Irene Riz’s Flood

On August 1, 2016May 23, 2018 By Nicholas KlacsanzkyIn HaikuLeave a comment

blooming hibiscus
the morning after the flood
excuse accepted

It is not common to write in 5-7-5 syllables in modern English haiku, as we have gone to the short line-longer line-short line format that lends more to the English language. However, this haiku works great as a 5-7-5 syllable haiku.

(If you want to read more about why we don’t write in 5-7-5 syllables in English haiku often, please read this essay by Michael Dylan Welch: http://www.graceguts.com/essays/go-shichi-go-how-japanese-and-english-syllables-differ)

We start with a classical topic: a flower. A blooming hibiscus is especially beautiful. It has rich colors, a striking anther, and elegant overlapping petals.

Then, with line two, we go onto something striking: a tragedy. Making turns like this in haiku is normal if you want to surprise and engage readers.

In the third line, we have a consequence of the flood: through the circumstances, the main person in focus accepts someone’s excuse in light of the danger and maybe a change of mind.

I like how the flood relates to the blossoming hibiscus. You can say that hibiscuses “flood” our eyes with color and beauty, and through them, we can become more soft-hearted, and maybe change our minds about someone’s flaws or our own.

The sound of “o” courses through the first two lines with “blooming,” “morning,” and “flood.” I think this sound creates the effect of the flood water continuing and slows us down as readers to take in the weight of the situation.

At the heart of haiku is compassion, I believe, and seeing each living thing as a blessing in disguise. This haiku reveals the interweaving of nature and humanity, where nature makes us see the heart of each other, past our mistakes. We might say that in the end, forgiveness can save us from inhumanity.

– Nicholas Klacsanzky (Ukraine)

Rika Inami’s End

On July 30, 2016May 23, 2018 By Nicholas KlacsanzkyIn ShahaiLeave a comment

when the end

comes upon me ―

sirens blowing

through the darkness

rushes to the fire

This self-eulogy is evocative in its simplicity and pacing. There is nothing difficult to understand in this tanka, but the subtle meaning behind it might be.

The end of the tanka is not about her, but about fire, an all-consuming element. I think Rika is expressing that in the end, she will become one with her surroundings, or maybe she or her life was an illusion all along.

It also seems the author is saying that when her end comes, there will be no use in trying to pity her or get involved in feelings. But rather, the author could be pointing to the problem that made her die in the first place. “Fire” has a lot of symbolism attached to it, such as passion, anger, inspiration, and so on.

With the em dash in the second line, we feel more of her end, as she gives us time to take it in. The em dash might seem unnatural, but for poetry, it totally makes sense to have there. In tanka, we sometimes use punctuation to show two parts more clearly. So, Rika is also demarcating the parts in the tanka.

The photo connects indirectly to the tanka wonderfully. The red of the maple leaves shows the fire and the latern is similar to a siren light.

The most prominent sound to me in this tanka is the “o” sound in “comes,” “upon,” “blowing,” “through” and “to.” It gives an effect of a suspension of time and makes us read the poem slower.

A humble poem about one’s death, written in a simple style. But that is just the surface. I think this tanka brings up a lot of symbolism and thoughts about the reality/illusion of life, where we go when we die, and what we are meant for in the end.

– Nicholas Klacsanzky (Ukraine)

Adjei Agyei-Baah’s Clap

On July 28, 2016May 23, 2018 By Nicholas KlacsanzkyIn Haiku3 Comments

folding and unfolding
the unheard clap
of the butterfly

Brass Bell, October 2015

This points directly to the notion that haiku is a poetry of insight. The things we don’t realize are around us are brought to the surface.

With the start of the haiku, it seems we are almost going in slow motion, witnessing the butterfly as a detached observer. And in those moments of detachment, often we can experience phenomena that are seemingly hidden.

With the word “unheard,” we comprehend that the author did not actually hear the clap of the butterfly’s wings, but understood in his observation that he could not hear it. It is a metaphor for all things we don’t hear, and in a wider view, what we don’t experience.

We believe our reality to be as it is, though we cannot experience everything that is happening. Then what is truly objective? What would complete objective reality be like? Is there such a thing?

As haiku writers, we try to be objective as possible with what senses we have. However, in this haiku, I believe the author is directing our attention to the fact to just how limited we are in our ability to experience life and to understand it completely.

Getting away from philosophy for a moment, I enjoy how the lines flow. The last line comes as a eureka moment in the pacing itself, and the lines in general make the reader read slowly. This helps us to really take in the moment.

The sound works well to give a lilting feeling to it with the letter “l” in “folding,” “unfolding,” “clap,” and “butterfly.”

Now back to the act itself: the clap. What does the clap indicate? The author does not say, which is a classic haiku technique. If you over-explain in haiku, you usually are doing a disservice to your readers. They should have space to figure out and feel things for themselves.

The clap could be applause, either congratulatory or mocking. The clap could be an alert to danger. The clap could also refer to the famous Zen riddle: “What is the sound of one hand clapping?” Also in Zen, clapping is used to wake students up to the awareness of the moment. The butterfly could be a teacher of ours, and we don’t even know it.

But the clap could simply be. The clap could be just a clap. And with it being unheard, the author may have heard the unheard clap in his mind, and got immersed in that sound. By the tone of the haiku, this seems quite plausible.

Whatever we think about the clap, its unheard sound is heard in the minds of each reader of this haiku.

– Nicholas Klacsanzky (Ukraine)