As a reader here perceptively remarked, “All daoku is hokku, but not all hokku is daoku.”  Today we will begin a look — via old hokku — at just what daoku is.  Because it originated in Japanese hokku of a certain kind, we can easily use relevant old hokku translated into the English-language daoku form as daoku examples.

First — like hokku in general — each daoku is set in the context of one of the four seasons.  Old hokku used specific season words to put a verse in its context, but the system became very complicated and unwieldy over time, requiring years to master.  In daoku we simply head each verse with the season in which it is written.  Daoku are never written out of season.  One does not write a spring verse in autumn, or a winter verse in summer.  The season heading is placed in parentheses above the daoku, like this:


On the tips of the barley leaves,
Spring frost.

Now it may seem redundant to have the heading (Spring) above a verse that has the word “spring” in it, but it saves a lot of confusion when a group of hokku of the same season are grouped together, because many daoku will not have the season mentioned in the verse.  When presenting several daoku of the same season together, the season heading is placed only above the first verse in the sequence.

Let’s examine the form:

On the tips of the barley leaves,
Spring frost.

Each line begins with a capital letter.

The daoku is in two parts, a shorter part and a longer part, separated by an appropriate punctuation mark.  In the case of this verse, the separating mark is the semicolon at the end of the first line.  The comma at the end of the second line is there to guide the reader easily through the verse.

The verse also ends with an appropriate punctuation mark — in this case, a period.

The invariable punctuation marks in a daoku are the separating mark and the ending mark, though of course the kind of punctuation marks used may vary.

Daoku is written in three brief lines.  Usually they total only between about seven to thirteen words. The important thing is to keep it brief, and without unnecessary padding.  The daoku above contains only ten words, which falls easily within the normal range.

There are several characteristics of daoku.  Prominent among them are these:


Poverty in daoku is the opposite of materialism.  It means being satisfied with little instead of much, both in writing and in life.  It is a kind of minimalism.  It avoids the grand and flamboyant. We find povery not only in the aesthetics of hokku, but also in its minimal use of words, while retaining normal grammar.

Simplicity means that daoku deal with ordinary things in ordinary words.  The difference is that daoku is at its best when dealing with ordinary things seen in a new or different way.

Selflessness means that in daoku, it is the verse — or rather what it conveys — that is important, not the writer.  The writer in daoku should be invisible, so that the reader may become the experiencer.  We say the writer gets out of the way so that Nature may speak.  That is why use of the words “I,” “me,” and “my” is kept to a minimum in daoku, and avoided when it is not awkward to do so.  Writers of daoku do not think of themselves as “poets” writing “poetry.”  Instead, the writer of daoku becomes a clear mirror reflecting Nature, just as a still pond clearly reflects the moon.

Transience — which we may also call impermanence — means that daoku as a whole have an underlying sense of the constant change in Nature — that things do not last, but are in a continual state of transformation.  Dawn appears only to become noon, then night; frost appears only to melt and disappear.  Leaves grow only to mature and wither.

On the tips of the barley leaves,
Spring frost.

I like to use this verse at the beginning of spring (according to the old hokku calendar, which is also the daoku calendar) because it so clearly expresses the time when the cold (yin) of winter lingers, but the warmth (yang) of spring is growing.  We see the former in the frost on the leaves, and the latter in the young leaves themselves.  Further, growing warmth and light (yang) are reflected in the dawn.

“Dawn” reflects the time of year, which is spring. Spring is the beginning of the year just as dawn is the beginning of day. So in this verse we see spring reflected in the dawn, and dawn reflected in the spring. Both have a feeling of freshness and youth and newness. But we also find the contrast between the “growing yang” dawn (reflected in “spring”) and the “diminishing yin” seen in the temporary morning frost on the leaf of the barley. This shows us directly the interplay between the forces of Yin and Yang in Nature. Early spring is a time when those two forces seem to contend for dominance, but being a spring verse, we know which will win, because spring means growing yang and diminishing yin, just as dawn means the same.

曙や   麦の葉末の   春の霜

Akebono ya   mugi no hazue no    haru no shimo
Dawn      ya   barley ‘s  leaf-tip  ‘s spring ‘s frost

In the original by Onitsura, the word translated here as “barley” — mugi (in kanji, むぎ in hiragana) can also mean wheat, oats, etc. — it is a general term for grain crops.

If any readers here have questions about the nature or techniques of daoku, please ask, now that spring is again beginning.  Unlike other forms of brief verse that have grown out of or been inspired by hokku, daoku has specific standards, principles, and aesthetics.  It is more challenging to learn, but also — for those who find it speaks to their condition, more rewarding.




Daoku in English has very definite standards and principles, and these extend even to the appearance of a verse on the page, specifically to lineation, capitalization, and punctuation.

An English-language daoku is a verse of three lines, the middle line often — but not always — visually longer than the others.

The first letter of each line is capitalized.
There are two parts, a longer and a shorter.
The two parts of daoku are separated by appropriate punctuation.
The daoku ends with appropriate punctuation.

When shared, each daoku is given an appropriate seasonal heading, whether spring, summer, fall/autumn or winter.  This heading is commonly placed in parentheses.

Follow these standards and you will have the accurate form of  daoku — the container which holds the content, just as a shell holds a nut.

In daoku, everyone follows the same form.  That is because the form works excellently, is very appropriate, and has proved its worth.  But equally important, it gives no occasion to  bickering over form.  It thus contributes importantly to a sense of community in daoku.  We speak the same “language” of form, the form works superbly, and that enables us to concentrate on content.

Now regarding punctuation, its great virtue is that it guides the reader through the daoku smoothly and effortlessly, and without confusion.  It enables very fine shades of pause and emphasis, very important in how we experience a daoku.

As a general guide, here is how to punctuate daoku:

A semicolon indicates a strong, definite pause.  It is generally used to enable the reader to absorb the setting of a daoku, for example in presenting the setting before moving on to the rest:

The summer wind;

A dash is used to indicate a longer, more meditative and connective pause, in cases such as

The summer wind —

It is typed as two hyphens.

One may also use ellipses for that purpose:

The summer wind …

A question mark is usually used to ask a question that in daoku is never answered:

The summer wind?

The exclamation mark is seldom used; it indicates something surprising or unexpected:

A summer wind!

The comma indicates a very brief, connective pause.  It is often found at the end of a line that begins with a preposition:

In the summer wind,

A daoku always ends with punctuation, whether a period (.) — which is the most common — or a question mark (?), or an exclamation point (!) very sparingly used, and also the seldom-used final ellipses (….).

In length, a daoku is usually between seven and thirteen words.  The important thing is to keep it brief, and without unnecessary padding.

This flexibility is very important to English language daoku, because a thing in English may be as visually brief as the word “fly” or as long as the word “dragonfly,” so we must be sparing while not becoming too rigid.  The standard of poverty, if followed, ensures that in daoku we use just a few simple, ordinary words, including only what is necessary for clarity and good grammar.

That is daoku form in a nutshell.

There is thus nothing peculiar about the appearance of daoku in English.  It uses ordinary language, ordinary words, ordinary punctuation.  And again that frees us to concentrate on content, because though form may make something appear to be a daoku visually, it is only the content that will make a real daoku.