In 2021, I had the honor of providing a brief description of haiku for the textbook A Guide to Creative Writing and the Imagination (Routledge 2022). With permission, my contribution is reprinted below.
Is haiku a short form of Japanese poetry expressed in three lines with a 5-7-5 syllable (the Japanese on) structure, including a seasonal reference (kigo), cutting word (kireji), and a nature theme?
Or a minimalist, two-beat poem which crystallizes a moment of perception or special awareness?
Or perhaps any short form writing that adheres to the 5-7-5 structure without other considerations?
Yes. No. Maybe. Depends.
Haiku originates from a longer, collaborative, and often performative form of linked poetry called renga. One poet would begin with a three-line verse called a hokku; another poet would continue with a two-line verse; then the next with another three-line verse, and on and on. Over time, poets adapted the hokku unto a form itself, renamed haiku by Masaoka Shiki (1867–1902).
Early English-language haiku translators equated on with syllable even though they function differently. But for many decades now, serious English-language haiku poets have eschewed the syllabic limitation altogether, focusing more on a two-beat structure in keeping with the spirit of the kireji or cutting word. (The kigo or seasonal reference is less reliably respected.)
This two-beat structure often pairs a fragment with a phrase. One is perhaps an image, the other a comment or observation, with their juxtaposition giving the haiku its power.
Consider Buson’s famous “deathbed” haiku:
winter warbler --
in Wang Wei’s hedge too
many years ago
Or Issa:
my complaining wife,
if only she were here!
the moon tonight
In each haiku, an inner state or perception is heightened by an external image or scene. Lying on his deathbed, Buson hears a warbler singing and imagines another poet, Tang dynasty classical great Wang Wei, hearing a similar warbler on his deathbed, a thousand years before.
Then there is the wistful Issa. Thanks to a lovely moon, his longing for his absent wife overcomes the friction in their relationship. The paradox of marriage -- the tension between romance and conflict -- is instantly laid before us. Her absence makes the haiku richer still. Where is she? Why aren’t they together?
The translations above sacrifice the 5-7-5 form for the sake of aesthetic function, prioritizing the spirit over the letter. Note also the simplicity of the lines, stripped of metaphor or simile.
Just like the present moment, when fully experienced.
(A big shout out to the text book’s author, the inimitable Kris Saknussemm, for allowing me to reprint this. Here are this week’s haiku…)
haiku 20230220 >> Ashland, WI USA
no service at the old pond I skip stones instead
haiku 20230221 >> El Dorado Hills, CA USA
without warning golden evening light how can I leave now?
haiku 20230222 >> San Francisco, CA USA
delta sunrise the entire sierra in silhouette
haiku 20230223 >> Brooklyn, NY USA
cotton mouth
I wake up in tangled
sheets and dreams
haiku 20230224 >> Novato, CA USA
driving home through the snowstorm beauty and danger
haiku 20230225 >> Los Angeles, CA USA
the stillness of snow I want to speak but cannot
haiku 20230226 >> Pittsfield, MA USA
sierra snowstorm yesterday's tracks already covered
I had fun. Did you have fun? I’m so glad! See you next week.
And don’t forget, if you want me to mail you one of my haiku postcards, all you gotta do is ask.