#i want to write more poetry

[rivereddies]

thinking about you meet god and she's mostly dead fish again

[corvidcall]

None Of You Know What Haiku Are

I'm going to preface this by saying that i am not an expert in ANY form of poetry, just an enthusiast. Also, this post is... really long. Too long? Definitely too long. Whoops! I love poetry.

If you ask most English-speaking people (or haiku-bot) what a haiku is, they would probably say that it's a form of poetry that has 3 lines, with 5, and then 7, and then 5 syllables in them. That's certainly what I was taught in school when we did our scant poetry unit, but since... idk elementary school when I learned that, I've learned that that's actually a pretty inaccurate definition of haiku. And I think that inaccurate definition is a big part of why most people (myself included until relatively recently!) think that haiku are kind of... dumb? unimpressive? simple and boring? I mean, if you can just put any words with the right number of syllables into 3 lines, what makes it special?

Well, let me get into why the 5-7-5 understanding of haiku is wrong, and also what makes haiku so special (with examples)!

First of all, Japanese doesn't have syllables! There's a few different names for what phonetic units actually make up the language- In Japanese, they're called "On" (音), which translates to "sound", although English-language linguists often call it a "mora" (μ), which (quoting from Wikipedia here) "is a basic timing unit in the phonology of some spoken languages, equal to or shorter than a syllable." (x) "Oh" is one syllable, and also one mora, whereas "Oi" has one syllable, but two moras. "Ba" has one mora, "Baa" has two moras, etc. In English, we would say that a haiku is made up of three lines, with 5-7-5 syllables in them, 17 syllables total. In Japanese, that would be 17 sounds.

For an example of the difference, the word "haiku", in English, has 2 syllables (hai-ku), but in Japanese, はいく has 3 sounds (ha-i-ku). "Christmas" has 2 syllables, but in Japanese, "クリスマス" (ku-ri-su-ma-su) is 5 sounds! that's a while line on its own! Sometimes the syllables are the same as the sounds ("sushi" is two syllables, and すし is two sounds), but sometimes they're very different.

In addition, words in Japanese are frequently longer than their English equivalents. For example, the word "cuckoo" in Japanese is "ほととぎす" (hototogisu).

Now, I'm sure you're all very impressed at how I can use an English to Japanese dictionary (thank you, my mother is proud), but what does any of this matter? So two languages are different. How does that impact our understanding of haiku?

Well, if you think about the fact that Japanese words are frequently longer than English words, AND that Japanese counts sounds and not syllables, you can see how, "based purely on a 17-syllable counting method, a poet writing in English could easily slip in enough words for two haiku in Japanese” (quote from Grit, Grace, and Gold: Haiku Celebrating the Sports of Summer by Kit Pancoast Nagamura). If you're writing a poem using 17 English syllables, you are writing significantly more content than is in an authentic Japanese haiku.

(Also not all Japanese haiku are 17 sounds at all. It's really more of a guideline.)

Focusing on the 5-7-5 form leads to ignoring other strategies/common conventions of haiku, which personally, I think are more interesting! Two of the big ones are kigo, a season word, and kireji, a cutting word.

Kigo are words/phrases/images associated with a particular season, like snow for winter, or cherry blossoms for spring. In Japan, they actually publish reference books of kigo called saijiki, which is basically like a dictionary or almanac of kigo, describing the meaning, providing a list of related words, and some haiku that use that kigo. Using a a particular kigo both grounds the haiku in a particular time, but also alludes to other haiku that have used the same one.

Kireji is a thing that doesn't easily translate to English, but it's almost like a spoken piece of punctuation, separating the haiku into two parts/images that resonate with and add depth to each other. Some examples of kireji would be "ya", "keri", and "kana." Here's kireji in action in one of the most famous haiku:

古池や　蛙飛び込む　水の音 (Furu ike ya　kawazu tobikomu　mizu no oto) (The old pond — A frog jumps in The sound of the water.)

You can see the kireji at the end of the first line- 古池や literally translates to "old pond ya". The "ya" doesn't have linguistic meaning, but it denotes the separation between the two focuses of the haiku. First, we are picturing a pond. It's old, mature. The water is still. And then there's a frog! It's spring and he's fresh and new to the world! He jumps into the pond and goes "splash"! Wowie! When I say "cutting word", instead of say, a knife cutting, I like to imagine a film cut. The camera shows the pond, and then it cuts to the frog who jumps in.

English doesn't really have a version of this, at least not one that's spoken, but in English language haiku, people will frequently use a dash or an ellipses to fill the same role.

Format aside, there are also some conventions of the actual content, too. They frequently focus on nature, and are generally use direct language without metaphor. They use concrete images without judgement or analysis, inviting the reader to step into their shoes and imagine how they'd feel in the situation. It's not about describing how you feel, so much as it's about describing what made you feel.

Now, let's put it all together, looking at a haiku written Yosa Buson around 1760 (translated by Harold G. Henderson)

The piercing chill I feel: my dead wife's comb, in our bedroom, under my heel

We've got our kigo with "the piercing chill." We read that, and we imagine it's probably winter. It's cold, and the kind of cold wind that cuts through you. There's our kireji- this translation uses a colon to differentiate our two images: the piercing chill, and the poet stepping on his dead wife's comb. There's no descriptions of what the poet is feeling, but you can imagine stepping into his shoes. You can imagine the pain he's experiencing in that moment on your own.

"But tumblr user corvidcall!" I hear you say, "All the examples you've used so far are Japanese haiku that have been translated! Are you implying that it's impossible for a good haiku to be written in English?" NO!!!!! I love English haiku! Here's a good example, which won first place in the 2000 Henderson haiku contest, sponsored by the Haiku Society of America:

meteor shower . . . a gentle wave wets our sandals

When you read this one, can you imagine being in the poet's place? Do you feel the surprise as the tide comes in? Do you feel the summer-ness of the moment? Haiku are about describing things with the senses, and how you take in the world around you. In a way, it's like the poet is only setting a scene, which you inhabit and fill with meaning based on your own experiences. You and I are imagining different beaches, different waves, different people that make up the "our" it mentioned.

"Do I HAVE to include all these things when I write haiku? If I include all these things, does that mean my haiku will be good?" I mean, I don't know. What colors make up a good painting? What scenes make up a good play? It's a creative medium, and nobody can really tell you you can't experiment with form. Certainly not me! But I think it's important to know what the conventions of the form are, so you can appreciate good examples of it, and so you can know what you're actually experimenting with. And I mean... I'm not the poetry cops. But if you're not interested in engaging with the actual conventions and limitations of the form, then why are you even using that form?

I'll leave you with one more English language haiku, which is probably my favorite haiku ever. It was written by Tom Bierovic, and won first place at the 2021 Haiku Society of America Haiku Awards

a year at most . . . we pretend to watch the hummingbirds

Sources: (x) (x) (x) (x) (x) (x)

Further reading:

Forms in English Haiku by Keiko Imaoka Haiku: A Whole Lot More Than 5-7-5 by Jack How to Write a Bad Haiku by KrisL Haiku Are Not a Joke: A Plea from a Poet Who Has Had It Up to Here by Sandra Simpson Haiku Checklist by Katherine Raine

[batfossil-fr]

wanted to share maybe my favorite thing I've ever commissioned, this wonderful skin by Yelloweye! they are so incredibly talented and amazing to work with, I could not have asked for a more perfect skin for this guy.

Xun

[inkskinned]

it's the levels of scrutiny too.

a movie that has a largely-female cast has to be well-written, well-shot, well-acted, well-advertised. people will spend 2 hours on youtube talking about a single plot hole; about a moment of bad pacing, about a singular background character's poor scripting. if there isn't something obvious, they will say - well there's nothing specifically bad, but it wasn't specifically good either.

they will turn out another all-male movie, and it's just a movie.

a book that has queer representation in it has to defy every convention of writing while also being true to traditional plot, structure, format, and pacing. it must have no boring chapters, no missteps, no awkward dialogue. it must be able to "prove" that any queer relationship "makes sense", their sparks must fly off the page and their love must be eternal. the writing must be clear and beautiful, the storyline original and fresh, the values traditional but with an undercurrent that is modern and saucy.

they will turn out another book without queer rep, where a man and woman just-fall-in-love, and it's just a book.

i am latinx. i am queer. i am nb & neurodivergent. my father said to me once: you will need to be exceptional to be just-as-good, and you will need to be beyond exceptional before they see you as just-a-person, and not your labels.

i am not beyond exceptional. i am a human person. i am skilled because i worked my ass off to be skilled.

i am currently reading a book that's so-bad-it's-good about a girl that falls in love with a vampire. i was 64% of the way through the book before she figures out tall-dark-fanged is not natural. i like books like these, i like letting myself relax while i just enjoy the read. but i do spend a lot of time wondering - would this have been published if it was about queer people? would this have gotten past the editors if the characters weren't white and sexy?

i want to write a movie about being a woman in a male space, and i want to start that movie with a 10 minute scene where the woman is lectured with the exact same whining that occurs in the youtube comments of even the trailers for those movies: "haven't we had enough diversity?" "we've had enough girl power movies" "sorry, this is just pandering. it's boring."

here's what's fucked up: it shouldn't matter, you're right. my identity shouldn't fold after my name like a battalion of stars: a cry of what i've gone through. what we all know i had to move past and through. i should just be a writer, plain and simple, without my work being shifted through with tweezers - i know everything i make, always, i am incredibly responsible for. beholden to. i don't like knowing that if i fuck up, i am also fucking up for every person like me. every person in a community i belong to.

once, back in undergrad, i wrote a short story about a girl who had been kicked by a horse. it was my first time writing about my experience with my ocd; i felt proud of it. the story was mostly about grief and slow recovery. the queerness of the main character was not important to the plot, my main character was just-queer. there wasn't even a romantic interest in it.

i remember one of my classmates being disappointed. "i just feel like you always write about girls who like girls, and i'm bored of it," he said. "you're a beautiful writer, but i'm like - oh, at some point, it's gonna be gay again." during the workshop, he folded his hands over my story and said, "and okay, i'm just going to say it. she's ocd, she's gay, she's depressed - it's a little much for me to believe is all happening to one person."

it is a little much to be that person (and more besides). i have therapy weekly, after all.

over and over, belonging to exception.

[sophiethewitch1]

gang i really just want to get to the part where the boys are hopelessly in love with reader to the point its genuinely pathetic

[fearandhatred]

i was thinking about this line from my fic:

But the fall had hurt, too. Because the wind had cut into his useless wings like knives, his skin and grace peeling away under the friction, and he had been looking right up at the multicoloured and unreachable expanse of sky just to see it fade from his eyes into dull greys.

and i came up with this. i hope the vision came through

[fictionadventurer]

NaPoWriMo #24: A poem that starts with a line from another poem

Because I could not stop for Death I simply never died His Carriage can't catch up with me However hard he's tried.

I've just got too much life to live Too many things to see To leave our grand and glorious world For Immortality

Perhaps a couple hundred years Will rob my life of zest But until then I will decline To be the Reaper's guest

So let him chase me 'cross the ways Past lands of setting sun I plan to stay one step ahead And revel in the fun

[hersurvival]

1. Born in a hospital that's no longer around

2. Louisiana hurricane drills, my mom wasn't watching and I put a cockroach in my mouth

3. Stomach aches, leg cramps, unexplained bruises - cancer

4. If I don't make it, at least my parents have my sister and our brother

5. Remission, I started school, I walked there on my own

6. My best friend and I were separated, he knew nothing but domestic abuse

7. I had to meet weekly with a teacher, learn to control my anger

8. The new kid, making friends somehow has gotten harder

9. Middle School, in the presence of teenagers

10. The new kid, my step-dad tried to trap me upstairs

11. Depressed, the first time I held a blade to my arm

12. I'd like to leave this world now, my parents read my journal, told me I should kiss prettier girls

13. The new kid, my mother left, broke our promises, broke my heart

14. The new kid, I changed schools twice, new step-dad, all my parents do is drink, my first cigarette, my first relationship

15. We broke up, word spread, somehow now I'm a slut

16. The first time I ever got drunk, a friend of a friend of a friend assaulted me after I threw up

17. I'm found bleeding and crying on the ground away from the party, I skipped school until graduation, staying sober never lasted

18. I ran away to California, to my dad, but he only knew how to look at me with immense sadness

19. I rent my first apartment, I have a full-time job, my mother and my siblings followed me north

20. I'm a full-time student, culinary arts

21. I work all summer, trained as a cake decorator

22. I skip the ceremony but I receive my degree, find work in a restaurant

23. Quarentine, lock down, a global pandemic

24. My grandmother passes, bought a house with my partner

25. New job, new direction, certified as a forklift driver

26. I think I'm ready to get help, I'm just so scared and always so tired, who would I be if not this, though, it is all I know

27. I started medication, perhaps I'll quit smoking, I wonder if I can be good now, I want to be good now

[unsat-and-strange]

jonny d'villes heart ticks audibly. the crew can hear it during the few and far between quiet moments on board the aurora. it's so steady, tick tick tick, a reminder that he is there and they are all alive together, never speeding up or slowing down. sometimes they joke about using it as a metronome during practice.

jonnys heart ticks. he can hear it every waking moment. tick tick tick. it never slows down, even in the deepest sleep according to the rest of the crew. it never speeds up even when his blood is more adrenaline then actual blood, times when normal peoples hearts would be racing. whether he's laughing his ass off or terrified for his life (I guess old habits die hard?) it. never. speeds. up. sometimes it's fine, he can ignore it but there are days when the constant tick tick tick tick tick tick tick is too much. the days when he has to drown out the sound with gunfire and screams or music loud enough to make his ears bleed. some days even that barely cuts it and he debates putting a bullet in his head just to make it quiet for a few hours. the rest of the crew has gotten pretty good at recognizing those days, and they know how to help him get through them, just like he knows how to help his crew through their bad days. nastya will bring him into the near deafening engine room and theyll play with power tools until their hands are covered in grease and grit, or Tim will sit him down on a speaker and play the bass so loud the whole ship can feel it, or Marius and raphaella will tell him about unethical medical practices they've witnessed/performed or Brian will just hold him close until the rhythms of the metal man's body distract from the tick tick tick tick of his own heart. the constant tick of immortality is loud. jonny can't deny his luck in finding a crew that is almost always louder.

[carnivalcarriondiscarded]

hm. im not very big on new years resolutions, they're too much pressure. but... perhaps i can handle new years Desires

this year i want to complete a lil comic, fan-based or otherwise. i'd like to also complete some sort of storyboard/animatic thing. i want to develop a coloring style that i can be proud of. i want to get to a point with my dragons where they can have a coherent story & world to live in. i want to think of so many fun, trivial facts about my characters. i want to post more about them. i want to write and post an original thing, be it 1k words or 10k. i want to finish the rough draft of a book i outlined. i want to be kinder to myself. i want to create more gift art for others. i want to put more effort & care & love into my art. i want to force myself into the world and figure out how to live. i want to make an irl friend. try a new craft - scrapbooking, maybe, or making an enamel pin. i want to finish that last commission and make a new sheet for more. i want to be freer with myself. i want to finish at least three fics. i want to go whale watching again. i want to improve my art, especially in the matter of drawing people. i want to bake something tasty and share it with the neighbors. i want to be content with existing. i want to have more good things in life to list on bad days. i want to build a birdhouse.

[crossbackpoke-check]

Why I Am Not Coming In To Work Today [abridged], Jess Zimmerman

part one | part two

[feral-ballad]

i stand like a lighthouse, obscured by storm and foggy mist,

help doesn't reach me.

i exist-

like a warning unheeded,

like a lullaby in a nightmare sleep,

like a deer looking at the harsh headlight flashing on its face, as life flashes before its eyes, fading in that luminous violence.

i will live strewn in memories and versions of history.

does it even matter if hyacinth doesn't bloom after my death when you look at me and somewhere in your mind, your remaining drops of mortality boil for forgiveness?

everywhere, the drops from my wounds fall,

as i take the last air in, red to a violet parody,

as the reaper holds me in a slow waltz,

vines stretch out, holding my limbs together.

one look at me, and woe blooms in your chest, knots of regret cripple your strong limbs,

as fear has crippled me for so long.

i have been smoldered with gunpowder and greeted with bombs.

we are pieces of souvenirs people bring back home,

we are empty boasts on dinner tables marked with bloody hands and mouths feasting on scrumptious steaks,

"the meat is tender like a maiden's cheek,

just like the one i killed this evening."

the ocean doesn't caress us, washing your bloody hands and cornering us far into the lands.

living is frightening, and death is sudden and violent,

yet through gritted teeth, we say,

"i will live even if it kills me,

i will live till then whatever it takes.

whatever it takes."

we are going to die anyway.

(i wrote this, and yk why. i hope you read this. i want them to live, may it take gritted teeth optimism, but i want them to survive. i can't take away the pain. i can only pray. i want to rush and save them, but i stand in a different country weeping for them. this won't reach anyone, but i hope it reaches you.)

i can’t stop crying. thank you. this is so beautiful, my heart is aching.

[gregorsamsaisliterallyme]

the disrespect of deceased artists.

this is something that i wanted to talk about for a long time but didn't feel like it made very much sense to just post on my main account.

something i've always found disturbing is how the dead lose any autonomy over anything that they had while they were living. now, you may be thinking "well witcher that's what happens when people die because they can't make decisions on things"

well, what i'm talking about is how artists, poets, musicians, writers, etc of history had their work and art shown to the world without their consent after they passed. Think about how many classics you've read where everything was published AFTER the author passed.

an example that inspired me to write this was franz kafka's work published by his friend when he explicitly asked for it to be burnt. he wrote to that friend: "dearest max, my last request: Everything I leave behind me.....in the way of diaries, manuscripts, letters (my own and others'), sketches, and so on, [is] to be burned unread. .... yours, franz kafka" so, after being told that max brod decided he was going to publish ALL of kafka's work, and so he did.

this is actually a common occurrence with a lot of artists and writers after they pass and it's quite tragic to me because yes, their stories deserve to be told and the great accomplishments they had deserve to be known, but are we supposed to disregard all morals and respect for the dead so that we can have art? does being intelligent and great have to come at the price of your privacy being ripped away??? sure they may be dead and if there is no after life they would have no way of knowing about any of it but I still think it's disrespected who they WERE to have these things published without their consent.

this has always been something that has bothered me, but i'd like to hear your thoughts. feel free to add other examples of artists and writers this has happened to because I think it's a topic that should be discussed more.

[popping-greenbean]

there are so many things that i could do so well,,, if only i could like.actually do them

[ragewrites]

last poems of 2023, both holiday gifts meant for the same friend.

[corpsentry]

at the asian american studies sponsored movie screening i run out of my seat to press a button for the presenter and you look away, not in shame, but in anger

go make your own movie.

One where you’re the star

and everything’s my fault

the way you want it to be. I know, it’s easy

to let someone else hold this grief

and sit in the bathtub,

all dressed up to go to the party.

Maybe in this movie it’s your party

and I the party crasher,

holding cymbals and a baseball bat, et cetera.

But we don’t stop getting older when we’re angry

and you’re only twenty,

can’t listen to lullabies at night,

can’t sleep without a blanket

over your head like you’re scared

of your own shadow. God, go

write your own movie.

You could do it,

you’re still

pretty. Angry? Me too.

The bathtub’s overflowing,

the bathroom’s flooding

with whatever you couldn’t say

to the poet with their palms glued shut

in a cheap simulacrum of prayer.

Didn’t you say you were tired? Angry? Me too.

Upset? Unhappy? Me too. Hungry? Lonely? Me too. Me too.

Standing barefoot in the grass

I remembered the month of bad weather.

How I parted the fog with broken hands each night,

looking for your voice.

Oh, I will not forgive you.

Not like this.

With your fingers splayed

against the brute February sky,

lips cracked open like windows,

waiting, like you always are, for me to say the first word.