It was early morning in Sisimiut when the “How to Haiku” presentation began. The Arctic light was soft and precise — the kind of light that seems already to understand what haiku asks of us: attention.
Lisa Germany opened the session by reflecting on her own beginnings.
When she first developed a serious interest in haiku, she sought guidance from a mentor, Sean O’Connor, whose work she had encountered in various online journals. His presence in the haiku community reassured her that this was a living, evolving art form — and one that rewards careful study.
What Is Haiku?
Lisa began with the word itself. *Haiku* combines *hai* (short) and *ku* (verse). Yet its brevity is not merely about length. She offered a definition that anchored the rest of the workshop:
Haiku is one moment keenly perceived
There is a common tendency to think of haiku as seventeen “sounds.”
While this idea derives from Japanese poetic structure, those sounds are not exactly syllables in English. Rather than fixating on syllable count, Lisa encouraged participants to think in terms of “three utterances” — three breaths or natural phrases that shape the experience.
Showing, not telling
Haiku often draws from the natural world. But nature in haiku is not decorative; it is observed.
A strong haiku shows rather than tells. It presents images instead of abstract concepts. It offers feeling rather than commentary, perception rather than explanation. The poem should move in a clear and direct path, allowing the reader to enter the moment without obstruction.
In this sense, haiku resists cleverness. It asks for clarity.
Why Haiku?
Why practice such a spare form? Because haiku gets you outside basically.
It invites connection with the natural world and anchors you in the present moment. It sharpens the powers of observation. It poses a creative challenge within tight constraints. And despite its brevity, it is timeless.
The Ginko: Walking into a Poem
A ginko is a haiku walk — an intentional walk taken for the purpose of observation and writing.
Lisa offered practical guidance for how to ginko:
- Take your time.
- Bring something to record notes.
- Stop when something catches your attention.
- Pay attention with all your senses.
She draws on nature journaling prompts to deepen perception:
- I see
- I hear
- I smell
- I feel
- I taste
The key is specificity. Capture images, not generalities. Instead of “a bird,” what kind? Instead of “a cold day,” what reveals the cold?
Start with the essentials: what, where, and when.
Seasonal availability
Traditional haiku includes a seasonal reference, but season is always context-specific. Lisa illustrated this with the striking difference between a spring breeze in Australia and a spring breeze in Greenland. The same phrase evokes entirely different sensory realities depending on place.
Haiku is rooted in lived environment. Its seasons are not abstract markers but embodied experiences:
Crafting a moment
When shaping a haiku, begin by asking: *What is the moment?* Then present it as it came to you.
Keep the language clear and direct. Avoid ornamentation. Favor nouns and verbs over adjectives and adverbs. Let the images carry the weight.
And when revising, Lisa’s advice was firm:
Fight for the best word
Editing is not about embellishment but precision. Each word must earn its place. In such a brief form, there is no room for excess.
One of the distinguishing moment’s in Lisa’s thoughtfully-researched presentation was the demonstration of how a draft had developed from the camping trip to revisiting the photographs and editing a related haiku.
In the cool light of Sisimiut, her lessons were not only about poetry. It was about attention — about stepping outside, noticing, and honoring a fleeting instant. Haiku, as Lisa Germany teaches it, is less a technical exercise and more a disciplined act of presence: one moment, keenly perceived.
The workshops are supported by Western Riverina Arts and Create NSW through financial assistance from the NSW Government.