HAIKU IN ENGLISH
These popular 3-line poems have evolved as to technical demands in recent years. As practiced now by most poets in English, the haiku form no longer keeps strictly to a first and last line of 5 syllables and a middle line of 7, nor to imagery from nature alone. Following inflexible rules that work in one language and culture will not necessarily give us effects of equal quality in another.
For one thing, English syllables do not directly correspond to "onji," the nearest equivalent to syllables in Japanese. All Japanese vowels have the same length, taking the same amount of time and breath to pronounce, while English ranges widely in syllabic pronunciation. Take the word "father" for example: the "ah" sound, for most speakers, stretches out as much as twice as long as the following "er."
It is usually said that the brevity of haiku in the form's source tongue – its total of 17 onji – comes to an equivalent of about 12 English syllables. Not that the English poet should shy away from the traditional Japanese 5-7-5 count if a haiku works out best that way; it's only important to know that current practice has loosened the strictures of a rule that was often found to produce a weaker poem by forcing "filler" material into the picture.
In short, radical as the claim may seem, syllable count is not the crucial aspect of haiku composition. Even in venerated Japanese haiku we find deviations from the 5-7-5 rule, and in English, in both original works and translations, the count will run from as small a total as 8 to as many as 20. It's not some technical orthodoxy of line length but the play of a single setting or situation dancing toward a striking release of meaning that the effective haikuist must go after.
To move even further into the fascinating subject of haiku "count," have a look at the commentary by Keiko Imaoka at http://www2.faximum.com/aha.d/keirule.htm .
As to insisting that haiku keep to traditional nature imagery, here again practice has expanded the form's range. Ideally there will be some indirect sense of season in most haiku, but such an effect could as easily and freshly come from seeing kids in a water shower surging from an open hydrant in a New York City street as from ants crossing a tatami mat (a traditional evocation of summer in classic Japanese haiku).
And "the haiku effect" in poems having nothing to do with nature – poems often called "senryu," after the name of a Japanese master of the 19th century who pioneered a casual use of haiku subject matter -- has opened this poetic sub-world to an incredible variety of expression. For an often 'far out' adaptation of the form to recent times and to Western lifestyles and places, have a look at the long series of short poems Jack Kerouak called American Haiku, or sample contemporary practice in such magazines as Hummingbird or Tundra.
Not every three line poem, of course, can rightly be called a haiku. These pieces must plunge for an unexpected turn of meaning found in an immediately felt situation. Haiku and senryu (along with the five line form from which they derive, waka or tanka, go cunningly for the heart of an instant of awareness.
For a useful overview of contemporary haiku practice, try http://webdelsol.com/Perihelion/acmarticle.htm.
A wonderful site much recommended is Dhugal Lindsey's collection of essays and links at http://cc.matsuyama-u.ac.jp/~shiki/shiki.archive/9611/0444.html.
And for a list serve open to all, where beginners and seasoned haikuists chat with one another, inquire at england@spunge.org.
Examples often tell us more than a lengthy analysis. The following series, running through a year, combines haiku with season-references and nature-concerns with senryu, sometimes comic, urban, psychological in their leaps of perception, and illustrates the way the form ranges these days within the limits of "the haiku-feel."
The sequence appeared in the on-line e-zine Slate in January 1999:
SEASONS JOURNAL
haiku / senryu
by Barry Spacks
seeing her off
only incense greets him
coming back into the room
stretched on the floor
after a long day's talking
rubbing noses with his cat
first frost whitens grasses,
first white smoke
from his neighbor's cabin
snow at night:
deep-sleeping population
comes drifting down
friend not seen for years:
gray whiskers
around the boyish smile
after the staid snowfalls
the rain now
splashy as children
on and on
reading a friend's new novel
wishing to be more kind
the great dead mallow
ready for chopping
springs purple flowers
mind wandering,
suddenly driving very fast:
Mozart in the car
farmers’ market
carrying flowers carefully
down crowded aisles
girls jump rope
in out pepper pepper
old man wipes his brow
evening tea
contemplating the great kindness
of everyone
before they risk a word
the poets at the lily pond
drink three cups of wine
awkward moment:
gazing into each other's eyes
a bit too long
summer's offering
ants on the windowsill
ants in the cat's dish
on Hendry's Beach
respectable, leashed dog, sniffed
by free-ranging others
collecting beach stones:
holes and odd edges
slow artistry
house-mice scurry
awake from their naps
after the heat of the day
digging out the dandelions:
readying ground
for the next generation
throw-aways at the curb:
inside-out-umbrella
bed that wouldn't work
the poppies sway
the wind looks around
the cat licks herself
awake, listening:
laughter of guest love-makers
trying to be more quiet
cooling evening breeze:
the potted plants take water
yield back earth-scent
late for work
he stands there reading
an old love letter
patch of moonlight
rocking, rocking,
won't come in with the tide
