Reading XXII—Twenty-two syllables as Extended Haiku

 The Wheelbarrow as Extended Single Image: Williams’s Ichibutsu Jitate Inheritance from Bashō

This Edward Zuk essay which appeared in Modern Haiku 44.2 and the broader scholarship around it have established haiku as foundational to William Carlos Williams’s mature aesthetic vision — shaping the three-line stanza form he developed in the variable foot, the immediacy of his common speech, and the compressed-image sensibility that runs through “Spring and All” and the later work. Haiku, transmitted through the Imagist circles of the 1910s and 1920s, is part of how Williams became Williams. It is striking, then, that the Zuk essay does not examine “XXII” the poem generally known as  “The Red Wheelbarrow” — one of Williams’s most famous poems, and the one many readers associate first with American compression. The omission is interesting, and this essay is an attempt to explain it.

When Zuk traces haiku’s foundational influence on Williams, the haiku in question is explicitly the toriawase haiku, because that is the type of haiku the Imagist reception made available. Pound and the Imagists settled almost entirely on toriawase because juxtaposition more easily mapped onto the Cubist and collage logics already in play. Pound’s In a Station of the Metro — the apparition of these faces in the crowd; / petals on a wet, black bough — is the inaugural English example, and the structure it employs is toriawase: two distinct images set against each other across the kireji, producing meaning in the cross between them. The reader assembles the haiku by leaping across the cut.

But Bashō’s Shofu school distinguished two structural poles, not one. Kyorai, in “Kyoraishō”, transmits the distinction: toriawase, the two-image structure that Basil Hall Chamberlain championed and Pound learned, and ichibutsu jitate, the single-image structure where the haiku is built around one continuous object or scene. Ichibutsu jitate doesn’t cut between two images; it deepens within one. Ichibutsu jitate has remained underrecognized in English haiku scholarship and underpracticed in the poetry itself in part because the ratio is at least four toriawase haiku to every one ichibutsu jitate haiku in Bashō’s corpus.

Is it possible that Williams learned both modes from Bashō? While the final answer awaits further confirmation from Williams scholars the thrust of this essay is that “The Red Wheelbarrow” — conspicuously absent from Zuk’s essay because it did not fit the toriawase frame the Imagist reception had built — is an extended single-image poem, an ichibutsu jitate composition which performs both directional moves of the single-image mode on a single hinge. The wheelbarrow is the single image the entire poem examines, approached from above by abstraction and extended with additional details into a scene. If haiku is foundational to Williams’s mature aesthetic, as Zuk argues, then the wheelbarrow poem is one of the places where the foundation is most fully laid — and the foundation is both the toriawase mode the Imagist consensus could see, and the ichibutsu jitate mode it could not.

Consider Bashō’s samazama no koto omoidasu sakura kana: various things / brought to mind — / cherry blossoms. The first phrase makes a sweeping claim about consciousness — various things are being remembered, the speaker’s mind is full of associations. The third phrase gives only one concrete image: sakura kana, cherry blossoms. The grammatical and emotional weight rests on the asymmetry between the abstract magnitude (the various things of memory) and the singular sensory particular (the cherry blossoms before the speaker). The cherry blossoms are not illustrating the various things; they are the trigger and the totality of them at once. The blossoms contain everything memory contains, and yet they are only blossoms. This is ichibutsu jitate in the abstraction-resolves-into-object mode.

The complementary mode operates in Bashō’s yoku mireba / nazuna hana saku / kakine kana: looking carefully — / a shepherd’s purse blooming / by the hedge. The first phrase establishes the frame of careful attention. The second and third phrases reveal what the looking finds: the small, ordinary shepherd’s purse — a humble weed-flower most passersby overlook — blooming at the hedge, the cultivated boundary at the edge of attended ground. The flower is one thing; the hedge is not just a juxtaposed second image but the completion of the scene the careful looking has revealed. The haiku follows the attentive eye to its quiet landing — the overlooked blossom at the domestic edge. The haiku is one thing, deepened. This is ichibutsu jitate in the concrete-extends-to-completion mode.

Together, samazama no and yoku mireba demonstrate the two structural directions within ichibutsu jitate: abstraction-descends-to-object and concrete-extends-to-scene. The single image can be approached from above (abstraction collapsing into a particular) or extended outward (a particular reaching its full scene-depth). Both modes inhabit one image in continuous attention.

So much depends / upon is the magnitude-claim, an assertion as sweeping as Bashō’s various things. The opening makes no specification; so much could be anything — the farm’s livelihood, the speaker’s aesthetic conviction, the world’s continued meaning. The phrase opens an enormous semantic space and then refuses to fill it abstractly. What follows is the singular concrete particular: a red wheel / barrow. The wheelbarrow is not an example of what so much depends on. It is the totality of what so much depends on, and it is also just a wheelbarrow. This is the samazama no mode in American English. The wheelbarrow becomes the cherry blossom of the New World — not a culturally loaded flower but a tool, rendered concretely enough to bear the magnitude-claim that precedes it. The wheelbarrow is also the vehicle of any metaphorical resonance the poem may have.

The poem then continues past the resolution, doing the second move: a red wheel / barrow // glazed with rain / water // beside the white / chickens. The wheelbarrow is given, and the poem deepens within the same scene. The wet glaze extends the wheelbarrow’s surface; the white chickens extend the scene’s color-field and life. This is the yoku mireba mode: one humble thing, accreted, the central object reaching outward until the scene is complete. The rain-glazed wheelbarrow beside the white chickens is the shepherd’s purse by the hedge of the New World barnyard — the overlooked domestic object brought into significance by the poem’s careful attention, the way the small flower is brought into significance by Bashō’s careful looking at the hedge’s edge.

The wheelbarrow serves as the resolution-object for the abstraction above it and as the originating-object for the extension below it. Williams also adds the chromatic specificity Bashō’s tradition often carried but English Imagism had not fully absorbed. The wheelbarrow is red, the chickens are white. The colors are both decorative and structural — they perform the same function the cherry blossoms or the shepherd’s purse perform in Bashō: they make the singular particular sensorily complete enough to bear the magnitude-claim and to support the extension. A grey wheelbarrow beside grey chickens would do different work. The redness and whiteness and the rain glaze aspire to the equivalent of sakura — a flower so loaded with cultural weight that one word evokes spring, transience, beauty, and mortality at once. Williams’s red wheelbarrow claims to be the American equivalent: a household object so common that its specification (red, wet, beside white chickens) tries to do the cultural and sensory work that sakura can do in three syllables of Japanese.

Reading “The Red Wheelbarrow” as an extended single-image poem helps refine what Zuk’s argument has established. Haiku is indeed foundational to Williams’s mature aesthetic, but Williams learned both of Bashō’s modes — toriawase and ichibutsu jitate — and the wheelbarrow poem is where the second, less-recognized mode enters English-language poetry. The poem wasn’t brought up in Zuk’s case because the case was built within an Imagist frame that did not have a name for what Williams wanted the wheelbarrow to do. With the ichibutsu jitate frame restored, the wheelbarrow becomes the first cherry blossom of American Imagism, the hinge that holds samazama no above and yoku mireba below, the wheelbarrow glazed with rainwater as the shepherd’s purse blooming at the edge of a Rutherford, NJ yard.