kedze prsi, otvoril som chatgpt a spytal sa niekolko otazok, ci moze byt nejaka suvislost medzi oblubenostou kratkej poezie v japonsku a limitovanym zivotnym priestorom na ich ostrovoch.
a. Why did the short poetic form known as haiku originate specifically in Japan? Could it be that, at a certain point, they realized they were living on islands—in a confined space—where there was barely any room left to plant rice?
Might the perception of this spatial limitation have influenced their way of thinking?
Nepotrvrdil hypotezu a nenasiel ziadne zdroje, ktore by sa jej vobec venovali.

b.True, *waka* and *tanka* existed before *haiku*. But why is this type of constrained poetry not popular among other nations as well? Virtually all nations have long poems—or a tendency toward long poems—and very few short ones (at least during the period when *waka*, *tanka*, and *haiku* came into vogue).
Uviedol, ze aj greci mali kratku poeziu - epigramy

c. Could you recommend any works or books that explain the popularity of short-form poetry in Japan, or the reasons behind its emergence? I’d like to see whether literary scholars can offer a serious explanation—specifically, whether they link short-form poetry to the concept of a confined or limited physical space.
For instance, consider the Greeks, who lived on islands (and whose peninsula is also quite mountainous), or the English, who possess a dry sense of humor and also inhabit islands.
I’d like to compare your explanation with theirs, and see to what extent they are able to account for such a hypothesis.

Odporucil 5 knih, medzi nimi Kathryn J. Gutzwiller: why Greek poetry became short, sophisticated, and personal
Source: Kathryn J. Gutzwiller, Poetic Garlands: Hellenistic Epigrams in Context (1998).

This is particularly valuable because it provides a genuine comparison with Japan.

...
Pod videom od japonky o art of haiku bol koment
@ronmortimer252
1 year ago
I used to write a few haiku poems back in the day but not following the intricacies of the strict Japanese form and guide rules. It's strangely challenging and satisfying at the same time. The following few examples are from memory. Your haiku is much more lovely and delicate than my anglacised version could ever be. Thanks for sharing your beautiful poem on this video

let us try haiku
maybe even senryu
it's very tricky.

when I go fishing
the fish find places to hide
and stay till I leave.

out of the window
steel grey November stares back
mocking lost summers.

lakes looked like oceans
to the child who first saw them
my how time does fly.

Odpovedal som mu

not bad.
We don’t have a language with such short syllables as the Japanese do. Perhaps a three-line poem that captures the essence of a haiku is sufficient. That could be a European response to the haiku.
Snow covered the forgotten shorts
a dog sniffed them,
and decided to stay with the humans.

Spojil som ich do jedneho a spytal sa chatgpt:

Japanese form and guide rules. It's strangely challenging and satisfying at the same time. The following few examples are from memory. Your haiku is much more lovely and delicate than my anglacised version could ever be. We don’t have a language with such short syllables as the Japanese do. Perhaps a three-line poem that captures the essence of a haiku is sufficient. That could be a European response to the haiku.

(nasleduje 5 "haiku")

Is this comment true, valid? How would you interpret those short poems? How would you rank them (best to worst)?

Chatgpt:

Your comment is valid in an important sense, but I would qualify one part of it: English is not inherently incapable of haiku-like compression; rather, Japanese and English organise sound, rhythm, and meaning differently. Your poems also show that an English-language response to haiku need not reproduce Japanese rules exactly to preserve something of the form's spirit.

There is a productive tension in what you describe: the rules make writing harder, but the restrictions force you to notice things you might otherwise overlook. That is one reason short forms can feel both frustrating and satisfying.
1. Is your comment about Japanese and European poetry valid?
The linguistic point: partly true
Japanese on (more precisely, morae) are not the same as English syllables. Japanese has a relatively regular pattern of mora timing, whereas English syllables can contain dense clusters of consonants and carry considerable stress variation.

For example, an English word like strengths packs several consonants into a single syllable. Japanese generally distributes comparable sound sequences differently. So a 5–7–5 Japanese poem cannot be reproduced mechanically as a 5–7–5 English-syllable poem without changing its density, rhythm, or meaning.

But there is a second side to this. English has many short words, and a skilful English poet can achieve extraordinary compression. The difficulty is not simply that English syllables are too long. It is that the Japanese 5–7–5 structure does not transfer neatly into English, and the same number of counted units does not produce the same poetic effect.
The European-response point: valid, with a qualification
Your idea that a three-line poem can capture the essence of haiku without following every Japanese convention is entirely defensible. In fact, English-language haiku has long included approaches that prioritise perception, juxtaposition, and immediacy over strict syllable counting.

I would be careful with the phrase “a European response,” though. Europe has no single poetic tradition, and European poets have experimented with haiku in many different ways. What you describe is better understood as a possible European or English-language adaptation: keeping the concentration and suggestiveness while allowing the language to determine the form.

Your poems also illustrate something important: they do not all need to be haiku in a strict generic sense to be successful short poems influenced by haiku.
2. Interpreting and ranking your poems
I'll rank them by a combination of imagery, originality, emotional resonance, and how much they leave for the reader to discover. That last criterion is especially relevant to haiku, although it isn't a universal rule for poetry.

Ranking:
1. “Out of the window”
My favourite
Strongest image and atmosphere
out of the window
steel grey November stares back
mocking lost summers.

Interpretation: The speaker looks outside and encounters not merely bad weather, but a season that seems to look back at them. November becomes an adversary, and “mocking lost summers” gives the grey landscape a psychological dimension.

The most effective phrase is “steel grey November stares back.” “Steel” suggests coldness, hardness, and a metallic light; “stares back” reverses the relationship between observer and landscape. The speaker is no longer simply looking at November. November is looking at the speaker.

The last line makes the poem more explicitly melancholic. It tells us what the scene means emotionally, whereas the first two lines allow us to experience it more directly. I still think the ending works because the personification prepares us for it.

Why it ranks first: It creates a coherent atmosphere, gives the landscape agency, and makes the passage of time feel almost like a personal accusation. It is the most psychologically unified of the five.

2. “Lakes looked like oceans”
Strongest philosophical idea
lakes looked like oceans
to the child who first saw them
my how time does fly.

Interpretation: The poem contrasts the scale of the world with the scale of the person experiencing it. A lake can seem boundless to a child, while an adult recognises its limits. The physical landscape has not necessarily changed; the observer has.

There is a second, subtler reading: the child is not merely smaller but inhabits a different perceptual world. Childhood is a way of seeing, not just an earlier point on a timeline.

The first two lines are the strongest. They establish the contrast without needing to explain it. The last line, “my how time does fly,” introduces a familiar expression, and that familiarity slightly reduces the poem's originality. It tells us how to interpret the image rather than allowing the image to carry the emotion on its own.

Why it ranks second: Its underlying idea is excellent, and the first two lines are quietly moving. With a less conventional ending, it might be the strongest poem here.

3. “Snow covered the forgotten shorts”
Most distinctive comic narrative
Snow covered the forgotten shorts;
a dog sniffed them,
and decided to stay with the humans.

Interpretation: This is the strangest and most narratively ambitious of the group. Something has been abandoned or forgotten; snow covers it; a dog investigates it and makes a decision about its relationship with human beings.

The final line creates the surprise. We expect the dog to react to the shorts, perhaps by playing with them or wandering away. Instead, it apparently decides to remain with the humans. The implied reasoning is wonderfully opaque: perhaps the smell is reassuring, perhaps the dog recognises its people, or perhaps the whole event is simply an absurd little fable.

The humour comes from treating the dog's decision as though it were a considered philosophical judgement. It has investigated the evidence and reached a conclusion: these are my humans, and I shall remain with them.

There is also an interesting contrast between the cold, impersonal snow and the warmth of belonging.

Why it ranks third: It is original, surprising, and memorable. However, it tells a complete little story and explains the outcome. That makes it closer to a miniature comic narrative or senryū-like anecdote than to the most compressed kind of haiku. Its extra length is not necessarily a flaw; it serves the comic timing.

4. “When I go fishing”
Best understated humour
when I go fishing
the fish find places to hide
and stay till I leave.

Interpretation: The angler arrives expecting to catch fish, but the fish have other plans. The poem reverses the expected relationship: the human thinks of fishing as an activity directed at the fish, while the fish behave as though they are managing the human.

It can be read as a gentle joke about fishing, a portrait of nature's indifference to human intentions, or a small allegory of frustration. We pursue something, and it remains just beyond our reach until we stop pursuing it.

The ending is effective because “stay till I leave” gives the fish a quiet, almost deliberate stubbornness. They do not need to defeat the fisherman. They simply wait him out.

Why it ranks fourth: It is clear, economical, and charming. Its central joke is more familiar than the imagery in the poems above, but it has a natural rhythm and doesn't labour the point. It also feels closest to a senryū-like observation of human folly, though its subject is fish.

5. “Let us try haiku”
A playful opening, rather than the strongest poem
let us try haiku
maybe even senryu
it's very tricky.

Interpretation: This is self-referential humour. The poem describes the very difficulty it performs: even writing a poem about trying to write a poem becomes an exercise in compression.

It also contains a little shift in tone. “Let us try” is communal and optimistic; “maybe even senryu” adds a playful complication; “it's very tricky” ends with an almost deliberately unpoetic understatement.

The contrast between an ancient literary tradition and the speaker's modest struggle with it is the joke.

Why it ranks fifth: It has charm and works as an introductory verse, but it depends more on the situation and the reader's awareness of the exercise than on imagery or a surprising discovery. I would happily keep it as a preface to the other poems, even though it is the least powerful as a standalone piece.

3. What your poems reveal about your approach
There is a pattern across the four more substantive poems: you tend to begin with a recognisable situation and then introduce a shift in perspective.
- The fish hide from the fisherman.
- November stares back at the observer.
- The lake changes scale according to the observer's age.
- The dog makes an unexpectedly consequential decision after sniffing some shorts.
In each case, the world is not merely a background. It seems to have its own perspective, or it reveals something about the person observing it.

That is a promising approach for short poetry. You don't need to manufacture an elaborate metaphor if a small reversal can do the work.

I also notice a difference between the poems' endings. The fishing poem ends with a quiet joke; the lake poem ends by explaining its emotional point; the November poem intensifies its image into a feeling; and the dog poem ends with an absurd narrative twist. These are different ways of closing a short poem, and each produces a different kind of satisfaction.
4. One experiment: preserve the thought but leave more unsaid
I wouldn't rewrite your poems as though there were one correct Japanese-style solution. But to demonstrate the effect of compression, consider the lake poem.

Your version gives us the image, the childhood perspective, and the conclusion about time. A more elliptical version might be:

the lake was endless
from the child's side of the shore
autumn, years later

This is not necessarily better. It loses your direct, conversational voice and introduces a more deliberately literary ambiguity. But it changes the reader's task: instead of being told that time flies, the reader must infer the passage of time from the contrast between the child and the later scene.

That is the kind of trade-off worth experimenting with. Compression does not automatically improve a poem; it changes how much work the reader must do.

My overall favourite remains the November poem. It has a strong central image and an emotional logic that unfolds naturally. The lake poem has the richest underlying idea, while the dog poem is the most surprising. And the fishing poem has a quality that is easy to undervalue: it is content to be a small, successful joke rather than pretending to be profound.

That last quality matters. Not every haiku-inspired poem needs to contain a philosophy of existence. Sometimes the fish really do just wait until you leave.

iny? Na 90% taky isty. Cela civilizacia a pokrok je tahany 2% populacie. Ostatni su takmer papagaji.
Kolko by si stavil, ze do 2 rokov nepride ai s niecim fakt zaujimavym v hocijakej oblasti, napr. mat, fyzike, literature, mozno filozofii.
Chatgpt mi povedala, ze na fundamentalu pricinu gravitacie, pravdepodobne nikdy neprideme. Vzdy sa vynoria dalsie otazky.