Haikus as a Storytelling Avenue

By Nhan Phan ‘24

When talking about types of writing, many would think of narratives, sonnets, screenplays, or lyric writing. Few would put haikus into that list, but it is important that we recognize the power of haikus as an avenue of storytelling. 

Traditionally a lens through which poets discuss and explore earth’s natural bounties, haikus are unrhyming poems with 3 lines arranged in a 5-7-5 syllable structure (note that this rule doesn’t have to be strictly followed). This short poetry form originated from Japan; it was originally the opening part of a larger Japanese poem called renga (which was a collaborative poem in which alternate stanzas were written by multiple poets in sequence). Haiku poetry often depicts specific, direct experiences in or of the natural world, and engagement of one’s senses with the world. But what is it that makes haikus so powerful as a storytelling tool?

Haikus are able to paint a vivid picture in very few words. You might have heard your English teacher say that revision is the process that allows your piece to express more with fewer words. Haikus take that principle to heart. Japanese poets needed to distill complex scenes in nature to just the bare essential: focused elements that they want to highlight. 

Here’s an example of a scene that inspired my own haiku. I want you to close your eyes and experience this with me as I go through this moment with you, dear reader. Imagine you are hiking through the lush bamboo forests of Southeast Asia on a straight path. The skyline above you is a straight, vertical strait of sky outlined by lined-up bamboo on two sides. Rays of sunlight protrude through the bamboo columns; the forest is a giant, gorgeous green filter. Looking down, you see a small shoot protruding from the ground; the surrounding bamboo tower over it. Over time, the shoot reaches higher and higher, one sheath at a time, grows and joins its relatives in this forest. You take a moment to stop and close your eyes. You take in the world around you; you can smell the dewdrops trickling down bamboo leaves, the green moss, the forest’s fresh, earthy scent. It is silent all around you. You are alone, in the middle of a bamboo path experiencing the quiet, serene nature that is so precious, so rare. Now open your eyes. 

Now that you have the scene to work with, you may be tempted to include all of the imagery into as complex a haiku as you possibly can. However, remember that haiku is all about simplicity, minimalism, and making sure that every syllable counts. This is where the revision process kicks in. The process I personally use to write haiku is to re-write time and time again. Perhaps, if you highlight all of the imagery used in the previous paragraph and put them in a list, you will be able to narrow down the imagery you think is most vivid that speaks to the atmosphere of the bamboo forest. What all haiku poets utilize is the value of action. In this case, I am specifically referring to verbs. What verbs can you choose to signify the growth of the bamboo shoot? The flowing of dewdrops? Note that it is also worth asking: what descriptions are essential to set the scene? All of those questions will help you narrow down on the scene you are describing and thus, create a significant haiku. Here’s my example:

a bamboo shoot sprouts

vivid green sunlight of day

dewdrops trickle.

Another famous example! Matsuo Bashō, born in 1694, was the most famous haiku poet during the Edo period in Japan. He was accredited with the creation of several types of poems and gave rise to the popularity of haikus in the modern creative world. This is one of his most famous haikus, “old pond”:

古池や蛙飛び込む水の音

 ふるいけやかわずとびこむみずのおと  

furu ike ya kawazu tobikomu mizu no oto

Or 

old pond

frog leaps in

water’s sound

This haiku poem illustrated clearly the power of storytelling, both literally and symbolically, that haikus innately have. Close your eyes and imagine the image that Basho painted. “Old pond” – a static image. Visualize a clear, pristine pond without deformation to the linear, reflective surface. Symbolically, the ‘pond’ also represents the subconscious mind, a subtle, gentle, undisturbed Eden that everyone holds within themselves. Basho personified the ‘pond’ as ‘old’ to show the subconscious connection that existed within all of us long ago; humans share the intrinsic subconscious mind. Perhaps, it might be an homage to the notion of the hive mind, where a group of people become aware of the commonality and think and act as a community. The pond is made up of billions of droplets of water, which represents each human being; the bounds of the pond that keeps us all together may be a symbolic representation of the collective consciousness. “Frog leaps in” – a dynamic movement that disturbs the pond. The previously-linear surface ripples as the frog dives head-first into the pond; ripple waves dissipate harmoniously across the pond surface. The ‘frog’ is the stimulus to the subconscious mind: the interaction between the conscious and the subconscious. It engages the ‘pond,’ or the subconscious mind, and engages us, you and I, to think about the connection we share as human beings. This connection, related to the aforementioned hive mind, being how you are reading my article in this particular moment, or how I am thinking of you when writing this article; perhaps, everything happens in sequence like the uniform ripple of the pond’s surface. Lastly, “water’s sound” presents an auditory image that describes the motion and the impact of the frog as it leaps. Imagine the ripples spreading across our subconscious connections; the ‘water’s sound’ is a symbolic representation of that! These are specific sensory details that, if you were to actually imagine the scene, would enhance the experience. One has to truly immerse themselves into the reading in order to fully get the picture the author was striving to convey; and it is difficult because we, as readers, are preoccupied with our preconceived notions of how the world works (or how it should work). This is a prime example of how haikus can enable you to tell any story using nature imagery.

The process of writing a haiku can be satisfying. Writing haikus allows you to practice the discipline of imagination, scene-setting, and revision. Writing haikus will require you to recapture your experiences and recall and relive your sensory interactions with the world. Most often, storytelling haikus are small segments of your recalled experiences that tie in together to create the bigger picture of the world you saw from your eyes and how you perceived that version of reality. Haikus are a deeply personal sensory and descriptive adventure; above all, it is your engagement with the ripples of your subconscious ‘pond.’