Nagoya –

I still remember my first encounter with 俳句 (haiku). I was in first grade, attending an elementary school in the United States. Yes, at the age of 5, I wrote my first 俳句 (sadly, I didn’t keep a copy).

The entire objective of this lesson on Japanese poetry was actually to learn about how syllables are used in English. The goal was to produce three lines that matched the correct number of syllables in a 俳句: five, seven, five. It’s only now, more than 20 years later, that I’ve come to realize this doesn’t nearly begin to describe the depths of this historic art form.

Let’s try to plunge into those depths. First, take a look at possibly the most famous 俳句 of all time — written by the most famous 俳人 (haijin, haiku poet) of all time — 松尾芭蕉 (Matsuo Bashō, [1644-94]):

古池や蛙飛び込む水の音

Furu ike ya kawazu tobikomu mizu no oto

Old pond frog jumps in sound of water

It’s as relatively straightforward as far as 俳句 go. Most English translations of it are pretty consistent, along these lines:

The old pond;

A frog jumps in —

The sound of the water. (R.H. Blythe)

This or any translation can’t do everything the Japanese original does, however, simply because of linguistic differences — all the more reason to learn how to understand 俳句 in its native language. In order to do that, we’ll have to look at some useful terminology. A 俳句 must contain the following components: a 5-7-5 韻律 (inritsu, meter), one 季語 (kigo, seasonal word) and 切れ (kire, cutting words).

Let’s start with the 韻律, which many of us know from those syllable lessons in elementary school. The syllables in 俳句 are called 拍 (haku), and are more correctly translated as “mora” in English. Each kana is one mora, except when dealing with a contraction like the small ょ in しょ, which still counts as one 拍. So even a word like 東京 (Tōkyō, Tokyo), which has just two syllables when pronounced in English, actually has four 拍: と-う-きょ-う.

We can understand 拍 even more clearly through a famous piece by 杉田久女 (Sugita Hisajo, Hisajo Sugita [1890-1946]):

蝶追うて春山深く迷ひけり

Chō oute haruyama fukaku mayohi keri

Butterfly chasing spring hills deeply gets lost

蝶, or ちょう, is two 拍, and 追うて, or おうて, is three. That makes five 拍 for the first section even though in English it may sound like only three syllables.

季語 are words that refer to one of the four Japanese 季節 (kisetsu, seasons) or お正月 (o-shōgatsu, New Year). There are countless 季語 to choose from: 燕 (tsubame, swallows) conjure up the idea of 春 (haru, spring), 青葉 (aoba, fresh leaves) bring to mind 夏 (natsu, summer), a 名月 (meigetsu, harvest moon) represents 秋 (aki, autumn), and a 山眠る (yamanemuru, sleeping mountain) is used for 冬 (fuyu, winter).

In the previously discussed Basho 俳句, the 季語 is 蛙 (kawazu, frog), which represents spring. The Sugita haiku contains both 蝶 (chō, butterfly) and 春山 (haruyama, spring mountains), also referencing spring.

The final component we’ll touch on are the 切れ. These words essentially act as punctuation in a 俳句, adding 強調 (kyōchō, emphasis), 驚嘆 (kyōtan, wonder) or 記憶 (kioku, memory). They act as a way to point to the important parts of the poem and create the juxtaposition that is inherent to the art form.

Cutting words include かな (kana), which expresses 感動 (kandō, being moved); や (ya), which expresses 詠嘆 (eitan, exclamation); and けり (keri), which expresses 断言 (dangen, assertion). The Basho 俳句 contains や, which acts like an exclamation point after 古池 (furu ike, old pond); Sugita’s poem uses けり after 迷ひ (mayohi, get lost) as a way to add emphasis.

While 韻律, 季語 and 切れ are the core components of 俳句, there are other issues that a reader needs to be aware of in order to have a more complete understanding. Some of these are simple grammatical differences: Japanese does not specify plural or singular, or use subjects or pronouns — which can result in a great deal of ambiguity. For example, it could be interpreted that Basho is writing about one or multiple frogs, ponds or sounds.

Words don’t have to be arranged chronologically in Japanese sentences, either, so the frog jumping does not necessarily happen before the sound of the water. Nouns in Japanese can also be modified by a verb or sentence coming before them, which is known as 修飾語 (shūshokugo, grammatical modifier). Since there is no grammatical pause between 飛び込む and 水の音, you can actually read the Basho 俳句 as “a frog jumps in to the sound of water,” where the “sound of water” is being modified by the preceding clause.

On top of that, 洒落 (share, puns) and double meanings are also far more common in Japanese. The pronunciation of “音” (oto, sound) sounds like a sound itself, which is why a number of different translations of the 俳句 write the last line as “plop.”

Readers should also be aware of distinct poetic concepts in 俳句, which are developed to represent in particular ideas of 侘び (wabi, austere refinement), 寂び (sabi, elegant simplicity) and 幽玄 (yūgen, mysterious profundity). While these three qualities are not necessarily emphasized in every poem, it’s important to remember that they are at the heart of 俳句.

Finally, one important concept to understand when reading these poems is 写生 (shasei, sketching). Influenced by Basho, the poet 正岡子規 (Masaoka Shiki [1867-1902]) defined 俳句 as: “物や風景をよく観察して、そのありさまを絵のように写し取る文芸 (Mono ya keshiki o yoku kansatsu shite, sono arisama o e no yō ni utsushitoru geijutsu, A literary art in which one carefully observes things and scenery and then copies them as they are, like a picture).”

俳句を読む時、音、季語が指している季節、切れが指している強調、洒落、詫び、寂び、幽玄を注意すれば、本当の意味が理解できるようになる (Haiku o yomu toki, oto, kigo ga sashite-iru kisetsu, kire ga sashite-iru kyōchō, share, wabi, sabi, yūgen o chui sureba, hontō no imi ga rikai dekiru yō ni naru, When reading haiku, if you pay attention to the sound, the season indicated by the seasonal words, the emphasis indicated by the cutting words, and the puns, austere refinement, elegant simplicity and mysterious profundity, you’ll be able to understand its true meaning).

To conclude with a very bad haiku of my own (though I believe I’ve improved greatly from when I was 5):

冬の風　勉強と来る　覚りけり

Fuyu no kaze benkyō to kuru satori keri

The winds of winter, along with studying, comes understanding.