Author: Nicholas Klacsanzky

Editor and poet from Seattle.

Paul Callus’ crescent moon

On By Nicholas KlacsanzkyIn HaikuLeave a comment

crescent moon —
the baby kicks            
inside her womb

— Paul Callus (Malta)

Commentary

I appreciate how the crescent moon visually resembles the curve of the mother’s womb. There is a long historical and spiritual connection between women and the moon that can be traced back thousands of years in indigenous cultures. In the dark womb, it seems the seeds of unknown karma and samskaras (past mental impressions) are being brought to life.

I also see a playful quality in this haiku or lightness (karumi) when the baby kicks. At the same time, I appreciate how this haiku offers insights into life in the womb and how important this stage of life is. I’ve read that a baby in the womb can hear music, and this affects brain development. Classical music in particular has been shown to create more complex neural connections. The immediacy of kicks could also foreshadow the complex relationship between the mother and the child that develops over time.

In short, this is a dynamic haiku that expresses mystery (yugen), karmic impressions, and the complex relationship between a mother and her child. I also see this haiku as an expression of a mother’s unconditional love for her child. A powerful haiku. 

 — Jacob D. Salzer (USA)

As Alex Fyffe introduced me to a creative writing technique called synecdoche, so I see this haiku in that context where ‘the baby kicks’ represents the sign of a new life, hope, and connectivity.

This haiku revolves around all senses where the most obvious ones are sight, sound, and touch. The birth phase is beautifully related to the phases of the moon where the crescent moon symbolizes birth, the start of a new month, or a new beginning. If we dig deeper into this poem, we can find more analogies between the moon and the baby inside the womb i.e. delicacy, subtlety, and light. It seems the mother is keenly following the birth process where she counts every single day. It shows how excited she is about this new life and finds the kick to be a welcoming sign. The curve that is common in both cases may reflect the beauty of life that gradually passes through various phases before it’s in full bloom.

In a larger context, the relationship between cosmic objects with life on earth, especially human birth, is quite natural and interrelated. It shows the significance of the time and space we live in and how things are revealed to us during a new journey of life. 

— Hifsa Ashraf (Pakistan)

Jacob and Hifsa explored the meaning and aesthetic of this haiku in great detail. I will dabble in the technical side of this haiku a bit more.

The kigo or seasonal reference of this haiku is “crescent moon.” It is a phase of a moon that can happen any time of the year, but it is often associated with autumn. With its sharp shape and mysterious air, the crescent moon is a classic haiku topic.

In the first line we also have the kireji, or “cutting word.” In English, we use punctuation to separate the parts of a haiku and give extra resonance, but in Japanese, kireji are actual words in place of punctuation. The dash is used well, with it illustrating the hard kick a baby can give within the womb. It also makes the reader stop a while to appreciate a crescent moon in their mind’s eye.

I like how the second line comes with a surprise in relation to the crescent moon, and the third line resolves why the baby is acting the way he or she is. We can assume in the second line it is about pregnancy, but the poet could have written anything, such as “the baby kicks/her diaper away.” The use of “her” is also important, as it claims the womb for the baby and not the mother.

The length of the lines are fairly standard for English-language haiku, but usually the second line is a bit longer to have a more lilting rhythm.

The two most prominent letters in this haiku is “s” and “o.” “S” here comes off as soothing and mysterious, whereas “o” elongate the syllables and make the reading leisurely. The “o” sounds also relate well to the shape of a moon.

Finally, I enjoy how to crescent moon could be a comparison of the shape of a woman’s pregnant figure, or the kick being similar to the sharp tip of a crescent moon.

— Nicholas Klacsanzky (USA)

Painting by Charles Thomas

Carmela Marino’s first buds

On By Nicholas KlacsanzkyIn Haiku3 Comments

first buds—
I dust the head
of a stone Buddha

— Carmela Marino (Italy)
(previously published at the Golden Triangle Contest March 2022)

Commentary

This is an interesting haiku that touches both the hard and soft sides of life deeply and perhaps spiritually. The opening line ‘first buds’ gives some hope of spring—the season of new beginnings, or rejuvenation. The plural form of ‘buds’ makes it a bit mysterious where it looks like there is an abundance of buds on a branch, falling, or stuck on the head of a stone Buddha. But, when I take this haiku as a whole, I find it more intrinsic, more towards ‘self-enlightenment’ and/or ‘wisdom’ where buds can be the lessons of wisdom or Buddha’s philosophy unfurling in different phases of life as a sign of hope, progress, learning, and change.

It only needs some clarity, mindfulness, or crystallization of thoughts which is signified in the second line ‘I dust the head’ where the emphasis is beyond seeing i.e. introspection or meditation. I liked the way the poet blends both the delicate side of nature (buds) with the hard and concrete side of nurture (head) by masterfully using the technique of ekphrasis and yugen which may catch the eyes of many haiku lovers. 

— Hifsa Ashraf (Pakistan)

I appreciate the contrasts in the juxtaposition. The flowers are soft: the Buddha statue is not. The first buds symbolize birth, while dust symbolizes death. The flowers are full of color, while the stone Buddha is not (unless he’s wearing a green moss robe). After Enlightenment, it’s been said the Buddha escaped the wheel of samsara: the endless cycles of birth and death. Actually, in a way, it seems this haiku succinctly expresses the essence of Buddhism by showing the nature of impermanence (symbolized by dust). The Buddha shows us that the mind’s attachment to what is fleeting and temporary creates suffering (while nonattachment reveals peace and ends suffering).

This haiku also brings to mind a quote by my favorite Estonian composer Arvo Pärt: “Time and timelessness are connected. This moment and eternity are struggling within us.” 

It seems impossible for the human mind to experience life that is timeless because the measurement of time seems to be hardwired into conditioned thoughts. Yet the timeless ever-flowing “now” is the only time we are ever alive. It seems the present moment is actually something the mind can never identify with because when it tries to describe the moment, it’s already describing a past event. Thus, it seems the experience of living in the timeless ever-flowing “now” is not a mental concept or idea, but rather seems to originate from the spirit without any words or thoughts. Of course, our measurement of time has its place in modern society. We frequently measure our lives in years, months, weeks, minutes, and seconds. We have work schedules, meetings to attend, and appointments to keep. In the world of jobs and making a living, time is money. However, this haiku puts our small human lives into perspective. One day, we will all physically become dust on the stone Buddha. Therefore, who am I?

Interestingly, the fact there is any dust to begin with made me initially envision a Buddha statue indoors somewhere. At first, I only saw human dust. However, on the second read, I see pollen and the poet is dusting the pollen off the Buddha statue in a garden or park somewhere. This also could be true. 

In regards to the first line, the flower buds could be symbols of hope for new generations. It’s also been said the Buddha gave his disciples a flower without speaking a word. This was a transmission of Enlightenment: a wordless unity that is devoid of thoughts. It’s also true that not all flowers bloom at the same time, but they naturally open to sunlight when the time is ripe. In a way, it seems the same could be said regarding our spiritual unfoldment. I also appreciate the saying: “When the student is ready, the master always appears.” For me, this haiku speaks to this quote as well, where the new buds are students. Perhaps most powerfully, without a single word, the stone Buddha guides us to look within, to become still and quiet. It seems only in those silent depths can I begin to realize his Spirit is not separate from my own Spirit. Perhaps eventually, ultimately, the master vs. disciple duality will seem to disappear. 

In short, this is a powerful haiku that expresses impermanence, the timeless flow of the present, and the teachings of the Buddha. 

— Jacob D. Salzer (USA)

Hifsa and Jacob wrote extensively on the meaning and interpretations of this haiku. I will in turn dive a bit into the technical world of this poem.

In the first line, we have a traditional kigo, or seasonal reference, for spring. “Buds” is fairly general, but I think the poet may have wanted to shy away from putting too much attention on the flower itself in order to focus more on the Buddha. Also in the first line, we see a dash used to separate the two parts of the haiku, which is the fragment and the phrase. This is another classical element of this haiku.

The second line brings in the action. Commonly, haiku only have one verb so that we can concentrate on one movement. Here, the “head” could be the head of a flower without reading the third line.

In the third line, we discover that the head is not of a flower but of a stone Buddha. I think it is important that the poet capitalized “Buddha” as she is not referring to not just any buddha but the Buddha in the form of a statue. She is treating this stone as the actual Buddha and giving it proper reverence. Dusting the statue’s head might signify cleaning or clearing the way to enlightenment, as with a clear mind, one can be in nirvana.

Looking at how the lines are arranged, we have a non-standard length of lines according to English-language haiku. The longest line is usually the second, but here it is the last. There is nothing wrong with this, especially since syllables and Japanese sound units don’t match up well. As long as the rhythm flows well and brings about a potent mood, which I think this haiku does. The rhythm present makes “Buddha” stand out more, which is not a bad thing at all.

We have some interesting usage of sound in this poem, too. The “u”s in “buds,” “dust,” and “Buddha” seem to provide a sense of reverence to me. The “b” sounds pop and make the haiku reading more powerful.

In terms of aesthetics, this haiku might show ba. According to Jim Kacian, “If you look up ba in any Japanese-English Dictionary you’ll find it means “place” or “site” or “occasion”. And these are all true in the most general sense—ba is a pointer to a kind of awareness that something of importance is happening in time and space.” I feel this haiku demonstrates a spiritual importance to the moment of dusting a stone Buddha’s head, where it plays with spirituality, physical objects, and manifestation.

An enjoyable haiku with multiple layers of spiritual and religious meaning.

— Nicholas Klacsanzky (USA)

Sandip Chauhan’s flowing river

On By Nicholas KlacsanzkyIn HaikuLeave a comment

flowing river . . .
the spot where I poured
his ashes

— Sandip Chauhan (USA)
(IAFOR Vladimir Devidé Haiku Award 2016 – Runners Up)

Commentary

This is a powerful haiku that sparks a conversation about life, death, cycles, time, and the afterlife. Does a river know of past or future, or any sense of time? Because of its continuity, the ever-present flow of now is the only time we are ever truly alive, while past and future seem to be abstractions. In the river’s flow, the person’s ashes seem to simultaneously conjure up the past and the future of the person’s soul. The interesting part about this haiku is “the spot” because it implies a specific place, but that spot in the river is always flowing. In fact, it seems the spot in this haiku can only be recognized because of a nearby landmark, such as a boulder.

This haiku contains yugen (mystery), leaving room for us as readers. Who is the male persona in this haiku who has passed away? How did he pass away? Because we don’t know the answer to these questions, this haiku can conjure up mixed emotions that relate to our own experience. In addition to grief, this haiku could conjure up gratitude for both the person who passed away and the river itself. To the poet, the male persona in this haiku could be his father, brother, son, another family member, or a friend. Regardless of who he is, it’s clear this is a moment many people can relate to. 

In this haiku, the person’s ashes become one with the river. Perhaps this haiku can inspire us to feel connected with Mother Earth and treat water with more respect before physical death as well. 

In terms of spirituality, it seems the individual soul (jiva) is like a river that eventually becomes one with the universal spirit (Shiva) likened to the sea. According to the spiritual teachings of Sri Ramana Maharshi, if there are karmic mental impressions (samskaras) left at the time of physical death, this necessitates rebirth at the right time, and this is how individual souls are reborn. 

Regardless of our views on death and the afterlife, this haiku brings mixed emotions and ultimately seems to bring a sense of ease that even at the time of physical death, life goes on. A powerful haiku. 

— Jacob D. Salzer (USA)

It’s about life and death where ‘pausing and flowing’ comes together. It’s time that heals grief and lets us move on like a flowing river. The ellipsis in the first line shows how meaningful and significant it is to keep going on no matter how difficult life is. ‘The spot’ is the place where life and death depart from each other in terms of letting go and catching on.

I see it as a person, despite grieving over the death of a loved one, trying to console themselves by accepting the bitter reality, which is the ‘departure or death’—ready to accept what comes next. 

— Hifsa Ashraf (Pakistan)

I’ll explore the seasonal reference, pacing, language, sound, and meaning.

There is no clear kigo (seasonal reference), but a flowing river probably cancels out it being winter (lack of frozen water). Because of the tone, I imagine this haiku to be autumnal.

The pacing of the lines is a prime example of the English-language attempt at replicating the traditional Japanese rhythm of “go-shichi-go.” The standard is a short first line, a longer second line, and a short third line. As many know, syllable counting does not match the 5-7-5 Japanese sound units on well, and we use the aforementioned rhythm primarily.

In terms of the language, the poet rightly uses simple vocabulary so as to not be formal or verbose. Like the haiku written by the masters, the poet employs language that cuts straight to the reader. The last thing you want to do in a haiku is bog down the expression of the moment in verbosity and formality. From Matsuo Basho onwards, the haiku (then hokku) became a vehicle of vernacular speech and casual expression.

The first thing I noticed about the sound of this haiku was the repetition of “o” sounds. These elongated sounds carry the leisurely but melancholic movement of the river. “S” also features strongly, providing the music of the river in the reader’s mind.

Jacob and Hifsa have discussed the meaning of this haiku already, but I’ll add that this poem gives me feelings of both the importance and triviality of the body—and perhaps identity. The poet knows the exact spot where he offered the ashes of a loved one in the river, but the river is not stagnant or static. The river is ever-changing, which mirrors Heraclitus who said, “The only constant in life is change.” We can try to claim an identity, but even that is constantly fluid and flowing.

— Nicholas Klacsanzky (USA)

“Flowing River” by Diana Miller