Autism Haiku
Originally published on Cohost.
So I've long been fascinated with "Anglophone haiku"-- that is, the poetic form characterized exclusively by 5/7/5-syllable counts. To put it briefly, the "5/7/5 haiku" looks very different from the original form-- Japanese doesn't use "syllables" as its unit of time, after all. What's more, the original form carries multiple traditions with it that are unrelated to syllable count, from a focus on juxtaposing two images separated by caesura, to a rich corpus of "season words". NaHaiWriMo, whose logo is a negated 5/7/5, explains it in more depth than I can.
To make a long story short, many great poets in the conversation around English-language haiku spurn the 5/7/5 rule. For example, here's Langston Hughes with one of my favorite haiku, titled "Suicide's Note":
The calm,
Cool face of the river
Asked me for a kiss.
Or consider this Jane Reichhold translation of the most venerated haiku-writer there is, Bashō:
every morning
practicing to improve
a cricket
Wouldn't these poems seem prolix if they were stretched to the "full" syllable count? Each line break has an impact, both thematically and musically.
Today I actually want to talk about some particular "bad" 5/7/5's though. My theory is that American teachers latched onto the 5/7/5 haiku as a creative way to assess syllable-counting ability and never looked back. As a result, the 5/7/5 form has become a respectable form even among non-poets. In fact, it's a very accessible way for a self-identified "non-poet" to write; haiku is one of the only non-rhyming forms that doesn't draw the ire of self-appointed "art police" that harangue free-verse poets. And while I tend to enjoy "free-form" haiku better, inexperienced 5/7/5 writers often cope with the simultaneous freedom and awkwardness of their form in admirable, clever, and indeed poetic ways. I genuinely think there's something to learn from "bad" haikus, and/or good poems that are "bad" at being haiku.
All of this led me to stumble across an image that said this:
Tonight's a full moon. Autism parents all shout: "That explains it all!"
Obviously this poem is goofy-- but before we try to dissect whether this poem thinks autistics are werewolves, I think there's a lot to notice about this poem formally. The first is its function. Between the logo and the fact that this is autism haiku "#2", it's obvious that this is made in service to a company. It seems that these poems were created to be scattered across Pintrests, in the hopes that an autism mommy will stumble upon them and subsequently stumble upon a website where they will buy something. In service of this, the poem's intent is to be relatable. Look at the word "autism parents". Imagine an identity being created in someone who, up until reading the poem, is simply a "parent of an autistic child". The structure of the poem is "Someone similar to the audience sees something... and feels relief!" And if that structure works on a reader, if they feel that they are somehow in community with the poem or its author, doesn't it make sense that their first impulse would be to look for more?
Furthermore, I think it's worth noting how verbose this poem is, despite haiku being taught as a celebration of brevity. "That explains it all!" doesn't accomplish more than a brief "Aha!", but it's a clever way of coping with the "requirement" to write five syllables. The "Tonight's" and "all" in the first and second lines also scream redundancy. Many students struggle with condensing their thoughts to seventeen syllables; isn't it funny, then, that from our vantage point a seventeen-syllable poem seems bloated?
And of course, the most unusual thing about this poem is the implication that the full moon "explains it all". This stems from a folk belief among "autism mommies" that their children's autism gets "stronger" or more unbearable when the moon is full. Thus, while it's easy to criticize this poem for being blunt and not leaving enough to the reader's imagination, this poem actually does imply something that happened before the first line (specifically, the autistic child being overstimulated and "misbehaving"-- "autism winning", as this subculture puts it). Thus, while I am filled with contempt for the poem's audience, it's important not to dismiss it as completely craftless-- for all the verbosity I previously noted, the work uses the classic "imply what happened before line 1" technique to make itself more succinct.
Now at this point I was filled with horrified curiosity, so of course I looked up more autism poems:
On Halloween night
Ding Dong Ding Dong Ding Dong Ding
We raise awareness!
I'm sure some people experience "ding dong ding dong ding dong ding" as a pleasant musicality in the poem. If that's you, that's awesome. To me, especially in the context of a famously brief poetic form, I see it as two syllables' worth of ideas stretched to seven for no convincing reason.
Where are we going?
And then? And then? And then? And
then? And then? And then?
Credit where it's due-- in my eyes, this is both an effective use of repetition, and an effective enjambment. It's not particularly "in the spirit" of haiku (both traditional and contemporary freeform tend to center the juxtaposition of images, rather than show one continuous one), but that doesn't make it bad-- in fact, it's a creative way of getting around the "limitation" of syllable counts.
I do, however, think it's funny that the poet is trying to turn this classic trope about children into an autism-mom-specific experience. Like, I'm sure your kid does this, but that's because they're a kid; you think it's an autism mom thing because there is no ontological barrier between your momhood and your momhood of an autistic child.
It's holiday time!
And do you know what that means?
Two weeks with no school
😬
I see a few things here. First and foremost is the sheer contempt autism mommies have for their children, put on display here lackadaisically. The second is that, in an awkward way, this poem functionally uses a technique many English haiku use-- a linebreak based in surprise. While the third line follows naturally from the second, it's certainly unexpected, and it's a first step toward the very haiku-like goal of creating two images whose juxtaposition is a pleasant surprise.
The third, of course, is the lack of economy in language. "And do you know what that means?" drags on forever, but somehow there's no enough space to fit the full disappointment the speaker feels at getting to see their child for a full two weeks (did I mention that the "autism mommy" community is kind of bad?) and the poem resorts to a basically-text emoji to finish the job. I loathe the goal, but I admire the audacity.
I gave him his meds.
Wait! Did I? Can't remember.
Better check Birdhouse!
Also in case you thought I was pulling your leg earlier: Yes, this is the equivalent of an SEO blog for an app for autism parents. From this aim stems the source of much of the poetic dishonesty in this work. I'd like to note that the use of sentence fragments in "Wait! Did I? Can't remember." is a technique I see a lot in 5/7/5 haiku-- notice how you only need like, one of these fragments, but you're stuck in syllable count prison, and so you must contort your sentences.
It's also worth noting: This isn't even the first poem we've seen with a "Stimulus / Problem!!! / Solution" structure. It's so funny how these structures unintentionally manifest themselves.
Some people may think
No speech means nothing to say
Could not be more wrong!
Finally, an oasis of sweetness!
I think this is a great example of a poem that wants to be more specific-- I want to be shown how we "have something to say" without speaking! "Show, don't tell" isn't necessary to a good poem, but in this case I'd love you to tell me a teeny story of your little boy nonverbally communicating, and use it to make our "no speech means nothing to say" strawman look like they're from another planet!
As it stands, though, I can't be too mad. In fact, the bumbling nature of writing to syllable counts has led to a happy accident: I love how the phrase "nothing to say", with its rhythm of multiple unstressed syllables in a row, explodes into "Could not be more wrong!", a phrase I can't help but read as though it were five stressed syllables. There's a real music there! In a way, this poem feels less bad so much as unfinished, like a classical guitarist playing four highly technical bars and then leaving the stage.
Flap flap, spin spin spin.
He's as happy as can be.
I'm the dizzy one!
I want to end on another sweet one. I unabashedly like the rhythmic aspect of "flap flap, spin spin spin". And more than anything, I'm smiling at the subtle acknowledgement that the autism parent needs to just accept that sometimes they're the one who's confused. Another example of a poem that might be served to expand beyond haikuness-- after all, "flap flap, spin spin spin" is a line that celebrates "excess" words.
If you write poetry (or if you're willing to try something), I challenge you to a poetry prompt. Write a poem that uses "Flap flap, spin spin spin" as a cornerstone-- a chorus, perhaps, or a cornerstone that everything else in the poem is responding to musically.
And as you write, think about the haiku I showed you today. Think about how the autism haiku viewed their form as a chore, rather than a privilege, and strive to do better; but also be humbled by the fact that even you had something to learn from some random app's SEO-blog poetry.