Haiku from Deborah A. Bennett, Samo Kreutz, and Randy Brooks

On By Nicholas KlacsanzkyIn Haiku4 Comments

first snow
caught in the willow branches
my mother’s white hair

— Deborah A. Bennett (USA)
Under the Basho, November 2022

Commentary: I can feel the problems of ageing in this haiku, especially since the colour ‘white’ is projected in this haiku by adding snow and white hair. First snow as used in many haiku is a symbol of yearning, grief, stillness, contemplation, ageing, and deep feelings. In this haiku, first snow seems to project ageing and its issues related to either hardship, loss, and/or grief.  “Caught in the willow branches” seems to mean a tangled story of when life becomes more complicated with age. I also see white hair as nerves/neurotransmitters that are linked with memory. It appears the person has lost her memory or already suffers from it i.e. Alzheimer’s, dementia, etc. I liked the mystery and subtlety of this haiku which conveys many meanings in the most decent and precise way.

— Hifsa Ashraf

neighbour dispute
the loudest of us all
a cricket

— Samo Kreutz (Slovenia)
Modern Haiku, Issue 54.2, Summer 2023

Commentary: I greatly appreciate the perspective, meaning, and humor in this haiku. It reminds us that Nature speaks louder than a dispute with our neighbor. In general, I think a good question to ask is: during disputes or conflicts, can we take a step back and listen to the voices of Mother Earth? What does the Earth have to say? Indeed, human beings are only small threads in the infinite web of life. With a greater point of view, our lives and circumstances are put into perspective. An excellent haiku.

— Jacob D. Salzer 

the wren’s garden
chattering in case
you forgot

— Randy Brooks (USA)
haikuNetra 1.3, 2023

Commentary: What drew me to this haiku was the ownership the wren has over the garden. The wren most likely does not see the garden as human-made or cultivated, but rather as another part of nature. I feel the haiku makes us ponder about our relationship to the natural world and its beings. It also makes me contemplate about how something so small can be powerful and take up space. The “c” sounds in the second line bring alive the chattering, and the “e” and “n” sounds in the first line emit a sense of dignity. In terms of season, I would place this haiku in spring, as you see wrens the most during that time; the haiku as a whole has a spring aesthetic, in my opinion. Additionally, I enjoy the simplicity and phrasing in the poem, with “chattering” connected either to the wren or the garden itself. Overall, this haiku is charming, humorous, and concisely profound.

— Nicholas Klacsanzky

Art by Ľudovít Čordák

Brendon Kent’s Navigating Moons

On By Nicholas KlacsanzkyIn Haiku6 Comments

The posthumous book, Navigating Moons by Brendon Kent (February 1, 1958–February 24, 2024) is out. Below are commentaries on three poems from the collection by our three editors. Also, at the end of the post, there is information on how to obtain a copy of Navigating Moons.

every moon out of my hands stardust i return to

Commentary: It has been said that we are made of stardust. In this monoku, the late haiku poet Brendon Kent returns to the Great Mystery of the cosmos and relinquishes personal attachments. It seems “every moon out of my hands” shows humility, as he sees what is beyond us. As another interpretation, “out of my hands” could speak of the poet’s own co-creation of the universe he was (and still is) a part of. When I think of stardust, I think of the essence of life, and traces of a life, still giving light. This is a memorable and important haiku that speaks of the poet’s spirit and the afterlife. 

— Jacob D. Salzer 

between this world and the next butterfly echoes

Commentary: The overall imagery of this haiku is about the transience of life, revolving around deep experiences that make things so subtle at the end that one feels nothing but emptiness. Butterfly echoes are a reminder of the transformation of life (both within and outside) that runs in an endless circle. So, we are constantly moving between life and death as nothing is permanent here. As Rumi says:

“You don’t live on Earth—you are passing through it.” 

— Hifsa Ashraf

so much to say
in so little time!
spring daffodils

Commentary: In light of Brendon’s impending passing due to cancer when this haiku was written, it takes on a mixture of despair and a hint of joy. I believe Brendon realized his life was like spring daffodils: brilliant, bright, and beautiful, but only around for a short time. And indeed, spring daffodils say so much without words. The poet could have been feeling restrained in speech and action due to his cancer and felt he could only be like the daffodils in his communication. One of his last efforts to communicate his message was writing Navigating Moons—a window into not only a cancer journey but also a man of humanity and introspection.

— Nicholas Klacsanzky

Dear haiku friends,

The posthumous ebook by Brendon Kent entitled “Navigating Moons — poems of a cancer journey” is now available.

It contains Brendon’s final published and unpublished haiku, senryu, and more. Much of the book is illustrated with sumi-e or sumi-e-like drawings.

The ebook is available as a PDF file for a donation of 5 euros or higher. Brendon has requested all proceeds to go to Macmillan Cancer Support (an official UK charity).

Your orders can now be emailed to navmoonsbook@gmail.com after making your donation. The subject line should read: “Navigating Moons order.” In response, you will receive an email from us containing the direct link to download the ebook (PDF file).

Donations for UK residents: https://donation.macmillan.org.uk/

We recommend selecting the option to donate in memory of Brendon Kent.

Donations for non-UK residents: www.justgiving.com/macmillan

Other options for non-UK residents are to phone in a donation at +44 207 091 2235.

For further options, check https://www.macmillan.org.uk/donate/how-to-donate or email fundraising@macmillan.org.uk.

A Kindle version of the ebook will be available from Amazon in the future.

Thanks for your support and we hope you’ll enjoy reading it. 🙏

Best wishes on Brendon’s behalf.

Anna Goluba’s dreamcatcher

On By Nicholas KlacsanzkyIn Haiku1 Comment

Abandoned house
The dreamcatcher still hangs
In the children’s room

— Anna Goluba (Poland)
Published in Haikuniverse, March 7, 2019

Commentary

I appreciate the mystery (yūgen) of why the house is abandoned. Was it because of physical damage to the house itself that forced the family to move? Or, was it due to other socio-economic factors that the family relocated? The mystery (yūgen) of the abandoned house provides some space for the reader. The dreamcatcher also provides space for the reader’s imagination.

I always appreciate the symbolic importance of the dreamcatcher. According to Indigenous Peoples, the circular shape of the dreamcatcher represents the circle of life and symbolizes that there is no beginning or end. Dreamcatchers are also made of natural materials that reflect the close bond Indigenous Peoples have with the Earth. The web of the dreamcatcher is meant to catch the bad dreams and allow the good dreams to pass through to the person sleeping. In this way, the dreamcatcher is like a spider’s web that filters out negativity. Some dreamcatchers are also decorated with beads, gems, and/or stones, which give them positive energy. Lastly, feathers are also sacred to Indigenous Peoples and are found in dreamcatchers. Feathers symbolize protection, healing, and a connection with the divine.

I appreciate how this haiku transports readers back into childhood. I think a child’s imagination paired with the realm of dreams is very effective. I also feel compassion for the child who was forced to move from the house, for unknown reasons. I think of the dreams the child had when they lived in the house.

In short, this is a haunting and mysterious haiku that serves as an effective portal into the reader’s childhood, their first home, and their dreams. An excellent haiku.

— Jacob D. Salzer

The kigo or seasonal reference in this haiku is not obvious or is nonexistent. However, there is a melancholy feel to the poem; so, I would probably place this haiku in autumn. It’s fine if a haiku does not have an explicit kigo; in Japan, haiku without a seasonal reference (muki haiku) have been popular for about 100 years now.

There is no punctuation in this haiku (an approximation of kireji), yet there is a clear grammatical shift after line one. In English-language haiku, the capitalization of words is not common, though. However, the poet is from Poland, and the haiku community there might have different ideas about the capitalization of words. There is nothing wrong with it and is understandable due to many poets thinking each line of a poem should begin with a capital letter.

The combination or association of parts in the haiku works in stark fashion. The pull between emptiness and the energy/action of the dreamcatcher creates a poignant mood and scene. The ending line enhances the poignancy of the imagery even further.

Looking at the sound of the haiku, I admire the usage of the letter “h.” It’s an uncommon letter to use in succession in poetry, I believe. “h” gives an emphasis at the end of the first and second lines. It also gives strength to the third line as well.

In terms of pacing, this poem follows the conventional short/long/short rhythm in English-language haiku that approximates the rhythm of Japanese haiku. Looking closer at the words used, “the” employed for both subjects “dreamcatcher” and “children’s room” was a smart choice, as both subjects deserve proper respect.

Overall, this haiku combines elements of melancholy, hope, spirituality, and more. Without a word out of place, the poem is effective and touching.

— Nicholas Klacsanzky

Rebel Rose Artistry