by Henry Kearney

Created on: May 13, 2007   Last Updated: May 16, 2007

Haiku is, above all else, a mystery for those of us reading in English and raised in Western traditions. The aesthetic we associate with haiku is the exact opposite of much of our poetic tradition. Of course, our language has always had its share of tiny lyric poems, but the mindset that gave us "Paradise Lost" and "The Prelude" is not the same mindset that created the haiku form. However, in the last century, many American poets have become fascinated with haiku. This Japanese aesthetic (more accurately: our western perceptions and misconceptions of the Japanese aesthetic) has become ingrained in our ideas of "modern poetry". Attention to detail, emotionally cold phrasing, and a focus on image are aspects that we perceive in haiku and try to imitate in an attempt to gain the authority of a poetic voice grounded in brevity and efficiency.

Of course, we could not and would not integrate this foreign form into our language so obsessively if there were not some commonalities between the two traditions. An element of haiku that is often forgotten is the turn. At some point in the poem, after either the first or the second line, the poem shifts directions, providing either a surprising epiphany, an insight into the speaker's emotional state, or an image that captures that emotional state, depending on how the poem began. This can be compared to our most dominant verse form, the sonnet, with its turn usually occurring between the octet and sextet.

While the turn in a sonnet is usually somewhat smoothed over, the turn in haiku is often abrupt, and this is something very important English language poets can learn from haiku, the value of abruptly turning an image on its head. There is a poem by Issa in which he begins by describing a New Year's day where all of nature is coming alive and blooming. In the last line, he matter-of-factly states that he just feels so-so. This juxtaposition of jubilant New Year's imagery and an internal feeling of mediocrity in the space of three lines provides quite a punch, even more so because it is stated so undramatically. The drama comes from the structure of the poem, not a strained attempt to force drama into diction. This idea can be used quite effectively in English poetry, without being limited to a 5-7-5, or even a three line structure. The mechanics of the Japanese haiku do not translate well into English anyway because the language systems are so different, and many wonderful "haiku" have been written in English with little or no regard for the syllabic structure. What's more important is the tone and the sense of reverence for image that we find so refreshing and different in many great haiku.

It is important to remember that what we consider as usual qualities of haiku are not defining characteristics of haiku. Not all haiku have the same tone. Not all haiku are about nature, they don't all reflect Buddhist thought, and they often rejoice in being subjective, as opposed to the ego-less Buddha voice that we usually associate with the form. Haiku is a rich and varied tradition, and our English poetic tradition will only grow from the continued study of this form.

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