mountains and poetry

I’ve written about green mountains before, and my favourite haiku is about them (and much more):

the deeper I go / the deeper I go / green mountains (1926, Taneda Santōka, For All My Walking, translation by Burton Watson)

I continue to think of these distant mountains with regularity, and find myself trying to paint them over and over again, whether on scraps of watercolour during my commute, or on a Sunday afternoon on larger watercolour paper. I have painted dozens of scenes of green mountains and I can’t get them quite right. Perhaps someday I will finish a painting of these mountains that aligns with the image in my mind. Will I ever be truly satisfied? I somehow doubt it. Perfection just isn’t possible with the distant green mountains, which themselves are perfect.

Painting green mountains is like writing, whether essays, a blog entry, poetry, or letters. What I love about haiku is the idea of breaking down a concept, image, moment into the simplest form, with simple words. Taking a story of something complex and reducing it to its ‘essence’ – the true, and core elements. I find this process gratifying and endlessly challenging. Fewer words are usually better. Conciseness is the goal, yet also there must be just enough words to give clues and hints, and a sense that there is always more to learn, discover, admire

(as an aside, this was the basis and goal of my book, A Portrait of Astonishing Nature, published last year. Create a story of a species using haiku and simple watercolours. Capture just enough for the reader to be curious).

Some time ago I got asked to do a poetry reading. This created panic and fear in me, but I said yes anyway. At the time the date was so far away I didn’t really think much of it. But now, as the date approaches (next week!), I am worried. Anything I write is never done: it’s too raw, and full of errors. And I don’t see myself as a poet. I see myself as an aspiring writer who can sometimes (and with a bit of luck) be poetic. My poems, as with my art, always feel unfinished to me, and like the green mountains, never capture things perfectly.

So next week I’ll be alongside poets and sharing what I do, for better or worse. For this event I decided to write two new sets of haiku and one longer poem. I wrote early drafts of these three pieces over the past several months, although some are much older as they evolved from single stand-alone haiku written last year. What has been different and interesting is that this process has been a break from the norm, as I’ve been editing and refining more than I usually do.

Refine, rework, restart.

I am grateful to be able to go through this process, and devote more time to editing. I have, however, been reflecting on whether I will be more satisfied with the end result. It’s entirely possible to overdo it: it’s easy to add too much paint, overwork it, or search too hard for a turn of phrase, or word, or image. As you move closer to those perfect mountains they rise up and more imperfections emerge. The smooth ridges seen from afar become rocky and harsh and, well, different. Is it better to step back again, knowing their perfection comes from the distance between you and them?

Is less more? Or more generally:

How do you know if you are done?

This is the Big Question. And like the Biggest of the Questions, the answer is elusive, and that is something to be at peace with.

Here, by the way, is the advert (poster) for the poetry reading (big thanks to Poetry Matters for the invite!):

(I’m impressed if you stuck with this essay to the end. I am not sure there is an end, really. If nothing else, what you have here is a reflection about the creative process, poetry and green mountains. Maybe that is interesting to some of you!)

PS. I enjoy reading and thinking about the creative process, and this relatively recent book is worth a look. On this topic, Danny Gregory has a lot to offer too. And the classic “The Artist’s Way” may be worth a look, especially if you are stuck.

© Christopher M Buddle 2025