Issa wrote a hokku that we might render in English as:
Half of it
Is fluttering snowflakes;
It is not a profound hokku, but it does express the “mixed” nature of early spring weather, when we still feel the Yin effects of winter though spring has weakened them.
The hokku makes a statement, but it is not an interpretation. That is important in distinguishing Objective Hokku from other kinds. It just tells us — objectively — what Issa saw (those last two words make me want to say “I saw Issa sitting on a seesaw” really fast), and because it is limited to that, we see it too.
That is the great virtue of Objective Hokku (in contrast to other kinds of hokku); it does not put a writer between the reader and the experience. And it does not block the experience with unnecessary words and interpretation.
In Objective Hokku, the difference is that we present the experience directly, in simple words. We do not write about the experience — we write the experience. Now of course we use words to do that, but the words are not important for their own sake — as they are in what we usually think of as poetry. Instead, the words are just the means of conveying the experience, as a cup conveys the experience of drinking cold water or hot tea. We do not want them to get in the way.
Nor do we want the writer to get in the way. If he or she does, then we no longer experience the hokku directly.
Issa wrote another hokku in which he “gets in the way” of the experience by adding an interpretation:
Noisy from morning on —
The foolish crow.
Instead of just presenting us with the mist and the morning and the continual caws and rattles of the crow, he comments that the crow is “foolish,” or we could also translate that as “stupid.” Issa has added his own “thinking” to the experience, so it is no longer objective. He has obscured the pure experience with his own opinion. To remove his comment, we could rewrite the verse as Objective Hokku, like this:
Noisy from morning on —
I hope you see what a difference that makes. It is no longer Issa telling us about his experience, it is now we who are having the experience itself, with nothing added, and no writer’s interpretation in the way.
Now how you react to Issa’s verse — and to the objective version — will tell us how you react to verse in general. Some people are not accustomed to thinking of verse as pure experience, without the added comments, opinions, or “thinking” of the writer. Some feel that to be “poetic,” all of that must be added. But as I constantly repeat, we should not think of hokku as “poetry” in the usual sense.
The great difference is that in Objective Hokku, the poetry is not in the words. They are — we could say — only the seed of poetry, that when read by the receptive reader suddenly sprouts into the experience in the mind. And that experience itself, pure and alone and unobscured — is the poetry in hokku.
In the first hokku, the experience is the spring rain, half mixed with fluttering snow. In the third, revised hokku, the experience is the spring mist and the continuous noisiness of the crow from morning on.
This purity of experience, with no writer or comments to hinder it, is the very essence of Objective Hokku. If you find that a significant discovery, then you are the kind of person who can appreciate Objective Hokku and its remarkable aesthetics.