Author: Nicholas Klacsanzky

Editor and poet from Seattle.

Pris Campbell’s small town festival

On By Nicholas KlacsanzkyIn Haiku2 Comments

small town festival
a cherry blossom drifts
into the tuba

— Pris Campbell  (USA)
Sakura Award, Vancouver Cherry Festival, 2018

Commentary

Right away, the first line sets the scene. I hear the music and imagine myriad colors at this festival. There is a great deal of humility here as well. I feel the people living in this small town are not seeking attention from mass media outlets. Instead, I feel they host the festival to simply celebrate life in their own small and meaningful ways. 

I also appreciate the contrasts in this haiku between the cherry blossom and the tuba. The cherry blossom is soft, quiet, and small, while the tuba is hard, loud, and relatively large. For me, these contrasts add humor to the haiku and show how the soft, quiet people have their place and are just as valuable as the loud people in this small town. I also like how the cherry blossom drifting into the tuba shows how some things in life cannot be planned but rather happen spontaneously. I also feel the anticipation of the next note of the tuba resulting in the cherry blossom flying out into the wind like a piece of confetti. I feel joy imagining this scene. 

It seems the details of this festival will not make the news outside this town (actually, a lot of positive, uplifting events don’t make headlines in mainstream news). However, I feel the energy of this festival creates invisible ripples that subtly uplift human consciousness as a whole, because everything is connected. In addition, because this haiku won a Sakura Award (and was subsequently read by many people all over the world), this haiku spreads joy and has honored both the festival and the people living in this small town. As a result, this haiku demonstrates how a single haiku can honor and shine a light on people whose lives are rarely seen or noticed. On a personal level, this haiku reminds me to be grateful for this life and the little that I have.

This haiku also reminds me of the Water Village scene in Akira Kurosawa’s Dreams movie. Coincidentally, there are flowers and villagers playing tubas toward the end of this scene! Here is a link to watch it for free online: Akira kurosawa | Dreams Film | The village of the Watermills – Bing video.

This haiku speaks volumes about humility, offers a different perspective, and encourages us to be grateful for what we have and to find joy in life. It also reminds me of how small things in life make a difference in ways we will never know. A powerful haiku.

 — Jacob D. Salzer

Small-town festivals are full of life and colours as I have personally experienced. The gathering of people and the cultural blend make such festivals rich in many ways. This richness captures our senses and lets us enjoy every single aspect of a festival, which unites us with the strings of our uniqueness.

A cherry blossom and tuba elude to the kind of festival it is. The festival could be more eastern, where the poet tried to oscillate between two extremes in terms of sight, sound, and touch. One extreme includes cherry blossoms that are soft, delicate, silent, and peaceful while the other extreme is the tuba which reflects loudness, music, and liveliness. This is how a small-town festival blends the variations of life and beautifully presents them.

Living in the present moment is a quality of small-town festivals. They make people focus more on the ‘here and now’ and challenge their threshold levels to register things that people usually don’t notice. The holistic picture of this haiku may include the wind, the movement of petals, and music that sounds more like orchestrating to the ears and allows people to enjoy it together. 

— Hifsa Ashraf

The kigo or seasonal reference in this haiku is “cherry blossom,” which marks spring or late spring. It matches the joyous mood associated with small-town festivals and also the playful last line.

There is no kireji or “cutting word” in this haiku, but the grammatical break in the second line works well. If punctuation was to be used, perhaps an ellipsis would illustrate the word “drift.”

The association between the two parts of the haiku is interesting. One interpretation or feeling behind the association could be that being in a small-town festival is like being a cherry blossom petal that drifts into a tuba. As a contrast, it could be that in a tight-knit community event, there is a cherry blossom entering the new, big world of the tuba. Also, the first line could simply be setting the scene and not trying to make a comparison or contrast. But, what interests me most about the image is that there is suspense and that this beautiful thing in the natural world has become a part of a human-made element.

In terms of pacing, this haiku follows the standard rhythm of English-language haiku, which is a short first line, a longer second line, and a short third line. This approximately matches the traditional rhythm of Japanese haiku.

In looking at euphony, the “l” sound in the first two lines brings a softness to the reading, while the “t” sound presents a more pointed reading. Even more, the “o” sound in the first two lines adds more to the musical quality of the haiku.

Overall, this haiku is highly effective due to its unique imagery, sense of place, and sound.

— Nicholas Klacsanzky

Evening Cherry Blossoms at Gotenyama – print by Utagawa Hiroshige, 1831.

Deborah A. Bennett’s Linden Trees

On By Nicholas KlacsanzkyIn HaikuLeave a comment

cars passing all day 
in between 
the silence of linden trees 

— Deborah A. Bennett (USA)
(published previously in Wales Haiku Journal, Spring 2022)

Commentary

The stark comparison between cars and the linden trees in this haiku is a humble reminder of just how loud and fast-paced human life can be. Without notice, trees quietly and efficiently provide oxygen, store carbon, clean the air, and cool down city temperatures with their shade. I see trees as spiritual giants and their resilience is well-portrayed in this haiku. Trees were here long before humans and they do their work, regardless of human beings polluting the Earth on a daily basis. Ultimately, all human beings come and go, but the regenerative power of trees and forests can stand the test of time and has proven to regenerate, even after nuclear power plant disasters and cataclysmic events. This is partly due to the vast mycelium networks underground. Mycelium are master decomposers; they create more depth and nutrient-rich soil, but they also communicate and connect trees and plants in infinitely complex ways that we as humans cannot fathom. 

On the note of interconnectedness, perhaps this haiku can also inspire more people to use alternative ways of transportation that result in less pollution. We are physically made of elements from the Earth. If we see ourselves as not separate from the Earth as isolated individuals, but rather as spiritual beings who are intimately and deeply connected with the Earth and the Great Mystery, then I think more of us will naturally choose to be more mindful and lead better, more meaningful lives.

In short, this is an important haiku that juxtaposes fast-paced human life with the resilient power of Mother Earth and trees. A powerful haiku.

— Jacob D. Salzer

Cars passing all day may be symbolic of the rush in our daily lives that revolves around materialism where one is involved in earning money, making a career, and living up to the expectations of the modern fast-paced life. I also see how these cars passing can be linked with pollution. With more carbon emissions and polluted air, we are running after a materialistic life. I can also see how vehicles are defining our social statuses and our routines. This mechanic life where distances become shorter to destinations creates vacuums internally in terms of health, lifestyles, and relationships.

The second line ‘in between’ demonstrates how miserable this life can be. The silence of linden trees might symbolize how we have muted nature, birdsong, and wind, and brought a pause to the natural cycle which is destructive in many ways. The linden tree is a remedial tree that is good for coughs and colds. We have not only destroyed the growth of trees but also ruined the healing process that usually comes from nature. Noise and air pollution have clogged our minds. Sometimes we cannot enjoy the nature around us or see how deeply it has affected us. The destructive aspects of nature can surprise us, as we are not fully attuned to it. So, our real success or progress is not our fast-paced life or technology that facilitates us, but the nature that keeps us moving on naturally and simply. It inspires us to focus more on our genuineness and real potential.

To me, this haiku is about the balance between nature and nurture, which is significant for a healthy and peaceful life.

— Hifsa Ashraf

I like how this haiku can be read in various ways due to the pivot in the second line. It can be read as one flowing phrase, or as “cars passing all day” (full stop) and then “in between” (pause) “the silence of linden trees.” Additionally, it can be read as “cars passing all day in between” and then “the silence of linden trees” as a juxtaposition. This allows for multiple interpretations.

With the “silence of linden trees,” I believe this haiku might be placed in autumn. Without leaves, the trees don’t make a sound. The poet could also be speaking of the internal quiet of a tree or that it never speaks.

With a lack of punctuation, the pivot line can work its magic. A lot of haiku use punctuation in place of a kireji, or “cutting word.” However, in this haiku, the lack of punctuation seems to be a benefit.

The length of the lines is not standard for English-language haiku. Usually, it is a short first line, a longer second line, and a short third line. The poet could have placed the current first line as the third line, but that would do away with the power of the pivot in the original version:

in between 
the silence of linden trees 
cars passing all day 

It seems the poet is not so interested in following the standard format and writes haiku organically. This is commonly a sign of expertise.

Sonically, the L sounds carried throughout create a sense of softness. This reflects the silence well. The assonance of the A and E sounds also makes for a mellow reading.

With a combination of a meditative and melancholic feeling, this haiku brings us into a new state of mind that is once relatable and unfamiliar.

— Nicholas Klacsanzky

Painting by Philipp Franck, Avenue of Linden Trees

Cristina Rascón’s pueblo remains

On By Nicholas KlacsanzkyIn Haiku2 Comments

peregrine falcons
rising into the blue . . .
pueblo remains

—

in Spanish:

halcones peregrinos
se elevan hacia el azul . . .
restos de pueblo

— Cristina Rascón (Mexico)
(first published in Spanish in the Mexican journal Taller Igitur as a part of a rengay with Michael Dylan Welch called Bandelier)

Commentary

One of the main reasons I am attracted to this haiku is the focus on the term “pueblo.” The term can refer to both “a North American Indian settlement of the southwestern US, especially one consisting of multistoried adobe houses built by the Pueblo people” and “a member of any of various North American peoples, including the Hopi, occupying pueblo settlements chiefly in New Mexico and Arizona. Their prehistoric period is known as the Anasazi culture” (Oxford dictionary). So, this haiku may be speaking of recent remains or ancient ones.

In the context of the rengay the haiku is in, the content could be directly about the Bandelier National Monument. As Wikipedia says, “The monument preserves the homes and territory of the Ancestral Puebloans of a later era in the Southwest. Most of the pueblo structures date to two eras, dating between 1150 and 1600 AD.” Also, this haiku is the last link in the rengay, giving it a poignant finality. In each of the links, birds are mentioned. It is a fine choice to end with such a majestic and grand bird as a peregrine falcon. The preceding link by Michael Dylan Welch is:

a canyon wren
in the pinyon pine

The sound of “pine” from Welch’s link and “remains” from Rascón’s link matches well. The “o” sounds in each link also connect superbly. I also like the lift from the ground (pinyon pine) to the sky (into the blue).

This haiku might also be speaking to remains not only of buildings but also of human bones. According to the Kansas Historical Society’s Migration Magazine, “Many Pueblo peoples were forced to become servants in Spanish homes. Sometimes the Spaniards would cut off one foot of young adult males as a way to control them. The Spanish priests tried to convert the Pueblo peoples to Christianity. They pressured the Pueblo Indians by hanging, whipping, or putting them in prison.” I believe this haiku is speaking about the bleak past of these peoples and the rise of peregrine falcons into the blue sky is a symbol of nature reclaiming the lands. There might be an element of forgiveness or acceptance in this imagery.

I imagine the falcons rising from the remains themselves, akin to a lotus rising from the mud. Europeans have stained the history of these peoples, yet they endure. This haiku bravely provides optimism and beauty in the face of tragedy.

— Nicholas Klacsanzky

A peregrine falcon is one of the fastest birds in the world. They hunt small mammals, reptiles, and insects. Symbolically, it has connotations with religion and prestige. I can see how this particular bird could be used to highlight dire situations in countries where there is starvation, war, or some kind of destruction.

I see it more from the perspective of war as peregrine falcons might allude to wrongdoings or a societal crisis due to conflicts and rage. “Rising into the blue” gives me a feeling of danger for people who believe in symbolism or have faith in archaic symbolic meanings and may prepare for the worst. But in this situation, it seems nothing has happened as such. The peregrine falcons rising into the blue may indicate the blue sky or a depressive situation where damage has been done. It shows how we as a society don’t give importance to nature’s sentiments.

In addition, I see the historic element in this haiku as the poet may be referring to something that happened in the past or maybe, a kind of folklore or a fable that revolves around the power and influence of falcons. These falcons could metaphorically depict the power of a clan, a tribe, a political party, or activists who use to influence or rein over the village with autocratic power. “Pueblo remains” is used perhaps to show how historical remains provide lessons to focus on what went wrong in the past and learn something from them—especially in the current era where every country is ready to begin a war without considering the destructive aftermath that may linger for many years and affects many generations.

In terms of punctuation, the ellipsis in the second line lets us imagine the tyranny of the political or societal powers that bring depression and destruction.

— Hifsa Ashraf

The peregrine falcons rising into the blue could represent the spirits of the Pueblo people who have passed away and have escaped this world. Thus, this haiku could speak of a spiritual transition into the afterlife.

The rhythm of this haiku has a natural pace that is easy to read or say out loud. The “p” sounds start the first and third lines, which seems to add an echo and more gravity in the poem. Visually, the last line is buried beneath the first two lines, which also is a kind of portal into the remains of Pueblo ancestors whose generations span thousands of years. 

According to one website: “The Pueblo Indians, situated in the Southwestern United States, are one of the oldest cultures in the nation. Their name is Spanish for “stone masonry village dweller.” They are believed to be the descendants of three major cultures, including the Mogollon, Hohokam, and Ancient Puebloans (Anasazi), with their history tracing back for some 7,000 years” (Pueblo Indians – Oldest Culture in the U.S. – Legends of America).

The word peregrine has Latin roots, which adds yet another dimension to the historical meaning of this haiku. 
According to nps.gov: “The peregrine falcon is one of nature’s swiftest and most beautiful birds of prey. Its name comes from the Latin word peregrinus, meaning “foreigner” or “traveler.” This impressive bird has long been noted for its speed, grace, and aerial skills. Now, it is also a symbol of America’s recovering threatened and endangered species” (Peregrine Falcon (U.S. National Park Service)).

Thankfully, this symbolism of hope is based on efficient action that was taken to remove the peregrine falcon from the endangered species list in 1999: “Many people are aware of the population declines of this species due to problems with egg-shell thinning caused by persistent organic pollutants such as DDT. Populations of this species were driven to the brink of extinction and the peregrine falcon was federally listed as an endangered species in 1973. Reducing DDT in our environment provided peregrine falcons with a chance to recover and the population in Alaska has grown rapidly from 1980 to the present. The American peregrine falcon was removed from the endangered species list in 1999” (Peregrine Falcon (U.S. National Park Service)).

The ellipsis in this haiku acts as the break or kireji and provides a pause before the third line. For me, the ellipsis adds mystery as to where the peregrine falcons go and where our spirits go after death into the Great Mystery. 

The poet chose to write pueblo in lowercase. Perhaps this signifies how the pueblo people are deeply unified with their environment versus seeing themselves as ‘above’ the Earth or as conquerors. 

An important haiku with deep historical and spiritual meaning. 

— Jacob D. Salzer

“Peregrine Falcon I,” painting, watercolor on paper, by Anisha Heble