Haiku Techniques by Jane Reichhold, part 1 (of 3)


In my early years of haiku writing, I easily accepted the prevalent credo being espoused on how to write haiku. This was, sometimes implied and occasionally expressed, as: if the author's mind/heart was correctly aligned in the “proper” attitude, while experiencing a so-called “haiku moment”, one merely had to report on the experience to have a darn-good haiku. One reason for rejoicing in the acceptance of this view, was that it by-passed the old 5-7-5 barrier crisis.

Another advantage was that it bestowed near-religious honour on the author of a passable haiku. No one knew exactly why a particular haiku was “good” but it was clear from the ku (poem) that the author had experienced a moment of enlightenment (or satori for the Zen inspired). This viewpoint allowed endless articles to be written for magazines on the Zen aspects of haiku writing, and even fuzzier articles of how to prepare for, find, recognise, and advertise one's haiku moments.

However, many of us, recognised that “haiku moments” were very much like other flashes of inspiration which, when transported into other media, became paintings, stories, dreams or even new colour schemes or recipes. And many others shared the frustration of having a truly life-altering moment of insight and then never being able to write a decent haiku that expressed the wonder and majesty of that moment. They would ask, what was wrong with me? Was I not spiritually prepared enough? Was I too common? Too inattentive? Too word-numb? Maybe too many of my Christian beliefs kept me from the Zen nirvana of haiku?

The truth is: probably all of the above can weaken one's ability to write good haiku. Ouch, that hurts. However, I felt rescued when I came across Aware - A Haiku Primer written by hand and illustrated by Betty Drevniok, who at the time was president of the Haiku Society of Canada. Among the many great tips for writing haiku (and obtaining the questionable Zenniness of Zen) I came away with: “Write [haiku] in three short lines using the principle of comparison, contrast, or association”. She also used an expression I had been missing in the discussion of haiku when she wrote: “This technique provides the pivot on which the reader's thought turns and expands”. Technique! So there are tools one can use! I thought joyfully.

And I practiced her methods with glee and relative (to me) success and increased enjoyment. Suddenly I could figure out by myself what was wrong with a haiku that failed to gel as I thought it should. I could ask myself if there was a comparison, a contrast or an association between the images and if this relationship was clear and understandable for the reader.

Slowly, over the years, I found by reading the translations of the old Japanese masters and the haiku of my contemporaries whom I admired, that there were more factors than just these three on which one could build a haiku. However, there seemed a disinterest in others wanting to study these aspects which I call techniques. Perhaps this is because in the haiku scene there continues to be such a reverence for the haiku moment and such a dislike for what are called “desk haiku”. The definition of a desk haiku is one written from an idea or from simply playing around with words. If you don't experience an event with all your senses it is not valid haiku material. A ku from your mind was half-dead and unreal. An experienced writer could only smile at such naiveté, but the label of “desk haiku” was the death-knell for a ku declared as such. This fear kept people new to the scene afraid to work with techniques or even the idea that techniques were needed when it came time to write down the elusive haiku moment. (All illustrations are the author's own.)

The Technique of Comparison: In the words of Betty Drevniok: “In haiku the SOMETHING and the SOMETHING ELSE are set down together in clearly stated images. Together they complete and fulfill each other as ONE PARTICULAR EVENT”. She rather leaves the reader to understand that the idea of comparison is showing how two different things are similar or share similar aspects.

a spring nap
downstream cherry trees
in bud


What is expressed, but not said, is the thought that buds on a tree can be compared to flowers taking a nap. One could also ask to what other images could cherry buds be compared? A long list of items can form in one's mind and be substituted for the first line. Or one can turn the idea around and ask what in the spring landscape can be compared to a nap without naming things that close their eyes to sleep. By changing either of these images one can come up with one's own haiku while getting a new appreciation and awareness of comparison.

The Technique of Contrast: Now the job feels easier. All one has to do is to contrast images.

long hard rain
hanging in the willows
tender new leaves


The delight from this technique is the excitement that opposites create. You have instant built-in interest in the most common haiku 'moment'. And yet most of the surprises of life are the contrasts, and therefore this technique is a major one for haiku.

The Technique of Association: This can be thought of as “how different things relate or come together”. The Zen of this technique is called “oneness” or showing how everything is part of everything else. You do not have to be a Buddhist to see this; simply being aware of what is, is illumination enough.

ancestors
the wild plum
blooms again


If this is too hard to see because you do not equate your ancestors with plum trees, perhaps it is easier to understand with:

moving into the sun
the pony takes with him
some mountain shadow


Does it help for me to explain how this ku came to be written? I was watching some ponies grazing early in the morning on a meadow that was still partially covered with the shadow of the mountain. As the grazing pony moved slowly into the sunshine, I happened to be focused on the shadow and actually saw some of the mountain's shadow follow the pony - to break off and become his shadow. It can also be thought that the pony eating the grass of the mountain becomes the mountain and vice versa. When the boundaries disappear between the things that separates them, it is truly a holy moment of insight and it is no wonder that haiku writers are educated to latch on to these miracles and to preserve them in ku.

Editor's note: This article appears by kind permission of the author, a respected and accomplished American haijin. You can read it and others on Jane Reichhold's ahapoetry website or in her book Writing and Enjoying Haiku: A Hands-on Guide (Kodansha, 2003, ISBN:4-7700-2886-5), portions of which may be read at the ahapoetry website.

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