On What Is Haiku

Now I go to what is there, and each time get something different. Sometimes I get what I want – and other times,
perhaps more rewarding, I get what I didn’t want, with pain.

Each time, discovery.

Haiku is that fledgling moment: when the wing
strokes become sure – when the bird has staying
power in the air.

Haiku can’t be gimmicked; it can’t be shammed.
If it is slicked into cuteness, haiku loses what it had to give.

The split second one starts to touch a flower – real or plastic? – that’s haiku. Before the hoof comes down, that’s haiku.

Sydell Rosenberg (1929-1996)