Author: Nicholas Klacsanzky

Editor and poet from Seattle.

Małgorzata Formanowska’s white morning

On By Nicholas KlacsanzkyIn HaikuLeave a comment

white morning
on grandfather’s grave
fox footprints

— Małgorzata Formanowska (Poland)
(published previously in Frogpond vol.44.1 Winter 2021)

Commentary

I like the notion of reincarnation or transformation in this haiku. From the untouched snow, new life. Out of death, signs of life. Out of silence, new stories. A part of me wonders if the poet’s grandfather liked foxes and the poet sees their grandfather’s spirit in the fox in some way. 

I like the atmosphere and deep silence in the first two lines. It sets the tone of the haiku and paints a somber mood. Additionally, when I read “morning” I also think of “mourning” sonically, so I feel hints of grief already in the first line and then the mood solidifies in line 2. By contrast, the third line contains new energy that is fresh and alive. Even though we are only seeing footprints, I also see a timelapse of the fox trotting through the graveyard with his or her vivid orange fur against the stark background of snow. 

This haiku transports me into the lives of my own grandfathers and stories I know about them. I appreciate the acknowledgement of the poet’s grandfather in this haiku. I could also see this haiku as being an excellent start to a haibun about the poet’s grandfather and his stories.

Overall, an excellent haiku that pays tribute to family, animals, and the cycles of life.

 — Jacob D. Salzer (USA)

When I visualize ‘white morning’ I feel as if I am drifting through a dream that is not so vivid or clear to my imagination or sight. The white morning adds more subtlety to this haiku as it’s the early part of the dawn—probably pre-dawn or early dawn. The time when a person’s mental faculties revolve around the self that reflect the true or deep meaning of the realities of life.

The grandfather’s grave with fox footprints gives a sort of mystery that takes us on a walk through the white morning or a dream to imagine a cemetery—perhaps an abandoned one or somewhere in a wild place. I could see the fox footprints as memories of the past that are fresh and deeply imprinted on the mind, maybe from childhood. The connection between the grandfather’s grave and fox footprints is elusive as it could be certain family traditions that pass on from one generation to another, or family affairs that seem to be not well settled, or it could be a sign of good or bad omens.  

Overall, I see it as certain deeds or behaviours remaining fresh and unforgettable even after the demise of a person. It’s the next generation who decides how to perceive and interpret them, especially when there are a lot of rumours about them that are not clear, like the white morning. 

— Hifsa Ashraf (Pakistan)

We have a clear kigo (seasonal reference) with “white morning,” which refers to winter and specifically snow. In context of this haiku, it brings a sense of coldness and melancholy.

For the pacing, we have a traditional English-language rhythm of a short first line, a longer second line, and a short third line. What is also of importance is that the second line acts as a pivot, where it can be read as connecting to both the first and third line: “white morning on grandfather’s grave” and “on grandfather’s grave, fox footprints.”

Turning our attention to aesthetics, this haiku may contain ma, which is a Japanese aesthetic that stands for not only the unsaid in the poem, but also “the sense of time and space, incorporating between, space, room, interval, pause, time, timing, passing, distanced, etc. More particularly, ma may be taken as the timing of space, as in the duration between two musical notes. Silence is valued as well as sound. It is said that the ma aesthetic is influential upon all varieties of Japanese art” (Simply Haiku, Denis Garrison). There is quite a bit unsaid in this haiku, but we can feel the powerful possibilities therein. In addition, there is a play of time of someone’s passing and the occurrence of fox’s footprints, bringing the past and present into union.

Looking at the sound, I’m drawn to the “o” sounds that elongate the reading and make it more somber in tone. The “i” sounds also give it a sense of urgency.

The language used is simple and effective, and not unnecessarily formal, sentimental, or verbose. It follows the principle of employing just the right amount of words needed to express the moment and feeling.

A haiku with an ethereal quality that makes the reader step inside the emotions and mystery of the moment.

— Nicholas Klacsanzky (USA)

Painting by William Preston

Jacob Salzer’s green tea

On By Nicholas KlacsanzkyIn HaikuLeave a comment

scent of green tea
in my travel mug
the forest’s darkness

— Jacob Salzer (USA)
(published in The Heron’s Nest, December 2021)

Commentary

Commentary is first by the poet himself, and then others

Green tea is my favorite beverage. According to my college studies, green tea polyphenols have more neuroprotective benefits than any other kind of tea, among many other health benefits. It is an integral part of my life, and I take it with me at times.

Last year, I spent some quality time hiking forests in the Pacific Northwest, particularly on the Columbia Gorge in Washington state and the Wildwood Trail in Portland, Oregon. The Wildwood Trail is the largest urban forested trail in the United States, running over 30 miles long. On this trail, I started to contemplate the soil’s rich darkness that provides nutrients and a safe haven for tree roots and plants. I contemplated geological history and the layers of the Earth. I also thought about the balance of darkness and light that is necessary for trees and plants to grow and thrive, as well as the cycles of life, our ancestors, and the womb of Mother Earth. But the forest’s darkness in this haiku is not limited to the soil alone. I wanted to express the depth, resilience, and mysteries of a forest and how we are connected to the Earth in both obvious and much more subtle ways.

For me, green tea is a bridge in this haiku. It constantly reminds me that I’m a part of something much larger than myself. It reminds me to step outside of my small ego, to remain conscious of my connections with Mother Earth, and to be grateful. Perhaps more subtly, the scent of green tea could resemble transience and my mortality. Simultaneously, if we envision tea steam, it could signify the human spirit evaporating into what Indigenous people call the Great Spirit or the Great Mystery. Additionally, the forest’s darkness might conjure up all the damage we have done collectively to forests, and points to the dangers in a forest, especially at night.

In short, this haiku reminds me to walk in the forest with respect, reverence, and compassion.

 — Jacob Salzer (USA)

A meditative state of mind that travels from here and now to an unknown time. I can feel a sense of transformation that isn’t limited to the scent of green tea, as it highlights how the sense of smell takes us to a special situation, memory, thoughts, or simply daydreaming that can be related to the scent of green tea. It is a deep, therapeutic process where the poet is transformed while holding a travel mug, and travels from the present to the past, or from the present to the future, or from the outer world to the inner world.

I see a sense of realization and awareness here, where ‘the forest’s darkness’ can be interpreted as his inner world/inner self that is revealed to him during this ‘tea meditation’ where each sip is clearing his mind and thoughts—a sort of crystallization of thoughts. The journey to the inner self is being bridged by the traveling that usually brings a person close to their true self especially when they are alone.

Overall, I liked the mystery of this traveling without ‘time & space’ from a cup of tea to the forest’s darkness. There is also an element of healing where one can confront the dark side of one’s life, and to gradually overcome it through patience, self-awareness, and spending quality of time with oneself.

When Nick shared this haiku with me, I felt as if I am the one who is on this journey of transformation. So, an idea came across my mind about this haiku where I read it like this:

green tea dregs
in my travel mug
the forest’s darkness

— HIfsa Ashraf (Pakistan)

Looking at the technical side of this haiku, it is hard to identify a direct kigo, or seasonal reference. “the forest’s darkness” might refer to autumn or winter, though.

In terms of Japanese aesthetics, this haiku may present yugen and/or zoka. Yugen is the subtle profundity of things that are only vaguely suggested, while zoka is the ongoing, continuous self-transforming creativity of the natural world. I think this haiku subtly suggests many deep meanings through its juxtaposition, as Jacob and Hifsa have espoused. The idea of nature’s movement to a travel mug in the form of green tea reminds me of zoka.

For the pacing, the length of the lines are a bit different than the standard English-language haiku. Usually, it is a short first line, a longer second, and a short third. There is nothing wrong in deviating from this, however. There is an elongated syllable in the second line in “travel” that makes it a longer read than shown. What is also cool about the second line is that it acts as a pivot line where the forest’s darkness could be in the travel mug, or the scent of green tea could be in the travel mug—or both.

There are significant things to mention about the sound, too. “e” is the most prominent letter in this haiku, with it being in almost every word. It is a lilting letter that adds positivity to a haiku that has a sense of mystery. The letter “t” is also a major player, where most of the instances of it introduce a softness to the reading.

This is a haiku with many interpretations possible, written in a light way with profound resonance.

— Nicholas Klacsanzky (USA)

Painting by Lilith Lucratea

Marilyn Ward’s flowerpot

On By Nicholas KlacsanzkyIn Haiku3 Comments

filling 
a broken flowerpot 
soft sunlight

— Marilyn Ward (UK) 

(previously published in Hedgerow 134, March 2021)

Commentary

The subtle side of nature often reflects through our lives, especially when it comes to filling a void or mending flaws. Nature is our best companion that inspires us to live with hope and resilience. It also teaches us how things, even flawed, are useful for us and others. 

This haiku is a great example of wabi-sabi where nature itself is healing its own elements and mending its flaws. It’s a lesson that even if we are completely broken, we should not lose hope, and find ways to move forward by self-healing. I also see mysticism in this haiku that reminds me of a saying of Jalaluddin Rumi which says: 

“The cure for pain is within pain.”

Let’s keep the soft sunlight of kindness, compassion, and love to heal our flaws. This is how nature teaches us by demonstrating daily that there is no other way of obtaining inner peace. 

— Hifsa Ashraf (Pakistan)

I like the mood in this haiku. We don’t know why the flowerpot is broken. I like how this brings mystery to the poem and makes me feel the haiku is part of a larger story. I also like the notion that when something is broken it can create new growth and opportunities. In that sense, I like the metaphorical power of this haiku. The broken flowerpot could be a symbol for a divorce or a breakup that is, at the same time, the start of something new.

This haiku also brings to mind the Japanese art of kintsugi. “Poetically translated to ‘golden joinery,’ kintsugi, or Kintsukuroi, is the centuries-old Japanese art of fixing broken pottery. Rather than rejoin ceramic pieces with a camouflaged adhesive, the kintsugi technique employs a special tree sap lacquer dusted with powdered gold, silver, or platinum.” (Source: https://mymodernmet.com/kintsugi-kintsukuroi/) 

With kintsugi in mind, I like how the sunlight in this haiku serves as gold lacquer, filling the cracks and empty spaces in this flowerpot. From this perspective, I like how the broken flowerpot is made whole again. But even when the sun sets, I appreciate seeing the broken flowerpot alone with a wabi-sabi aesthetic, which roughly translates to finding beauty in imperfection and what is transient. I appreciate this notion of seeing beauty in the broken flowerpot versus seeing it as only something that needs to be “fixed.” 

Contrast is a technique found in some haiku and, in this case, I think it works very well. I like the 3 contrasts I see: 1) between the hard edges of the flowerpot and soft sunlight, 2) between something broken and something that is whole, and 3) between the loud sound of a flowerpot breaking and the quiet sun. In terms of contrast, the main interpretation I receive is: no matter what is broken in our lives, the power of compassion and gentleness has more depth and seems to last beyond what has happened. This haiku also shows me that the sun is more powerful—and will last longer—than anything that is made and invented by humans. In either interpretation, I feel there is a spiritual quality to this haiku that brings me hope and reassurance. 

In short, this is an emotional haiku with psychological, metaphorical, and spiritual power. 

— Jacob D. Salzer (USA)

Jacob and Hifsa have explained the meaning of this haiku and the aesthetics therein well. I will now discuss the kigo (seasonal reference), pacing, sound, and word usage.

“soft sunlight” and “flowerpot” seem to point to spring. This connects well to the theme of renewal through kintsugi. The lightness of the haiku also aligns well with spring.

The poem follows the common English-language haiku format of a short first line, a second longer line, and a short third line. This is supposed to approximate the rhythm of traditional Japanese haiku.

The most prominent letter in this haiku is “f” in “filling,” “flowerpot,” and “soft.” The first two “f”s bring starkness while the third comes with a delicateness. More soft sounds present themselves with “o” in “broken,” “flowerpot,” and “soft.” The musicality of this haiku manifests a positive tone.

Simplicity and concision is seen in the vernacular used in this haiku. Haiku regularly avoid formal and academic language, and aim for brevity. This is exactly what the poet followed.

A haiku that is at once emotional, philosophical, and direct. It lends much to the reader in terms of resonance.

— Nicholas Klacsanzky (USA)

Painting by Sheetal Shah