Tag Archive: Japanese haiku



winter haiku d’hiver – under the quilt =  sous l’édredon

under the quilt 
my bones ache –
frosty night

night William Peter Watson Asleep under a patchwork quilt 620

sous l’édredon
mes os me font souffrir –
la nuit trop froide

Richard Vallance

adapted from a haiku by Yosa Buson (1716-1784) 
une adaptation d’un haiku de Yosa Buson ( 1716-1784 ) 


summer haiku d’été – soil beneath the pine = sol en bas du pin 

soil beneath the pine,
I learn the pine from the pine
rooted in me

I learn the pine 620

sol en bas du pin, 
il m’enseigne ce qu’il est
par ses racines

Richard Vallance


summer haiku d’été – the periwinkle = la pervenche cligne

the periwinkle
winks at her leaves – 
my lover’s the sun!

periwinkle 620

la pervenche cligne
de l’oeil à ses feuilles –
soleil, mon amant ! 

Richard Vallance


I have reached 500 haiku and senryu pins on my PINTEREST board, Canadian haiku canadiens

today, March 31 2019, since I first started posting them on this board on September 1 2018. If you are a member of PINTEREST, you can join this board, here: 

Canadian haiku canadiens 31032019

This works out to a little more than 70 posts per month. I have to admit I sure am prolific, but this is because it is so much fun for me to write haiku and senryu.

If you are not a member, it is free to join PINTEREST, so you have nothing to lose, since you can view all of my haiku and senryu on my board.

Thanks

Richard


autumn haiku d’automne – pines on the bluff = pins sur la falaise

pines on the bluff
on a washed out day–
their needles wraiths

pines on the bluff

pins sur la falaise,
un jour nébuleux –
aiguilles fantômes

Richard Vallance  


summer haiku d’été – koi carp drifting = carpes à la dérive 

koi carp drifting
in unison downstream
in the blue moonlight

koi carp in unison 620

carpes à la dérive
en aval à l’unisson 
au clair de lune bleue

Richard Vallance


summer haiku d’été – dragon inflamed = dragon en colère

dragon inflamed
by the hammering waves –
this means war!

Hokusai_Dragon 620

dragon en colère
à cause des vagues violentes –
c’est la guerre !
 
Richard Vallance


summer haiku d’été  – ryuu dragon 

ryuu dragon
in the thunderstorm
storms the clouds

dragon storm clouds 620

ryuu dragon
au cours de l’orage
s’attaque aux nuages

Richard Vallance


spring haiku de printemps – crescent moon = croissant de lune

crescent moon
shrouding the pagoda –
phantom blossoms 

cresent moon temple blossoms 620

croissant de lune
qui voile la pagode –
fleurs fantômes 

Richard Vallance


autumn haiku d’automne – crows brush the moon = corbeaux et la lune

as leaves scurry off
crows brush by the moon  –
an owl hoots who?

fujiyama owl crows 620

corbeaux et la lune...
que le vent balaie les feuilles !
un hibou hulule

Richard Vallance


winter haiku d’hiver – swiftly December = décembre étale

swiftly December 
unfurls its snowy wings 
on the silent temple

temple in the snow by lake 620

décembre étale
ses ailes enneigées
sur la pagode

Richard Vallance



late autumn haiku de la fin de l’automne – November spreads = novembre disperse

November dashes 
trees with cascading showers –
leaves shorn to shreds

Prune sur paravent par Kano Sanraku 620

novembre disperse
les averses en chute rapide  –
feuilles déchiquetées

Richard Vallance


summer haiku d’été – tiger stalking – tigre qui traque

tiger stalking
through the underbrush –
burning, searing eyes!

tiger forest 620

tigre qui traque
dans le sous-bois –
que les yeux brûlent !

This haiku is obviously based on William Blake’s famous poem:

Tyger Tyger, burning bright,
In the forests of the night;
What immortal hand or eye,
Could frame thy fearful symmetry? 

In what distant deeps or skies
Burnt the fire of thine eyes? 
On what wings dare he aspire?
What the hand, dare seize the fire? 

And what shoulder, & what art, 
Could twist the sinews of thy heart? 
And when thy heart began to beat, 
What dread hand? & what dread feet? 

What the hammer? what the chain,
In what furnace was thy brain?
What the anvil? what dread grasp,
Dare its deadly terrors clasp!

When the stars threw down their spears
And water'd heaven with their tears:
Did he smile his work to see?
Did he who made the Lamb make thee?

Tyger Tyger burning bright,
In the forests of the night:
What immortal hand or eye, 
Dare frame thy fearful symmetry?

William Blake (1757-1827)


summer haiku d’été – tiger by the sea = tigre et la mer

tiger by the sea
snarling at the surf –
king of his wild realm

tiger by the ocean 620

tigre et la mer
qui gronde aux vagues –
roi de son royaume

Richard Vallance 



summer haiku d’été – the moon shimmers = au clair de lune

the moon shimmers
over our village canal –
ghostly gondolier

moon over the canal 620

au clair de lune
le canal du village –
gondolier fantôme 

Richard Vallance


The Myth of the So-called 5-7-5 Syllable Count in English, Hence in Haiku in All Occidental Languages:

This post consists of text conveying the major thrust of the article,

No 5-7-5

and we cite:

National Haiku Writing Month (NaHaiWriMo) is not really anti-5-7-5, but counting syllables is hardly the only target for haiku (if at all). Find out why you don’t need to aim at such a syllable pattern in English.The term syllable is an inaccurate way of describing the actual metrical units of Japanese poetry.”Haruo Shirane, in his introduction to Koji Kawamoto’s The Poetics of Japanese Verse (Tokyo: University of Tokyo Press, 2000)I don’t think counting 5,7,5 syllables is necessary or desirable. To reflect the natural world, and the season, is to reflect what is.” 
—Gary Snyder

You may have thought that haiku was supposed to be 5-7-5, so what’s up with the logo for National Haiku Writing Month—NaHaiWriMo? Is haiku 5-7-5 or not? Well, yes and no. In Japanese, yes, haiku is indeed traditionally 5-7-5. But 5-7-5 what? In English and other languages, haiku has mistakenly been taught as having 5-7-5 syllables, but that’s not really accurate. You probably aren’t in the mood for a linguistics lecture that explains all the reasons why, but Japanese haiku counts sounds, not strictly syllables. For example, the word “haiku” itself counts as two syllables in English (hi-ku), but three sounds in Japanese (ha-i-ku). This isn’t how “haiku” is said in Japanese, but it is how its sounds are counted. Similarly, consider “Tokyo.” How many syllables? Most Westerners, thinking that Japan’s capital city is pronounced as “toe-key-oh,” will say three syllables, but that’s incorrect. It’s actually pronounced as “toe-kyo.” So two syllables, right? Actually, no. Rather, it counts as “toe-oh-kyo-oh”—four syllables. Or rather, sounds.

There are other differences, too. For example, if a word ends with the letter “n,” that letter is counted as a separate sound (all words in Japanese end with vowels, or sometimes the “n” sound). So how many sounds are counted in the word “Nippon,” Japan’s name for itself? It actually counts as four sounds (nip-p-on-n). 

Furthermore, Japanese has another difference that makes 5-7-5 syllables sort of an “urban myth” for haiku in English. In addition to counting sounds and syllables differently, most Japanese words tend to have more sounds or syllables than their English counterparts. For example, when we say “cuckoo” (two syllables), the Japanese say “hototogisu” (five syllables). Some Japanese words have the same number of syllables as their English equivalents (and occasionally fewer), but a great majority of Japanese words have more syllables than the same concepts in English. In Japanese, every consonant is pronounced with a vowel (with the exception of the “n” sound, which is counted as a separate sound at the ends of words and in certain other cases, as already mentioned). Quite simply, because Japanese words have more syllables, you can say a lot more in 17 syllables in English than you can in Japanese. That’s why, if you write a 17-syllable haiku in English, more often than not one entire line of its three lines will have to be amputated to make the poem fit 17 sounds in Japanese (if you translate it). Thus, despite the way haiku has been widely mistaught in English for decades as 5-7-5 syllables, it actually should not surprise you that the vast majority of haiku published in leading haiku journals and anthologies are not 5-7-5.

Another factor to be aware of is that the misguided focus on 5-7-5 syllables in English puts excess emphasis on form, to the great detriment of content and other strategies necessary to writing haiku. Two of these strategies, often completely ignored and not taught in Western schools, are the use of a kigo, or season word, and a kireji, or cutting word, and they are just two of the vital aspects of haiku that make this art much more challenging than most people realize. In his book Empire of Signs, Roland Barthes said that “Haiku has this rather fantasmagorical property: that we always suppose we ourselves can write such things easily.”

Specifically, a haiku tries to invoke the time of year with a word that is typical of that season, such as snow for winter, or frog for spring. In Japanese, lists of season words have become highly sophisticated, and have been collected into numerous references works called saijiki, which include the season words, explanations, and sample poems. Some saijiki (the word, like haiku, is both singular and plural) are as big as encyclopedias. Saijiki are also available as dedicated electronic devices, or as applications for mobile phones and computers. Japanese haiku poets routinely consult a saijiki to see that they’ve used their kigo correctly. Season words serve not only to ground the poem in a particular season, but to allude to other poems that have employed the same season word.

And then consider the kireji, which literally means “cutting word.” In Japanese, traditional haiku include words that function like a spoken sort of punctuation. More importantly, they cut the poem into two parts, creating a sort of juxtaposition, not only grammatically but also imagistically. The point is to carefully pair two images together in such a way that a shift or disjunction occurs between them. The art of haiku lies in creating the right amount of distance between the two parts, so the leap is neither too far (and thus obscure) or too close (and thus too obvious). By focusing on concrete images rather than judgment or analysis, the two juxtaposed parts of a haiku allow the reader to feel what the poet felt, without the poet telling the reader what to feel. In fact, that’s a really good piece of advice to remember as you write your own haiku: Don’t write about your feelings. Instead, write about what caused your feelings.

The point of haiku is indeed to convey feeling, not ideas, concepts, or judgments. Consider this haiku of mine, which won first place in the 2000 Henderson haiku contest, sponsored by the Haiku Society of America:

     meteor shower . . .
     a gentle wave
     wets our sandals

How do you feel when you read this poem? Do you feel the surprise of the tide turning, thus wetting your sandaled feet? Do you feel the moment’s summerness? Do you notice the effect of the word “our,” which makes this a shared rather than solitary experience? Even if you’ve never been to the ocean, I hope you can feel the enthrallment with the meteor shower, and then the surprise wetness from a wave, showing how nature, in this case through the changing tide, caused by the gravitational pull of celestial objects, can touch us in unexpected ways. A good haiku will make you realize something that you always knew but might have forgotten. A haiku takes you back to yourself, back to who you are, and what it’s like to be human—to your “falling leaf nature,” as translator R. H. Blyth put it. And you make this realization emotionally, not intellectually. You also bring a lot of yourself to each haiku, which is sometimes called an “unfinished” poem because of what it leaves out. And what you bring to each poem is how you have personally experienced your world through your senses. Thus haiku poems are about the five senses, and how you take in the world around you through those senses. In other words, the haiku is about what takes place outside you. It is generally not about what you think about the experience or how you interpret it, at least not for beginners.

So why not give haiku a try with a goal other than 5-7-5 in mind? Indeed, the point of the “no 5-7-5” NaHaiWriMo logo is to emphasize that it’s a widespread misunderstanding to think of haiku merely as anything written in 5-7-5 syllables. Remember, 5-7-5 does not a haiku make.

PERSONAL OBSERVATIONS: 

So, in a nutshell, here is my own take on the thrust of this article:

THE CONCEPT OF THE SO-CALLED “RULE” OF 5-7-5 SYLLABLES IN HAIKU IN OCCIDENTAL LANGUAGES CONSTITUTES A COMPLETE MISUNDERSTANDING OF THE 5-7-5 SOUND COUNT OF CLASSICAL JAPANESE HAIKU. This does not necessarily mean that some of your haiku may indeed end up with a 5-7-5 syllable count, i.e. 5 syllables in the first line, 7 in the second and 5 in the third, but if any such haiku do end up with this syllable count, it is merely by happenstance. The vast majority of haiku in Occidental languages do not strictly run to 5-7-5 syllables. And even if a particular haiku is 5-7-5 = 17 syllables long in English, if it is bilingual, as are my Canadian haiku, it is almost a dead certainty that the same (or similar) haiku in French will not run to the same number of syllables, given that the syntactical and grammatical structures of these 2 languages are so unalike. And what goes for bilingual English and French haiku must necessarily also apply to bilingual English and Spanish, English and Italian, English and German, Spanish and French, Spanish and Italian, Spanish and German and so on and so on, ad nauseam. You simply cannot stuff into a predetermined 5-7-5 syllable count box the same or similar haiku in two or more Occidental languages. Besides, so-called “syllables” in Japanese haiku are not syllables at all, but rather discrete sounds. Caveat poeta! 


Canadian winter haiku – the wendigo’s fangs = les crocs du wendigo

the wendigo’s fangs
tearing into flesh  – 
flash-frozen heart

wendigo haiku

les crocs du wendigo
déchirant la chair –
coeur congelé

Richard Vallance


Kigo or season words in Japanese and Canadian haiku:

Traditional Japanese and Canadian haiku share at least a few kigo or season words. But there are many Canadian kigo which are not found in Japanese haiku at all, and one of these is the Canadian winter kigo, wendigo. But what is the wendigo? The Wendigo is said to be a Algonquian native legend. There are many different stories associated with this mystic being. Is it a spirit? or was it once a human being who was transformed into this being as a result of eating human flesh? The Algonquian native legend states, "It is usually described as a giant with a heart of ice; sometimes it is thought to be entirely made of ice. Its body is skeletal and deformed, with missing lips and toes." And yet another version of this story is retold by the Ojibwa First Nation and it states, "It was a large creature, as tall as a tree, with a lipless mouth and jagged teeth. Its breath was a strange hiss, its footprints full of blood, and it ate any man, woman or child who ventured into its territory." 

In Japanese traditional haiku, The three main strategies (among others) are the use of season words (kigo), cutting words (kireji), and objective sensory imagery. In Japanese haiku, the 500 most common kigo or season words are found here:
http://www.2hweb.net/haikai/renku/500ESWd.html

Just a few of these are:

for spring:
spring night
cherry blossom(s)
tranquil
hazy moon
last frost
spring tide
plow
pinwheel
frog
butterfly

for summer:
hot
summer moon
fragrant breeze
thunder
rainbow
drought
rice planting
silk worm
kingfisher
eel
mosquito

for autumn:
autumn dusk
chilly
fleeting autumn
scarecrow
reed cutting
quail
sandpiper
salmon
apple
grapes

for winter:
short days
clear and cold
freezing
winter moon
frost
snow
ice
icicles
grebe
bed bugs

But while Canadian share at least a few of these kigo or season words, it is more than apparent that most Canadian kigo are not the same as the Japanese ones. For instance, we have:

for spring:
umbrella(s)
pouring rain (especially!)
purple loosestrife
polar bear cubs
geese
tundra
midnight sun


for summer:
midnight sun
maple trees
dappled maples
shooting stars
bald eagle
canyon
stray cat
fireflies
wilderness
gray crane
Wild Rice Moon


for autumn:
MacIntosh, Spartan, Courtland, Royal Gala etc. apples
picking apples
falling leaves
leaves, especially maple leaves
rustling leaves
cabins
mist(y)

for winter:
snow storm (even though this exists in Japanese haiku, it is far more common in Canadian ones)
snow flurries
spruce trees
fir trees
ice storm
icy lake
Blood Wolf Moon
polar bears
wolves
wolverines
Arctic fox
Snowy Owl
(Canadian) lynx
snow hares
chickadees
Northern Lights = Aurora Borealis
wendigo

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