A Writer Wrangles 10 Syllables

By Oriana Green

To be honest, as someone who already writes a lot of 17-syallable haikus, condensing my ideas even further into only ten syllables sounded extreme.

But I love a challenge, so I immediately took a few of my haikus and tried to shrink them to fit this new form. Bad idea. All that did was make me prefer—in most cases—the longer versions, which felt richer and more complete.

For example, here’s my original haiku, one of my favorites from this spring:

Magnolia scent
wafts through lace curtains;
I’m drunk by morning.

Here it is as a 10, which captures the event but not the specific flower or even that the cause is a flower:

Power
of the scent
intoxicates me.

So then I thought, why not make it a linked pair of 10s:

Power
of the scent
intoxicates me

drifting
in my sleep:
a magnolia.

While that seems like an improvement, it really relies on 20 syllables for the complete thought—and even then, it’s not as successful as the original haiku. So instead, I tried to recreate the experience of the magnolia scent and have a different—and shorter—response to it. This is the result:

inhale
sweet pink dreams…
a magnolia

I do think that works, though I still prefer my initial haiku. Which leads me to believe that 10s are best when created from scratch, so you don’t have a longer version for comparison. With that goal in mind, I decided to record some experiences from a beach walk I took yesterday.

Found sunk
in wet sand:
glimmering agates.

I like the juxtaposition of the terse single syllable words in the first two lines with the polysyllabic words in the payoff line. That may be one of the unintended results of writing 10s, forcing writers to hunt for more dense, Anglo-Saxon words instead of relying on flowery words from other language sources. In that regard, I think this writing practice could be a good exercise in restoring more vigor and muscle to your writing—especially if you rely heavily on more decorative words choices.

Eagle
monitors
our stroll from his perch.

Watching
my small dog,
perhaps seeing lunch?

While the first 10 does stand alone, it needs the second stanza to complete the thought and add emotion. (In case you’re wondering, every year eagles in my part of Washington state are known to swoop down and fly off with tiny dogs, so this was not meant as a humorous poem.) So perhaps it needs a third stanza to tell the whole story:

Eagle
monitors
our walk from his perch.

Watching
my small dog,
perhaps seeing lunch?

Fearful,
I tighten
my grip on her leash.

So then I thought I’d play with some rhyme and see if it could be managed in so few syllables without feeling childish.

Whir, blur,
heard not seen—
rose sways, hummingbird.

Another challenge is to pack some emotion into such a tiny package. Trying for a small twist or surprise might do it. When the first two words evoke a cute furry image, you don’t expect the next line.

First fawn
dead center
in the busy road.

What I like about 10s is their capacity to record events, sights, emotions and experiences quickly and succinctly. Of course, you can always go back to them later and see if some of them want to grow into poems of linked 10s, or even into another form all together. Though I do feel 10s are a complete art form as they are.

As poets we’re always aiming to be precise, to use concrete words: towhee rather than bird, zinnia instead of orange flower. Therefore, one of the most difficult hurdles with this short form is fitting in proper nouns. Magnolia and geranium for example, could only work in the last line, and that just leaves room for one other syllable. Others leave no room, so the noun must be the punch line:

At last
I’ve seen her:
indigo bunting.

The auditory component can play a crucial role in composing 10s. I’m one who likes to read my drafts aloud anyway, so this aspect is natural to me. If it’s not already part of your writing process, I urge you to conform to one of the few rules of writing 10s and speak your creation aloud—I’m betting it will help you fine tune them even further. If nothing else, it may help you punctuate your 10s more carefully. Which is another key point—punctuation is free—so use it wisely to convey rhythm and silence and emphasis. Notice how the choice of the colon in the bunting poem above signals the importance of the third line and even implies that this sighting is significant, sought after, not an ordinary event. Click on the audio player below to hear me read a few of these 10s.

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After a few weeks of setting my my size 12 feet firmly on this slender path, I can say that the Way of 10 is–surprisingly–a comfortable fit for me. I can already feel them rising spontaneously into my consciousness as a response to my life. Who knows, before long, I may wonder why I ever thought I needed the extravagance of 17 syllables.

If you’ve ever been accused of overwriting, using ten-dollar words or writing too long, then I highly recommend the Way of 10 as a wonderful cure.

(I almost typed panacea, but instead I chose cure, so it’s already working.)

Start fresh,
each 10 whole,
each a captured glimpse.

2 Responses to “A Writer Wrangles 10 Syllables”

1. Peter says:

   November 15, 2009 at 7:20 pm

   I cant wait to create my first 10 poem and share it here. Thank you so much for taking the time to share such imagination.
   I cant wait to create my first 10 poem and share it here. Thank you so much for taking the time to share such imagination.

   Reply
2. Andrea says:

   November 20, 2009 at 8:17 pm

   This inspires me to start writing poetry again–I stopped because I don’t have time anymore to write long poems, but even I ought to be able to manage 10 syllables! Can’t wait to get started. Thanks for all the prompts–that really helps.

   Reply