Matúš Nižňanský’s snowflakes

On August 16, 2021 By Nicholas KlacsanzkyIn Haiku1 Comment

monastery garden —
the sound of
snowflakes

The deep silence in this haiku is palpable. This is an exceptional example of the power of “show not tell” in haiku. In this moment, we can hear the snowflakes falling onto the plants in the garden. There are no other sounds. Because of the delicate nature of snowflakes and plants, they further amplify the silence and deepen it.

The ancient beauty of a monastery is juxtaposed with the fresh beauty of new snowflakes. While some predict the first snow on this Earth happened 2.4 billion years ago, it is astounding to note that each and every snowflake is different and unique. Along these lines, the image of a monastery conjures up memories of many monks or nuns who lived here over many years since its construction. While this poem is clearly a haiku moment, there is also an implication that the snowflakes will continue to fall for quite some time. Simultaneously, as with many snow-related poems, this haiku feels timeless.

While this moment was presumed to be observed and heard by the poet, the haiku itself seems to be devoid of any sense of ego. No additional people can be heard or seen. No one is standing out trying to get attention. I do have serious doubts that this monastery is vacant of monks or nuns living in it. The notion of an empty monastery could be possible, though I feel the monks or nuns are dwelling inside. They could be meditating, praying, or sleeping and likely do not physically appear in this particular scene. Regardless, even if they did physically appear to the poet, in this atmosphere, the poet and monks (or nuns) have become quiet and one with nature.

In terms of mood, this haiku brings feelings of reverence, devotion, peace, and yūgen (mystery and depth). Snowflakes fall naturally and gently cover the earth evenly. As such, it seems all thoughts too must eventually fall and dissolve into their roots, into the ancient silence that carries them.

— Jacob Salzer (USA)

A monastery is a place full of peace, reverence, and life, whereas a monastery garden sounds no less than heaven where one can find inner peace and deep experiences. The same goes for natural elements which can be experienced differently but in a unique way in that garden.

This simple yet deep poem reflects the focus of mind and heart, the subtlety of life at its peak, the alertness of all senses, the awakening consciousness, and the spiritual touch where a person’s threshold level can even feel the subtlety in the surroundings, and listen to the miraculous sounds of nature for the ultimate peace and elation. The sound of a snowflake shows the ultimate focus of a person whose body and soul have reached the level where even the smallest element of nature connects deeply.

— Hifsa Ashraf (Pakistan)

Jacob and Hifsa went over the meaning and mood of this haiku in depth already. I’ll focus a bit on the technical side of this poem.

One thing that caught my eye immediately was that the haiku was quite brief: only six words. The art of haiku is often how you can make a strong image and create emotions within such a small space. Through kigo (seasonal references–in this case, winter), kireji (a marker that shows that separation between two parts; in this case, it is the em dash), and concision, the poet achieves effective brevity.

And talking about punctuation, the dash allows readers to pause and take in the scene. The environment of the haiku is calming and meditative, and taking a pause fits well in this context.

I think the layout of the haiku could work in multiple ways. I believe this could also work as a one-line haiku:

monastery garden the sound of snowflakes

In fact, Japanese haiku are written in a single vertical line. However, in this haiku in English, leaving us on edge with “of” on the second line is a fine idea. Sometimes, it is advised not to have only one word for the last line in order to not overemphasize. Yet, I feel the calming effect of this choice brings it merit.

Another aspect to note is the sound. The letter “s” runs through this haiku. For such a silent scene, the poem speaks quite a bit through its sound. Perhaps it is illustrating the starkness of silence in the monastery garden.

Great imagery paired with a resonant juxtaposition makes this haiku stand out as well.

— Nicholas Klacsanzky (USA)

Kat Lehmann’s news

On June 30, 2021 By Nicholas KlacsanzkyIn Haiku1 Comment

evening news
junipers consume
the moon

Haiku Society of America Harold G. Henderson Haiku Award, Second Place (2020)
— Kat Lehmann (USA)

This haiku has a very effective juxtaposition. It shows us through imagery how consuming the news can be. The word “consume” has a negative connotation that implies an extreme. The juniper’s invasiveness is an apt image to describe this. It seems the news tends to be very unbalanced and focused on negative events that cloud our perception, while many positive events go unnoticed and are often not covered. While most news seems to be dark and narrow-minded, by stark contrast, the moon inspires open-mindedness, mystery, and wonder.

My father had junipers in his yard many years ago. They were very large and obstructed the view to his yard and the neighborhood. Now that they’re removed, he can see his yard and neighborhood in full view.

This is a powerful haiku that reminds us to not be consumed by news stations, which seems to be a form of mental programming, and to notice the beauty of the moon and what is beyond us.

— Jacob Salzer (USA)

It starts with the news that may or may not be reliable, ‘evening news’ which means one has to read it carefully before relating it to any news and its relationship with the rest of the haiku. Evening news can be thrilling, mysterious, and evokes our deepest feelings.

A juniper tree is a sign of strength, divinity, power, and safety. If we see it from that context, then it means something is being covered or not openly revealed. The word ‘consume’, like the evening news, shows exaggeration here but it is cleverly used to make this haiku more powerful and with broader perspectives. I see ‘the moon’ as a metaphor which may show signs of visibility as someone/something in the limelight but not now because of the junipers’ shadows and the same are not catching much attention in the evening news.

I love the rhythmic sounds of ‘news, consume, and moon’ as these provide an interesting and lighter side of this haiku. Overall, I think this haiku represents someone who needs attention but is getting it neither in nature nor in the evening news.

— Hifsa Ashraf (Pakistan)

The juniper, with its prickly branches and stout shape, covering the moon, is a great comparison with the evening news. I think this comparison can be seen both in a positive and negative light, which has been expounded on by Jacob and Hifsa above. I think this gives this haiku more nuance and layers, which is a common quality of strong haiku.

I also think the usage of the word “consume” is an interesting choice. It relates to us as people in modern society, who consume information and materials at an alarming rate. The poet could have used “cover” but I think the poet chose a word that is more pertinent and imaginative, which works well in this particular haiku.

As Hifsa mentioned, the sound of the haiku is rhythmic. The “e” and “o” vowel sounds bring about a soothing tone despite the subject. This contrast creates a more nuanced power behind the haiku.

— Nicholas Klacsanzky (USA)

George Klacsanzky’s moth

On May 27, 2021 By Nicholas KlacsanzkyIn Haiku2 Comments

touching
the dead moth
it flies away

— George Klacsanzky (1956-2003)
(published in Yanty’s Butterfly: Haiku Nook: An Anthology (2016))

Brevity, simplicity, and honesty always reflect in George’s haiku. Every time I write about his poems, I see a new aspect of his life that helps me know more about this great haiku poet.

The opening line ‘touching’ pauses the moment and lets the readers feel the resonance of this sense and its subtlety. It also suggests how hard it is to focus on nuances of life but when one does, there is an element of surprise in them. In this haiku, the writer shares the concept of seeing beyond sight where even stillness looks moving. The dead moth presents the depth of life, the transformation of life, that one cannot see but feel through one’s third eye or insight and once one does, miracles happen and thoughts get transformed into wisdom and reveal the secrets of life that are long-lasting. Somehow, there are shades of mysticism that make this haiku more open to the concept of life in death.

— Hifsa Ashraf (Pakistan)

I love this haiku. The first word that comes to mind is resurrection: something seemingly dead is brought back to life. The moth flying away could be a metaphor for rejuvenation within a relationship or your own self. Maybe an old hobby is given attention again. Or, maybe a neglected house is being remodeled. Something seemingly dead is given new life. George’s haiku reminds us that what appears to be motionless or dead could be only an appearance; it speaks to how subtle life can be. Maybe the moth was sleeping? Maybe it was just resting. But through his touch, by making a connection with the moth, it seems to move on to the next stage of its life.

This could apply to humans too: when someone genuinely reaches out and touches us in some way, we are often sparked with a new energy that makes us feel fresh and alive. Like making a new friend, this connection helps us grow and evolve in the next stages of our lives. The vision of the moth flying away also gives me a feeling of liberation and transcendence. Just like a butterfly, moths go through the process of metamorphosis—a process that we as humans may go through as well. A beautiful haiku. This haiku is one of my all-time favorites.

— Jacob Salzer (USA)

Hifsa and Jacob have brought up great points in terms of meaning and substance. I’ll take a look at the more technical aspects of this haiku.

One can say the kigo of this haiku is summer. Traditionally in Japan, moths are a seasonal reference for summer. That may not be the case in Seattle, Washington where this poem was written though. However, as this poet’s son and growing up in Seattle, I can say that moths do come out quite a bit in the summer in the Pacific Northwest.

But the second half of the haiku seems to relate more to spring, with the theme of resurrection, as Jacob pointed out. Moths come out in sizable numbers in spring in Seattle as well. So, “moth” as a seasonal word can relate to the content directly.

I also wanted to point out the sense of sound, with the powerful music of “o” in the first two lines and the lack of “o” in the last line. This creates a stronger sense of the starkness of the moment described.

As Hifsa said, my father focused a lot on brevity. With only seven words, every word counts and shines through. It is said that only geniuses can explain complicated concepts in simple terms. I think that is the art of the haiku poet.

A haiku that is at once mundane and supernatural, and melancholic and awe-inspiring.

— Nicholas Klacsanzky (USA)