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IV.  Rhyming Haiku
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by Charles Trumbull   (trumbullc@aol.com)

Rhymed haiku in English is far from the norm, but by the same
token, rhymed verse in general has fallen out of fashion.
Writers seems to feel that rhyme, meter, and other such tools
interfere with the purity of the poetic content or dilute the
emotional directness of the message.  Avoidance of poetics,
however, can lead to an impoverishment of poetry, and there is a
risk involved in casting off those very attributes of a poem that
distinguish it from prose.  While good haiku and good poetry can
be written without rhyme, and rhyme is not vital to the success
of a haiku, nevertheless, form can and should be used where
appropriate to enhance the content.

Harold Henderson, writing in 1967 (9), observed that only one
rhymed haiku had won any prize in the journal American Haiku (in
vol.  2, no.  2), the following one by Ethel Freeman:

Brown mimosa seed
where blossoms once invited
hummingbirds to feed.

(Henderson also mentions an article on rhyme by W.H.  Kerr in
American Haiku, vol.  3, no.  1, which I have not been able to
locate -- does anyone have a copy?)

The current approach to English-language haiku is well expressed
in Lorraine Ellis Harr's "The Isn'ts of Haiku" (7), in which she
makes two points about rhyme:

"Haiku ISN'T poetics (in the English-language poetry sense) but
it IS pure poetry.

"ÕHåaiku should flow, especially when read aloud.  It doesn't
rhyme, except rarely.  AVOID run-on lines.  . . ."

One is not certain if the "except rarely" is intended as a
license to rhyme or an apology for an occasional accident.
Harr's emphasis on "pure poetry," however, sidesteps the
important fact that haiku in Japanese is a prescriptive art form,
with rules governing syllable count, structure, word selection,
and content.  Can English-language haiku, then, simply ignore all
stylistic restrictions?  If writers of haiku in Japanese make use
of the range of poetic devices available in that language, should
authors in other languages not avail themselves of the
conventions of their own poetic traditions?  Even more
questionable, of course, would be to appropriate one aspect of
the Japanese form while ignoring others (12):

To write a haiku
Count seventeen syllables
(Nothing else counts much).

One way to see the benefits that rhyme can bring might be to
compare the same haiku unrhymed and rhymed, as can be done with
translations.  Juxtaposing versions of one poem as interpreted by
different translators is a fascinating exercise it itself!
Resisting the temptation to digress, however, and admitting up
front that many factors besides rhyme affect the success of a
poem in translation, I would argue that Harold Henderson's rhymed
versions of the following three haiku by Basho are certainly no
worse than, and usually superior to, the others.  The
transliterated Japanese originals with which each section begins
are also Henderson's (8):

Shizukasa ya iwa ni shimi-iru semi-no-koe

How quiet --
locust-shrill
pierces rock   (13)

How still it is!
Cicadas
burning in the sun
Drilling into rock . . .   (3)

>From silent temple,
voice of a lone cicada
penetrates rock walls.   (2)

silence itself is
in the rock saturated
are cicada sounds   (4)

So still:
into rocks it pierces --
the locust-shrill   (8)

So still . . .
into the rocks it pierces,
the cicada-shrill.   (9)

Henderson latches onto the ingenious "still-shrill" pairing in
the fifth translation above and keeps it for another version, the
sixth, that he published nine years later.  Note the short first
line, which (especially with the ellipsis) tends to attenuate the
rhyme.  Is the rhyme in the last two translations here any less
valid poetically than the heavy use of alliteration in the
fourth?

Inazuma ya yami-no-kata yuku goi-no koe

A flash of lightning;
Through the darkness goes
The scream of the night heron.   (1)

Lightning --
heron-cry
stabs darkness.   (13)

Lightning flickering
without sound . . .
How far away
the night-heron cries.   (3)

Heat-lightning streak --
through darkness pierces
the heron's shriek.   (10)

A lightning gleam:
into darkness travels
a night heron's scream.   (8)

The fourth translation is by an unnamed poet but has the feel of
Henderson's hand.  Another clever selection of rhymes is made,
"streak" and "shriek," both words suggesting rapid motion through
space, one visual and one aural.  In this instance the rhyme
contributes to the unexpected relating of two senses, sight and
sound, that is a key element of haiku.  The fifth translation is
somewhat less successful but introduces an air of mystery abetted
by the rhyme words "gleam" and "scream." Did the lightning
actually discharge, or is it only a metaphor for the sudden cry
of the bird?

Haru nare ya na-mo-naki yama-no asa-gasumi

Thanks to Spring, a nameless hill
Has its veil of morning mist.   (11)

Because spring has come,
this small gray nameless mountain
Is honored by mist.   (3)

Spring -- through
morning mist,
what mountain's there?   (13)

Oh, these spring days!
A nameless little mountain,
Wrapped in morning haze!   (8)

This is clearly a difficult verse to translate.  It is important
to convey the sense of total joy at a spring morning that even
places a coronet of mist on a humble little hill.  Here the rhyme
in the final variant provides a lightness that the others lack.

In the Preface to his pioneering haiku handbook (8) Henderson
defends his use of rhyme in his English translations of the
Japanese masters in the following terms:

"First, I happen to like rhyme in a short poem of this sort, and
I think that it is at least allowable.  The chief reason that
Japanese do not use it is that all Japanese words end either in a
vowel or in "n," and rhyming would soon become intolerably
monotonous.  Secondly, I think that any verse form, be it sonnet,
triolet, or haiku, is more effective if it is kept fairly rigid,
so that it can act as kind of a frame to the picture.  In
Japanese the effect of definite form is given by an alteration of
five and seven syllables; in English this method is impossible,
and the use of rhyme or assonance, especially if it can be kept
unobtrusive, is perhaps the best available substitute.  Thirdly,
haiku are very short, and their grammar is often fragmentary.
There is real danger that a literal translation might be mistaken
for an unfinished piece of prose, and a haiku is not that, but a
poem, complete as it stands."

The key words are "allowable" and "unobtrusive." In fact, this is
the approach endorsed by J.W.  Hackett, one of the greatest haiku
masters writing in English: "Rhyme and other poetic devices
should never be so obvious that they detract from the content,"
(5) or again in another volume: "Avoid end rhyme in haiku.  Read
each verse aloud to make sure that it sounds natural." (6)
Hackett, who always places the "pure poetry" aspects of his haiku
first, applies his formulation for rhyme brilliantly, as in the
following selection (5):

In the greens of that tree
a squak of blue is playing
hide and seek with me.

Hackett pairs the first and third lines, probably the most common
rhyme scheme.  He is playing with the words and the reader,
however, because "tree" is stressed but "me" cannot be; the
meaning would be changed.  Hackett's words are playing
hide-and-seek too!

At the summit tree,
my exhausted dog lifts his leg --
a dry formality.

Playing with the text again: the rhyme emphasizes the comic
effect of the Latinate final word.

Rocks stacked high with snow
narrow the wild stream into
a ribbon of flow.

This haiku has no punctuation, but the rhyme sets the caesura and
invites comparison between the subject, "snow," and the object,
"flow."

Clouted by a dew,
the horn of this snail withdrew
and just disappeared!

A lovely haiku!  "Withdrew" suggests the end of the main thought,
making the remaining line something of a coda, trailing off,
subtly but precisely emphasizing the text.

Now soar butterfly --
but hereafter take more care,
webs are everywhere.

Hackett gets the reverse effect here.  By rhyming the second and
third lines, he liberates the first -- and allows his butterfly
to soar!

One must kneel to see
the tiny yellow bugs that
run the creeping slug.

Internal rhyme here, more subtle, and something Hackett does
often.  The rhyme adds complexity, especially rhythmic interest,
calling a caesura after "bugs" and giving the poem a very
appropriate "three-against-two" feeling.

Finally, consider this more recent haiku from the late Nicholas
Virgilio in which the rhyme has less to do with structure and
more to do with mood.  Virgilio achieves an eerie sense of
foreboding (14).

Adding father's name
to the family tombstone
with room for my own.

_______________

Works cited:
(1) Robert Aitken, A Zen Wave: Basho's Haiku and Zen
    (Weatherhill, 1978).
(2) James David Andrews, Full Moon Is Rising
    (Branden Press, 1976).
(3) Peter Beilenson and Harry Behn, in Haiku Harvest
    (Peter Pauper Press, 1962).
(4) Cid Corman, One Man's Moon (Gnomon Press, 1984).
(5) J.W. Hackett, Haiku Poetry, Volume Three
    (Japan Publications, 1968).
(6) James Hackett, The Way of Haiku: An Anthology of Haiku Poems
    (Japan Publication, 1969), as cited in "Suggestions for
    Writing Haiku in English" in Dogwood Blossoms, issue 2.
(7) Lorraine Ellis Harr, "The ISN'TS of Haiku" in Dogwood Blossoms,
    "Issue Zero."
(8) Harold G. Henderson, in An Introduction to Haiku
    (Doubleday Anchor, 1958).
(9) Harold G. Henderson, Haiku in English (Tuttle, 1967).
(10) unnamed translator, in X.J. Kennedy, An Introduction to
     Poetry (Scott, Foresman, 7th ed., 1990).
(11) Asataro Miyamori, An Anthology of Haiku, Ancient and Modern
     (Greenwood Press, 1970--orig. pub., 1932).
(12) Ron Rubin, in E.O. Parrott, "How to be Well-Versed in Poetry
     (Penguin, 1990).
(13) Lucien Stryk, in Basho: On Love and Barley (Penguin, 1985).
(14) Cor van den Heuvel, The Haiku Anthology (Touchstone,
     rev. ed., 1991).

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