On Haiku: Part 2 English-language Haiku

Foreword

         In a previous post several months ago, I provided a history and explanation of haiku (which, in retrospect, seems a bit too scholarly for some of my readers to enjoy).  However, composing the post spurred my studies and helped me mentally digest all those facts, so I'm still glad I wrote it.  Now it is past time I got on with part two, and I hope my lay readers will find more enjoyment in the topic of modern, English-language haiku. . . . However, one can hardly explain modern English haiku without also mentioning some of the attending literary debates on the form and function of this poetry genre, so this has likewise become rather esoteric.  Well, continue if you will, and I hope it will intrigue you.

  

Literary Debates

        Over the years since haiku was first introduced to Westerners, many renowned English-language poets have written what they call "haiku" before understanding the traditional form of the genre, thus setting precedents of psuedohaiku that have muddled our definition.  Further confusing would-be haijin, well-meaning school teachers have often recommended partially- or loosely-defined haiku to children, who don't realize that the haiku they have been taught to write bear only a passing resemblance to classical Japanese haiku, and these amateur poets often carry their erroneous perceptions with them into adulthood.  Thus, many people today still think that any short, unrhymed poem is sufficient to earn the name "haiku" with no concern for its central characteristics.  Yet, take for instance a single-word poem (yes, they do exist!), which juxtaposes no images nor conveys a mood, and thus doesn't fulfill those components of haiku.  Similarly, a poem much longer than seventeen syllables can't quite capture the breath-length brevity of haiku.  While I have no strong objection to such imagist or avant-garde short poems, I align myself with the apparent majority who maintain that such poems should not presume to the name "haiku."

       Most of the debate and development of English-language haiku has happened during the last sixty years—since the end of WWII—and though experts agree that English haiku do have a defined form and content that sets them apart from other short poems, they still disagree on what, precisely, they are.  Admittedly, one cannot easily translate Japanese rules into English.  For instance, we don't typically write English vertically, we don't always have the same associations between words and seasons as the Japanese do with their kigo, we don't have equivalents of kireji—cutting words—in our language, and we don't think of sounds in our language in terms of morae.  

To provide an example of this difficulty, consider just the issue of sounds:  Literati have frequently debated whether haiku form should proscribe a number of sounds and, if so, what those numbers should be; some argue that less than 17 syllables total is sufficient while others argue for 3-5-3, 8-8-8, or 5-7-5 syllable schemes per line, with the former and latter seeming most common online.  Others recommend emphasis on rhythm over form, some suggesting (if you’ll pardon the descent into jargon) that the traditional 17 morae float on a 24-mora template, allowing 7 moraic beats for meaningful pauses, which allows for extra flexibility with the number of sounds (see http://www.iyume.com/metrics/total2.html.  Though I find this latter idea intriguing and I like a few irregular short haiku, I tend to favor the balanced 5-7-5 syllable scheme, even if that increases the total morae above 17.)  However, more important than the sounds or rhythm, some argue, is the “spirit,” subject, and manner of expression in the haiku—or that there exists a “phrase and fragment” juxtaposing images.

Haiku Form in English

Because of these difficulties, many authorities on the subject of English-language haiku, such as the Haiku Society of America (HSA), describe more than proscribe.  The HSA, for example, writes in the appendix of their official definitions, "There is no rigid 'form' for Japanese haiku. Seventeen Japanese onji (sound-symbols) is the norm, but some 5% of 'classical' haiku depart from it, and so do a still greater percentage of 'modern' Japanese haiku. To the Japanese and to American haiku poets, it is the content and not the form alone that makes a haiku" (hsa-haiku.org).  As for the content’s qualifying characteristics, the HSA loosely defines haiku as "a short poem that uses imagistic language to convey the essence of an experience of nature or the season intuitively linked to the human condition."  They follow this with observational notes about the characteristics of "most" English haiku (from which I quote some of the text, though not the paragraph form):

• Most use three unrhymed lines (though I will add that some writers prefer to write the same words on a single line).
• Most use seventeen or fewer syllables, with the middle line longest, though today's poets use a variety of line lengths and arrangements.
• They may omit season words, but the original focus on experience captured in clear images continues.
• The most common technique is juxtaposing two images or ideas.
• Punctuation, space, a line-break, or a grammatical break may substitute for a cutting word (Note that some haijin eschew all of these, as well as capitalization, in the manner of ee cummings).
• Most haiku have no titles.
• Metaphors and similes are commonly avoided. (Haiku do sometimes have brief introductory notes, usually specifying the setting or similar facts; metaphors and similes in the simple sense of these terms do sometimes occur, but infrequently.)  (hsa-haiku.org)

Other websites note that haiku are typically written in the present tense with specific and vivid word choices on nature-related topics.  A poem that doesn't meet haiku’s content criteria but shares the haiku's form is more properly called a senryu, which is often humorous or satiric and deals with human nature.  The haijin Elisabeth St. Jacques explains this distinction here.  Haiku also read smoothly instead of choppily like a telegraph and have sparse punctuation—usually just one at the end of one line in imitation of kireji. 

In all, writers of English haiku have a fair amount of flexibility of form, and though I feel some would benefit from punctuation and capitalization (such as the first example below), I enjoy seeing the variety of styles and subjects people use in their haiku.

Modern Examples

Here I'll share some English haiku examples I enjoy:

     fireflies
     the space between
     stars

~Sheila (from the online discussion group HaikaiTalk)

     I kill an ant

     and realize my three children

     have been watching.

~Kato Shuson (1905-1993) (Rusnauka.com)

Jane Reichhold (ahapoetry) wrote the next three:

     a spring nap

     downstream cherry trees

     in bud

     ancestors

     the wild plum

     blooms again

     the whole sky

     in a wide field of flowers

     one tulip

The following come from Deborah Coates’s book Cat Haiku--though these seem more like senryu to me:

     Is it not lovely

     The way my fur wafts through the

     Air when you pet me?

     Driving to the vet

     I MUST crouch underneath this

     Nice safe gas pedal.

     You read books; I like

     To lie on top of them.  We're

     Both bibliophiles.

     You use dental floss.

     So what's wrong with chewing on

     Electrical cords?

     You're dashing to work

     In the rain.  I yawn and stretch--

     Don't you just hate me?

     There is no one as

     Dignified as we cats; I

     Think it's the whiskers.

My Haiku

       Some time ago, as I waited for a friend to pick me up for an afternoon of hanging out, I whiled away the time playing with words and images to form haiku.  The following ones came out the best.  The first is particularly meaningful for me--I've been trying for years to put into words how I felt the moment I came upon this particular spot along our neighbor's creek.  Unfortunately, this spot now lies under their new pond . . . :(

     Stream split 'round an elm--

     Mist shrouds the green fairyland

     Where I dare to tread.

     Settling softly 

     on water . . . a leaf

     or a butterfly?

     Cold wind stirs the snow

     Erasing last year's footsteps . . .

     We remember them.

     bitter wind
     belied by golden sunlight
     on the window frame

     Useless florescents--
     golden sunlight denies
     the cold beyond glass

     sunlight on frost; 
     already grieving the loss
     of this smile 

     Burning within,                                

     she strides into snowy wind

     without zipping up.

     Deceptive morning 

     chill—a patron’s words also 

     become heated.

     Emerald leaves appear,

     Turn ruby before they fall. 

     Diamonds take their place.

Alternately, 

     Emerald shoots appear,

     Ruby leaves pirouette down;
     Diamonds replace them

P.S.
It occurred to me that reading a novel is like enjoying a full meal while reading a haiku is more like savoring a single bite of luscious chocolate; one can eat a lot more of the former, more quickly, but haiku need long pauses between bites so the eater can fully experience and appreciate each one.