Haiku is one of the most recognizable forms of poetry in the world, known and beloved for its simple elegance. Originating from the Japanese “hokku,” an opening stanza of a longer work, the standalone haiku emerged in Japanese literature around the 17th century, and went on to become popular around the world.
Traditionally, haikus are very structured, made up of only three unrhymed lines; the first line has five syllables, the second has seven, and the third has five, totaling 17 syllables. But although the syllable count has been ingrained in Western teachings as a strict hallmark of the haiku, it isn’t a required trait. In fact, many famous Japanese haikus, including poems from celebrated writers Matsuo Bashō and Yosa Buson, lose their syllabic structure in some English translations. As writers outside of Japan started using the form, it became less about the rhythm, and more about honoring the haiku’s vivid simplicity. “Above all,” Jack Kerouac reflected, “a Haiku must be very simple and free of all poetic trickery and make a little picture and yet be as airy and graceful as a Vivaldi Pastorella.”
Haiku often evokes nature, and will traditionally include what’s referred to as a "cutting word," or a word used for emphasis and to create stark contrast. Whether in conventional form or using experimental techniques — such as in Ezra Pound’s groundbreaking 1911 imagist work “In a Station of the Metro” — the best and most beautiful haikus capture a moment, convey an astute awareness, and, in just a few short lines, can take your breath away.
An ancient pond!With a sound from the waterMatsuo Bashō, “The Old Pond”
Of the frog as it plunges in.
After killinga spider, how lonely I feelMasaoka Shiki, “After Killing a Spider”
in the cold of night!
A world of dew,And within every dewdropKobayashi Issa, “A World of Dew”
A world of struggle.
In pale moonlightthe wisteria's scentYosa Buson, “In the Moonlight”
comes from far away.
I write, erase, rewriteErase again, and thenKatsushika Hokusai, “A Poppy Blooms”
A poppy blooms.
Over the wintryForest, winds howl in rageNatsume Sōseki, “Over the Wintry”
With no leaves to blow.
The west wind whispered,And touched the eyelids of spring:R.M. Hansard, “The West Wind Whispered”
Her eyes, Primroses.
I turn westward inshadows hoping my riverSonia Sanchez, “Haiku”
secrets unlock
The sound of silenceis all the instructionJack Kerouac, “Haiku”
You’ll get
The apparition of these faces in the crowd;Petals on a wet, black bough.Ezra Pound, “In a Station of the Metro”
Photo credit: Malcolm Fairman/ Alamy Stock Photo
