I was inspired by some recent blog posts by Margaret Dornaus of Haiku-Doodle and Bill Kenney of haiku-usa to try writing riffs on classical haiku. I started with a list of favorite haiku by Basho I had jotted down while reading Makoto Ueda’s Matsuo Basho: The Master Haiku Poet. Then I tried to distill each of these down to some universal theme or structure or atmosphere — to figure out what it was about them that made them seem so great to me. And then for each of them I tried to write a haiku that echoed in some way the spirit of what Basho wrote, while coming up with some new insight or image that was entirely my own.
This exercise was seriously fun and exciting, and I am definitely going to repeat it. Some of the haiku I wrote are clearly just versions of Basho’s haiku; some of them seem to me like they are different enough from what Basho wrote that they could stand alone. I wouldn’t try to publish any of these, at least without acknowledging Basho’s influence, but I do think I learned a lot about how many ways there are to write a successful haiku (even if it’s only Basho’s haiku that are actually successful 🙂 ).
Basho’s haiku below are in regular type; mine are indented and in italics. The Basho haiku are all Ueda’s translations, except for the last one, which (as indicated) is by Jane Reichhold.
1.
At night, quietly,
A worm in the moonlight
Digs into the chestnut.
every morning
new holes in the leaves
someone’s night shift
2.
The sound of an oar beating the waves
Chills my bowels through
And I weep in the night.
winter morning
hearing the car start
my tears start
3.
The sea darkens
And a wild duck’s call
Is faintly white.
dark clouds gather —
the calls of songbirds
light in the distance
4.
Loneliness —
Sinking into the rocks,
A cicada’s cry.
frustration —
the stream rushes by
pounding the rocks
5.
A pile of leeks lie
Newly washed white:
How cold it is!
white onions
on the cutting board —
winter chill
6.
The daffodils
And the white paper screen
Reflecting one another’s color.
the forget-me-nots
and the sky —
an echo
7.
Whenever I speak out
My lips are chilled —
Autumn wind.
don’t tell me
what to say —
rising heat
8.
Autumn deepens —
The man next door, what
Does he do for a living?
winter approaches —
I try to learn the names
of the neighbors
9.
The squid-seller’s voice
Is indistinguishable
From the cuckoo’s!
the infomercial host
and the crow —
same voice
10.
Chrysanthemums’ scent —
In the garden, the worn-out
Shoe sole.
the scent of apples
left in the orchard
your torn sweater
11.
A bush warbler —
It lets its droppings fall on the rice cake
At the end of the veranda.
nuthatches—
shitting all over the sandwich
I left on the patio
12.
A white chrysanthemum —
However intently I gaze,
Not a speck of dust.
no matter how long
I stare at hydrangeas —
pure blue
13.
after the flowers
all there is left for my haiku
wisteria beans
(tr. Jane Reichhold)
after the leaves fall
nothing to write haiku about
until it snows
Red Dragonfly 
Your dedication to studying Basho is both inspiring and humbling, Melissa! Every one aspiring to write haiku should latch on to you. I’m really learning so much here, distracted as I am when on my own. I like all your haiku-after-Basho especially #4 and #8. Thanks again.
What you’re doing is perfectly legitimate within the haiku tradition. The Japanese masters often worked variations on one another’s haiku–and on their own, for that matter. And, like my “afters,” this gives you the experience of reading “from the inside.”
Alegria and Bill — thanks for your support of my project!
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Inspiring and inspired, in several senses of those words! I really admire you for taking on this challenge and your results are fantastic. I love the squid seller and the infomercial host especially…such a fun equivalence! You pick out a detail in #7 that I hadn’t ever thought of (why is the autumn air so cool? ah, because the speaker is heating up!) and who hasn’t felt that poignant but frustrating emotion of #13? Terrific, all of it!
Thanks, Abigail. 🙂