The syllabic formula for writing haiku arises naturally from the Japanese language, in which words are made from a syllabary instead of an alphabet.

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In English, our letters make up our syllables, and we can translate this form directly, by writing haiku in three lines of 5 syllables, 7 syllables and 5 syllables respectively. Another way to emulate and adapt haiku to English is to let go of the exact syllable count and write one short line, a slightly longer line and a final short line.

 

Many of the translations of old Japanese haiku appear with these uncounted lines, because translators sometimes go for accuracy of the image and feel of the original, rather than arbitrarily making the English syllables follow the form. A beat poetry adaptation of writing haiku (introduced by Jack Kerouac and Alan Ginsberg, for two), consists of a single sentence of seventeen syllables (the total syllables occurring in a standard haiku).

 

Some so-called American haiku:

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Nightfall,

boy smashing dandelions

with a stick.

 

Drunk as a hoot owl,

writing letters

by thunderstorm.

 

Wash hung out

by moonlight

Friday night in May.

(Jack Kerouac)

 

A couple of Alan Ginsberg’s haiku sentences: 

 

Bearded robots drink from Uranium coffee cups on Saturn's ring.

 

 Rainy night on Union Square, full moon. Want more poems? Wait till I’m dead.

 

Haiku is a form that captures, as in a beloved photograph, something of the ephemeral nature of life. While it usually employs images from the natural phenomenal world, the fact that there is a narrator behind the words gives it a very human element. In other words, through close description in this very short form, some aspect of the world touches the narrator, who then expresses a momentary awareness. Good haiku evokes a sense of the ephemeral, temporal, passing quality of all life. The very fact of its length means that as a writer of haiku you can only express the essence of something. Another way to say this might be that the haiku poet uses the ordinary details of life to express, comment on or question existence, human and otherwise. Some haiku by Japanese Women:

 

 let us start picking --

don't drop herbs from your basket

or anything else!

(Den Sutejo)

 

the more calluses

the more brightly

my ring sparkles

(Takeshita Shizunojo)

 

a scrap of iron--

without fail, menfolk

stop to look

(Uda Kiyoko)

 

Japanese haiku includes culturally recognizable symbols to signal seasons--cherry blossoms for spring, for instance--that also might imply a season of a human life. American haiku may also include such references, but probably uses them more from an individual symbolism.

 You can call me a “haiku snob,” because if a poem following the 5-7-5 form does not capture this essence--the imperfect, impermanent quality of experience, but is only clever word play, I don’t really consider it haiku. For instance, there are a lot of poems that are labeled “haiku” about computers out there on the internet, but I don’t think that they rise to the form, even though they’re clever.

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Think of it this way...

the Haiku masters of Japan were often Zen Buddhist monks, and many were solo monks who wandered alone in the countryside in old Japan. They were very in tune, both because of their meditation practice and through their contact with the natural world with the changing, impermanent nature of all worldly things. They used images to evoke human joy as well as loss, and were often prolific in their haiku offerings. Likewise, writers of modern American haiku achieve this aim of expression. For instance, Richard Wright (expat, novelist of books such as Black Boy) adopted this form and wrote thousands of haiku in the last two years of his life. These writers did not allow in the 1000 distractions that you may grant admission on a regular basis. Throw away the 1000 distractions when you settle into haiku writing. Start with what’s in front of you.

 

I like the 5-7-5 form for writing practice, because it puts a layer of discipline on the form, requiring me to make word choices that are meaningful and reminding me not to waste syllables. However, when you want to write a lot of haiku at once because of the inspiration of a particular setting, writing in uncounted lines will snap the picture, and you can always play with these later.

 

Haiku by novelist Richard Wright: 

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Make up your mind, Snail!

You are half inside your house,

And halfway out!

  

You moths must leave now;

I am turning out the light

And going to sleep.

  

death haiku (being a collection of snapshots of dead creatures I stumbled upon)
1

White pigeon, wings spread

not for flight, but as death cloak

Crows peck murky eyes

2

Fallen pink blossoms

adorn the brown tabby cat

dead on the sidewalk

3

Black, rotten carcass,

antlers evoke this picture:

night train, six-point buck

 4
Now it’s your turn, crow—

feet useless, straight up like that—

you, the final feast