With Haiku in English, it’s Rafferty’s Rules.
The joy of poetry escaped me for 60 years. One magical day Haiku appeared, which so piquantly paints Japanese thought I’m forever its prisoner of delight.
While subtle intricacies of Japanese art lie beyond ability and patience, and purist adherence to format requires scholarly grasp, my hope is to simply make some art.
And Life is short.
Season words, as per essays, broaden to the subjects anything and everything. Cutting happens by pleasant happenstance.
I obey only 3 lines of 5, 7, and 5 syllables – without trying to relate or reconcile them with ‘on’ or ‘morae.’ A syllabic constraint is sufficiently exhilaratingly difficult. It enforces word economy, enjoys a delicate rhythm, and, importantly, sounds, to my untrained ear, as a pensive and reflective Basho might (on perhaps an off-day).
For me it is a perfect way of discovering, then expressing, life’s minor epiphanies.
Here’s a little dab of 5-7-5 ‘artku’ from a former Vantaay.com
Congregation gone
Alone, awaits return of
Christianity
