DEALING IN DARKNESS: A RESPONSE TO JAMES BRYANT'S DARK HAIKU BOOKS 3 & 4

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In a World of Hurt (Dark Haiku Book 4) by OIC Studios founder and renowned SpoFest Poetry and Prose founder and host James Bryant is on the virtual shelf and ready for your appreciation of darkness. James’ most recent collection of dark haiku skulks in the shadows of his other three dark haiku collections, In the Dead of Night (Dark Haiku Book 1), You Dark Up My Life (Dark Haiku Book 2), and Suffer for Supper (Dark Haiku Book 3). It was almost a year ago when I published my first response to the first two collections in James’ dark Haiku series, so it feels fitting to respond to the most recent publications now.

In Suffer for Supper, as usual James straddles a thick dark line with his Haiku, sticking to one “rule,” while crushing others. Who rhymes in Haiku? James does: Gone without a trace//years later they find bodies//stuffed in a crawlspace. And Dropping to all fours//I cannot resist the pull//when the moon is full. Surely he’s a lunatic! But he sticks with the 5-7-5 syllabic format that’s the skin of original Haiku—flayed skin these days—but still, that’s how original Haiku was wrapped according to what I’ve read and heard.

So okay, we’ve got rhyming Haiku (which I’m absolutely fine with, by the way), but James doesn’t stop there with his use of “no-nos.” He throws in some enjambment, the use of which I’ve heard some purists frown upon in poems that aren’t Haiku much less…Anyway, James employs enjambment as a tool to maintain his 5-7-5 format: Starving for the pain//hungry for the hurt, I need//suffer for supper. Digest that if you can.

Listen, James and I are brothers in darkness, so it should be no surprise that Deadly devotion//a riptide of emotions//pulling me under and A familiar trope//living without hope, dying//without a purpose are a couple of my favorites in the Suffer for Supper volume. But I imagine that many in our world of "nicey-nice" and fluff won’t appreciate fare such as, As I slice my wrist//I let out a scream, sweet dreams//are not made of this. Leave it to James to throw some pop music references into this revered genre collection— and that’s not the only one.

If you are looking for the proverbial light at the end of the tunnel when you close the curtain…or perhaps I should write, slam the lid of the coffin shut...on Suffer for Supper and pick up In a World of Hurt, you’ll only find a dark red one glowing menacingly. How about this for a welcome mat: A restless spirit//knocking, my heart, haunted house//boarded up, vacant? I hope you brought a bottle of wine with you, something red and dark, with a heavy bouquet.

Our culture frowns, and I mean deeply, on doing away with oneself. There is even a movement to soften how we talk about suicide (see this article). I’m gratified that James does nothing to pretty up the ugly truth of dire feelings, dropping the following on us: My blood, letting go//with relief comes disbelief//no turning back now. I suspect that most who have tried death-by-sharp-object-against-throbbing-vein and didn’t quite succeed will shiver in recognition at the above. And I bet you've noticed that James has not let up on his rule-breaking in World of Hurt.

And oh, for those who are feeling the most poignant of losses, he dishes up In the blue hour//my heart is full of empty//without you and me. And The love of my life//speaking ill of me, sweet mouth//so wholly corrupt…Just let that heart bleed. 

And the final appetizer I’ll leave you with, is one that I read more as social commentary than personal pleadings of despair: Opening my eyes//Pandora’s box of evil//truths, half truths and lies. We often prefer pretty lies than ugly truth. I'm sure someone has said and written that somewhere before. Can't remember who. Anyway....

No, James Bryant’s Dark Haiku series isn’t for those seeking to smell the roses, those who are convinced that life is full of sunshine, gently flowing streams, and blooming gardens. It is visceral, spilling desperate raw emotion onto the landscape of our hidden world of hurt. But what else do you expect from a genius who sees more as a blind man than most with sound eyesight?