Why, haiku?
These 17-syllable nuisances have something to teach us all
Why did the Japanese invent haiku, that bony-fingered, micro poem? Can one say anything meaningful in 5-7-5 syllables? Why not allow ourselves a few more, where’s the harm? I cannot be the first person to wonder this.
When it comes to strict rules, moreover, haiku is not satisfied with depriving writers of syllables. It tightens the leash by expecting a seasonal reference (kigo) and ‘cutting word’ (kire-ji).
As an impatient writer, I find the seasonal reference serves little purpose other than to suck word options from the original, paltry grant: young spring leaves waved, summer rains fell–now, can I get on with my point?
On the other hand, the cutting word has obvious merit. It is a twist, a turn, a contradiction, or a surprise at the end of a haiku (or waka poem[i]). It is a quintessentially poetic idea: the writer should always surprise his or her reader. If he or she cannot say something fresh and unexpected, why bother? This is not a merely Japanese idea, there is a similar device in Western poetry, called a volta, or turn.
To understand why the strict requirements of haiku work so well for the Japanese, consider the linguistic and cultural advantages they enjoy over English speakers. In Japanese, a statement can be changed into a question by placing ‘ka’ at the end. A statement may start out predictably enough, headed in a seemingly pre-ordained direction, and with a stroke it transforms into a question. The cutting word comes almost naturally.
The same goes for negatives. We flag English sentences up front as negatives with “I won’t” or “He did not” or “Can’t she”, but a Japanese speaker may get all the way through a long declarative statement, then throw a negative suffix on the end, like chucking a lighted match onto a barbecue grill.
In addition to its ninja reflexes, the Japanese language is notoriously ambiguous. Verbs exist on their own in sentences without subjects or even objects. Much is implied, and much is left to interpretation and context.
Add further the advantage that a more homogenous, close-knit Japanese society has over the cultural chaos of the English-speaking world. In my native United States, diversity in background and ethnic origin are basic attributes of our communities, but the Japanese have quite a bit more in common with each other. Even within the rich context of a living language, they share metaphor, literary history, and puns in a way that English speakers do not. This lightens the burden of description—a Japanese speaker can potentially communicate more with fewer words.
Does that mean that haiku is off-limits to Anglophones? Of course not. Does it mean that playing in the haiku sandbox may be fun, but not meaningful? Not necessarily. There are some terrific English haiku out there.
Here are a few:
Unsure where to go
I fold my map
Into a plane
(Barry Goodman)[ii]
Consider me as
One who loved poetry
And persimmons
(Masaoka Shiki)[iii]
lazy afternoon
a sprig of lavender sways
as a bee takes flight
(Andrew Shimield)[iv]
In addition to being enjoyable, here is what we can learn from haiku and waka poetry: discipline. All writing can benefit from that. With limited syllables, haiku writers must make them all count. There is no fat to trim; they must get right to the point. They rely on shared human experience – simply evoking the scent of tomato plants, for example, might bring to the reader memories of working with grandma in the garden, dirty knees, fresh chopped basil, grassy drops of olive oil, or a rotten tomato lying on the ground, half-eaten by a squirrel.
The seasonal reference might feel like an annoyance, but it might also be an invitation to mindfulness. And the cutting word should exist in all creative writing and thinking. Writing haiku forces us to deliver these things.
So, even if you don’t fancy yourself a poet, but merely an aspiring writer – pull out a sticky note, flatten the back of a sales receipt or a sandwich wrapper, and give it a try. Use haiku’s rules to free yourself, then carry that freedom back to whatever you write about, in whatever form.
[i] Waka or tanka https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Waka_(poetry)
[ii] Barry Goodmann on Twitter: @barrygoodmann
[iii] https://www.poemhunter.com/poem/consider-me-5/ Masaoka Shiki (1867-1902) is considered the ‘father’ of modern haiku poetry. This haiku was originally written in Japanese, but it is irresistible even in English translation.
[iv] https://thehaikufoundation.org/haiku-dialogue-poets-choice-5-7-5/
