If you grew up in an English-speaking school system, you almost certainly spent a distinct portion of your education clapping your hands to count the beats in a word. We are taught from a young age that the fundamental building block of rhythm is the syllable. It seems intuitive: el-e-phant has three syllables; desk has one.
Naturally, when we are introduced to Japanese Haiku, we apply this same logic. We are told the strict rule: five syllables, then seven syllables, then five syllables. We count them out on our fingers, craft a poem about a frog or the autumn wind, and feel accomplished.
But there is a problem. If you were to read your 17-syllable English haiku to a Japanese speaker, it would likely sound bloated, rushing, and significantly longer than a traditional Japanese poem. Why? Because you are measuring with the wrong ruler.
Japanese does not run on syllables. It runs on morae. Understanding the difference between these two units of time is not just the secret to understanding Japanese poetry—it is the structural key to mastering Japanese pronunciation.
To understand why we get Japanese wrong, we first have to look at how English works. English is a stress-timed language. In English, the rhythm is dictated by the time intervals between stressed syllables.
Consider the phrase: “The cat is chasing the mouse.”
The words “cat”, “chas-” (from chasing), and “mouse” carry the weight. The unstressed words (the, is, -ing) are rushed and squeezed together to fit the rhythm. In English, a syllable is elastic. The word “a” and the word “strengths” are both one syllable, but “strengths” takes significantly longer to say. We accept this variance because, in English, duration doesn’t change meaning—stress does.
Japanese operates on an entirely different rhythmic engine. It is a mora-timed language. Unlike the elastic English syllable, a mora (plural: morae) is a unit of sound that takes up a consistent, equal amount of time. You can think of it like a metronome ticking at a steady pace.
In Japanese linguistics, this is often technically referred to as haku (beat). If you clap along to Japanese speech, you are not clapping for syllables; you are clapping for morae. The crucial misunderstanding most learners face is assuming that 1 Syllable = 1 Mora. While this is sometimes true, it is frequently false.
If you want to pronounce Japanese words correctly—or write a haiku that actually fits the Japanese rhythm—you need to learn what counts as a “beat.”
Nothing illustrates the difference between syllables and morae better than the capital of Japan. In English, we pronounce Tokyo as a two-syllable word: To-kyo.
However, the actual Japanese pronunciation is Tōkyō (doubled vowels). If we map this out on a musical timeline:
Tokyo is a four-mora word. If you say it with only two beats, you aren’t just saying it with an accent—you are drastically shortening the word. This is why Japanese speakers often feel that English speakers “talk too fast” or “eat their words” when speaking Japanese. We are crushing four beats of time into two beats of space.
So, back to poetry. The traditional structure of Haiku is 5-7-5 on (sounds), which corresponds to morae, not English syllables. Because English syllables are so information-dense and variable in length, a 17-syllable poem in English contains significantly more content than a 17-mora poem in Japanese.
Let’s look at the word “Haiku” itself.
Because every dipthong (two vowels blended together) counts as two beats in Japanese, the word occupies more rhythmic space. Conversely, English syllables like “strengths” or “screeched” act as “super-syllables” packed with consonants.
This creates a disparity in translation. When we force English haiku to adhere to the 5-7-5 syllable count, the resulting poem is often heavy and cluttered. Many modern linguists and poets argue that to replicate the feeling and duration of a Japanese haiku, English writers should aim for something closer to 10 to 14 syllables total, rather than 17.
Why should you care about morae if you aren’t planning to become a poet? Because rhythm is the foundation of intelligibility.
You can master vocabulary and memorize grammar charts, but if your timing is off, you will strain the listener’s ear. In Japanese, if you treat the “n” (ん) as a coda rather than its own beat, or if you shorten a long vowel, you aren’t just speaking with an accent—you might be saying a different word entirely.
Language is more than just words; it is music. English is jazz—swinging, stressing, and improvising with time. Japanese is classical—structured, steady, and measured. By learning to count the ticks of the metronome rather than the peaks of the stress, you unlock a deeper understanding of the Japanese voice.
So, the next time you sit down to write a haiku, or order tempura (te-n-pu-ra: 4 morae!), remember: don’t count the syllables. Count the beat.
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