Over the fields of
Last night’s snow--
Plum fragrance
So reads the death poem of Okano Kin’emon Kanehide, one of the samurai who avenged his lord in the infamous 47 Ronin Incident. It is an excellent example of Japanese haiku, a poem that has become somewhat in vogue, conjuring up Eastern mysticism and romanticized ideals of wisdom and virtue. It has also brought forth a flood of would be poets that compose something following the 5—7—5 syllable pattern, then slap the word haiku on it and sell it to others who are equally ill-equipped to judge haiku from tanka or renga. This article is for the benefit of those that want to write haiku or learn to distinguish and appreciate it; my goal is that you will have a solid comprehension of what goes into a haiku, as well as how to read the various symbols in translated poems.
Haiku is a form of poetry derived from renga, which was a longer poetry form that was written collaboratively, originally comprised of 100 stanzas. This form became popular around the mid-16th century, when Japan was in a state of perpetual war and one of the few people that could travel between the territories of warlords were poetry masters. As the country began to solidify into more concentrated blocks of power, these warlords (or daimyo), would seek to establish a certain peerage and prestige, paying not insignificant sums to have poets come and lead them in the renga tradition. It was the guest (kyaku) who began the renga by forming the hokku, a 5—7—5 link that would then be built upon. This hokku eventually came to be a poem in its own right, taking the name haiku. It kept with it, however, the rules of the hokku, rules that pretty much every English haiku writer is completely unaware of. This is not to fault the writer, who only has the best intentions, but Japanese poetry isn’t exactly a subject that is covered in great detail in American schools and universities.
To easily sum up the three generally accepted rules of haiku, each poem should follow the 5—7—5 syllable count, should have a cutting word (more on that in a bit), and should have a seasonal reference. Points two and three are most often lost on foreign audiences and writers. Adding a season reference is easier to do, and a good first step for any poet. The cutting word, or kireiji, is not just present in haiku, but its impact is more readily felt in a form so short. The cutting word can come at various points in the poem, both splitting the poem into two thoughts and at the same time unifying them. It creates a juxtaposition of images that somehow hold one another up, like two dissimilar trees growing to lean against one another and thus weather a storm. When it comes to kireiji, only experience and examples will help one to distinguish the point at which it happens. Looking at another poem, we can see a more clear example of this more eclectic attribute.
Moon in the water
Sumersaults
And streams away
In this English translation, the moon in the water, an image of stillness and tranquility, is cut by “sumersaults,” which then leads to the introduction of a stream. The disparate images of a moon quietly reflected is contrasted with a rushing stream, allowing us to realize (and visualize), both images at the same time. Moreover, the mention of the moon is a seasonal reference to autumn, though the syllable count is not present due the translation into English.
Talking about English leads to another important point regarding haiku, and that is the limits of language. Because the Japanese language is syllable based, with nouns and verbs often taking up only one or two syllables, it is much easier to convey an image than in English, where we find ourselves struggling to find descriptive words that are short enough to fit in a line without sounding overly simplistic. We want our haiku to sound natural and serene, but we’re fighting our own language to get there. Japan also benefits from an unbroken poetry tradition where each new poetic form builds on the last, but does not replace it. The seasons, springs, summer, fall, and winter, don’t need to be described, thus saving valuable space. There are thousands of years of words that represent the seasons, which can be learned by consistent reading of haiku, whether translated or not. Cherry blossoms signify spring, the moon is autumn, snow and ice, winter. Different birds and plants, like the cuckoo and the plum blossom, also conjure different times of year (summer and late winter/early spring).
Just because of all these esoteric rules and references, though, doesn’t mean that Western audiences or writers can’t appreciate or develop excellent haiku. As a challenge to myself, I like to write haiku in the genre of my novels: cyberpunk. I still adhere to the syllable rules, the cutting word, and the seasonal references, but I’m not expecting to be burdened by an exact Japanese word to describe a scene. By what would I gain in using a foreign concept in a poem written in my own tongue? Would the reader understand, and would I as an author grow? I can appreciate and learn these references when reading Japanese poems in Japanese, but to do so when writing in English I think is a stretch too much. One of my first attempts reads:
Lightest drops of rain
Over oil drenched cracked asphalt
Spring rainbow in ruin
Later on I abandon calling out a season directly, simply writing:
Too painful to hold
Her face streaked with frozen tears
Delete memory
From here we can see the word “frozen” obviously implies deep winter, while there is the contrasting of the two images of holding onto a memory and deleting it. In this case, I feel the kireiji would have to be considered “delete” as it breaks the flow of the original thought and also creates the new concept of escape from something that normally you cannot get away from.
In summation, we’ve explored a brief history of haiku, the three major rules to look for, and have touched on some of the words used in Japanese to convey seasons and emotions. We also looked at how haiku is much more challenging to write in English, as the language isn’t well suited for the format. But the challenge just adds to the fun, and so we can take haiku and make it our own, as I showed in a pair of examples that take on the cyberpunk tone. If you write one haiku a day, by the end of a year it would be impossible not to have wonderful gems amongst your work. Readers of haiku can also take their newfound knowledge and apply it to the poems they are reading, and then act smugly when someone delivers a “haiku” that is nothing more than a collection of syllables. It’s fun at parties; you make lots of friends that way.
Two books that I used to help write this article were “Japanese Death Poems,” compiled by Yoel Hoffmann, and “Traditional Japanese Literature,” a monster of a book edited by Haruo Shirane. I highly recommend both works for anyone who wants to have a much deeper understanding of Japanese literature, from haiku to far beyond.
A.C. Harrison holds a BA in Japanese Language & Literature from Arizona State University
Like what you see here? Spread the word and support indie authors! Follow me on Facebook or Twitter. Find me on Smashwords and Kindlemojo.
Last night’s snow--
Plum fragrance
So reads the death poem of Okano Kin’emon Kanehide, one of the samurai who avenged his lord in the infamous 47 Ronin Incident. It is an excellent example of Japanese haiku, a poem that has become somewhat in vogue, conjuring up Eastern mysticism and romanticized ideals of wisdom and virtue. It has also brought forth a flood of would be poets that compose something following the 5—7—5 syllable pattern, then slap the word haiku on it and sell it to others who are equally ill-equipped to judge haiku from tanka or renga. This article is for the benefit of those that want to write haiku or learn to distinguish and appreciate it; my goal is that you will have a solid comprehension of what goes into a haiku, as well as how to read the various symbols in translated poems.
Haiku is a form of poetry derived from renga, which was a longer poetry form that was written collaboratively, originally comprised of 100 stanzas. This form became popular around the mid-16th century, when Japan was in a state of perpetual war and one of the few people that could travel between the territories of warlords were poetry masters. As the country began to solidify into more concentrated blocks of power, these warlords (or daimyo), would seek to establish a certain peerage and prestige, paying not insignificant sums to have poets come and lead them in the renga tradition. It was the guest (kyaku) who began the renga by forming the hokku, a 5—7—5 link that would then be built upon. This hokku eventually came to be a poem in its own right, taking the name haiku. It kept with it, however, the rules of the hokku, rules that pretty much every English haiku writer is completely unaware of. This is not to fault the writer, who only has the best intentions, but Japanese poetry isn’t exactly a subject that is covered in great detail in American schools and universities.
To easily sum up the three generally accepted rules of haiku, each poem should follow the 5—7—5 syllable count, should have a cutting word (more on that in a bit), and should have a seasonal reference. Points two and three are most often lost on foreign audiences and writers. Adding a season reference is easier to do, and a good first step for any poet. The cutting word, or kireiji, is not just present in haiku, but its impact is more readily felt in a form so short. The cutting word can come at various points in the poem, both splitting the poem into two thoughts and at the same time unifying them. It creates a juxtaposition of images that somehow hold one another up, like two dissimilar trees growing to lean against one another and thus weather a storm. When it comes to kireiji, only experience and examples will help one to distinguish the point at which it happens. Looking at another poem, we can see a more clear example of this more eclectic attribute.
Moon in the water
Sumersaults
And streams away
In this English translation, the moon in the water, an image of stillness and tranquility, is cut by “sumersaults,” which then leads to the introduction of a stream. The disparate images of a moon quietly reflected is contrasted with a rushing stream, allowing us to realize (and visualize), both images at the same time. Moreover, the mention of the moon is a seasonal reference to autumn, though the syllable count is not present due the translation into English.
Talking about English leads to another important point regarding haiku, and that is the limits of language. Because the Japanese language is syllable based, with nouns and verbs often taking up only one or two syllables, it is much easier to convey an image than in English, where we find ourselves struggling to find descriptive words that are short enough to fit in a line without sounding overly simplistic. We want our haiku to sound natural and serene, but we’re fighting our own language to get there. Japan also benefits from an unbroken poetry tradition where each new poetic form builds on the last, but does not replace it. The seasons, springs, summer, fall, and winter, don’t need to be described, thus saving valuable space. There are thousands of years of words that represent the seasons, which can be learned by consistent reading of haiku, whether translated or not. Cherry blossoms signify spring, the moon is autumn, snow and ice, winter. Different birds and plants, like the cuckoo and the plum blossom, also conjure different times of year (summer and late winter/early spring).
Just because of all these esoteric rules and references, though, doesn’t mean that Western audiences or writers can’t appreciate or develop excellent haiku. As a challenge to myself, I like to write haiku in the genre of my novels: cyberpunk. I still adhere to the syllable rules, the cutting word, and the seasonal references, but I’m not expecting to be burdened by an exact Japanese word to describe a scene. By what would I gain in using a foreign concept in a poem written in my own tongue? Would the reader understand, and would I as an author grow? I can appreciate and learn these references when reading Japanese poems in Japanese, but to do so when writing in English I think is a stretch too much. One of my first attempts reads:
Lightest drops of rain
Over oil drenched cracked asphalt
Spring rainbow in ruin
Later on I abandon calling out a season directly, simply writing:
Too painful to hold
Her face streaked with frozen tears
Delete memory
From here we can see the word “frozen” obviously implies deep winter, while there is the contrasting of the two images of holding onto a memory and deleting it. In this case, I feel the kireiji would have to be considered “delete” as it breaks the flow of the original thought and also creates the new concept of escape from something that normally you cannot get away from.
In summation, we’ve explored a brief history of haiku, the three major rules to look for, and have touched on some of the words used in Japanese to convey seasons and emotions. We also looked at how haiku is much more challenging to write in English, as the language isn’t well suited for the format. But the challenge just adds to the fun, and so we can take haiku and make it our own, as I showed in a pair of examples that take on the cyberpunk tone. If you write one haiku a day, by the end of a year it would be impossible not to have wonderful gems amongst your work. Readers of haiku can also take their newfound knowledge and apply it to the poems they are reading, and then act smugly when someone delivers a “haiku” that is nothing more than a collection of syllables. It’s fun at parties; you make lots of friends that way.
Two books that I used to help write this article were “Japanese Death Poems,” compiled by Yoel Hoffmann, and “Traditional Japanese Literature,” a monster of a book edited by Haruo Shirane. I highly recommend both works for anyone who wants to have a much deeper understanding of Japanese literature, from haiku to far beyond.
A.C. Harrison holds a BA in Japanese Language & Literature from Arizona State University
Like what you see here? Spread the word and support indie authors! Follow me on Facebook or Twitter. Find me on Smashwords and Kindlemojo.
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