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Jack Kerouac
Collected Haikus*
*Haiku is both singular and plural. Kerouac’s usage of " s " is unusual.
"He's the only one in the United States who knows how to write haikus… Kerouac thinks in haikus, every time he writes anything—talks that way and thinks that way. So it's just natural for him… He's the only master of the haiku." Interview with Allen Ginsberg, The Paris Review , 37 (Winter, 1966), 52-53.
"The American Haiku is not exactly the Japanese Haiku. The Japanese Haiku is strictly disciplined to seventeen syllables but since the language structure is different I don't think American Haikus (short three-line poems intended to be completely packed with Void of Whole) should worry about syllables because American speech is something again... bursting to pop. Above all, a Haiku must be very simple and free of all poetic trickery and make a little picture and yet be as airy and graceful as a Vivaldi Pastorella." Jack Kerouac
Then I'll invent The American Haiku type The simple rhyming triolet:-- Seventeen syllables? No, as I say, American Pops:-- Simple 3-line poems Jack Kerouac - Reading Notes, 1965
Renowned for his groundbreaking Beat Generation novel On the Road , Jack Kerouac was also a master of the haiku. He incorporated his nearly 1,000 American haiku pops in novels and in his correspondence, notebooks, journals, sketchbooks, and recordings. A selection is listed in alphabetical order below.
Jack Kerouac spent 63 days during the summer of 1956 as a fire lookout on Desolation Peak. He wrote about his experiences in the books Lonesome Traveler, The Dharma Bums and Desolation Angels. The ‘Desolation Pops’ manuscript is a collection of seventy-two haiku experiments, numbered by the author, represent Kerouac’s effort in relating his mountain loneliness to nature and mystical experience.
2 traveling salesmen passing each other On a Western road
50 miles from N.Y. all alone in Nature, The squirrel eating
A balloon caught in the tree – dusk In Central Park zoo
Abbid abbayd ingrat
A black bull and a white bird Standing together on the shore
A big fat flake of snow Falling all alone
A bird hanging on the wire At dawn
A bird on the branch out there
A bird pecking kernels on a grassy hillside Just mowed
A bottle of wine, a bishop - Everything is God
A bubble, a shadow - woop - The lightning flash
A car is coming but the cat knows It's not a snake
A current pimple In the mind’s Old man
After a year and a half finally saw the rat Big and fat
After supper on crossed paws, The cat meditates
After the earthquake, A child crying In the silence
After the shower, among the drenched roses, the bird thrashing in the bath
Alone, in old clothes, sipping wine Beneath the moon
A long island in the sky The Milky Way
A long way from The Beat Generation In the rain forest
Alpine fir with snowcap’t backround – It doesn’t matter
America: fishing licenses the license To meditate
Am I a flower bee, that you Stare at me?
A million acres of Bo-trees And not one Buddha (Desolation Pops, 51)
Among the nervous birds the morning dove Nibbles quietly
A mother & son just took a shortcut Thru my yard
Ancient ancient world
- tight skirts By the new car
And as for Kennedy - in Autumn he slept By swishing peaceful trees
And the quiet cat sitting by the post Perceives the moon
Answered a letter and took a hot bath
Apassionata Sonata
- hiballs, gray Afternoon in October
April mist - under the pine At midnight
A pussywillow grew there At the foot Of the breathless tree
A quiet Autumn night and these fools Are starting to argue
A quiet moment - low lamp, low logs - Just cooking the stew
A raindrop from the roof Fell in my beer
Arms folded to the moon, Among the cows
A spring mosquito dont even know How to bite!
As the cool evenings make themselves felt, Smoke from suburban chimneys
Asking Albert Saijo for a haiku, He said nothing
A stump with sawdust
- a place To meditate (Desolation Pops, 7)
At a Coney Island hamburger In Vancouver Washington (Desolation Pops, 3)
At night The girl I denied Walking away
A turtle sailing along on a log, Head up
Aurora borealis over Mount Hozomeen - The world is eternal (Desolation Pops, 70)
Aurora Borealis over the Hozomeen – The void is stiller (Desolation Pops, 33)
over there, Unblown
A yellow witch chewing a cigarette, Those Autumn leaves
Bach through an open dawn window - the birds are silent
Barefoot by the sea, stopping to scratch one ankle With one toe
Barley soup in Scotland in November - Misery everywhere
Bee, why are you staring at me? I'm not a flower!
Beautiful young girls running up the library steps With shorts on
Beautiful summer night gorgeous as the robes Of Jesus
Big books packaged from Japan - Ritz crackers
Big drinking & piano parties – Christmas Come and gone –
Big wall of clouds from the North Coming in – brrrr! (Desolation Pops, 69)
Bird bath trashing, by itself - Autumn wind
Birds chirp fog Bugs the gate
Birds flew Over the shack Rejoicing
Birds flying north - Where are the squirrels? There goes a plane to Boston
Birds singing
in the dark In the rainy dawn
Bird suddenly quiet on his branch – his Wife glancing at him
Bird was gone and distance grew Immensely white (Desolation Pops, 64)
Black bird - no! bluebird - pear Branch still jumping
Blizzard in the suburbs
- the mailman And the poet walking
Blizzard in the suburbs
- old man driving slowly To the store 3 blocks
Blizzard’s just started all that bread scattered, And just one bird
Blowing in an afternoon wind, on a white fence, A cobweb
Blueberry dubbery the chipmunk’s In the grass (Desolation Pops, 68)
Bluejay drinking at my saucer of milk, Throwing his head back
Breakfast done the tomcat curls up On the down couch
Bred to rejoice, the giggling sunshine leaves (Desolation Pops, 14)
Brighter than the night, my barn roof Of snow
Brokenback goodshit Heap bigshot among the Birchtrees.
Buddha laughing on Mt. Lanka! Like Jimmy Durante!
On the back door
Closing the book, rubbing my eyes - The sleepy August dawn
Cloudy autumn nite
- cold water drips in the sink.
Coffee beans!
- Methinks I smell The Canaries!
Cold crisp October morning
- the cats fighting In the weeds
Cold gray tufts of winter grass Under the stars
Coming from the West, covering the moon, Clouds – not a sound
Concatenation! – the bicycle pulls the wagon Because the rope is tied
Content, the top trees shrouded In gray fog (Desolation Pops, 13)
Cool breeze - maybe just a shillyshallying snow That'll ruin everything
Cool breezy morning
- the cat is rolling On his back
Cool sunny autumn day, I’ll mow the lawn one last time
Cradled and warm, the upper snow, The trackless (Desolation Pops, 15)
Crisp wind My tired limbs Relaxed before the coals
Crossing the football field, coming home from work, The lonely businessman
Dawn, a falling star
- A dewdrop lands On my head!
Dawn – crows cawing, ducks quack quacking, Kitchen windows lighting
Dawn – the first robins singing to the new moon
Dawn – the tomcat hurrying home With his tail down
Dawn – the writer who hasn’t shaved, Poring over notebooks
Dawn wind in the spruces
Debris on the lake
- my soul Is upset (Desolation Pops, 22)
Desk cluttered with mail - My mind is quiet
Desolation, Desolation, so hard To come down off of
Desolation, Desolation, wherefore have you Earned you name?
Disturbing my mind essence, all that food I have to cook
Do you know why my name is Jack? Why? That’s why.
Drinking wine
- the Queen of Greece on a postage stamp
Drizzle - Midnight pine, I sit dry
Drunk as a hoot owl writing letters By thunderstorm
Every cat in Kyoto can see through the fog
Everyone of my knocks disturbs my daughter Sleeping in her December grave
Everywhere beyond the Truth, Empty space blue (Desolation Pops, 17)
February dawn – frost on the path Where I paced all winter
February gales - racing westward through The clouds, the moon
Fiddlydee! - Another day, Another something-or-other!
Fighting over a peach stone, bluejays In the bushes
First December cold wave - not even One cricket
First frost dropped all leaves Last night – leafsmoke
Flowers aim crookedly At the straight death
For a moment the moon Wore goggles
Following each other, my cats stop When it thunders
Forever and forever everything’s alright - midnight woods
Four bluejays quiet in the afternoon tree, Occasionally scratching
Four in morning - creak my mother In her bed
Free as a pine goofing For the wind
Frogs don’t care just sit there Brooding on the moon
Front hooves spread, the mule scratches his Neck along a log
Frozen in the birdbath, A leaf
Full moon in the trees
- across the street, the jail
Full moon of October
- The tiny mew of the Kitty
Full moon - Pine tree - Old house
Full moon, white snow, - my bottle Of purple jello (Desolation Pops, 30)
Gary (Snyder) gone from the shack like smoke
Gary Snyder is a haiku far away
Gee last night - dreamed Of Harry Truman (Desolation Pops, 23)
Geronimo, in Autumn says no to peaceful Cochise - Smoke rises
Get to go - fork a hoss And head for Mexico (Desolation Pops, 39)
Ghengis Khan looks fiercely east, with red eyes, Hungering for Autumn vengeance
Girls' footprints in the sand
Haiku! Haiku! Still wears a bandage Over his injured eye!
Haiku my eyes! my mother is calling!
Haiku, shmaiku, I cant understand the intention of reality
Halloween colors orange and black On a summer butterfly
Hand in hand in a red valley with the universal schoolteacher - the first morning
Haunted Autumn visiting familiar August, Those last 2 days
Haydn’s creation or Coleman Hawkins, I can Fix em just right
Here comes My dragon - goodbye!
Here comes the nightly moth, to his nightly Death, at my lamp
Her yellow dolls bowing on the shelf - My dead step grandmother
Highest perfect fool - the wisdom Of the two-legged rat
High in the Sky the Fathers Send Messages From on High
High noon in Northport
Hitch hiked a thousand miles and brought You wine
Hmf – Ole Starvation Ridge is Milkied o’er (Desolation Pops, 27)
Holding up my purring cat to the moon, I sighed
Holy sleep
- Hanshan Was right (Desolation Pops, 72)
Horse waving his tail in a field of clover At sundown
Hot coffee and a cigarette – why zazen? (Desolation Pops, 32)
Hot tea, in the cold moonlit snow - a burp
How cold! – late September baseball - The crickets
How’d those guys get in here, those two flies?
How many cats they need around here For any orgy?
How flowers love the sun, Blinking there!
How that butterfly’ll wake up When someone Bongs that bell! Cf. Yosa Buson (1716-1784): The butterfly / Resting upon the temple bell, / Asleep. (trans. R.H. Blyth, Haiku, Vol. 2: Spring, Hokuseido, 1950, p. 258.)
Huge knot in the Redwood tree Looking like Zeus’ face
Hummingbird hums hello – bugs Race and swoop
Hurrying things along, Autumn rain On my awning
I called – Dipankara instructed me By saying nothing (Desolation Pops, 60)
I called Hanshan
In a Mojave dust storm Albert said: "Senzeie, Was a Mongolian waif"
In Autumn Geronimo weeps - no pony With a blanket
In back of the Supermarket, in the parking lot weeds, Purple flowers
In enormous blizzard burying everything My cat’s out mating
In enormous blizzard burying everything - My cat turned back
In Hakkaido a cat has no luck
In London-town cats can sleep In the butcher's doorway.
In my medicine cabinet the winter fly Has died of old age
In the chair I decided to call Haiku By the name of Pop
In the desert sun in Arizona, A yellow railroad caboose
In the late afternoon peaks, I see The hope (Desolation Pops, 25)
In the lovely sun reading lovely Haikus - Spring
In the middle of the corn, a new Car slithering
In the morning frost the cats Stepped slowly
In the quiet house, my mother's Moaning yawns
In the sun the butterfly wings Like a church window
Iowa clouds following each other Into Eternity
I rubbed my bearded cheek and looked in The mirror – Ki! (Desolation Pops, 61)
I said a joke under the stars
I should have scratched that spot before I started to sleep
I’ve turned up the lamp again
I went in the woods to meditate - It was too cold
I woke up
- two flies were boffing On my forehead
Jack reads his book aloud at nite
Juju [=juzu] beads on the Zen manual - My knees are cold
June – the snow of blossoms On the ground
Just woke up
- afternoon pines Playing the wind
Kicked the cupboard and hurt my toe
- Rage (Desolation Pops, 43)
Kneedeep in the blizzard, the ancient Misery of the cat
Kneedeep, teeth to the blizzard, My cat gazing at me
