Kala Ramesh’s notes

On November 4, 2022November 4, 2022 By Nicholas KlacsanzkyIn Haiku4 Comments

notes trickle
down a riverbed of sand …
the memory of water

— Kala Ramesh (India)
(Highly Commended, Santoka International Haiku and Haiga Contest)

Commentary

This is one of my favourite haiku. It is well crafted with all the necessary flavours of a great haiku that touches all the senses. I loved the way Kala used personification or a hint of surrealism, which lets our minds wander through this imagery and dig deeper into the theme of this haiku.

‘Notes trickle’ is rhythmic and musical to my ears. While reading, I paused for a moment and enjoyed the subtle and soothing sound of water. We all hear the sound of water daily but only a few of us truly listen to it and enjoy the sense of here and now where nothing else matters. It takes us further to the unseen part of this haiku where ‘trickle down’ allows the sound, message, or piece of music to be absorbed into the memory of a riverbed. This is how a haiku connects us to what is ‘beyond seeing’.

A riverbed of sand is the abode of many tiny creatures. It seems its water sings a song or a lullaby for the dwellers of the riverbed. It’s the sound of water that subtly captures the pulse of wind, rain, sunlight, moonlight, or the environment and transforms it into something that only active listeners can feel and hear.

The memory of water could mean a sort of live recording of the true essence of life, where even harsh weather or climate change can’t stop water from singing its songs. There is a lesson here for all of us to see how powerful the language of music is, which nature speaks every day to inspire us to sing along or at least appreciate. It’s a true blessing. Nature never ceases to connect with us through the language of its sound. With memories, we have sound, and it is important to recall the most positive of memories to transform our lives.

I can’t ignore the mystical or meditative side of this haiku. To me, it’s about mindfully focusing and observing every single moment of nature. This helps us to be crystal clear in our thoughts and soothe our minds with music—the most powerful language. If I were there, I would be like a whirling dervish who enjoys every single beat of water and synchronizes my feelings and thoughts with it to show the wholeness of the universe.

— Hifsa Ashraf

I appreciate how the first line of the haiku focuses on the sound of water, without saying water outright. The water could be rain, or it could be the slow resurgence of a river that was dried up during a drought. This haiku may be depicting challenges due to climate change or perhaps depict a scene in a desert. If this is a drought and/or in a desert, I feel a sense of desolation and a stark sadness at the sheer lack of water. However, the verb “trickle” has a gentle and natural quality that brings me hope and eases the mind. The first line also leaves room to imagine notes from a musical instrument or perhaps we can hear notes from a bird singing. Even though this is a more abstract interpretation, I appreciate how the musical notes can synchronize with the water’s sound in my mind’s eye.

The second line focuses on the bottom of a river, which we often don’t see, either because of the river’s depth or, unfortunately, due to water pollution. In this haiku, the sand made me visualize a riverbed by the ocean. The riverbed provides a channel for the rain to flow into the sea. As a river loses its shape and merges into the sea, similarly, it seems the individual soul (Jiva) is ultimately on a quest to reunite with universal Divinity (Shiva).

If this riverbed of sand is in a tropical forest by the ocean, I appreciate how the water in this haiku merges and dissolves into the sand and the unseen depths of the Earth, into unseen roots and fungi networks. There is an infinitely complex matrix that unites a forest and life underground that is nourished and powered by water. Here are two excellent interviews on this subject published in The Sun magazine: Hidden Worlds | By Mark Leviton | Issue 545 | The Sun Magazine and Going Underground | By Derrick Jensen | Issue 386 | The Sun Magazine.

The last line of this haiku has profound depth and universal power. All of life on Earth depends on water. Through the lens of biochemistry, our human bodies are 60-75% water. A person can survive one month without food but wouldn’t survive three days without water (Biological Roles of Water: Why is water necessary for life? – Science in the News). Unfortunately, over 600+ million people on this Earth don’t have access to clean water (Clean Water – Our World in Data). Focusing on the memory of water seems to relate to how water can change forms and disappear throughout eons of time, whether that’s mist evaporating or rain soaking into the Earth. Approximately 71% of the Earth is covered in water. According to one article, “Research funding partly by NASA has confirmed the existence of liquid water on the Earth’s surface more than 4 billion years ago” (NASA – NASA Scientist Confirm Liquid Water on Early Earth). With this in mind, the memory of water reaches far into the ancient past, into the history and birth of this Earth. At the same time, the memory of water in this haiku expresses just how precious and vital it is for our future.

A powerful haiku with musical overtones that revers and honors the miracle of water.

— Jacob D. Salzer

When I read this haiku, I saw two interpretations: the wind running through a dry riverbed and creating sounds similar to the trickling of water. The second interpretation was that the poet saw the riverbed of sand and projected the music of water onto the scene. This is quite interesting because it illustrates that through our memories, what we perceive is often filtered by our past. It brings a sense of sadness that the only music we hear from the riverbed is from our minds. But on the other hand, it can be positive because it means we can hear beauty through memory even when nature is desolate.

In looking at the pacing of the haiku, we have the standard English-language haiku format of a short first line, a longer second line, and a short last line. This pacing approximately matches the traditional rhythm of Japanese haiku.

The kigo or seasonal reference for this haiku is probably summer due to the dryness of the river. However, the poet resides in India, which has six seasons. It may be in summer (Grishma Ritu), but I am not so knowledgeable about India’s seasons. This haiku might be telling us that even in harsh conditions, our memories can sustain us.

The kire or cut in the haiku happens in the second line with a grammatical shift made in the third line. The poet employed an ellipsis as an approximation of kireji or “cutting word.” The ellipsis seems to show the music being played in the poet’s mind or through the wind. It also symbolizes the continuation of the water’s music being heard despite the dry riverbed.

Since this haiku is about music, it can be expected that the poet has weaved sonic elements into it. The Os, Ts, and Ds stand out the most to me. This creates an interplay of soft and hard sounds, and perhaps this lends to the feeling of the poem being both melancholy and optimistic. When I read the haiku aloud, I hear the softness of the water’s trickle.

Overall, this haiku is a fine example of layered moods and imagery, with musicality in its content and its reading.

— Nicholas Klacsanzky

Since Kala Ramesh is also a Hindustani classical singer, instead of artwork, here is a video of Hindustani classical music in Raag Puriya Dhanashree sung by Begum Parveen Sultana. I believe it encapsulates the mood of her haiku:

Kashiana Singh’s iris

On October 25, 2022October 26, 2022 By Nicholas KlacsanzkyIn HaikuLeave a comment

regal iris
the purple scar
on my breast

— Kashiana Singh (USA)

Commentary

This is a moving haiku that I feel is a portal into many challenges we face as a community.

The juxtaposition between the regal iris and the purple scar speaks volumes about sensitivity, hope, and healing. Like most flowers, the regal iris is delicate with a beautiful yellow/white design on the petals when it blooms. The delicate connection between the iris flower and the poet brings me hope and a feeling of unity between the poet, the flower, and the Earth.

The purple scar in this haiku could be from many things. It could be from past physical/domestic abuse, breast cancer surgery, or an accident. My first impression is the poet had breast cancer surgery or a biopsy and is now recovering from the procedure. In this interpretation, I feel the regal iris provides hope and comfort while the poet is faced with a cancer diagnosis (or a potential cancer diagnosis if a biopsy was done). Unfortunately, according to the CDC (Centers for Disease Control and Prevention), cancer is the second leading cause of death in the United States (source: FastStats – Leading Causes of Death (cdc.gov)) and according to the WHO (the World Health Organization), “In 2020, there were 2.3 million women diagnosed with breast cancer and 685 000 deaths globally. As of the end of 2020, there were 7.8 million women alive who were diagnosed with breast cancer in the past 5 years, making it the world’s most prevalent cancer” (source: Breast cancer (who.int)). In my own family, my mother has friends who are breast cancer survivors. A combination of chemotherapy, surgery, and a positive attitude got them through the treatment until they were cancer-free. I truly believe their positive attitudes and support from family and friends made a real difference in their treatment and recovery. The scars remain but they are like the markings of a true warrior.

When looking up the color purple in relation to cancer, I discovered: “What color is used for cancer awareness? A light purple or lavender ribbon often is used to represent all cancers as a whole.” Furthermore, “The purple ribbon is most commonly used to raise awareness for animal abuse, Alzheimer’s disease, domestic violence, epilepsy, lupus, sarcoidosis, Crohn’s disease and pancreatic cancer” (source: What color is used for cancer awareness? – Know Breast Cancer). This adds another layer of meaning in regard to the color purple in this haiku. I discovered The Mayo Clinic has a good article on breast cancer prevention and lowering the risks: Breast cancer prevention: How to reduce your risk – Mayo Clinic.

Unfortunately, I also learned domestic abuse is surprisingly common in the U.S., according to an article in The Sun magazine: The Most Dangerous Place | By Tracy Frisch & Finn Cohen | Issue 537 | The Sun Magazine.

All this being said, this is a very touching haiku that speaks volumes about physical abuse, breast cancer, breast cancer recovery, sensitivity, hope, and healing. I greatly appreciate the poet’s vulnerability and hope her purple scar will bloom into much better days ahead.

— Jacob Salzer

Breast cancer is one topic that always remains sensitive and delicate like the disease itself. I have seen people sharing their personal experiences through poetry with some hope, light, and resilience and it is much needed to talk about this issue. In my country Pakistan, this issue recently got some attention as awareness programmes have been initiated by the government, which is a ray of hope for many people—especially women who avoid talking about this issue due to shaming, taboos, myths, or cultural barriers that ends up in a point of no return.

The regal iris is juxtaposed with a purple scar on the breast, which may be used in this poem for two reasons: firstly, the colour, structure, and delicacy that can be linked with breast cancer; secondly, the flower is a symbol of faith and courage. I can see more in it like the word ‘iris’ that is cleverly used in this haiku—maybe keeping in mind that it’s also a ring-shaped membrane behind the cornea and responsible for vision and sight. So, it may be how we perceive, interpret, and deal with breast cancer before and after treatment. Like I said earlier, there are many myths or taboos associated with breast cancer in my country. So, it depends on the perceptions of both the patient and the people in their surroundings.

The purple scar may indicate many perspectives but I will focus on three. First, it may indicate the initial or later stage of breast cancer where the breast gets purple due to the spread of the cancer virus. Second, it may indicate the treatment where the purple scar shows some healing—the slow one in this case. Third, it indicates the socio-cultural perspectives that bruise the life of a patient even if they survive it. Whatever the reason, I see hope and faith in this haiku due to the use of a regal iris that persuades us not to focus on other reasons and allows the life of the person to bloom again fully.

— Hifsa Ashraf

I feel the poet used “regal” as both an adjective and as a possible term in taxonomy. Sometimes irises are referred to as regal flowers and even have names such as “prince iris, “queen iris,” and “his royal highness iris.” This may also vary across languages. These types of irises are most likely to be seen in the late spring gardens. So, you could place this haiku in late spring. This seems appropriate for the subject matter, where there is a sense of melancholy with the passing of spring.

For this haiku, there is no punctuation to emulate the kireji or cutting letter. However, the cut between the two parts of the haiku is clear. The fragment of the first line and the phrase of the last two lines are obviously delineated.

The comparison between the color of the iris and the poet’s scar has many implications, as Jacob and Hifsa have elucidated. The power of these two images side by side is that they interact, with beauty and tragedy interweaving. The result is a sort of unison.

This haiku is quite economical, being only eight words and 11 syllables. The lengths of the lines follow the standard for English-language haiku of a sort first line, a longer second line, and a short third line to model traditional Japanese haiku rhythm.

Looking at its sound, the Rs, Ss, and Ls stand out. There is a slant rhyme with “iris” and “breast” which brings a musical quality to the reading. The mood from the sound is somber but highly digestible.

With its color, imagery, sound, and societal relevance, this haiku has potent resonance.

— Nicholas Klacsanzky

Alan Summers’ nightfall

On October 17, 2022October 17, 2022 By Nicholas KlacsanzkyIn Haiku6 Comments

nightfall the key turns into a blackbird

— Alan Summers (England, UK)

Publication credit:

First published: Blithe Spirit 31.4 (November 2021)

Article:

The Unseen Go-Between in Haiku by Alan Summers
Haiku Society of America Haiku Spotlight (January 2022)

Award Credit

Runner up: Museum of Haiku Literature
Blithe Spirit vol. 32 no. 1 (February 2022)

Commentary

I appreciate the mystery (yugen) in this haiku and the possible interpretations. I initially felt a kind of fantasy-surrealism in this monoku. “The key” could be to a door, and if so, a door to what? Is the key a door that leads inside a physical building or room? Is it a key to a door that leads outside a building? Or, is this a key to a psychological door in the poet’s mind or within someone else’s psyche? In one interpretation, I get the feeling the key is turning and opening a locked door in the poet’s house leading outside. I like how the door does not need to be said in the monoku for me to imagine it.

I think “nightfall” effectively sets the tone and a mysterious atmosphere. I also think the double meaning of “turns” adds more depth to the monoku. Did the key physically turn into a blackbird? Or, did the poet open the locked door and simply saw a blackbird at night? Is the poet dreaming or daydreaming? Is this a monoku about the poet reading a fantasy novel? Did the door release a blackbird from a confined physical and/or mental space? Perhaps a limited physical room could symbolize a confined, limited mind or mental concept. When I see the key turn, I feel a door opening and the blackbird is released and disappears into the night. In that sense, perhaps the spirit of the blackbird is a key that opens the door to the Great Mystery/unseen dimensions of life and simultaneously opens the poet’s mind to a different way of seeing.

If taken literally, I see the key transforming into a blackbird could symbolize how something that appears to be a concrete image (in this case, the key and the blackbird) is actually full of depth and mystery. It’s interesting how a single key can unlock possibilities and also lock a door and protect us from danger. I also get a sense that the blackbird is being honored and respected in this monoku, especially in relation to the night and the Great Mystery. I appreciate how this interpretation resonates with Indigenous spirituality. There are many Indigenous myths and legends about various birds. I also appreciate how this monoku expresses the beauty and importance of having an open mind. The poem encourages us to have the courage to see the world from different perspectives versus staying in our comfort zone and familiar ways of seeing and labeling. An intriguing and powerful monoku.

— Jacob Salzer

Nightfall is a shift in the day which brings mysteries with it. Symbolically, it unfolds a different world that manifests our true state of mind and heart. A time when we rarely see things through the lens of others and try to unfold our own stories. A time when we can fully concentrate on what matters the most in our lives. A time when certain realities are revealed to us through introspection or pondering.

Nightfall in this one-line haiku shows the vastness and significance of time, which motivates us to pause and imagine the scene that may look more inspirational and persuasive in this particular poem. The shift in the poem is the ‘key’ which reveals the mystery or unfolds the story; it can be the cognitive process that productively grasps the whole situation and gives flashbacks; it can be the meditative state of mind that unwinds the day’s fatigue by opening the doors of imagination or mysticism and brings some peace; it can be the solution to a problem when a person finds a creative solution and is able to find a way through critical thinking; or, it can be simply daydreaming when a person seeks solace in imagination and manifests their imagination in the most creative and surprising way, which looks magical in the end.

A blackbird symbolizes mystery, death, and magic but it is also significantly considered a sign of spiritualism or transformation. In this poem, nightfall transforms a person’s life where they can turn the key into something that looks more blissful and peaceful.

Overall, the poet challenges our senses to imagine and capture the vivid image of this poem and lets our creative faculties run wild and find how nightfall can spellbound us to see what we want to see or to see beyond seeing.

— Hifsa Ashraf

The blackbird in England can be seen year-round. However, their mating season stretches from March up until July. So, perhaps this is a spring haiku. This relates well to the key possibly turning into a blackbird, as spring is a time of transformation.

There is no kireji or cutting word in this monoku, which is common in English-language haiku that run as one line. There is a clear grammatical break after “nightfall,” though.

However, you could say the haiku could be read as one flowing phrase, with “nightfall” being a verb that acts upon “the key.” Then, “turns” would be the second part of the haiku.

“nightfall” also goes well with transformation as many things change during the night. Because of the darkness, things can be perceived differently. A person might imagine a key turning into a blackbird. A person might also imagine turning a key and going into an apartment or house and seeing a blackbird in the darkness. In this respect, the haiku might be speaking about human perception and its possible manipulation or trickery. I feel that the night, the key, and the blackbird are ultimately the same.

This haiku is succinct with no word out of place. Also, the lovely soft sounds of the letter L contrasting with the sharp tick of the letter T make this haiku musical and layered.

A haiku that begs to be read over and over, it presents an abstract idea in a concrete sense.

— Nicholas Klacsanzky