mentor to many

Bob Spiess passed away around 9 PM on March 13, 2002.

Bob Spiess was my first haiku mentor. As tributes pour in to honor his life, I see that I am just one of many who benefited from his generous spirit, warm wisdom, and little handwritten notes.

While I'd been writing haiku-shaped poems since the 1960s, it wasn't until 1998 that I discovered the haiku world beyond my journal. I chose 10 or so of my very best and sent them off to "Robert Spiess, Editor, Modern Haiku". Reading those 10 haiku today, and all of the others written in my haiku vacuum, I blush to think I considered them great poetry.

Somehow, though, Bob saw something salvageable—not in those poems, certainly—but perhaps in the poet's eye. Or maybe it was simply his intense love for haiku and the desire to "set me straight." Whatever it was that prompted him, he took the time to guide me toward a better understanding of how-to-haiku.

His first note:

In several of the haiku you are personifying/anthropomorphizing, i.e., attributing human qualities or characteristics to nonhuman entities. Summer is summer. It is neither proud nor despondent, sad or happy—though it may be hot, dry, cloudy, rainy, etc. And summer does not have pillows to be shaken out. Nor is September a child or an adult. Each entity is unique and wonderful in itself. It does not need to be dressed in borrowed clothes. The owlet one has possibilities, but let the owlet have feathers that are its own—downy or whatever, but not 'like fur.'

Cordially, Bob

While such total rejection really stung, I decided to focus on the fact that an important magazine editor had taken personal time to instruct me, rather than just sending a form rejection. I decided to consider his words a gold mine. I'm grateful my ego was looking the other way that day, because that decision shaped a new, exciting, and totally rewarding direction for my life.

Six months later, I sent another batch. All were returned. This time he told me to ditch sentimentality. But he noted: "I am still optimistic, and I want you to be also."

Another six months passed, and I sent another batch. This time, one poem caught his eye as having "a very interesting theme," but he said it read like a sentence. He offered a suggested revision. I sent back my own revision and received the shining news that it would appear in the Summer 1999 issue:

grassy June hillside —
grandson and friends sliding down
on skunk cabbage leaves

Like so many others have said in their tributes, I still have that first dollar Bob sent me.

I soon purchased all of his books and we exchanged a few letters about them. My favorite is The Cottage of Wild Plum. In my gushy letter to him, I said I liked the following haiku so much that I'd drawn a heart around it. It seems fitting to share it here:

a life near its close —
and still foolishly scribbling
poems of wild plum

Robert Spiess
The Cottage of Wild Plum (Modern Haiku Press, 1991)

I always hoped that I could meet him one day, but I didn't see how that might happen. On our 2001 vacation, though, we made a huge detour and I found the courage to drive up to his little "tumbly digs" in Wisconsin and tap on his door. I was certain this was audacious—maybe even rude since I didn't call first. I wasn't sure how I'd be greeted. All uncertainty vanished when this wondrous man with the most remarkable sparkling blue eyes learned who I was. Suddenly I was in a genuine bear hug, and pulled into his home.

It was two days after his 80th birthday and he was still so excited about the deluge of haiku birthday greetings that had been arriving for several days. I was privileged to see where each issue of Modern Haiku was shaped and perfected—in the tiniest of offices, almost every square inch stacked with letters, boxes, books, and current and back issues of haiku journals—a wonderful jumble. I could have spent weeks in that room alone, digging through the archaeological layers of treasures. He walked me through his tiny house to the living room which was like stepping into deep meditation. Later Bob and I walked with my husband to the waterway that borders his lawn and I imagined how many haiku had been influenced by his surroundings.

Just before we left, the mailman came up the walk with another arm load of birthday cards. Bob's laughter was rich and wonderful as he opened his own arms to take them. He seemed so vital and full of high energy, it would have been impossible for me then to have guessed just how significant this precious visit was to become for me so soon.

A few notes and little gifts followed, including his always-anticipated Christmas card. Then a treasured phone call, asking me to write a book review for Modern Haiku. And then the last note, with its little gift.

I have held this man in such a special place in my heart for so many reasons. He opened the door to the haiku world for me in spite of the pitiful poems I sent him—much like allowing a wet, muddy, hungry stray puppy into one's home. He led me to the haiku path, and somehow knew that one day I would begin to find my way. Because of him, I've found all of you (as well as the ancient masters and all the others who have left their light on the pathway for us). I've discovered a deeper beauty and a richer meaning in my world through you and all that haiku is and can be.

Bob Spiess mentored so many of us. Where on earth did he find that kind of time! And yet he did. Maybe because he loved haiku as much as all of us put together. He passed that love along to us. It is perhaps the central aspect of his immeasurable legacy.