If you're not Japanese or you don't understand Japanese language, then haiku could potentially come as a proxy to inconsequential and inscrutable short poems with meanings that could hardly be deciphered. One could not possibly be able to appreciate the poetic brilliance , exquisiteness and intricacies of haiku without first understanding the language. Japanese language, invariably is the prerequisite of haiku.
Haiku is the shortened/ revolutionised version of renga, a longer poetic form that consists of 5-7-5-7-7 syllables structure as oppose to 5-7-5 for haiku. As such, the depth of renga and its longer form are helpful in contextualising and bringing clarity to the poems. I found that for most haiku poems are without equitable worthiness of its beauty, unless if they are supplemented with annotations or stories that had evoked the creation of the said poems. One haiku by Bashō reflects exactly that:
saru o kiku hito suteko ni aki no kaze ikani
to those who lamented the cries of the monkeys
the abandoned child in the autumn wind
what of that?
The story behind this haiku is poignant and Bashō had explained it in praiseworthy details that are aesthetically saturated:
"As I was plodding along the River Fuji I saw a small child, hardly three years of age, crying pitifully on the bank, obviously abandoned by his parents. They must have thought this child was unable to ride through the stormy weathers of life which run as wild as the rapid river itself, and that he was destined to have a life even shorter than that of the morning dew. The child looked to me as fragile as the flowers of the bush-clover that scatter at the slightest stir of the autumn wind, and it was so pitiful that I gave him what little food I had with me."
From the story that had inspired Bashō to write the haiku, and the haiku itself, it is apparent that the haiku poets derive their aspirations primarily from the nature. Thus, ofttimes we hear the reason of ordinary people retrieving from the hectic of modern lives and dedicating their times to haiku as a form of re-engaging nature to their hollow, soulless lives. Re-engagement brings about a sense of connection not just with one's surroundings, correspondingly with one's sense of being. Ergo, oft haiku poets would profess that haiku helps to balance their lives, almost as if balancing them between the worldly and the after life, and that delivers peace in not just the poets' lives, as well as the poets' hearts.
The remarkable sense of appreciation towards nature shown by the haiku poets is translated in the form of kigo, or seasonal words, one of three fundamental elements of haiku. In haiku, poets use kigo to evoke the seasonal imageries and feelings associated with the particular season. For example, 'cherry blossoms' indicates spring season while 'ducks arriving' is a fall seasonal word. Haiku poets select these kigo from saijiki, or seasonal dictionary and use them to indirectly frame the seasonal context. However, readers who are not familiar with kigo would definitely fail to find the hidden richness in haiku poems, especially to the non-Japanese readers with little to no learning on Japanese language.
Interestingly, at the same time, the using of kigo in haiku poems works as a sense of connection or relationship between the present time to the centuries behind. Haiku poets who use kigo that had been used by other haiku poets millennia before sees this an opportunity to bring the deceased poets' spirits alive in their haiku. As Kuroda Momoko claimed, "Seasonal words unify people, not only in the present but also in the past." Sometimes it is hard not to marvel at the uniqueness of the Japanese language: that the usage of one word (although it does not confer ownership of that particular word) could be traced to a singular person, a figure with a soul and stories, and that word alone can be the sole source to establish the sense of familiar connectedness. That particular word is reserved and sustained throughout changing centuries, bringing its own history and story that people in the distant future could easily relate to.
Haiku does not only assault people's intelligence into fathoming the very essence and technical aptness of constructing haiku, it also challenges one's knowledge reservoir. Again, readers unequipped with the Japanese history, culture and traditions knowledge would be at loss, rendering those haiku senseless, despite its richness that could be captured only by selected few. Thus it is of utmost important that haiku should be followed by comments and annotations to accommodate curious readers. Yet, regardless of how shallow my understanding and appreciation of and toward haiku, it intrigues me deeply still, of its ability to stimulate eagerness in, perhaps not only me but many others, to extend our understanding beyond haiku. In order to understand haiku well, one must also learn about Japanese language, history, cultures and traditions, dated eons back. The haiku masters, I deem, to be of excellent learned people: rich in their knowledge, and firm in their grasp of the aforesaid branches. It is the truth that Kuroda Momoko had said, "To learn haiku is to be patient with it." How can we not be?
One haiku can offer you vast learning opportunities beyond those 5-7-5 structure. It makes you appreciate the intellect of those incredible poets, as if they created real magics, not poems. Such mystery, such beauty, such intricacy. Suffice to say, they, like Bashō or Issa, deserved the recognition and fame for their poetic prodigy. I'm utterly impressed.