural world. I personally feel the pressure of the digital era frequently. Often, I am too absorbed in staying productive on the computer to remember the rivers and forests outside. In addition to the plethora of online entertainment at my fingertips all the time, it can be very difficult to unplug and find a moment of pause.
We receive a message to step out of our rooms and into the realm of nature in the late Vincent Tripi’s volume of haiku, my turn now. This collection of over 60 haiku—written between 2008 and 2020 and compiled three years after his passing—brims with the foliage and fauna in the forests, rivers, and our backyards. Big or small, the creatures in these short poems dart, pace, and rest from page to page. We taste the beauty of a simple, easy life in Tripi’s work that is so refreshing in our complex, frantic days. When reading this collection, I am reminded of the beautiful world that we all exist in and so often forget. It makes me feel that even if there is a lot of time spent in the bustle of our digital and professional lives, there will always be moments to stop and be present in nature.
The foundation of Tripi’s world is the haiku form itself. Haiku are, by definition, poems that engender images of the natural world and its seasons. Not only does the history of haiku bolster this, but the small and precise structure of the writing continues to develop these pictures. The limitation of line and syllable aligns perfectly with the ideal of slow living; every word matters, every mark of punctuation counts, and every line break is meaningful. The eyes are allowed to consume each letter and thought and emotion bubble up each page. There is no clearer example of than this poem:
chrysalis
all of us
Four words were all Tripi needed to create a world of change and growth. He communicates that every human is always learning, trying to become better than our current selves. We are never caterpillars—a creature who is slow and unchanging—or are we ever butterflies at the final stage of our evolution, but instead we are constantly undergoing a metamorphosis. His ability to gather but a few words to drive this message is astounding. This poem also exemplifies as aspect of Tripi’s writing style that slows the pace. There is nothing extraneous, not so much a wasted breath in the line. As a result, the haiku in this collection invite readers to take their time and enjoy every sound.
Haiku like the one above express another facet of the natural world; there is nothing being wasted. In nature, every cell and molecule cycles through the different organisms and non-living beings, from the soil to the plants to the stomachs of animals and in death, back to the soil. Every inch of matter is recycled, nothing is lost. Haiku, similarly, does not waste breath in its diction. Each syllable serves a purpose, no extraneous fluff is needed. Tripi has mastered crafting provocative stories through this word economy, reflecting the austere manner life cycles through itself. The poems in the collection teach us to be concerned with matters of little consequence, because they collectively mean a very great deal. I know I often can get lost in the fluff of living, with simple pleasures such as purchasing novel objects or losing time on social media, but Tripi reminds me that it is fruitful to find ways to clear everything but what is truly important to me.
The serene form of the haiku also goes hand in hand with the tone of introspection in Tripi’s poems collection. Tripi’s observations of the natural world craft a lens through which we can gaze at the poet’s inner life. The poems show us Vincent Tripi’s patience, his kindness, and his humor, as well as some of his thoughts on his place in the natural world and his thoughts on human behavior in this world. His personality decorates his haiku, such as this humorous poem:
Millipede
those U-turns are
always a helluva problem
We as an audience can chuckle as we relate to the struggle to change embodied in this poem. But we also sigh, as we experience the anxieties of aging evoked a page later by the millipede:
millipede no insoles no crutches no canes
Tripi’s concerns over old age is a worry that resurfaces throughout the collection of haiku, which feels all the more predictive and real regarding his passing in August 2020. But even confronting death, Tripi’s charm and wonder spill across the page. Tripi tells us that no matter what stage of life we are at, there is still novelty to be appreciated:
Last day of autumn
a leaf
color i’ve never seen
Introspection is not the only face of human experience we gain from Tripi’s haiku. Lots of his writing is concerned with how the processes and events of the natural world relate back to the processes and events of the human world. Tripi takes the time to examine and ponder the minute movements of living creatures, and asks, “what can we learn about ourselves?” His close observation is apparent in this haiku:
For
the butterfly’s two weeks of life
another butterfly
This on face value reads as a simple observation; butterfly’s have short life spans, but during the time can birth a new butterfly to continue the cycle. However, the weight of this haiku comes from relating the insects back to ourselves. We work and struggle and sacrifice, but the toil is worth it for someone else to enjoy life—whether it is a child or a loved one or a friend. The reflection here returns the idea that in order to learn about ourselves, we must experience the simple minutia of nature. If we take the time to perceive slow happenings and wonder their significance, we can understand a great deal about our own place in the human experience.
The poetry found within this collection is beautifully bolstered by calm illustrations drawn by J. Hyde Meissner. Illustrations have always been an important part of Tripi’s, collections of haiku. In the 1987 collection Haiku Pond, serene charcoal illustrations by Linda C Kneeland scatter the pages. Meissner’s illustrations in my turn now are equally crucial to the experience. The illustrations, depicting flowers and animals, add extra layers of refinement and color to the haiku. The linework is soft and gentle, and the monochrome palette of each artwork creates a quiet atmosphere for the organism to live. The illustrations embellish an already captivating work of art with visuals where we can rest and be at ease.
In this time of short attention spans, my turn now stands against the rush of everyday life. Reading this book is like a walk in the woods with the author. Vincent Tripi takes us on a quiet adventure to watch wildlife in their little corners, giving us a view into himself, humanity, and all of creation. Tripi’s passing is a great loss for the haiku community, but this collection of poems marks a celebration of his life, joy, and kindness. Even though this collection was crafted postmortem, I am grateful that Tripi graced us with these gentle and quiet haiku. Vincent Tripi reminds us that just outside the frenzy of our digital lives exists an absorbing, unhurried world. To enjoy it, all we need to do is listen.
silence
it gets it
the snail
—Review by Joseph Hess
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