[Lee Gurga]

Haiku: Formal Elements

When confronted with the question “what is haiku form?” the answer is not as simple as the three-line, seventeen-syllable form we remember from elementary school. That form is both less and different from what haiku form actually is.

For the Japanese, and for informed poets writing today in English based on the Japanese model, there are three generally recognized formal elements:
· a word or phrase referring to the season
· a “cut” or syntactic division in the poem.
· seventeen “on” or sounds. These are quite different from our syllables.
We will touch on each of these elements in turn.

The essence of haiku resides, in part, in its ability, through the use of a seasonal image, to convey some connection to the natural world and the passage of time. A simple mention of the season, however, is not enough. As Shigehisa Kuriyama writes,

In a poem where the seasonal theme fulfills its true evocative function, there must be a reciprocity between the season, which expands the scope of the haiku and creates the atmospheric background of associations for the specific scene, and the specific scene which points out a characteristic yet often forgotten aspect of the season and thus enriches our understanding of it.

A rather tall order, but its challenge has helped make haiku worth engaging to poets for more than three hundred years. Please note that this is not suggesting that one should strive to write "birds and butterflies" haiku. The best haiku, while using literal images of the seasons, move beyond simple physical representation to insights on the human condition. You might be surprised to hear that traditionally the largest category of seasonal images is called "human affairs," which includes such obvious annual events as Christmas as well as more intuitive seasonal implications such as kite flying (spring), fishing (summer) hunting (autumn) and quilt (winter). Some expand the understanding of season to include the "seasons of life." As your concept of seasons expands, so do the possibilities of your haiku.

The second formal element is the syntactic cut that divides the poem into two parts. The primary poetic technique of the haiku is to place two images (most commonly literal rather than figurative images) side by side without interpretation. At least one of these images, or part of it, comes from nature or the seasons. The second image relates to the first, sometimes closely, sometimes more ambiguously. This juxtaposition of images conveys a sense of significance to the reader by what has been called “internal comparison.” How these images relate to one another is a matter of some delicacy. The relationship cannot be too obvious or the poem will be trite, but if it is too distant the association of images will appear forced or arbitrary. An example of a haiku that successfully juxtaposes images:

the swell of her breast
against the watered silk—
summer moon Charles Trumbull

The cut or caesura between images can also result in a kind of “semantic disjunction” that forces the reader to continually reassess the relationships of the words in the poem as he or she reads:

Chemotherapy
in a comfortable chair
two hours of winter Kiyoko Tokutomi

Finally, the issue of length and lineation, the thing that many of us had been led to believe is the sine qua non of haiku form. Over the past fifty years, there have been many experiments with haiku form in English, some well-informed, some less so. As a result of these experiments, as far as length is concerned, one could divide the vast majority of poems into three groups:
· 17 syllables in three lines (this is the form used by Richard Wright and Paul Muldoon.)
· a three line form of two, three, and two stresses, (or occasionally two, two, and two stresses), without regard to the number of unstressed syllables. (Probably the most common form used by informed poets writing haiku today.)
· “free” or “organic form, varying in length from a single word up to seventeen syllables, and ranging from one to four horizontal lines or one vertical line.


It is a common misconception is that Japanese haiku are written in three lines, but the truth is they are traditionally printed in one vertical line. Another misconception is that the Japanese language has something corresponding closely to our syllables, which it doesn’t. As a result of linguistic differences, R.H. Blyth, the great translator of Japanese haiku, suggested that the second form, of 2-3-2 stresses in three lines was the most appropriate form for English-language haiku. (Some Japanese scholars have suggested that the 2-2-2 stress form most closely resembles the Japanese form.)

Since this is a discussion related to formal poetry, most will probably want to experiment with one of the first two forms. However, please remember that length and lineation is not the only element of form that needs to be considered; both season and caesura need to be engaged when one hopes to write worthwhile short poems that are also worthwhile haiku.
A note on haiku sequences: While haiku have always been intended to be able to stand alone, since the time of Shiki (circa 1890s), haiku sequences have become increasingly interesting to poets. In the best haiku sequences, the individual stanzas retain this “stand alone” quality while interacting with the other verses of the poem in a variety of ways.

A gallery of haiku:

one carp
the color of a woman:
an evening of snow Ryan Underwood

transplanting the sage—
a wheelbarrow full of bees
from backyard to front Robert Gilliland

grating ginger;
the day-end voices
of katydids Ellen Compton

Outside the window
a plum tree—and inside, the
thought of a plum tree Billy Collins

evening calm
the ballgame play-by-play
across the water Jim Kacian


One breaker crashes …
as the next draws up, a lull—
and sandpiper cries. O. Southard

spring moon—
a cricket sits quietly
atop its cabbage Ross Figgins

Venus at dusk—
a thin slice of lemon
in my water glass Emiko Miyashita

Deep within the stream
the huge fish lie motionless
facing the current James W. Hackett

And her homemade kite
of less than perfect design?
Also taken flight. Paul Muldoon

[Janet Kenny]

Thank you Lee,
That explanation has opened my previously closed mind. As soon as you spoke of stresses instead of syllables I was an eager reader.
I look forward to more thoughts from you and others.
best wishes,
Janet

[Robt_Ward]

moved to open mic thread where it belongs



[This message has been edited by Robt_Ward (edited May 02, 2004).]

[Tim Murphy]

Lee mentions the linked poem in which each stanza is a self-contained whole. Here from Rhina's second book, Where Horizons Go, is Haiku, which I think is a good example of this approach:

In our bare maple
a minyan of crows looking
for something to bless

Intricate river
in winter light Twig to root
flowing underground

Sundial deep in white
all day long reads exactly
half past January

Thinking of old friends
Black iron stove Slow fire
talking to itself

Keys on a rusty
key ring Old conversations
Nobody home now

This mother-of-pearl
morning sealed with frost Ah but
two crows on the fence.

Note how very different this is from the extended sentences and interstanzaic enjambents in the adjacent Wilbur thread. Yet each little poem is an evocation of winter, and the whole contraption comes full circle with the return of the crows. Lovely poem, Rhina.

[Alan Sullivan]

Tim, are you sure you've got punctuation/capitalization correct in your post of Rhina's poem? The words are lovely, but the p/c is weird.

Lee, welcome, and thanks for the essay. Much to think about.

Alan

[Lee Gurga]

I agree with Tim that Rhina's is an example of a successful haiku sequence, much different in effect (an intention) than Richard Wilbur's "Signatures." I love :Signatures," partly because I love the plants he writes about, but I would never mistake the 17 syllable stanzas for haiku.

Lee

[Golias]

Having read, written and talked Japanese poetry for a good many years, I have reached the conclusion that (a) English provides ample resources for seventeen syllable haiku without dragging in accentual measure, and (b) there's no use in arguing about it. Write anything you like any way you like, but pray don't call it haiku unless it respects the time-honored Japanese criteria.

Lee, you refer to 17 "on." I assume you don't mean "on"(Chinese reading) but "oto" since "kun" (Japanese) syllables or "onsetsu" are allowed as well.

G/W

[This message has been edited by Golias (edited May 02, 2004).]

[Lee Gurga]

Of course reading, writing, and talking are all imortant activities, but, as Shinryu Suzuki said, "True understanding is actual practice itself."

Lee

[Golias]

Mr. Gurga, in your opinion, does counting the English poem as if written in seventeen kana maintain sufficient regard for haiku measure?

swirling
snowflakes
black hat

su-e-ri-n-gu
su-no fu-re-i-ku-su
bu-ra-ku ha-to

G/W




[This message has been edited by Golias (edited May 03, 2004).]

[Lee Gurga]

Interesting question! Of course, to do what you are suggesting would require one to write the poem in Japanese first and then translate it into English. An interesting exercise that points out one very important thing: 17 sounds in Japanese is always shorter than 17 syllables in English.

Harold Henderson maintained that if one was going to count syllables in English, one ought to count syllables as the Japanese do. For example, "haiku" is two syllables in English, but three in Japanese: ha-i-ku. So, somewhat surprisingly, if one wants to write in truly authentic form, 17 sylables in English is way too long!

Lee