Habits of Haiku Scrutiny

How do you receive a haiku? Like most people, when you read them, you probably let each one wash over you as you contemplate the image or feeling or idea, in whatever way the author has conveyed it. This is a generous approach, allowing the poem to be whatever the author offers, regardless of their level of experience. However, the best haiku tend to use common techniques, and we can become better haiku writers by becoming better readers, being aware of the best techniques that the finest haiku poets employ. Here’s what I look for when reading a haiku. These are my habits of haiku scrutiny.

1. Form. Many people have been taught that haiku is a three-line form in a pattern of 5-7-5 syllables. In Japanese it’s actually a one-line vertical form in a traditional pattern (meaning not always) of 5-7-5 sounds (which differ from English syllables). Some people think a poem “gets it right” if it’s in three lines with the “correct” syllable pattern, but this is a misunderstanding. In fact, most 5-7-5 poems miss more important targets, so if I see a poem in a 5-7-5 pattern, I immediately suspect that it’s not a haiku (or that it’s a poor one) because that pattern is a “tell” that the poet may be unaware of more significant targets. Form is far less important than content, but form is what we typically notice first.

2. Seasonal reference. Does the poem clearly suggest a season? A season word (kigo) anchors the poem in time and makes it more readily accessible. If there’s no season word, then perhaps it’s an indoor poem, but sometimes the poem could be improved by giving it a clear seasonal reference, either naming the season or (better yet) sharing something typical of that season. Most haiku are grounded in just one season, one now-moment, never more than that.

3. Two parts. In Japanese, a cutting word (kireji) divides most haiku into two juxtaposed parts. This is a grammatical distinction (one part is grammatically unconnected to the other) as well as imagistic (a new image is paired with the previous one). If a poem has three parts, the poem fails as a haiku (with only rare exceptions). The hardest discipline in haiku, by far, is not syllable counting but creating the right gestalt in the relationship of the poem’s two parts, with the leap between them being neither too obvious nor too obscure.

4. Primarily objective sensory images. Louise Glück once said that a good poem should summon ideas or feelings, not impose them. If I see a haiku that tells me what the poet thinks or feels, or offers an interpretation or analysis, then that’s an imposition. It fails as haiku—or is at least greatly weakened by this choice. The best haiku dwell in the five senses, objectively showing an experience or image without judgment or interpretation. It’s vital to learn how to control objectivity and subjectivity in haiku, and most beginners fall into the trap of excess subjectivity, and some seem to not even understand the difference in their own poems.

5. Feeling. Whenever I discuss a poem in a haiku workshop, I always start by asking “How does this poem make you feel?” This question is about how the poem makes you feel (good), as opposed to what the poem might tell you is the author’s feeling (not good). One purpose of sharing haiku is to validate and celebrate our human emotions, but the best haiku do this by summoning feelings (or ideas) rather than imposing them. Learning how to do this well may take years of discipline. Only after this primary focus on feeling and intuitive effect do my workshops then discuss matters of craft or any other ways to scrutinize a poem. No matter how much you might like or agree with a haiku that tells you what the author felt or thought, the best haiku avoid this beginner mistake.

6. Context. One other factor in assessing haiku, whether we’re aware of it or not, is who the author is, where he or she lives, and where we’re reading the poem (the purpose or theme of many poems in each setting). These factors may change how we apprehend the preceding five habits of scrutiny. For example, if we know the author lives in Punjab, a reference to “rainy season” might conjure different images (and invoke a different time of year) than if the poet lives in California. If we know the poet has just died, too, we will assess the poem differently—and we might even want to respond to every haiku with that sense of import. Whatever the context, we want to pay attention. We want to be a sensitive and aware ideal reader, which Henry James said was someone “on whom nothing is lost.”

Please note that I’m not after meaning here, which is usually a personal matter. Haiku usually have no overt rhyme, metaphor, or simile, with rare exceptions, and no titles. Other habits of scrutiny I employ when considering haiku include craft, sound and rhythm, allusion, double meanings, present tense, unity of time, unity of place, personal taste, and other factors. If poets want to improve their art and craft, their work typically shows evidence that they’ve been reading at least some of the leading haiku journals and anthologies available in English. For a more detailed exploration of opportunities for assessment when reading haiku, please see “Thirteen Ways of Reading Haiku.” I hope these habits of scrutiny when reading haiku will help poets become better at writing haiku too.