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Lost in Translation: Are We Butchering Haiku?

Annie Cosby
April 17, 2024 | 5 min read
The venerable Japanese poetic form of haiku has captivated minds and hearts for centuries. With its succinct structure and simplicity, haiku has become a cherished art form celebrated worldwide for its ability to encapsulate profound emotions within fleeting moments.

However, as haiku finds its way into the English language (and others), it encounters challenges that threaten to dilute its essence and distort its beauty. So we went on a deep dive to answer the question:

Is the English language inadvertently butchering haiku, robbing it of its authenticity and depth?

 

Haiku traces its origins back to 17th century Japan, when it evolved from the earlier poetic form known as hokku, which was the opening stanza of a collaborative linked-verse form called renga. It was Matsuo Bashō, one of the most famous Japanese poets of all time, who elevated hokku to an independent art form.

Bashō's hokku were characterized by their simplicity, brevity, and focus on capturing a fleeting moment in nature. One of Bashō's most famous poems is "The Old Pond" (or "The Ancient Pond," depending on your translation).

 

It was Japanese poet and literary critic Masaoka Shiki who first used the term haiku in the 19th century to describe this standalone poetic form originally popularized by Bashō.

Around this time, haiku gained widespread popularity, leading to various schools of haiku composition with differing styles and philosophies. This is when themes of haiku expanded beyond nature to encompass everyday life, emotions, and human experiences.

Haiku also made its way to other parts of the world, influencing poets like Ezra Pound, Jack Kerouac, and the Imagism movement. Over time, haiku has become a globally recognized artform, appreciated for its simplicity, vivid imagery, and ability to evoke profound emotions in just a few words.

At the heart of haiku lies its unique structure, which is often taught to English-speakers as: three lines, typically consisting of 5, 7, and 5 syllables, respectively. But there's a problem. This isn't what makes a haiku.

In fact, "syllables" isn't a faithful interpretation of the component of language that guides haiku structure in Japanese. In other words: we English speakers have been doing it all wrong.

 

Virtually all English-speaking schoolchildren have been introduced to haiku, often while first learning about syllables or poetry, and have struggled through the difficulty of creating a poem that follows the strict 5-7-5 pattern.

But that pattern has been called, by some scholars, "an urban myth."

More accurately, it is an inadequate adaptation of how haiku is structured in Japanese. As Professor Haruo Shirane says in the introduction of Kōji Kawamoto’s The Poetics of Japanese Verse, “the term syllable is an inaccurate way of describing the actual metrical units of Japanese poetry."

That's because syllables, as we know them in English, do not exist in Japanese. (In fact, some scholars argue they don't exist in English, either! But that's a different topic.)

In Japanese, the structure of haiku aligns harmoniously with the rhythm and cadence of the "sounds" or "beats" of the language, allowing for a seamless fusion of form and content. When translated into English, this harmony is often lost, as the constraints of the original Japanese do not neatly correspond to English syllable patterns. (To put it simply: each Japanese character is kind of like what we would think of as a consonant-vowel pair, making their words much denser. For this reason, Japanese readers are often shocked by how long English haiku are!)

Perhaps even more problematic, the cultural context surrounding haiku is often overlooked or misunderstood in English haiku. Haiku traditionally draws inspiration from nature and the seasons, focusing on the profound connection between the human experience and the natural world.

In fourth grade, you probably didn't learn that traditional Japanese haiku also often includes a "season word" (known as kigo in Japanese) and a kireji, literally "cutting word," or a word that completes an expression quickly. (Examples in English include "Ah!" and the em dash —.)

Perhaps most importantly of all is the imagery. Haiku is intended to evoke a certain moment in time and space, as well as a specific emotion far greater than the small passage on the page.

In English-language haiku, all these components beyond syllables are often used superficially — or are absent altogether.

Does this mean English-language haiku is a mere imitation devoid of the soulful resonance that defines the artform?

 

 

Around the turn of the 20th century, Masaoka Shiki was a big proponent of bringing haiku into the modern age. He recommended modern themes and language that weren't found in conventional haiku, and some of his work reflects that, including haiku written about baseball when the sport first spread to Japan. 

“Shiki brought innovation to haiku and established the poetic form as modern literature," according to the Public Relations Office of the Government of Japan. And indeed not everyone agreed with this modernization of a traditional Japanese artform over the decades.

A discussion of haiku would not be complete without acknowledging a painful point in its history: during World War II, when the Japanese government was using art to promote nationalism and support for the war effort, haiku poets who used their poetry to express dissent faced censorship and even arrest.

The government utilized its extensive surveillance and propaganda network to monitor artistic output and suppress dissenting voices, mainly targeting poets in the "New Rising Haiku" movement (shinkô haiku undô), who were attempting to write non-traditional haiku addressing new topics related to contemporary life, like social inequality.

After the war, gendai haiku (modern haiku) evolved into a popular movement, inspired by the ideals of the New Risking Haiku poets, while many still practice classical haiku. This transition into the modern world is yet another topic that would require a whole separate essay to delve into, but the point is this:

A tension between traditional and modern haiku has always existed. So, as outsiders, how should we approach this tension?

In his essay "Beyond the Haiku Moment," Professor Haruo Shirane presents it like this:

“What would Bashō and Buson say if they were alive today and could read English and could read haiku written by North American poets? ... I think that they would be delighted… They would be impressed with the wide variety… however, they would also be struck, as I have been, by the narrow definitions of haiku found in haiku handbooks, magazines, and anthologies.”

The adaptation of haiku into English is certainly not clear-cut, and it's important to recognize that while the English language has undoubtedly embraced haiku with enthusiasm and admiration, its attempts to translate and adapt this venerable poetic form have not always been successful.

But that doesn't mean we shouldn't try.

 

Way back in February 1904, Japanese writer Yone Noguchi published "A Proposal to American Poets," in The Reader Magazine,in which he outlined his own English haiku efforts, and ending with:

"Pray, you try Japanese Hokku, my American poets! You say far too much, I should say."

(He also famously told William Butler Yeats to try his hand at the classic Japanese theater form Noh. Again, a topic for another day.) 

Whether a true invitation or not, poets around the globe continue to explore and appreciate the beauty of haiku in all languages. As we do, it is essential to approach this ancient art form with humility and respect for its rich history.

Only then can we truly appreciate the timeless beauty of haiku.

December 30, 2025 3 min read

It’s Freewrite’s favorite time of year. When dictionaries around the world examine language use of the previous year and select a “Word of the Year.”

Of course, there are many different dictionaries in use in the English language, and they all have different ideas about what word was the most influential or saw the most growth in the previous year. They individually review new slang and culturally relevant vocabulary, examine spikes or dips in usage, and pour over internet trend data.

Let’s see what some of the biggest dictionaries decided for 2025. And read to the end for a chance to submit your own Word of the Year — and win a Freewrite gift card.

[SUBMIT YOUR WORD OF THE YEAR]


Merriam-Webster: "slop"

Merriam-Webster chose "slop" as its Word of the Year for 2025 to describe "all that stuff dumped on our screens, captured in just four letters."

The dictionary lists "absurd videos, off-kilter advertising images, cheesy propaganda, fake news that looks pretty real, junky AI-written books, 'workslop' reports that waste coworkers’ time … and lots of talking cats" as examples of slop.

The original sense of the word "slop" from the 1700s was “soft mud” and eventually evolved to mean "food waste" and "rubbish." 2025 linked the term to AI, and the rest is history.

Honorable mentions: conclave, gerrymander, touch grass, performative, tariff, 67.

Dictionary.com: "67"

The team at Dictionary.com likes to pick a word that serves as “a linguistic time capsule, reflecting social trends and global events that defined the year.”

For 2025, they decided that “word” was actually a number. Or two numbers, to be exact.

If you’re an old, like me, and don’t know many school-age children, you may not have heard “67” in use. (Note that this is not “sixty-seven,” but “six, seven.”)

Dictionary.com claims the origin of “67” is a song called “Doot Doot (6 7)” by Skrilla, quickly made infamous by viral TikTok videos, most notably featuring a child who will for the rest of his life be known as the “6-7 Kid.” But according to my nine-year-old cousin, the origins of something so mystical can’t ever truly be known.

(My third grade expert also demonstrated the accompanying signature hand gesture, where you place both hands palms up and alternately move up and down.)

And if you happen to find yourself in a fourth-grade classroom, watch your mouth, because there’s a good chance this term has been banned for the teacher’s sanity.

Annoyed yet? Don’t be. As Dictionary.com points out, 6-7 is a rather delightful example at how fast language can develop as a new generation joins the conversation.

Dictionary.com honorable mentions: agentic, aura farming, broligarchy, clanker, Gen Z stare, kiss cam, overtourism, tariff, tradwife.

Oxford Dictionary: "rage bait"

With input from more than 30,000 users and expert analysis, Oxford Dictionary chose "rage bait" for their word of the year.

Specifically, the dictionary pointed to 2025’s news cycle, online manipulation tactics, and growing awareness of where we spend our time and attention online.

While closely paralleling its etymological cousin "clickbait," rage bait more specifically denotes content that evokes anger, discord, or polarization.

Oxford's experts report that use of the term has tripled in the last 12 months.

Oxford Dictionary's honorable mentions:aura farming, biohack.

Cambridge Dictionary: "parasocial"

The Cambridge Dictionary examined a sustained trend of increased searches to choose "parasocial" as its Word of the Year.

Believe it or not, this term was coined by sociologists in 1956, combining “social” with the Greek-derived prefix para-, which in this case means “similar to or parallel to, but separate from.”

But interest in and use of the term exploded this year, finally moving from a mainly academic context to the mainstream.

Cambridge Dictionary's honorable mentions: slop, delulu, skibidi, tradwife

Freewrite: TBD

This year, the Freewrite Fam is picking our own Word of the Year.

Click below to submit what you think the Word of 2025 should be, and we'll pick one submission to receive a Freewrite gift card.

[SUBMIT HERE] 

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Sources

December 18, 2025 7 min read

What can Jane Austen's personal letters teach writers of today?

December 10, 2025 6 min read

Singer-songwriter Abner James finds his creativity in the quiet freedom of analog tools. Learn how his creative process transcends different media.

Abner James went to school for film directing. But the success of the band he and his brother formed together, Eighty Ninety, knocked him onto a different trajectory.

The band has accrued more than 40 million streams since the release of their debut EP “Elizabeth," and their work was even co-signed by Taylor Swift when the singer added Eighty Ninety to her playlist "Songs Taylor Loves.”

Now, Abner is returning to long-form writing in addition to songwriting, and with a change in media comes an examination of the creative process. We sat down to chat about what's the same — and what's different. 

ANNIE COSBY: Tell us about your songwriting process.

ABNER JAMES: The way I tend to write my songs is hunched over a guitar and just seeing what comes. Sounds become words become shapes. It's a very physical process that is really about turning my brain off.

And one of the things that occurred to me when I was traveling, actually, was that I would love to be able to do that but from a writing perspective. What would happen if I sat down and approached writing in the same way that I approached music? In a more intuitive and free-form kind of way? What would that dig up?

AC: That's basically the ethos of Freewrite.

AJ: Yes. We had just put out a record, and I was thinking about how to get into writing for the next one. It occurred to me that regardless of how I started, I always finished on a screen. And I wondered: what's the acoustic guitar version of writing?

Where there's not blue light hitting me in the face. Even if I'm using my Notes app, it's the same thing. It really gets me into a different mindset.

 "I wondered: what's the acoustic guitar version of writing?"

I grew up playing piano. That was my first instrument. And I found an old typewriter at a thrift store, and I love it. It actually reminded me a lot of playing piano, the kind of physical, the feeling of it. And it was really fun, but pretty impractical, especially because I travel a fair amount.

And so I wondered, is there such a thing as a digital typewriter? And I googled it, and I found Freewrite.

AC: What about Freewrite helps you write?

AJ:I think, pragmatically, just the E Ink screen is a huge deal, because it doesn't exhaust me in the same way. And the idea of having a tool specifically set aside for the process is appealing in an aesthetic way but also a mental-emotional way. When it comes out, it's kind of like ... It's like having an office you work out of. It's just for that.

"The way I tend to write my songs is hunched over a guitar and just seeing what comes. Sounds become words become shapes. It's a very physical process that is really about turning my brain off."

And all of the pragmatic limitations — like you're not getting texts on it, and you're not doing all that stuff on the internet — that's really helpful, too. But just having the mindset....

When I pick up a guitar, or I sit down at the piano, it very much puts me into that space. Having a tool just for words does the same thing. I find that to be really cool and inspiring.

"When I pick up a guitar, or I sit down at the piano, it very much puts me into that space. Having a tool just for words does the same thing."

AC: So mentally it gets you ready for writing.

AJ: Yeah, and also, when you write a Microsoft Word, it looks so finished that it's hard to keep going. If every time I strummed a chord, I was hearing it back, mixed and mastered and produced...?

It's hard to stay in that space when I'm seeing it fully written out and formatted in, like, Times New Roman, looking all seriously back at me.

AC: I get that. I have terrible instincts to edit stuff over and over again and never finish a story.

AJ:  Also, the way you just open it and it's ready to go. So you don't have the stages of the computer turning on, that kind of puts this pressure, this tension on.

It's working at the edges in all these different ways that on their own could feel a little bit like it's not really necessary. All these amorphous things where you could look at it and be like, well, I don't really need any of those. But they add up to a critical mass that actually is significant.

And sometimes, if I want to bring it on a plane, I've found it's replaced reading for me. Rather than pick up a book or bring a book on the plane, I bring Traveler and just kind of hang out in that space and see if anything comes up.

I've found that it's kind of like writing songs on a different instrument, you get different styles of music that you wouldn't have otherwise. I've found that writing from words towards music, I get different kinds of songs than I have in the past, which has been interesting.

In that way, like sitting at a piano, you just write differently than you do on a guitar, or even a bass, because of the things those instruments tend to encourage or that they can do.

It feels almost like a little synthesizer, a different kind of instrument that has unlocked a different kind of approach for me.

"I've found that it's kind of like writing songs on a different instrument, you get different styles of music that you wouldn't have otherwise... [Traveler] feels almost like a little synthesizer, a different kind of instrument that has unlocked a different kind of approach for me."

AC: As someone who doesn't know the first thing about writing music, that's fascinating. It's all magic to me.

AJ: Yeah.

AC: What else are you interested in writing?

AJ: I went to school for film directing. That was kind of what I thought I was going to do. And then my brother and I started the band and that kind of happened first and knocked me onto a different track for a little while after college.

Growing up, though, writing was my way into everything. In directing, I wanted to be in control of the thing that I wrote. And in music, it was the same — the songwriting really feels like it came from that same place. And then the idea of writing longer form, like fiction, almost feels just like the next step from song to EP to album to novel.

For whatever reason, that started feeling like a challenge that would be deeply related to the kinds of work that we do in the studio.

AC: Do you have any advice for aspiring songwriters?

AJ: This sounds like a cliche, but it's totally true: whatever success that I've had as a songwriter — judge that for yourself — but whatever success I have had, has been directly proportional to just writing the song that I wanted to hear.

What I mean by that is, even if you're being coldly, cynically, late-stage capitalist about it, it's by far the most success I've had. The good news is that you don't have to choose. And in fact, when you start making those little compromises, or even begin to inch in that direction, it just doesn't work. So you can forget about it.

Just make music you want to hear. And that will be the music that resonates with most people.

I think there's a temptation to have an imaginary focus group in your head of like 500 people. But the problem is all those people are fake. They're not real. None of those people are actually real people. You're a focus group of one, you're one real person. There are more real people in that focus group than in the imaginary one.

And I just don't think that we're that different, in the end. So that would be my advice.

AC: That seems like generally great creative advice. Because fiction writers talk about that too, right? Do you write to market or do you write the book you want to read. Same thing. And that imaginary focus group has been debilitating for me. I have to silence that focus group before I can write.

AJ: Absolutely.

"I think there's a temptation to have an imaginary focus group in your head of like 500 people. But the problem is all those people are fake... You're a focus group of one, you're one real person. There are more real people in that focus group than in the imaginary one."

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Learn more about Abner James, his brother, and their band, Eighty Ninety, on Instagram.