The pain. The agony. The fingernails down the blackboard of my mind. Save yourself. Run far, run fast.
Drama aside, you should only read this if you get some strange satisfaction out of reading horrifically bad poetry. Or to convince yourself how easy it is to write far better.
Because I promise you can.
I brought this with me when I left the book industry in 2002, reading it shortly thereafter, I think. And if I’m remembering the right book, I remember enjoying it at the time. Except now I can’t figure out why, because I knew something about haiku even then. Getting through this book was one of the most painful reading experiences I’ve ever had.
This isn’t where I go into the idea of haiku and working in a different language than the original form, or how tough translation can be between two related languages, much less between two things so far apart as English and Japanese, or even the syllabic information density difference between English and Japanese. But this book destroys the concept of haiku.
Well, maybe a little background is important. Haiku are three-line poems with a total syllable count of 17 broken out into 5-7-5. The theme is typically nature related, frequently seasonal. They don’t typically rhyme, though it’s possible, and they’re meant to capture a single image or evoke a single feeling. Volumes could be written on what is and isn’t haiku. They have been, in many languages for hundreds of years. But I think that’s enough to understand.
This book provides a few hundred haiku in translation. The book’s description doesn’t do its audience’s intelligence justice. “This classic series of poets and poetry represents the finest works of some of the world’s most eminent writers.” While it is possible that this statement is true, the translations are beyond horrible. And I don’t mean they sound better in the original Japanese (although they probably do). I mean that the translator was clearly given a format to work with by some “brilliant” person working in the Book Sales publishing office.
Now, I don’t (and shouldn’t) expect a specific structure to make it through the translation effort, but I also don’t expect a new one to be imposed. Every single “haiku” in this book rhymes the first line with the third. Every single “haiku” in this book has a syllabic structure of 6-8-6 for a total of twenty syllables.
One of several good translations of a Basho haiku, this one found in multiple places on the internet:
On a withered branch
Crow has alighted--
Nightfall in autumn.
From this book, the same poem, I think:
The autumn day is done,
The crows up a withered branch
Blink at the setting sun.
Wait, did I say these were different translations of the same poem? Can they possibly be?
It hurts. No, it burns.
It burns the eyes and it burns the brain. Over and over, with every new verse on every new page. Thankfully, the book is short. Even more thankfully, it only puts two verses on each page.
By the time I finished Winter (the book works through all four seasons and then tags on some extra material), I’d gone through denial, anger, bargaining, and depression before reaching acceptance and just allowing myself to laugh at how truly awful each verse had been made. Half way through spring, I’d begun to wonder just how deep into dreck the book could sink. While there were brief moments, about one poorly-translated haiku in length, it seemed like things might be getting better, the trend was ever downward, mostly in three-line steps.
I thought it might bottom out in autumn, but then you get a section of “odes”, still short, but of variable length and structure. I'll offer one to give you a taste:
With wretched thoughts distracted I
On sleepless pallet restless lay
The livelong night: with wistful eye
I waited for the breaking day
Through chink of screen
That guards my chamber – peeping, seen.
Overall rating: 1 star. Save yourself the torture of reading this.