Poetry Analysis: "I love Halloween"

I love Halloween
I looked out my window and
A kid dabbed at me

by Tumblr user pemsylvania

This was not originally a haiku, but a normal Tumblr text post. Tumblr users dudesindnoods and pinchserveprince point out the haiku qualities once linebreaks are added: the syllable count, the seasonal indicator, and the “transcendent moment.”

There isn’t too much in the way of soundplay or other traditional English devices. (Not surprising, considering this is essentially “found” or unintended poetry.) But the poem makes for a great haiku.

We all know the basis of a haiku is the syllable count: 5 on one line, 7 on the next, 5 on the last. It makes a sort of sandwich or mirror. Even if you just look at the lengths of the lines, you can tell that something happens in the middle line, some tension that needs to be resolve in the last. And the best resolutions are shorter than the problem, so we return to the shorter, 5-syllable line. (Technically, haiku in English don’t need to have the same syllable count--if anything, they ought to be shorter, due to changes in translation--but for now, we can stick to the Japanese form.)

But haiku are more than syllables! Haiku are based in nature and ought to have an indicator of the season. Ours is one word: Halloween. Halloween puts us in autumn, sometime in October if not the 31st. A million images come to mind: orange decorations everywhere, rainbows of leaves carpeting the concrete, sweaters and PSLs, the smell of cold air, the unsettling stare of a jack-o-lantern, increasing cloud coverage as days get shorter. That’s some of the magic of haiku, how they can pack so many ideas into so few words.

So our speaker sets the stage: October, mischief, perhaps a bit of extra awareness of the other holidays that are soon to come. Then we get action. They look out the window and… Another key feature of true haiku is a turn. (Or volta, if you want to be all Italian and uppity about it.) Something happens. That line break is perfect. It’s saying, “What Happen Next Will Shock You.” And what do we get? A kid dabbing.

I did not expect that, and I doubt the speakers does, either.

So what do we make of this? Let’s turn to the grammar. Each line begins with a subject of an independent clause: “I”, “I”, and “a kid.” This is the shift. We move from the self to the other, and a child at that. The posture of looking outside a window and finding a child is lonely. Standing beside a window and looking out implies separation, perhaps isolation, especially with the oncoming cold of the season. Additionally, a window can be read as a type of mirror, a glass, and it’s quite possible to see one’s own reflection superimposed on the outside world. Looking out the window, then, is a vulnerable experience that risks examining the self along with the other, i.e. the outside world. But when the speaker looks out, they are met with youthful enthusiasm and mischief. The speaker does not resent being alone and instead declares “I love Halloween.” The experience is enlivening and joyous.

I wish I had something academic to say about dabbing, but I’m at a loss. It’s a silly, simple dance move that sort of looks like you’re sneezing. It’s also a meme. (Fun fact! According to Wikipedia, dabbing is illegal in Saudi Arabia. Who knew?) Dabbing is about simplicity, spontaneity, and entertaining those around you. The dabbing kid in the poem brings joy to the speaker.

And this is what a haiku is all about. A moment in nature that brings understanding.