ABOUT TAIKA

          What makes a tanka a tanka? What makes a haiku a haiku? A "taika" is what happens when you combine elements of both in a single poem--a clearly discernible style of composition frequently found in the classical waka and modern tanka of Japan, as well as in contemporary English-language tanka.

          "Taika" is my shorthand term for a style of tanka construction that combines a three-line haiku in typical objective language with two additional lines that further develop the imagery and usually introduce a lyrical, subjective element. In most cases, the three-line unit could stand alone as a haiku, while the two-line unit is dependent on the other for its meaning and context. The haiku or haiku-like unit are usually the initial three lines of the poem, as seen here:

leading my horse
to the river at midnight
scattered stars
in such impossible numbers
we don't mind drinking a few

--Michael McClintock

          Sometimes, however, the haiku unit is contained in the last three lines, as in this poem, in which the subjective, lyrical voice leads off in the first two lines :

such was their power,
I lost all sense of time,
reading old poems . . .
journeying into morning
high in Chinese mountains

--Michael McClintock
[Gusts: Contemporary Tanka, No. 3, Spring/Summer 2006, edited by Kozue Uzawa]

          The most common pattern is the former

FURTHER DISCUSSION:

          Whereas a tanka may contain what is clearly a unit or element very close, or identical, to a haiku’s objective language, the haiku as a form and genre eschews the further development of its imagery in two additional lines, and generally avoids the active subjective language and voice that involves overt statement of opinion, the poet’s personal point of view or interpretation of objects, events, or phenomenon observed, or the poet’s presence in the poem as persona. Tanka, in contrast, may include any or all of these, together with poetic devices and techniques generally considered unacceptable in haiku: Metaphorical and figurative language, the personification of natural objects and things, fanciful or imaginative expressions, and elaboration of a thought or concept (to name just a few) through devices of rhetoric and related arts of literary composition. Both haiku and tanka are replete with emotion, but they convey it using different sets of tools, and in forms that are in duration and length different, though certainly related. What is the real difference between a three-line poem and a five-line poem? The difference is huge, even though it may appear small when the question is posed in this way.

          In this manner of constructing a tanka, while the initial three lines may indeed stand alone as a haiku, as discussed above, the second unit of two concluding (and usually long) lines is frequently dependent on the context established by the first unit of three lines, and would appear fragmentary or incomplete if set apart. Even if the first three lines of a tanka might stand alone as a haiku (and many do in tanka literature generally, in both Japanese and English), the additional two lines of the conventional English-language tanka form make the poem a new and larger, unitary artifact, an aesthetic whole that is different from, though containing as one of its parts, a haiku or haiku-like element or unit of composition. This merely demonstrates that a tanka, in its five lines, is a unitary, aesthetic whole: That is how it was intended to be, and should be, read and understood.

          The argument that a tanka in English is, in reality, a failed haiku, is nonsense, just as would be the argument that a three-line haiku is a failed tanka for lack of the additional two lines. And the argument that a tanka in English is merely an “extended” haiku is also nonsense, as would be an argument that a haiku was somehow a “reduced” tanka. Like a failed haiku, a failed tanka is probably best viewed as no poem at all, but a fragment. When one encounters such a specimen, it’s best to move on to something else. There is little point in pondering what category a failed piece of writing belongs to: It belongs in the wastebasket, or tucked away in a notebook for re-write. In any case, the first question one might ask oneself is, “Is this a poem at all? Is it poetry? How does it speak to me as a poem? How does it work as a poem?” Categories arise from comparing it to other poems having similar features and achieving their effects in similar ways, using similar structures. Hence, the differences we observe between haiku and tanka, as well as certain commonalities, such as brevity and concision.

          The haiku may be likened to a three-string instrument, and the tanka to one having a dozen stings that give it an exponentially larger range of tone, mood, and lyricism. Additionally, the tanka overtakes the haiku in its concentrated use of symbolic, metaphorical, and imaginative language to create poetry of thought, feeling, and highly personal reflection, a combination of elements generally eschewed in haiku practice. Unencumbered by an aesthetic doctrine that forbids their use in haiku, contemporary tanka make use of almost all the devices and conventions available to traditional and non-traditional English-language poetry. By so doing, tanka allow the poet a much wider range of expressive possibilities, and a broader variation of poetic voice and subject matter. It is worth pointing out, too, that with this enhanced scope come increased opportunities to fail as well as succeed. A larger set of tools and a broader range of subjects may require more skills as a poet to master and handle effectively, and broader, deeper understanding of the human experience.

--Michael McClintock

For additional discussion of this style of tanka, see * Ribbons: Tanka Society of America Journal, Volume 1, Number 3, Autumn 2005, "Tanka Cafe: 'Taika' Theme" by Michael McClintock [essay and 46 example poems]. Quotations above are adapted from this source.

FURTHER EXAMPLES OF TANKA IN THE "TAIKA" STYLE:

early snow . . .
from the islands of the north,
ice-packed bonito;
since summer I have waited
to hear the fish-monger's call

--Michael McClintock
[Gusts: Contemporary Tanka, No. 3, Spring/Summer 2006, edited by Kozue Uzawa]

a stench
that buckles the knees --
and so I bow
before the cave of the bear
on the mountain of tall pines

--Michael McClintock
[NOON: Journal of the Short Poem, No. 3, 2006, edited by Philip Rowland]

one flash
and it was gone --
a meteor,
at the time of sunset,
seen through honeysuckle vines

--Michael McClintock

[in the last two taika-style poems above, the objective voice is maintained throughout; the last two lines further developing the imagery of the initial haiku-like, three-line unit]

morning lights
the polish
on the floor tiles
this is the best
time of day

--Michael McClintock
[from Letters in Time: Sixty Short Poems, Hermitage West, 2005]

from my palm
she takes the apple . . .
and it's understood
                our time is not
                        for ever

--Michael McClintock
[from Letters in Time: Sixty Short Poems, Hermitage West, 2005]