“there is no need to stuff it with more syllables”

Alexey Andreyev, a Russian poet, wrote a great essay several years ago called “The Definition of Haiku“. You should read the whole thing, but here are some excerpts that I’ve spent a while thinking about the last few days.

“When poets write or translate haiku into their language they try to save haiku spirit, and somehow imitate the Japanese form (the length of the lines, the breaks) — but at the same time they take into account the common patterns of their own language so that it sounds natural. This way most of Russian translations of classic Japanese haiku have about 20 syllables; on the other hand, a haiku in English, according to W. Higginson’s The Haiku Handbook, is better when it’s about 12 syllables…[T]here is no need to stuff it with more syllables.”

I mentioned this 12-syllable thing the other day. 12 still seems pretty arbitrary to me, but I will agree that the haiku I really like usually seem to have significantly less than 17 syllables. 17 syllables — that’s a lot in English for one breath, one fleeting thought. When I revise my haiku it’s usually to pare the syllable count back to minimum. All those extraneous verbs, articles, pronouns! They seem embarrassing when I look at my first effort, the same way all those extraneous adverbs and adjectives embarrass me when I look at my rough drafts of my prose.

(One interesting tangent on this subject is that I was a Russian major in college, and Russian famously has no articles at all, doesn’t have the verb “to be” in the present tense, and can often do without pronouns due to its heavily inflected verb forms. True, it has a lot of long words — maybe this accounts for their feeling that they need 20 syllables to do a good haiku — but in other ways it’s a pretty minimalist sort of language. I found that studying Russian was a good thing for my English prose style — you quickly learn how few words are really necessary to say what you want.)

Another quote:

“Every haiku is a sort of little picture, an interesting image. Two main ideas about these images:

A) They come from direct experience; certain bright moments of life you managed to catch with your ‘internal camera’: wonders, strange coincidences, funny situations, sceneries that resonate with your current ‘soul state’ or even change, shock you suddenly, giving you a moment of sadness or another sensation YOU COULDN’T EVEN NAME.

B) This image, being written down, should evoke certain deep feelings in readers, too; this is really difficult — not only to present the experience in words but to do it in such a way that it could be effectively reflected in someone’s mind.

The art of haiku (as I see it) is a dance on the sharp blade between these (A) and (B): you can write about what you saw but it won’t grab your reader as you write merely ‘there are leaves on the tree’ — extreme (A); on the other hand, going to the extreme (B), you can make up a fancy abstract construction but it’ll be too far from the immediate perception; this artificial fake will be visible and will impress no one.”

This A/B distinction interests me, since I’ve been surfing around the Web the last few weeks reading other people’s haiku and have noticed that the ones I don’t really like (don’t worry, I’m not going to cite any examples) are usually too heavy on either the A or the B. Either they’re very concrete, just straightforward images that may be pretty but aren’t really connected to anything and don’t evoke any particular thought or emotion; or they’re very abstract, grandiose declarations about the poet’s state of mind or life philosophy or opinions about the universe. It’s the ones that connect — only connect! — the concrete and the abstract that I end up catching my breath over. I try to keep this connection in mind when I write haiku. Some days I’m more successful than others.

Andreyev again:

“Imagine yourself walking by the river and seeing an unfinished bridge: maybe, just a half of the bridge from one side to the middle of the river, or some pillars stuck in the bottom, or even ruins — an old cement block on one side and a similar one on the other. Anyway, there’s no bridge, no connection now, you can’t reach the other side of the river — yet you can finish the bridge in your mind and say exactly where it starts and ends. That is the way the unfinished links in haiku work…”

Well, this is an image I’ll be thinking about for a long time, that’s all I have to say. Writing haiku so that the bridge is imaginable but not actually there — that’s a goal I can get behind.

(By the way, I have discovered lots of Andreyev’s Russian haiku on the Web and want to try to translate some of them soon. They’re excellent — though interestingly, most of them seem to have not only fewer than 20 but fewer than 17 syllables. Apparently Andreyev is not defeated by the notorious polysyllabicism of the Russian language.)

10 thoughts on ““there is no need to stuff it with more syllables”

  1. __In the haiku/senryu world, I am no one… yet, I have felt parallel to Andreyev’s opinion for a number of years. Why create the clutter of syllables when fewer… create deeper thought?

  2. Pingback: Rhyme time « Red Dragonfly

  3. “See, there is no need to stuff it with more syllables…” – Alexey Andreyev

    let us consider
    button mushroom caps, cheese…
    see, there is no need

    • I did work on some — a few seem pretty good but many more have bumped up against the incontrovertible fact that I have not seriously studied Russian in twenty years and only intermittently speak or read it anymore. Also, the problem with translating Andrey’s ku in particular (or, at least, in publishing the translations) is that most of the ones available on the Web have notices attached to them specifically requesting that they not be republished without permission, and I have not been able to track him down to get permission — he seems to have vanished sometime around 2004. (If anyone reading this knows where he is, please let me know!)

      There are several Russian-language haiku journals on the web (I may write a post about this — haiku seems to be very well-established and at a very high level of development in the Slavic-speaking world) and I may try to get permission from some of the authors of more recent pieces to translate their work, perhaps in collaboration with them to reduce the risk that I will completely botch the translation. 🙂 I love translation really, I considered translation as a career after finishing my Russian degree. It’s sort of like editing — way easier than actually coming up with your own ideas, but still requiring a certain amount of creativity and engagement with the language.

      • Cool! I’ll keep an eye on the blog for any future translations then!

        And I get what you mean about the way editing can be 100 times easier than writing – I see how that thought could be applied to translation. You have something brilliant in one language, and it becomes a matter of rep-presenting it on your language, and almost ‘getting out of the way’ and just letting the piece work.

        On the flipside, a bad translation would probably muffle any beautyf of the piece,huh? But having studied Russian as much as you have, I bet you’ve still got fair skills? Or some contacts left to help?

        • Well, I’m really thoroughly unqualified to translate Russian in any kind of professional way at this point — it would be primarily for my own amusement (and, undoubtedly, the even greater amusement of any professional translators who came across it 🙂 ) if I did it. I just think it’s fun to negotiate those differences in language structure and vocabulary and culture and try to create a poem that is somehow the equivalent of the original in — feeling? intention? meaning? All those interesting aesthetic and literary choices to make, but no feeling of burdensome responsibility for the work — after all, it already exists out there, anything I would do to it would just be a frivolous extra.

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