Introducing the Haiku Project: Observations on the Fleeting and the Obscure

This just in: I, Dazé Nikulásson, am starting a new writing project.

Another one?! But you already have two newsletters, the essays, your screenplays — shall I go on?

I know! But this one's different — as different as it gets.

Since June, I've secretly been writing haiku.

Haiku? What's that?

In a nutshell: bite-sized poems originating in Japan.

The traditional haiku adheres to certain rules:

• 17 mora (similar to syllables) in a 5-7-5 pattern
• a kigo (seasonal word)
• a kireji (a cutting word)
• a present-moment observation, typically involving nature

I, on the other hand, won't be concerned with most of these.

You blasted rebel …

It's not that (not this time at least).

You see, haiku already present one massive constraint:

brevity.

A haiku written in English is usually three lines long and contains 8 to 14 words. That's only an average. My current shortest haiku has 5 (!!) words.

Now, by going in this direction, by ignoring the rules, my haiku technically fall under another classification: modern/liberated/organic/free-form haiku. I'm fine with that — as long as I can call them haiku.

I can't quite picture a haiku —

Say no more. Here's arguably the most famous haiku in history, written in the spring of 1686 by one of the Japanese greats:

(The following is one translation out of many.)

And a few contemporary samples:

Last but not least, here's perhaps the best example of microfiction disguised as a modern haiku:

(This one is often credited to Ernest Hemingway, but scholars have found no evidence he authored it, so this attribution remains an urban myth.)

What do you think? Aren't they all so … succinctly compelling, so … emotionally resonant? I can't get enough of them.

It sounds like you're in a haiku honeymoon phase. Did you two recently meet?

Not exactly. I discovered them a few years ago while living in Japan. Since then, I've occasionally stumbled upon them online and in films.

At first, I had a hard time wrapping my head around the nature of haiku, but once I adopted the right mindset, things clicked. It was eye-opening — as if, from one moment to another, I had mastered another language.

Ever since, an urge has been brewing in my subconscious. Last month, that urge bubbled to the surface and popped as a whisper:

Oi, Dazé-kun …
You should write haiku …
Don't rationalise it — just plunge …

What can I say, I like swimming.

And why haiku? Why not traditional poetry?

Do you like cars? I don't, not particularly, but here's a car analogy: If prose is a Rolls-Royce, and verse is a Mercedes-Benz, haiku is the Toyota.

Haiku are humble. They don't need to show off with fancy words, clever rhymes, or sophisticated structures.

Haiku aren't really about words. They're about word economy, observational skills, and the ability to translate life and the human condition. Haiku distil everyday moments — positive or negative — and place them on the pedestal they deserve.

(I'm not saying I'll never write verse — I have. I only mean that haiku is where my poetic compass points right now.)

Another reason I'm drawn to haiku is the constraint. I'm primarily a long-form writer. Haiku give me a fresh challenge, forcing me to think differently about words, cadence, and negative space.

Lastly, I'm a walker. Walking is my form of exercise and meditation, and sometimes a stile over creative and psychological walls. But whether I'm walking or not, I remain observant, even at home.

Haiku are born of observation.

(Observation isn't a talent, but in an era where life has been usurped by the speed and conveniences of technology, observation sure feels like a superpower.)

… The whisper was right: there was no need to rationalise.

It must be tricky to get going, no?

A bit, but I have an unfair advantage. For over a decade, I've been collecting modicums of inspiration from everyone and everything — conversations, visits, films, books, the back of a ketchup bottle … Anything that resonates with me.

So far, it has mainly proven useful for character names, project titles, and script dialogue. But now that haiku have entered my life, the log glows with a newfound purpose.

This, plus my daily observations, equates to plenty of launchpads.

So where can I find your haiku?

Man, I thought you'd never ask!

Here's the first haiku I ever wrote:

(The number is the haiku's unique ID, and it's followed by the publication date.)

The rest will live inside annual volumes exclusive to members, archived here. (Not a member? You can sign up here.)

In the future, I plan to curate some of the haiku into smaller collections with a title, a theme, and sequencing — think photo books or tracks on an album. These projects could turn into a series of posts, indexes, or something bigger.

For now, though, it's all about getting the hang of the craft and building a routine.

On that note, I'd better get to work.

Happy reading!