How to write an aahcoo

In the last post, we discussed “Micropoetry and Minipoems,” which led me to look for short forms devoted to devotional poetry. I thought maybe the senyru would do, but the more I studied that syllabic verse form, the more I realized it has its own niche as does haiku. To explain:

. Both haiku and senyru involve three lines with 5/7/5 syllables respectively. That’s assuming, of course, you want to adhere to the traditional haiku form. Both also work well with humor or surprise.

. However, haiku focuses on a seasonal look at nature, and senyru focuses on human nature, typically with a touch of irony.

Since I often see minipoems by members of Christian Poets & Writers on Facebook, I knew that many poets have begun to use the standard haiku structure to focus on God or an inspired look at our spiritual nature. Consequently, it seemed to me that we needed a more pliable syllabic verse or unique short poem form to let readers know what to expect, and so the aahcoo was born.

The name came from the familiar sound of awe and wonder – aah, whereas the coo came from the sound of a dove, often used to symbolize the Holy Spirit. Put them together, and you have aahcoo, which sounds similar to haiku but never, never the sneeze of achoo!

. Aah + coo = aahcoo, a God-centered poem of a spiritual nature

Writing an aahcoo is simple but has options:

1. You can write an aahcoo with a 5/7/5 syllabic count on three lines, respectively, so aahcoo looks like haiku.

For example:

Wind and water shape
the magnificent mountains.
Air and spirit rise!

by Mary Sayler, © 2016

Or

2. You can write a praise poem, mini-devotional, psalm, prayer, or spiritual insight in three to seven syllables on three to seven lines.

Why those numbers for a minimum to maximum count? Lord willing, they'll be easy to recall!

Three reminds us of the Trinity.

Seven symbolizes the weekly Sabbath Rest God wants us to have as a minimum.

To give you an example of the longer possibilities to experiment with as you write or revise, this aahcoo maxes out the number of syllables and lines with an optional touch of humor:

Who reads instructions
before priming old walls
to paint or paper? Who reads
rules before assembling
something new? Thank You,
Lord, for giving us Your Word
on living beyond the pew.

by Mary Harwell Sayler, © 2016

If you look over the micropoetry you have written, you might find you were already writing aahcoo instead of haiku as supposed, or perhaps you’ve been writing minipoems that could easily fit the flexible aahcoo form with a little tweaking of the number of syllables.

Regardless, when you post an aahcoo on Twitter, Facebook, or your own blog, be sure to add a hashtag, and your #aahcoo will appear in an Internet search of this new, tailor-made-for-you form.

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The new release of Observations by Marianne Moore

In the new release of Observations, which publisher Farrar, Straus and Giroux kindly sent me to review, the poems of Marianne Moore have been restored to their original appearance.

After the book first came out in 1924, the poems were so well received that Moore became the second recipient to receive the highly prized Dial Award, won previously by T.S. Eliot. Nevertheless, Moore later omitted at least a dozen of the poems in subsequent collections of her work and radically revised some of the poems that remained.

As the “Introduction by Linda Leavell” reminds us, Marianne Moore “was the first major poet to appropriate for poetry the language of textbooks and commerce.” Occasionally, her poems even included quotations from ads or from comments she had overheard!

Equally innovative were the syllabic patterns Moore set for herself, which, as Linda Leavell tells us, “are most easily seen in ‘The Fish,’ where each stanza contains six lines of 1-3-8-1-6-9 syllables each, and the rhyme scheme is aaxbbx. The title, as is often the case with Moore, serves as first line.”

Such titles as “Bowls,” “Novices,” and “The Octopus” also act as the opening lines to their respective poems, but, unexpectedly, that octopus consists “of ice. Deceptively reserved and flat” and lying “beneath a sea of shifting snow dunes” in a long poem whose lines sprawl and retract like their namesake.

Other titles bear note, too, not for their brevity or line placement but their quirkiness, for example: “Is Your Town Nineveh?” “An Egyptian Pulled Glass Bottle in the Shape of a Fish,” “To a Steam Roller,” “Diligence Is to Magic as Progress Is to Flight,” or “Nothing Will Cure the Sick Lion but to Eat an Ape.”

Notable, too, among the poet’s many experiments and innovations are the Moore-made patterns she set for herself in writing syllabic verse with such odd line breaks that readers might miss the sound echoes and rhymes unless they read the poems aloud.

Anyone who has read Moore’s poetry has likely noticed her experiments in forms and free verse, but the contents of the unusual lines bring to light a poet who challenges the status quo, for instance, in “Roses Only” when the poet tells the flower often memorialized in poetry, “You do not seem to realize that beauty is a liability….”

Or, when the poet writes about “Poetry,” the 1924 version begins, “I too, dislike it: there are things that are important beyond all this fiddle./ Reading it, however, with a perfect contempt for it, one/ discovers that there is in/ it after all, a place for the genuine.” Moore aimed to show that genuine while disdaining the obtuse poetry in and out of vogue during her lifetime. In 1925, her heavily revised version of “Poetry” tells us:

“I too, dislike it:
there are things that are important beyond all this fiddle.
The bat, upside down; the elephant pushing,
a tireless wolf under a tree,
the base-ball fan, the statistician –
'business documents and schoolbooks' _
these phenomena are pleasing,
but when they have been fashioned
into that which is unknowable,
we are not entertained.
It may be said of all of us
the we do not admire what we cannot understand;
enigmas are not poetry.”

Those of us who remember Ms. Moore sweeping onstage in her floppy hats and outgoing personality know how entertaining she could be, chatting with Jack Parr on The Tonight Show, but apparently that image of her as poet lingered too. Years later, at my high school reunion, a friend asked if I'm still writing, and when I answered, "Yes, poetry," he said, "Then, why don't you dress like a poet?" Why, indeed.

Review by poet-author Mary Harwell Sayler, © 2016


Marianne Moore Observations, Poems, paperback



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Ancient Japanese tanka into English

In the anthology, One Hundred Leaves, Frank Watson translated 100 ancient tanka from 100 Japanese poets in a stunning collection that makes new connections with contemporary poets and poetry readers who especially enjoy micropoetry.

When I received my review copy, I initially noticed the appealing cover with its restful scene and eye-appealing composition, which nicely illustrated the contents I went on to discover, beginning with “A Brief Guide to Appreciating Japanese Poetry.”

As traditional haiku lovers know, there’s more to that ancient form than meets the modern eye, and the same can be said for the tanka. A slightly longer pattern of syllabic verse, the 5 lines of a tanka break into units based on 5/ 7/ 5/ 7/ 7 syllables in their respective lines.

Besides that basic information, Watson explains the importance of characteristics typical of traditional Japanese poems:

Visual Images – where “emotions and abstract ideas are commonly symbolized through tangible images”

Pivot Words and Pillow Words – which might be stock phrases or the playful use of “homonyms, words with different meanings but the same pronunciation” that “introduce extensive wordplay and layers of meaning,” causing readers “to guess among many possibilities”

Nature - where “Almost every poem refers to nature in some way, and these references carry additional emotional, allusive, or historical connotations that add meaning to an otherwise short poem.”

Season and Time of Day – which also “have emotional connotations that add a layer of meaning to the poem.” For example, Autumn might signify sadness or loneliness while “spring symbolizes youth, love and vitality.”

Overall Experience – which traditionally relied on the poems being slowly chanted, giving the reader time to “layer in the feelings of the poet and try to imagine the scene, letting it come alive into a moving picture with sounds, scents, and colors”

With that information to enhance our reading, the layout further assists our appreciation of the poems in a consistent format that includes the title, byline and dates for the poet, Watson’s English version of the poem, the original lines in Japanese, a pronunciation guide, and a literal rendering.

In addition, Watson provides annotations on many of the poems in his “Literal Notes,” which I found most interesting. Not only do those notes give insights into the poems at hand but also the mindset of traditional tanka writers, whose works we do well to emulate.

For example, the poem “Scattered blossoms” by Ki no Tomonori (845-907) might have used those beautiful but short-lived cherry blossoms to express “unease over whether the peacefulness of the Japanese imperial court would last.”

More often, though, the poems had to do with secret love or love and a rendezvous. Of these, one of my favorites has an unusual twist that shows the fresh perspective ancient micro-poems often had.

To give you a better idea of that perennial freshness and this highly recommended book in general, I’ll present the translation and literal notes below.

#38 Lady Ukon, “How I pity your fate”
(960-966)

Being forgotten,
I do not worry for myself –
You made a vow
On your mortal life
and how I pity your fate.

As the “Literal Notes” explain:

“In this poem, the narrator speaks of her lover who vowed on his life to be faithful, but has now abandoned her. Instead of being upset for herself, she fears for his life.”

Amazing!


© 2015, Mary Harwell Sayler has several books of poetry.


One Hundred Leaves, paperback



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Haiku: what works and what does not

Writing haiku looks easy, so most poets eventually try this ancient form of syllabic verse. However, haiku has more to it than snapping 17 crisp syllables into three fresh lines of 5/ 7/ 5 syllables.

To recap:

Haiku draws from nature, including human nature.
Haiku almost always includes a word or a symbol for one of the four seasons.
Haiku usually presents an insight and/or an experience.
Haiku often has a dash of emotion or quick brush with humor.

As you write haiku, think of Asian art or lines lightly drawn to sketch a scene with a minimal amount of ink.

Also consider these dos and don’ts as you revise:

Omit end-line rhymes.

Tighten each line by removing articles (a, an, the), prepositions (to, of, for) and conjunctions (and, but, or) whenever possible.

If you use those “business words” to be clear, do not end a line with them.

Think of haiku as a word game poets play and/ or a good exercise for using your poetic muscles to press content into a tightly compressed form.

If your poem packs too much into the small space, consider another form to say what you want to say without being cramped.

Sometimes, the tiny space will help you find The Word or image you might not have looked for if you’d had more room.

Remember: the Japanese language that developed haiku does not have syllables, but a shorter sound or onji, which translates closer to 4/ 6/ 4 English syllables than the 5/ 7/ 5 usually used. So experiment. Play! Have fun!


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For more on this syllabic verse form, see the posting “How to write haiku.”


(c) 2011, Mary Harwell Sayler

How to write haiku

To write haiku in English, most poets start with the familiar three lines of 5/ 7/ 5 syllables, which we will talk about in a moment. More importantly, haiku conveys an up-close, insightful encounter with the natural world so your readers can enjoy a similar experience.

Traditionally, this means you will use a symbolic word or phrase, such as plum blossoms or snow, to bring to your reader’s mind one of the four seasons. With Basho’s famous frog, for instance, Spring springs from the page and hops onto the reader’s lap – splash!

A quick sound, a close look, or a touch of humor adds splash to your haiku.

During his lifetime in the mid to late 1600’s, the now-well-known Japanese poet Matsuo Basho was not known for his haiku but for hokku – the three opening lines of a renga, whose five lines have 5/ 7/ 5/ 7/ 7 syllables, respectively. However, a 5-line renga often does not stop there since, like haiku, a renga can become a linked poem that goes on and on for dozens – even hundreds – of stanzas.

But what about those individual little syllables mentioned earlier?

In the Japanese language, syllables do not exist as such! Instead, the shortest possible sound is called an onji, which is usually said with greater speed than an English syllable. Therefore, poets who write in English but want a rhythmic feel similar to lines written in Japanese might not use a 5/ 7/ 5 syllabic form but a shorter approximation such as 3/ 5/ 3 English syllables.

Some poets prefer three lines of 2/ 4/ 2 syllables, but an odd number per line seems truer to the ancient forms which typically used an odd number of short sounds or onji.

Having said all this, though, American and British poets have written haiku for so many years now that the 5/ 7/ 5 form has long developed its own English tradition. So the form you choose will depend on your personal preference and on the haiku market you have in mind.

If, for example, the guidelines for a haiku journal or contest specify the syllabic count, consider those instructions to be the hard-and-fast rule for that particular outlet or publication. Otherwise, how to haiku is up to you and the private moment with nature you give to your readers through your clear eye, sharp ear, quick insight, and maybe a fast dash of totally charming humor.

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(c) 2011, Mary Harwell Sayler, all rights reserved.

Righting haiku and writing syllabic verse

Writing poems usually means letting the lines flow onto a page or into a computer then going back later to revise. At that point, it usually helps to read your work aloud, listen to the poem, hear the form that seems to suit it best, then recast the words or lines until you have lively line breaks in a free verse poem or the formal form found in a heavily structured pattern such as a traditional sonnet, limerick, or villanelle.

You can revise or rework a poem to get haiku and other types of syllabic poetry too. More likely though, a poem that’s based on the number of syllables per line will start, not as you tap your foot or count feet into lines of regular meter, but as you count each syllable on your fingertips.

Take haiku, for example. To write those three lines of traditional Asian verse, you need 5 syllables on the first line, 7 on the second, and 5 on the third. Traditionally, you need to refer to some season of the year, too, touching your pen lightly to the scene you sketch, quickly and exquisitely, with your words.

Knowing the background of any type of poetry can help you to write or revise well. For instance, haiku comes from ancient cultures that developed the form as a means of entertainment at social events, so a traditionally written haiku often has the levity found in party talk.

Assuming you do not readily read Japanese or Chinese poems in their original languages, your introduction to haiku will probably come through one of the excellent translations found, many centuries later, in most bookstores today. This means, however, that poems translated from one language to another will vary in the original syllabic count. So an English version of an ancient poem, say, by Basho might have 2/4/2 syllables on their respective lines, rather than the 5/7/5 syllables the poet initially used.

Over the years, poets who write in English have varied the count of syllables and the number of lines, omitted seasonal references, handled hot and heavy subjects, and called it haiku, when they really have their own innovative verse set as a short syllabic poem. What you do is up to you, of course, and also the editors of journals or e-zines where you plan to send your haiku in hopes of getting published. Personally, though, I prefer the original 5/7/5 form because of the appealing pattern but also because, when I write haiku regularly, the words and thoughts just seem to fall into that mathematic formula or sound.

Actually, the same can be said for writing in traditional English forms that rely on, say, iambic pentameter. After a while, the lines seem to slip into your thoughts, already shaped into your chosen meter.

You can find out more about formal and informal poetic possibilities in the e-book version of the poetry home study course I wrote and used for years in working with other poets but also in the poetry dictionary e-book shown on this page too.


(c) 2011, Mary Harwell Sayler