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Feature: Jim Kacian: A Haiku Primer

Chapter 8: Related Forms

Haiku, though it may seem to have come from practically nowhere, is part of a varied and long-standing poetic tradition in Japan. It is useful to know something of this tradition, especially in light of how this tradition comments directly upon our own experiences. Also, this provides for us a background against which we can see how the haiku impulse has been redirected in many ways over the centuries of its existence.

It is particularly valuable to recognize that haiku is part of a larger poetic tradition which incorporates all sorts of short poems in Japan. The Japanese term is haikai, which today has the connotation of nonstandard or incorrect, but which may be seen to be the umbrella term for all this sort of poetry. Within its confines there is, of course, haiku, but also other sorts of poems which more or less fulfill the major formal requirements of haiku, which nevertheless have some other aim than the kinds of intuitive insights which are a necessity for success in that form. These similar and yet different forms include senryu, which has become as common in the west as haiku, and also zappai, which might be called miscellaneous short poems and would include what we see most commonly in the mainstream media, things like spam-ku, corporate or technological haiku, sci-fiku and the like. In addition, we find haikai refers to other kinds of short verse such as tanka, and also to renga, along with its contemporary counterpart, renku. We will here consider briefly each of these forms.

Senryu

Haiku, as we have discussed, evolved from renga, specifically the opening verse, the hokku, and has adopted and more or less maintained its refined tone, its concern with nature and its poetic/nonpoetic language. But if we consider renga as a whole, it is obvious that the topical material covered is far greater than merely natural phenomena. In fact, in typical renga, consideration of human circumstances occupies over half the links of the poem. It is not surprising, then, that haiku is not the only form to emerge from renga. It has a close cousin in the form of senryu. Senryu shares an outward similarity of format with haiku, but its content and tone are very different. As haiku have come to embody the most important characteristics of the nature elements of renga, senryu have done likewise with the human elements.

This is perhaps an artificial dichotomy: human nature is as much a part of nature as anything else, and so to differentiate it can be seen as self-interested, perhaps even self-serving. But this is a most human response, and that is what senryu are: human responses, often humorous, aiming not to be elevated but ironic, not pastoral but urban, not spiritual but earthy.

Senryu is named after Karai Hachiemon (penname Senry˚, 1718-1790) who, along with many others, collected these little verses of humor and irony into anthologies that were extremely popular in their day. Senryu and the other editors of the eighteenth century recognized a disaffection amongst their readers for classical haiku subjects and treatment, reflective as they were of an outdated feudal society, and a growing predilection for humorous verse, often on subjects more reflective of their urban environs and business-filled days. What these editors looked for in these verses reads like a list of taboos of haiku writing: word-play, especially puns; cleverness and intellectuality; emphasis on ironic and overtly humorous circumstances, especially subject matter which concerned itself with human affairs; eschewal of season words; and a lack of interest in the virtues sought in haiku as exemplified by the works of Basho, particularly sabi, wabi and yugen.

It is no different today: in fact, we might say that senryu is having a rebirth by virtue of the haiku having become popular in the west. In many ways the tone and content of what is available to westerners immediately is the stuff of senryu. Increasingly we live in urban environments, and it is irony which strikes us more immediately than the profundities of nature. Also, we remain our own favorite subjects, and poems which feature human circumstances, especially those which recognize and gently ridicule our all-too-human peccadilloes have an immediate appeal to most. Such are these:

meeting her boyfriend
our handshakes
out of sync

. . . Tom Clausen

self-defense class
everyone
facing the mirror

. . . Don Foster l

aughing together
out in the hallway
her lawyer and his

. . . Cindy Guentherman

her fish-net stockings catch my eye

. . . Jim Handlin

his ashes scattered
what to do
with the box

. . . Paul Watsky

Zappai

The British punk poet John Parker Moore wrote, as a means of illustrating his understanding of the form, the following “haiku”:

Writing a haiku
in seventeen syllables
is very diffic

And virtually all of us who have been on-line for any length of time are familiar with these poems, and many more like them:

Delicately, I
Sniff your hand. You’ve been petting
A strange cat. Traitor!

. . . Deborah Coates

Windows NT crashed.
I am the Blue Screen of Death.
No one hears your screams.

. . . Anonymous

These are examples of zappai, a miscellaneous group of poems whose main point of contact with haiku is its outwardly similar formal aspect. Usually written in 3 lines of 5 – 7 – 5 syllables (far more often than contemporary haiku, for instance), these purport to be haiku but lack most of the internal components we have come to recognize which distinguish haiku. Nevertheless, these can be fun, and so long as we recognize the differences between the various forms, harmless enough to the appreciation and achievement of genuine art. Other kinds of zappai include sci-fiku:

Earth-Tansen treaty talks
the alien ambassador lying
out of each mouth

. . . John Dunphy

corporate-ku:
Truly, the Wise One
is creative: he invents
his own statistics.

. . . William Warriner

vampire-ku:
The Brujah have no
concept of society.
Come Kiss My Ra, fool!

. . . Kristian Priisholm

This is a partial sampling–there are hundreds of different kinds of zappai. Enjoy them, but recognize that there is little accomplishment here in terms of art, and that they are, for the most part, ephemera intended to evoke a chuckle (or strike terror!) and then move on.

Tanka

Tanka, which literally means “short poem,” is related to haiku by means of its common origin in renga, and from its similar structure (of its first three lines) of a short-long-short arrangement of lines, mirroring the original Japanese structure of 5-7-5 on, which are then completed by a 7-7 cap: so the whole of the poem is arranged 5-7-5-7-7, or short-long-short-long-long.

snow still
on the high places,
the echo
of my calling voice
comes back cold

. . . Anna Holley

The subject matter of tanka is very different from haiku. In fact, it is a poetry of self-expression where haiku is rather one of subsuming self while identifying with the rest of the universe.

What prompts its appearance and consideration here is the similarity of structure, especially if we consider the poem as being comprised of two parts. The opening three lines is an exact replica of the haiku form, and owes its form to the same origin in renga. And the capping pair of lines are an exact replication of the following link in renga. In fact, we ought to think of the tanka as changing directions at exactly this moment of pivot: three lines to set up one scenario or situation, two lines following to twist the situation into a surprise of realization. Most commonly subject matter is personal in nature, such as love, sadness, and desire.

Renga, Renku & Rengay

Linked verse has a long and honorable history in Japan, and it is not possible to do justice to it in such a brief overview as this. We have already seen how renga has been the source of inspiration for haiku and senryu, as well as zappai and tanka.

The general principles are quite complex and can take years to master. In brief, the goal is to link to the preceding verse in such a fashion that the link seems inevitable and yet was unexpected; also, to carry the poem forward in a non-narrative way, but still maintaining the momentum of the flow of it. Ideally, the link should also shift the poem toward a new subject or season, depending on the needs of the poem at the moment. The ensemble effect is to be inclusive of all the seasons in a proportionate way, and to observe a balance between natural and human elements. No topic may be repeated, and seasons are repeated in a prescribed manner. It is a highly artificial (in the sense of being decorative) form, social in its effect and mannered in its execution.

It fell out of favor in Japan at the beginning of the twentieth century, when Shiki denounced it, but has staged something of a comeback, especially in the west. Its social and public elements appeal to many.

1. Renga:

The Seahawk’s Feathers: An Interpretation of Classical Renga

This is the first kasen of Saru-mino-shu, written in Kyoto in early winter, 1690, published 3 July, 1691. This translation was begun 24 April, 2003 and was completed 4 June, 2003. The writers were:

• 1 Kyorai (1651-1704) also known as Rakushisha, one of Basho’s most devoted discliples
• 2 Basho (1644-1694)
• 3 Boncho (?-1714) a physician in Kyoto, who, along with Kyorai played a leading role in editing Sarumino.
• 4 Fumikuni (?-?) well-educated doctor who moved toKyoto and later Edo to follow Basho.

the seahawk’s feathers
preened just so,
the first of the cold drizzle1
a gust of wind and then
the leaves are hushed2
early morning
traversing the river
my breeks wet through3
a dainty bamboo bow
to scare raccoons4
vines of ivy creeping
over the slatted door
the evening moon2
not for the giving:
these pears of such repute1
as autumn fades
his wild strokes yield
a unique sumi-e 4
so wonderful . . .
the feel of knitted footwear3
peace presides
in everything while
not a word is uttered1
sighting a village
the noontide conch is blown2
the plaited grass
of last year’s sleep mat
fraying at the edges3
one petal falls
then another: a lotus4
a bowl of broth
wins the highest praise,
graced with suizenji!2
the road ahead
above three miles or more1
this spring also
Rodo’s man stands ready
in the same employ4
hazy-moon night,
a cutting has taken root3
though bound in moss
the old stone basin sits well
with the blossom2
anger in the morning
finds its own resolve1
two day’s worth
of foodstuffs consumed
at a single sitting3
a snowy chill:
the north wind over the isle4
to light the fire
on sundown he sets off
for the peak temple1
the mountain-cuckoos,
done with all their singing2
a gaunt man
still not strong enough
to sit up in his bed4
with next door’s help
the ox cart is pulled in3
he, obnoxious lover,
shall be guided through
the Hedge of Thorns2
his swords just now returned
in sign of parting1
a desperate haste
this way and that
the head stroked with a comb3
“Look then here’s a madman
firmly fixed on death”4
blue heavens
the daybreak moon still lingers
in morning light1
first frost on Mt. Hira:
the autumnal lake2
a door of twigs,
a waka to proclaim
the theft of buckwheat4
wrapped in a soft kilt
these windy evenings3
jostling for pillows
one snatches a little sleep,
then off again2
Tatara’s skies still red
the ragged clouds1
a tack shop frontage
from the crupper maker’s
window–blossom3
young buds burst aflame
amongst old loquat leaves4

Suizenji: special nori-seaweed rich in minerals from Suizenji pond in Kumamoto, Kyushu where the Mukai family originated

Rodo: (?-811) a Chinese poet/tea master during T’ang Dynasty

Tatara: the name of a beach near Hakata, Kyushu, where a crucial battle was fought. Translation by Eiko Yachimoto & John E. Carley

2. Renku: “New Coolness“

Ninjuin Renku at Maine, September 6-7 2002, by Yu Chang, Paul MacNeil, John Stevenson, and Hilary Tann. Rotation by Paul MacNeil.

new coolness
a perfect day
for climbing js
red maple leaves
line most of the bootprints pwm
she reads
mother’s pancake recipe
by moonlight ht
the usual suspects
of a murder mystery yc
accountants
in three-piece suits
and handcuffs pwm
I offer you my name
with a hyphen
js at Las Vegas
our best man
hits the jackpot yc
bright nasturtiums
frame the herb garden ht
all five
car doors
frozen shut js
cardboard boxes
on a subway vent yc
tattoos tensed
the harpooner
listens pwm
eye to eye
with an eagle js
it rained
on their golf course
rendezvous ht
whispering…
under a pool umbrella pwm
sangria
on the rocks
and slivers of moon yc
the photojournalist
adjusts his lens ht
we sense
the silent prayer
is about to end js
rich soil
yields to the harrow pwm
on the classroom wall
shadows
of magnolia blossoms ht
homemade nets
for the smelt run yc

3. Rengay:

Recently Garry Gay, an American poet, refined a form of linked verse he felt would be more accessible to western sensibilities. Entitled rengay, this form has taken off in popularity. It is quite different than renku in that it seeks rather to build a cumulative effect through its links, and usually does not regard season as an important element unless it is the actual subject of the shared poem. Here is an example in which the inventor participates:

“Snapshot“

cropped photograph-
leaving my shadow
on the darkroom floor
from the bottom of the tray
your smile slowly develops
pulling me closer
in front of the camera . . .
first date
pinned
on the bulletin board
your snapshot
a roll of negatives . . .
the brightness of your dark eyesv self-timer
I join you
in the photograph

. . . Cherie Hunter Day/Garry Gay

4. Sequence

Sequences are relatively rare in contemporary haiku, but occasionally they will be found in one of the journals dedicated to the genre. Usually the intention is to produce several poems on the same theme, but occasionally the poet will attempt to use the same image, or even a repeated line. Here are two short ones in English:

Sequence 1:

“Torque“
the stubborn top
of the jelly jar
what matters?
the stubborn top
of the jelly jar
nothing else–
the stubborn top
of the jelly jar
mind zooms in
the stubborn top
of the jelly jar
glaciers in Greenland
the stubborn top
of the jelly jar

. . . Michael Ketchek

Sequence 2:

“Only“ autumn
the path along the river
grows narrow
home from my travels
my dark house
greets me
for the last time
looking at the mountain
that is only a hill
by her sick bed
sprig of pussywillow
in a stone vase
autumn grass
waving
with one shadow

. . . Leatrice Lifshitz

Haibun

Haibun, literally “haiku prose,” is another form which has nearly disappeared in Japan, but which is burgeoning in the west. A prose section, usually telegraphic in style and specific to the context of the poem, precedes or incorporates a haiku, which may be seen as a culminative element to the work as a whole, but which should not reiterate the substance of the prose. There are several styles, including the explanatory (which essentially describes how the haiku came to be):

1. Haibun:

“Thunder Season“

In the desert the days are usually blue-skyed. But in summer months the monsoon winds curve up from the Gulf of Mexico, rise over the dry mountains, curl into dark clouds, obscure the sun, and pound thunder down the arroyos. Sometimes it rains. Usually it doesn’t. When clouds build and rumble, but dissipate without raining, the Tohono O’odham Indians of southern Arizona say “as t-iatogi.” That is, “they just lied to us.” Every summer afternoon my dog looks worried, her ears pricked, anticipating the first rumble. Even when it doesn’t come, thunder defines the rhythms of these days.

night’s dark sleep-
thunder
flutters the curtains

. . . Tom Lynch

2. Haibun: essay style (which discusses some subject, often nature, and uses the haiku as illustration or enhancement):

“Fields of Rape“

All afternoon it takes to move by train from Akita to Niigata, following the northwest coast of the Sea of Japan. Each of the modest-sized towns in which we stop, drenched in the soporific spring sunlight, drones with its small commerce. We exchange a group of lunching rotarians from Ugo-Honjo for a gathering of farmers’ wives going shopping in Sakata, and later collect children making their way from school to their homes in outlying Amarume. All regard us with a pleasant enough curiosity, but none is willing to sit next to us.

We pass by dams and alongside highways, under bridges and over ditches, coming slowly to a first-hand knowledge of the challenges of this terrain, and of the many strategies by which people here have sought control over it. Geography does much to inform character, and character, Thomas Hardy tells us, is fate. The land here is resplendent with personality. Primal force manifests not in abstractions, but pure being: the perfect cone of Fuji, the catarract that is Yonjusanman. One of the earliest creation myths of Japan involves the periodic awakenings of a giant koi whose struggles deep beneath the sea shiver the land into seismic activ-ity. Animism has been the popular religion for a millen-ium and longer, and still figures extensively in the emotive, if not the literal, lives of the inhabitants. Interestingly, in the years following upon the ex-ploding of the Atomic Bomb, the koi and other creatures buried within racial memory re-emerged but in a sig-nificantly different fashion. Godzilla, Mothra and others, whose movements in their earlier guise as dragons once created the lay of this land, now moved directly into the provenance of man, walking his roads, destroying his cities. Completely oblivious to the resistance of man, they are subsumed only through combat with forces of equal magnitude as themselves. And we humans escape destruction only through their purblind indifference to us.

It is understandable that a culture whose environment is so fraught with unpredictable and dire events seeks control as a guiding principal. But there are cracks in such reasonings, just as there are cracks threading the tunnels of the Tokyo subway. Control is an illusion we grant ourselves, and it is relative. Taken as a basis of a cultural Zeitgeist, it subverts the wild and actual world in favor of a manufactured and manageable one. This may be said of all art, all culture, but it must be admitted that bonsai, ikebana, and the related arts do not represent a love of nature as it is (as is popularly believed), but rather as it may be shaped by hand. But while our reason may be fooled, we are not so easily misled at the level of myth. There we hold the apprehension that we are ever powerless before the most potent of nature’s forces; that our engineering of the environment is never without incalculable, if not always apparent or imme-diate, expense; and that in the end, we have no other place in which to abide. An esthetic which counsels management of the unmanageable will ultimately fail; it can succeed only as idea, and there must atrophy, devoid of primal force. The landscape rolls on. The fields are largely empty just now, since only within the month has the cold Siberian wind ceased to blow across the Northern Sea. However, rape is in bloom, and vast fields of it stretch in all directions. I recall Buson:

A field of rape: The sun in the west, The moon in the east.

It is the same for us, two hundred fifty years after the poet described it, and it is possible to believe that nothing has changed here in all that time.

This train, passing as it does through city, suburb and field, provides us a glimpse into the back yards and private spaces of peoples’ lives. Everywhere we find neatly tended plots, tools ordered on benches, sculpted pines, and only an occasional display of extravagance; here are the revelatory works of spirit, and seem characteristic of these people: apt, artful, sincere. Occasionally there might be found a lawn-chair become fixed by the growth of garden about it; or a man’s washing hung in the sun. But everywhere tiny revelations of these lives are manifest, some of which seem easy to read, some less so, and all are suggestive of a life beyond interior space, or rather, an interiority mannered and easily translatable to a life spent out of doors, under the sun.

backyard fish pond-
a nibbling koi
shatters the moon

. . . Jim Kacian

3. Haibun: narrative style

“Losing Private Sutherland“

Steven Spielberg’s searing indictment of war-the bloody and horrendous carnage at Normandy Beach-was difficult to watch as I sat in the dark theater during a weekday matinee. Then, unexpectedly, the 506th was mentioned and I found myself on the verge of breaking down; that number identifying our basic training regiment triggered the old and unassuaged grief at Sutherland’s death. A magnificent human being wasted in a forgotten war; the youth and promise of a good friend forfeited. I can still see him standing in combat boots smudged with Kentucky mud . a residue of cold rain dripping from his helmet and poncho . a cigarette in his mouth that he lights for me . and then another he lights for himself. Pentimentoed under this memory, carried for almost 50 years, is a body riddled with bullets as it is washed away in the flashing rampage of a Korean river, and there follows a scene long and relentlessly willed to stave off madness . sediment settles gently on my friend’s handsome face . peacefully . softly . quietly .. Yes, the soldier can no longer hear gunfire; the young soldier can no longer hear the river thundering into his throat. He is quiet . as I soon will be quiet .

the flag folded
something of myself is lowered
with his coffin

. . . Jerry Kilbride

4. Haibun:dream or journal report

“Pantry Shelf“

Pottery shops were a weakness of yours. When we came upon one your eyes would lock on it. You’d glance at me with the words, sometimes unspoken: “Do we have time?-Yes, let’s have a look.” Usually, not looking for anything in particular-just the delight of seeing, touching and holding useful things crafted with care. When you just had to buy, we went for coffee mugs-you can never have too many! And so we had a shelf of them in our pantry-most were ‘yours’ and a few were ‘mine.’

six weeks after-
her coffee mugs
at the back of the shelf

. . . Cyril Childs

5. Haibun: a travelogue

“Key West“

Key West, the veritable end of the road and southernmost point in the continental United States. Cayo Hueso, as the Spanish explorers originally named it-Isle of Bones, because of the Native American remains they found strewn across its tropical desolation. Now, the living far outnumber the dead, as thousands of tourists drag their tired bones down the narrow palm-lined streets, determined to see everything the tiny island has to offer. The most celebrated daily activity is watching the sunset, when hundreds of people gather on the waterfront dock at Mallory Square, where buskers entertain before and after the sun drops into the ocean, as nature provides a stunning light show.

The orange sun drops
below the horizon-
the crowd applauds

The main event over, the crowd thins as many head back to the famed bars of Duval Street. Sloppy Joe’s Bar, one of Hemingway’s haunts, is open-sided and brimming with tourists, eager to soak up some of the seedy ambiance (as well as rum) that supposedly inspired Papa. But in Hemingway’s day, there were fishermen and sailors at his sides, no ATM in the cornerfor drinkers in need of cash, and no kiosk selling t-shirts with his visage, which, somewhat fittingly, looks rather sad.

Sloppy Joe’s Bar-
packed with Hemingway
wannabes

At the visit’s end I reflect on what Dos Passos wrote in a letter to Hemingway, that his trip over the Keys by train was a “dream-like journey.” By 1935, 23 years after it was completed, the railroad was gone, destroyed by a hurricane.

I slide behind the wheel of the car and head north, the only way to go. Aquamarine water stretches as far as the eye can see on both sides of the narrow road, the bright sunlight reflecting off of it to produce a variety of hues. What lies ahead brings to mind Basho’s final haiku, which inspires a final haiku of my own about this enchanting place.

Keys journey . . .
over sun-baked bridges
dreams wander on

. . . Brett Peruzzi

Haiga

Haiku began in Japan as a pictorial as well as literary art: even when there is no sumi-e or other illustration attached, the presentation of the poem itself, in its calligraphed form with use of visual elements and space, was as much a visual treat as a poetic one. Haiga is the natural extension of this inclination: the combination of haiku with illustration.

Many of the haiku masters illustrated their own work, often with great skill. Buson, for instance, was a professional artist. Even those without great proficiency in the skills of painting show an appropriate aptitude to render their own work, and occasionally others’, with a charming simplicity.

There are three major traditions of haiga: the rendering of the subject of the poem in the illustration: [sorry, the illustrations mentioned below are not yet available]

Haiku: Bruce Ross

Painting: David Murray Ross illustrating something not present in the poem which obliquely opens the poem in another or deeper direction:

Haiku & Painting: Stephen Addiss and a portrait or self-portrait of the poet who composed the haiku:

Haiku & Painting: Jim Kacian

All of these schools are still in practice, and haiga, though a relative newcomer to the west, is finding a rebirth here. Besides adopting these kinds of haiga, there have already emerged schools of haiga which are endemic to the west, and which promise to revivify the art. These include abstract haiga, which works suggestively around the haiku:

Haiku: Raffael de Gruttola Painting: Wilfred Croteau and a hybrid east/west painting style which seeks to capture the best of both traditions:

Haiku & Painting: Jeanne Emrich

There are other trends as well, and it will be particularly interesting to watch to see how this art unfolds as it gathers momentum here outside its homeland.

Haiku & Other Arts

Besides the obvious relationship available between haiku and art, there are traditions of haiku in other arts as well. Although we will be unable to reproduce these forms here, you might easily imagine some aspects of these for yourselves, and you might find this inspires you to consider your own artistic response to the haiku sensibility in another medium.

Besides the performance aspects of haiku accompanied by music, there have been serious attempts to set haiku to western art music. These have ranged from impressionistic renderings of single haiku to choral settings of groups of poems to symphonic music which incorporated haiku into the fabric of the musical context. Accompanying forces have varied from guitars and recorders to piano, string quartet, and small orchestra. Many of the same problems of presentation inherent in haiku reading are encountered in setting haiku, and it is interesting to see how various composers meet these challenges. There is no dedicated disc of haiku music yet released, but a useful discography does exist.

In addition, interpretive dance has been employed to interpret haiku often of late. It is interesting to compare the achieved forms with haiga for poems which have received both treatments. A concert of haiku dance was given in Boston in April of 2000, and another was held at Haiku North America in 2001 in the same city. Many others have followed.

Besides these, the traditional Japanese arts of ikebana, calligraphy and sumi-e painting lend themselves well to haiku interpretation, and have often been employed to do so.

As usual, the goal of all these artistic visions is to find means through which the vision of the poet can be shared intimately with the perceiver. It is quite difficult to judge all these efforts, but what matters most is the transmission of the haiku moment: did the artist communicate clearly to you the moment of revelation? Whenever this has been achieved, no matter the medium, an enhancement of poetic mode is apparent. This is perhaps not the last word, but might serve as a means to enter the newly hybridized form, and therefore might at least stand as something of a beginning.

Jim Kacian is founder and president of The Haiku Foundation; owner of Red Moon Press; and editor-in-chief of Haiku in English: The First Hundred Years (W.W.Norton, 2013). He is the founder and is the general editor of Contemporary Haibun. He's also the founder of Contemporary Haibun Online and was its general editor until Bob Lucky stepped into the role.

A Draft of "A Haiku Primer" was first published in f/k/a: archives real opinions & real haiku,