Ian Gwin’s faceless flowers

On By Nicholas KlacsanzkyIn HaikuLeave a comment

faceless flowers how
to mind this flesh and bone
in an age of steam

— Ian Gwin (USA)

Commentary

The initial message I received in this haiku is a warning to not become another “gear in the machine” in a modern capitalistic society that seems to promote conformity and the accumulation of material objects. “Faceless flowers” seems to be a metaphor for perhaps certain workers who may, unfortunately, not feel truly valued or seen. However, I also read “faceless flowers” to perhaps mean some people are ignoring Nature. I wonder if this haiku is saying that it’s difficult to see some people’s unique individuality through the steam of modernity that can sometimes cloud our vision. 

This reminds me of a chapter in the novel A Wrinkle in Time by Madeleine L’Engle where all the suburban houses look the same and all the children are bouncing balls on their driveways at the same time, much like robots. The children also all went inside their houses at the same time, on a precise schedule. Later on in the novel, it was discovered that a large brain was controlling the actions of the people on this planet. This telling symbol of mental conditioning seems to relate to this haiku. The mention of steam also brings to mind steam engines in trains and their environmental consequences. 

“How to mind this flesh and bone” seems to translate as: “How can I take care of myself in mind, body, and spirit within modern society and feel a true sense of belonging?” It seems this is something many of us strive for and struggle with to some degree. This body that is made of the Earth’s elements seems to be disconnected from the Earth in a concrete city. As a result, do some people sometimes feel like “faceless flowers?” Are we being conditioned to believe modern city life is “normal?” Do the majority of people truly believe that “more is better?” Are we often blind to the origins of the products that we buy? Do we pay too much attention to marketing? Have our values largely shifted to a productivity-based model that ignores creativity? These are the questions that come to mind when I read this haiku. It’s a powerful poem that faces the subjects of identity, our values in modern society, and our connection and/or disconnection with Nature.

— Jacob D. Salzer

This haiku has some traditional phrasing we don’t see often these days. Through its phrasing, it presents streaks of modernity and dystopia, showing a world that is transforming from the traditional to the modern era with the sense and love for nature gradually degrading.

I see the faceless flowers as a lack of communication and connection with what is happening due to a fast-paced life. People are more involved in the artificiality of things and becoming akin to robots who keep on striving for success and satisfaction. In reality, they are far away from their essential nature.

— Hifsa Ashraf

The haiku’s season could be placed in spring with the reference to “flowers” as a kigo. However, flowers bloom in several seasons.

This haiku displays unique phrasing and line breaks, with “how” sticking out on the first line and no comma before it. The sound of the line works well and puts focus on the question. You can say the “cut” (kireji) is invisible before “how” but it is syntactically evident while reading.

How the two parts of the haiku combine (toriawase) creates perhaps a comparison between humanity’s loss of identity through industrialization and the faceless faces of flowers. Essentially, through technology and our actions, we have become cogs that somehow have to maintain ourselves despite dehumanization.

Like Hifsa noted, the diction of this haiku is intriguing, especially in the second line. Also, the sound made by the letter “f” manifests a sharp resonance that matches the bitter mood. The last line has softer sounds to perhaps make a somber effect.

Ian Gwin has crafted a fresh haiku with creative phrasing, diction, and symbolism.

— Nicholas Klacsanzky

The Engineer’s Handy Book, 1884, Stephen Roper

Samo Kreutz’s thousand ways

On By Nicholas KlacsanzkyIn Haiku, SenryuLeave a comment

kid’s bed
a thousand ways
to disappear

— Samo Kreutz (Slovenia)
(previously published in THF Haiku Dialogue, December 2022)

Commentary

I greatly appreciate the imaginative space of this haiku. This haiku transports readers into books, stories, and dreams. As a child, my parents would read to my sister and I. These are wonderful memories that I cherish. It seems in our modern world, it can be easy to forget the imagination, but when we do this, I think we all pay the price. I feel our imagination is important because it opens our hearts and minds, and can lead to many different perspectives and creative ideas.

I feel “a thousand ways to disappear” is a great way to express being completely immersed in a book, story, or dream. 

This is a touching haiku that shows the power of the imagination, stories, and dreams.

— Jacob D. Salzer

A lovely haiku that covers the stories of almost every person as a child. It shows the tangible and intangible aspects of life where a child’s bed is taken as a symbol of relief where one seeks solace and catharsis. The bed helps a child to become calm and have an uninterrupted environment where they can play, sleep, dream, and listen to stories. It’s a place that takes them to another world where they can freely think, feel, and do whatever they want.

It’s a domain where there are a thousand ways to see life differently when they are on their own and where all senses converge to provide a holistic perspective that is calm and content. Adults might desire to disappear into childhood memories, to feel nostalgic, or to have deep imagination/daydreaming that keeps them away from this chaotic world. I see this as an escape from reality where a person goes back to their childhood and gets lost in a time that was carefree and without responsibilities.

— Hifsa Ashraf

There is no distinct kigo or seasonal reference here. That is fine, especially since it can fit in the genre of senryu. There is a time placement of early childhood, though.

The way the two parts of the poem fit together is intriguing. Something as overlooked as a kid’s bed as an adult is given special appreciation. The word “disappear” is the most crucial, in my opinion. It connects to both adult and child selves. The juxtaposition in this haiku or senryu reminds me of the saying, “From one, comes many.”

There is no punctuation in the poem besides the needed apostrophe. This gives more of a case for fitting in the senryu genre. However, the line between haiku and senryu, especially in English, is often rather thin.

The pacing, with a short first line, a longer second line, and a short third line, is common practice in the English-language haiku world to approximate the Japanese rhythm of haiku.

The concision in which the poem is written is commendable. The poet uses just the right amount of words with the most effective phrasing. It is fitting for such a simple, yet poignant subject. The chosen diction is on point as well for the mood of the poem.

The sound of the letter “d” in this poem is key. It provides weight to the poem and a staccato rhythm, which connects to “thousands” in an abstract way.

With a mastery of simple power, the poet delivers a nostalgic and perhaps melancholic form of celebration.

— Nicholas Klacsanzky

BEDROOM IN ARLES | THE BEDROOM | 1889 | VINCENT VAN GOGH

Chittaluri Satyanarayana’s river bed

On By Nicholas KlacsanzkyIn Haiku1 Comment

river bed
the sound of water still
beneath my feet

— Chittaluri Satyanarayana (India)
(published in haikuKATHA on 11/13/2022)

Commentary

The river bed in this haiku could still be wet or dry. Perhaps both the river bed and the poet carry the memory of the river. It’s interesting to note that human beings are mostly water. Indeed, there are many rivers inside of us. As we carry memories, it seems water too carries memories, though I appreciate how a river is timeless because the water is always flowing. I think this haiku could be about drought, possibly due to climate change. Against this sad sight, I’m also filled with hope that the landscape will be revitalized with the flowing river once again.

— Jacob D. Salzer

This haiku reflects subtle, meditative, and deep experiences that leave deep impressions. It’s our state of mind and heart that binds us with our surroundings and sometimes, there comes a point when our senses sync together to experience unique happenings that a person waits for their whole life.

The river bed as a concrete part not only shares the secrets of different regions from where it passes through but shows a deep connection of nature with human nature through a common feature which is soil. One cannot see it with the naked eye but one can surely feel what a riverbed holds and offers to those who want to unfold the stories of its unending journey.

After being connected to the river bed, the first thing we can feel is the sound of water which is not an ordinary sound. It seems more musical and rhythmic where the waves of water pass through one’s feet and change the rhythm. The word ‘still’ may indicate the quiet of the mind or mindfulness when the person is experiencing the ‘here and now’. It may also reflect the slowing down of the flow of water—the calmness both within and outside. It’s the highly subtle experience of meditation when everything converges to one point which brings tranquility.

‘Beneath my feet’ is a shift in this haiku that binds the person to connect deeply with their surroundings. The feet, probably bare, have healing properties that help us to gain peace of mind after fatigue or stress. These healing points pass on tranquility from bottom to top i.e. from soil/earth to mind/brain where the impulses, like the waves of water, slow down our thought process and bring peace. The soil as a soft and passive element of nature clears our flaws, cracks, and voids in life as both the river bed and human body are made of early elements.

My concluding point is, that when all senses are deeply intact and in sync with nature, one can experience wonders in less than a moment. That type of experience can change the state of our mind and heart for good.

— Hifsa Ashraf

What draws me into this haiku is its imaginative sense. There are multiple ways we can hear the water of a river despite it being dried up. It can come through daydreaming, imagination, hallucination, a nearby water source which is mistaken for the river’s flow, and more. The unsaid part of this haiku makes it stronger and more resonant.

If I had to place this poem in a season, I would say summer. Riverbeds commonly dry out during this season. Summer connects well to the idea of a flourishing imagination and an abundance of activity.
In terms of punctuation, there isn’t any. However, I don’t personally think it’s needed in this haiku. The line break in the first line works well to make a grammatical shift.

The pacing of the lines can be said to be the standard in the English-language haiku world, with a short first line, a longer second line, and a short third line. With the second line resting on “still,” it gains more focus and amplifies its double meaning.

Looking at the sound, a few letters stand out. In the first two lines, the letter “r” dominates and gives a sense of movement. Throughout the whole haiku, the letters “e” and “i” create a stark mood that resonates with the reappearance of the sound of water.

Ultimately, the haiku’s unique line break, strong sense of sound, and expansive space for the reader’s interpretation make this a well-crafted poem.

— Nicholas Klacsanzky

Painting by John White.

Royal Baysinger’s who 

On By Nicholas KlacsanzkyIn Haiku, Senryu1 Comment

not there
to remind me who’s who
— your funeral

– Royal Baysinger (Canada)

(previously published in Frogpond 45.2 & skipping stones: The Red Moon Anthology of English-Language Haiku 2022)

Commentary

The structure of this haiku is different from the usual haiku but it provides enough room to think about the message the poet wants to share with us. At first glance, I feel it’s simply a flow of ongoing thoughts about a sad reality. The thoughts don’t need to be rearranged to make them perfect for readers. We can easily comprehend what is being said without focusing more on the style of this haiku.

The opening line ‘not there’ without ellipses lets our thoughts wander until we relate it to our personal experiences or observations. I paused for a while to think about the deep meaning of these two words that may sound meaningless if there is nothing after them. But, when I read them in the context they are given, they make a lot of sense—especially when I see them in physical and mental contexts. Who is not there? Myself? Others? Or, the person who is no more? In simple words, it’s a void that has been left after the death of a person where the person who is mourning is trying to relate it to their thoughts and/or feelings.

The second line gives meaning to the first line yet it is a mystery who is reminding that person. And, who’s who? The poet has beautifully left room for us to find answers to these questions by relating our personal experiences to them. We all pass through grief and mourn over the death of our dear ones and we all somehow pass through the same feelings where certain questions are left unanswerable. Within the context of this haiku, it illustrates the feelings of a mourner who is all alone and facing difficulties in dealing with people who are in a close circle. In other words, it’s about handling social relationships which were previously handled by the deceased one. It shows a lot of dependence of one person on another which has ended now. Also, it demonstrates how we are related to each other in a wide social network and how we need each other to strengthen our sense of belonging.

Looking at the punctuation, the em dash in the third line provides a long pause to the third line which allows us to see the whole poem from different angles. ‘Your’ may address one person or every person in society. In both cases, it projects the significance of a funeral as an event that reveals who belongs to whom and how life becomes different after the departure of a person from one’s life. 

– Hifsa Ashraf

I feel this haiku speaks to the value of one person in our families and communities. I like the humbling reminder of the interconnectedness of life. I also appreciate the subjects of identity and memory. 

This haiku reminds me of my mother and her social connections. Throughout her life, she has connected so many people in mysterious and meaningful ways.

Also, this haiku brings me an overwhelming sense of sadness, love, and gratitude for the person who passed away. I get the sense that many people came to their funeral. Because of this, I feel the poet is moved by not only all the people he recognizes (even without remembering their names) but also by all the people he has never seen before. The life of each person has a ripple effect with wide rings echoing in the cosmos in ways the limited mind cannot fully understand.

I feel this haiku is a humbling reminder that one person is never truly alone and that life is connected in mysterious, subtle, and meaningful ways.

This is a beautiful and powerful haiku that speaks to love, gratitude, and our limited time here in human bodies.

– Jacob D. Salzer

This could be classified as a senryu. It is written about human life in a poignant way. Senryu need not be humorous or silly. Many senryu, traditional and modern, portray the melancholy of being a person due to our flaws. This poem can fit into that category.

There is no kigo, or seasonal reference, present. This points even more towards my senryu hypothesis.

However, there is punctuation, which senryu are commonly devoid of. Traditionally, senryu do not have kireji, or cut markers. In the end, though, I am leaning towards it being a senryu. Ultimately, its label is not of serious consequence, since the poem connects well with readers no matter what we call it.

The em dash on the third line, for me, conveys the emotion of loss and feeling lost in the face of a loved one’s passing. I believe it’s a brilliant use of punctuation.

Thinking about the sonics of the poem, the elongated syllables of “o” make the mood even more somber. The strong “f” in the last line ending with the soft “l” additionally creates an emotional effect.

A senryu that expresses loss with brevity and directness but also irony.

– Nicholas Klacsanzky

Frants Henningsen – A Funeral

Jacob D. Salzer’s river mist

On By Nicholas KlacsanzkyIn Haiku1 Comment

river mist…
the faint whispers
of a lost prophet

— Jacob D. Salzer (USA)
Published in The Heron’s Nest, Volume XXIV, Number 3: September 2022

Commentary

The haiku begins with a mystery of belief or religious life. The poet may have diluted thoughts or beliefs. I see ‘river mist’ as a sign of a lack of clarity or less understanding of one’s beliefs where one’s thoughts may be covered in a mist—the discontinuity of a spiritual or religious lesson. I also see it as how directionless a person is if they have no spiritual or religious leader who can show them the path and live a modest and peaceful life. The ellipses after ‘mist’ let us pause and ponder more on things that are not clear to us, which may be misguided or misleading in many ways.

After ‘mist’, ‘faint whispers’ add more to the modification of religious practices that used to be followed by people to get inspiration and guidance for a righteous path. With time, certain voices have lost their strength, positive influence, and power which may be the cause of some worldly chaos.

I see ‘lost prophet’ here as a spiritual leader who helps us heal wounds of our soul and who inspires us as a role model to live an exemplary life full of compassion, kindness, and peace. In other words, this haiku might be implying that we don’t have much of a platform to explore and understand our spirituality currently. 

— Hifsa Ashraf

The haiku begins with perhaps a spring kigo in “river mist.” Coupled with the second part of the haiku, I feel the season is early spring with the word “whispers.”

The word “mist” connects well to “whispers” and even to “lost.” It’s a strongly visual haiku in that respect. You can see the mist move about the river, like the whispers of a lost prophet. The juxtaposition shows a comparison between nature and spirituality. It could be that the mist is the whispers themselves, or that the whispers are simply present in the river mist.

The idea of a lost prophet is intriguing. It could be that a prophet has passed away, is physically lost, or that the people have stopped listening to them.

Looking at the punctuation, the ellipses act as a kireji or cutting word that as Hifsa noted, allows us to pause and imagine the mist floating over the river. The haiku is stronger because of this effect.

The sense of sound in this haiku is something to pay keen attention to as well. The letter “r” struck me as the most important. It gave me the feeling of a moving river. Overall, the haiku has a soft reading to it that is reminiscent of whispers.

In terms of pacing, the haiku follows the standard English-language format of a short first line, a longer second line, and a short third line to approximate the original rhythm of Japanese haiku.

Salzer has done a fine job to combine spirituality, nature, and human limitations.

— Nicholas Klacsanzky

The first interpretation I was going for is the lost prophet signifies he or she has physically passed away. As the prophet takes their last breath, all that’s left of his/her life are faint whispers, Mother Earth, the endless river, and the mist. The mist could symbolize their spirit passing away/slowly evaporating into sunlight as the river of life flows on. When I saw the river mist in my mind’s eye, I felt an ethereal quality right away, and this led to writing about faint whispers. I also saw the evaporating mist as a kind of transfiguration. I appreciate how mist is water in a more subtle form that becomes nameless and formless. 

I also wrote ‘a lost prophet’ to describe how the prophet may feel lost in human civilization, i.e.  he or she doesn’t truly feel like they belong in human society. As a result, he or she retreats to Nature and finds their true home there, to such an extent that even their own words and teachings have become indiscernible and are only heard now as faint whispers. In other words, their life and teachings could now be Silence itself. It could be that the person has lost all labels, including the word ‘prophet.’ The sound of the river and his or her voice is all that remains instead of words. But the whispers are so faint, we and maybe even the prophet cannot know what they are saying. I intentionally left that open for the reader to hear maybe faint words in his or her whispers, maybe to hear their final words, but in a very gentle way; but the real message I’m going for is not found in words at all, but in the silences and in the sound of the river, and the Great Mystery and a deep wordless Love. 

In short, I wanted to describe a transition from someone being mentally pinned as ‘a prophet’ to the essence of the prophet’s Real teaching that is not found in words but in Nature and Silence. Now, the river’s mist is the whispers of the prophet, calling people back to Nature, to Real Spirit and Love. There is a mergence of identity when the prophet loses their mental labels. They are now unified with Mother Earth and the Divine Spirit as there are no longer any mental barriers. I was deeply inspired to show a wordless Love found in Nature in this haiku. 

I also wrote ‘a lost prophet’ to possibly mean the person has become physically lost in Nature. The person perhaps has left behind city life for good, but they were maybe not really prepared, and got lost in Nature, leading to their physical death. This circles back to the first interpretation. As the prophet takes their last breath and says their last faint whispers with hardly any physical strength left, what survives is Mother Earth and Spirit. I wanted to show perspective too, that the founding of religions is actually not very old compared to the history of Mother Earth Herself, and that the human race and human history is actually not very old either. But the prophet also may not necessarily be religious at all. I was actually leaning more towards a spiritual prophet outside of religion whose teachings revolve around Mother Earth.

There is another darker interpretation I thought about when writing this. I saw “a lost prophet” as someone who is mentally lost, who has gotten so caught up in the ‘prophet’ label and has a kind of ‘cult’ following. Some people may follow this prophet into Nature and suffer the consequences. When this lost prophet finally dies, the hollowness of their life is revealed in the mist, and their faint whispers and corrupt words have disappeared for good.

In this haiku, I also wanted to show how all verbal words are transient. Words appear and disappear, just like the mist.

In the end, I feel Nature will endure, and the Great Spirit. The Great Mystery will last. And Silence and Love.

— Jacob D. Salzer

Painting by M. Martin Vicente

Vladislav Hristov’s no man’s land

On By Nicholas KlacsanzkyIn Haiku2 Comments

no man’s land
between two graves
thin strip of grass

— Vladislav Hristov (Bulgaria)

Scarlet Dragonfly, May 20, 2022

Commentary

The first line is impactful because “no man’s land” is a term used during trench warfare (as the land between opposing trenches during a war). Such a desolate scene explains why this saying exists because no human survives in that stretch of land. However, in another sense, I think “no man’s land” could also mean a severe disconnect between humans and the Earth (i.e. it could mean two humans in this haiku didn’t feel connected with the land, but now their remains are buried in Mother Earth). Reclaiming land that was once seemingly devoid of life and labeled “no man’s land” shows the regenerative power of Mother Earth. Reincarnation also comes to mind as a possibility in the third line.

An impactful haiku that depicts the space between life & death, and between war & Nature.

— Jacob D. Salzer

The haiku starts with a strong statement of ‘no man’s land’, indicating the miseries of war. It shows how power and conflict end in nothing but annihilation. This also reminds us how irrelevant life and worldly boundaries are after the death of people in war. I also see it as a defeat where one may claim a piece of land after winning a war but that land is also used to bury victims.

‘Between two graves’ may symbolize two countries or boundaries of two countries that are doomed in a war, or destroyed enough to look like graves. I see it as the graves of unknowns who may be foes or feud but now are buried on the same land, side by side, facing the consequences of hate simultaneously.

I like the third line of this haiku which projects exactly the harsh realities and miseries that countries face due to disastrous conflicts. It shows despair, conflict, and cynicism that does not end even after a war. A ‘thin strip of grass’ may look like a sword, tongue, or the fragility of life after conflict which leads to more hatred and fear. It shows how one war leads to another where those in power do not think about martyrs or victims.

It’s a vicious cycle of hostility that goes on from one generation to another, from one country to another, and it ends nowhere but the massive destruction and death of countless precious lives.

— Hifsa Ashraf

One of the potent features of this haiku is its pivot in the second line. “between two graves” can lend to both the first and third lines. It can be read as “no man’s land between two graves/thin strip of grass” or “no man’s land/between two graves thin strip of grass.”

There is no mention or implication of a kigo (seasonal reference). Yet, kigoless haiku have been written for hundreds of years. These haiku are called muki.

In terms of toriawase, or how things are combined, we have the solemnity of the graves and the thin strip of grass. The grass, though occupying a small area, becomes enlarged in our minds. Its importance becomes significant and represents sadness and cynicism.

There is no punctuation, but this seems reasonable in order for the pivot line to work. In English-language haiku, often punctuation is omitted in favor of the line break and a pivot line.

The pacing is the standard of English-language haiku, which is a short first line, a longer second line, and a short third line. This format approximates the rhythm of Japanese haiku.

Looking at the sound, the letter “a” is the most prominent. These long syllables bring gravity to the haiku. The “o”s in the poem also elongate the syllables.

Lastly, the language is simple and the composition is concise while conveying a poignant scene. Hallmarks of fine haiku.

This haiku describes something we might have seen many times but have not given its due importance. The poem also displays a relationship between the natural world and humanity, no matter how slight. Even a small connection can feel big in the eyes of the perceiver.

— Nicholas Klacsanzky

Painting by Giles Watson. “Wayland’s Smithy.”

Jerome Berglund’s simpler time

On By Nicholas KlacsanzkyIn Haiku2 Comments

remembering
a simpler time
ghost apple

— Jerome Berglund (USA)
(previously published in Frogpond 46:1)

The word “ghost” provides a haunting effect in this haiku. It seems the third line is communicating that modern civilization will not likely return to simpler times. I appreciate how this haiku allows me to get transported into an apple orchard before computers and smartphones were invented. This haiku could even speak of times before electricity. As a result, I can experience a lot more silence, quality conversations, and a slower pace of life in those days.

This is an important haiku that speaks of the past, present, and perhaps hints at a haunting or consequential future. 

— Jacob D. Salzer

The first line of this haiku shows the ongoing thoughts or memories of a person who is enjoying the process of remembrance.
‘Remembering’ without punctuation gives no clue to the intensity of this cognitive process which gives readers enough room to take it as something easily coming to the mind or that maybe a person is struggling to recall something from the past.

A ‘simpler time’ may reflect a comfortable part of the past that has no expectations, hardships, or sophisticated lifestyles. It may be a childhood where a person is carefree and has more freedom to enjoy each moment of life fully; a time when a person has no responsibilities to fulfill. The word ‘simpler’ shows a person’s struggle to seek solace in remembering a time when life was not challenging.

‘Ghost apple’ hints at the season. It may be deep winter—a time when a person is more introspective or nostalgic. A ghost apple also symbolizes the illusion of memories, which manifests in denial when a person tries to escape from reality by shifting their focus from a difficult circumstance to something that can give sanctuary. This haiku might also be about the poet seeing a ghost apple as a child and might infer that it is better to focus on the here and now.

In terms of sound, the letter ‘m’ provides the mood of mystery of the past and present being simultaneous, which is happening silently within the person.

— Hifsa Ashraf

As Hifsa mentioned, the kigo for this haiku is probably winter. A ghost apple could mean several things, but most likely it is referencing the phenomenon when an apple is coated with freezing rain and then later becomes frozen itself. As the apple rots and gets mushy, it eventually slips out of the icy mold and the apple-shaped ice is left on the tree. It’s quite a spectacle.

The image in this haiku (ghost apple) has several interpretations. The ghost apple itself could be remembering a simpler time, but that is more abstract or personified. The other interpretation is that the poet is remembering a simpler time and sees the ghost apple as a representation of remembrance in a moment of realization. Remembrance is beautiful at times, but also “cold” like the dead or a ghost.

For the kireji, or punctuation as an approximation of a cut marker, the line break in the second line is enough. An ellipsis could work after the second line, though.

Looking at the pacing, the haiku matches the standard of English-language haiku, with a short first line, a longer second line, and a short third line. “ghost apple” comes as a surprise when it’s read on the page and even more when it’s read out loud.

In terms of Japanese aesthetics, we could say that this haiku contains aware or emotional or spiritual responses from seeing an object—especially its transitory nature. Just by seeing the ghost apple, the poet has been drawn into the dimension of remembrance, which triggers deep emotions of transience.

Hifsa made a great comment about the letter “m” but I also enjoy the letter “l” in this haiku. It gives a sense of sweetness and softness to the haiku.

Overall, this is a concise and effective haiku with a unique image, prompting profound imagination in the reader.

— Nicholas Klacsanzky

Photograph by Andrew Sietsema

Randy Brooks’ row

On By Nicholas KlacsanzkyIn Haiku3 Comments

digging potatoes
her story reaches the end
of the row

— Randy Brooks (USA)

Commentary

I appreciate how this haiku transports me to a farm, where digging potatoes is both a source of sustenance and a way to earn a living. I also appreciate how this haiku transports me back in time before we had cellphones and were more connected with the Earth. While this haiku may seem simple at first, I see deep implications. 

This haiku reminds me that words travel fast, but not always accurately. If the original story is heard by someone who tries to retell the story to someone else, the story can change subtly or more drastically from person to person. As a result, this haiku shows us the dangers of mistranslations and misunderstandings when stories are told and retold, especially by word of mouth. By the end of the row, the person may have heard a story that is much different from the original version. If this happens, there can be dissonance and profound consequences.

On the other hand, this haiku could have a positive connotation if her story is passed down accurately from person to person. Sharing stories was (and still is) a way to bond with each other and can help make the day more enjoyable too.

In Indigenous families, they have a remarkable way of preserving ancient stories by word of mouth from generation to generation. Storytelling is a deep and integral part of their culture and has continued over thousands of years. Many of their stories have also been recorded in English through books and transcripts. A good example is a book titled Indian Legends of the Pacific Northwest compiled by Ella E. Clark. I admire how Indigenous myths and legends contain important lessons that can be applied today, even though they are very old. 

I want to thank Randy Brooks for writing and sharing this haiku with us. This is an important philosophical and social haiku with depth and meaning.

 — Jacob D. Salzer 

It’s the ambience that makes this haiku concrete, digging into one’s life and seeing its harvest. This haiku also shows the hardship of a farmer’s life who expects something good in the end. Digging potatoes can relate to garnering a reward after the toil of work—a prize in the form of energy, taste, sustenance, and memories.

‘her story’ is a turning point in this haiku. It may tell us about the life of a farmer, a housewife, a worker, or a mother who has to feed her family. Digging potatoes may be correlated to planting dreams, wishes, or memories, and waiting for the harvest season for fruitful results. In this metaphorical harvesting, support (tools) aid her in gathering what she has worked towards.

This haiku is crafted very well. The words that are used let us wander through the various stories of her life. Her story reaching the end may reflect her ageing, fatigue, departure, failure, or success. The word ‘row’ in this haiku is carefully employed. From it, we can see the multi folds of this story that may indicate a poor family relationship, hardship without reward or encouragement, certain expectations from others of the harvest, or a dispute. The other side may be the row as a path that has taken her to her destiny, which may be both good and bad. I see here the chances we are given when we work hard. It depends on the path we have taken, the decisions or choices we have made, and the resilience or patience we have shown.

With no well-defined kigo, no punctuation, and an interesting line break in the second line, this haiku is worth reading again and again. It gives much for the reader to ponder.

— Hifsa Ashraf

As Hifsa mentioned, there is no particular kigo, or seasonal reference, implied in this haiku. However, with the best times to harvest potatoes being in August to September in Illinois (where the poet lives), we could place the poem in those months. With the melancholy mood of this haiku, I feel it could be September.

There is no kireji or cut marker, but there is a grammatical shift starting in the second line. In the interaction between the two parts of the haiku, it seems the potatoes could be a metaphor for the story of the person being referenced. Perhaps, her history is hearty and rich, yet relatable.

The use of the word “row” and “end” intrigues me. I see different levels for each word to be read into. The person in question could be narrating a story until she reaches the end of the row of potatoes. Or, it could be that the woman or girl could have planted the potatoes and they are her story. This could imply her passing. While digging out the potatoes, the poet could be taking out her story, one by one.

In terms of sound, the letter “o” attracts me the most. The elongated syllables make the haiku more plaintive, matching the mood. I feel the letter “r” accentuates the seriousness of the imagery,

Looking at the pacing, the lines follow the standard for English-language haiku of a short first line, a longer second line, and a short third line. This approximates the rhythm of traditional Japanese haiku.

Ultimately, it seems the most potent quality of this haiku is its white space and double meanings in its imagery. With these, the haiku resonates in unexpected ways.

— Nicholas Klacsanzky

“Woman Digging Up Potatoes,” Vincent van Gogh

Kelly Sargent’s campfire sparks

On By Nicholas KlacsanzkyIn Haiku2 Comments

campfire sparks 
teenagers
slip away

— Kelly Sargent (USA)

(published previously in Frogpond, 45:1, 2022; Touchstone Award for Individual Poems nominee 2022)

Commentary

“Campfire sparks” is a vivid image. It lets us pause and imagine the scene, which is realistic yet imaginative and subtle in several ways. One can wonder about the setting, which can be either a recreational camp or a refugee camp. It connects us with both sides of the story (visible/tangible and invisible/intangible) where one can see not only the mundane but also the spiritual side.

In addition, campfire sparks show transience but it also reflects how beautifully they are transformed from the ashes of wood into something that carves the darkness with their unique structure. However, they also demonstrate how our existence can become fragile over time, especially when it passes through hardship like the wood in a fire.

Teenage is a period where an individual’s personality is developing and reshaping. This is a stage of life when the focus can be more on heroism and risks that may end up in thrills and joy. Teenagers may concentrate less on lessons that nature displays than adults. Teenagers usually can’t see the subtlety or delicacy of life and its realities that spark off and on. This is shown in the closing line where the poet takes us from a vivid image to something that disappears either as part of the subconscious or as a memory.

With no punctuation and soft sounds in this haiku, the poem is more open for interpretation. I liked the way sparks are highlighted and well connected with perhaps the most significant part of life.

— Hifsa Ashraf

Campfire sparks are a powerful visual to start with. The sparks can speak to our primeval life and spirituality. The word “campfire” could be referring to a student camp or a fire made while camping—both are relatable for readers.

The focus on teenagers is interesting. It is a peculiar age to be, as one is in the middle of being a child and an adult. It is easy to be unsure of oneself at that age. With “slip away,” I feel there are several dimensions to it in the context of teenagers. The teens could simply be bored and want to go away to do other things instead of being around a campfire. Or, “slip away” could be more metaphoric in that teens often seem distant from parents and loved ones. It could also have a more somber meaning in that many teenagers commit suicide or follow a path that leads to an early death.

This kind of haiku is difficult to write in terms of the subject matter, but I believe the poet did well in keeping it simple and concise.

— Nicholas Klacsanzky

As a spark proceeds from the fire, it has been said jivas (individual souls) with their respective karma emanate from Shiva (universal Divinity). 

I feel the campfire could be a summer kigo, though I like that this haiku could apply to any season or time of year.

I feel the campfire resembles the emotions of teenagers (which are often difficult to self-manage) and passion. The teenagers slipping away could imply impatience and wanting to express love, away from society and its conditioning. I also see the fire as a symbol of the transience of a human lifetime, though I do believe in life after death. 

There is a balance of concrete imagery and mystery in this haiku, allowing us as readers to enter the experience in our own way. Teenage years are a challenging time. A powerful haiku.

— Jacob D. Salzer

Photo Credit: Public Domain

Agnieszka Filipek’s maidenhair fern

On By Nicholas KlacsanzkyIn Haiku1 Comment

old church wall
maidenhair fern
climbing to heaven

— Agnieszka Filipek (Ireland)
(previously published in The Remembered Arts Journal)

Commentary

In the first line, we get an image that communicates limitations and history. The word “old” in relation to the church wall is relative, given the structure stands on Mother Earth, who is much older. But of course, the old church also carries many years and memories within its walls. 

The focus on the church wall itself could be an image of old church ruins, though not necessarily. This interpretation could bring a sense of loss for people who once identified with the old church as part of their identity. Now all that remains could be fragments of its walls.

In the second and third lines, I feel a spiritual liberation, outside the confined physical and psychological walls of the church. I am reminded that Mother Earth Herself is the original cathedral, in which wisdom is not found in words, but in spiritual energies and silences. I am also reminded that stone structures will not stand the test of time, but Mother Earth has and prevails.

This is an important haiku that offers a portal into the limitations of certain organized religions and their architecture, juxtaposed with the ancient and mysterious power & silences of Mother Earth and the afterlife. A powerful haiku.

— Jacob D. Salzer

What drew me to this haiku was the image of the maidenhair fern climbing to “heaven.” There are a few things to unpack here. The lovely shape of maidenhair fern leaves is a sight of beauty, charm, and sweetness. This in contrast with the old church wall makes for a striking image. Also, maidenhair ferns have religious and/or spiritual significance, as noted by the website The Joy of Plants: 

“The scientific name Adiantum derives from the Greek and means roughly ‘does not get wet’. When it rains the stems droop and the water rapidly slides off the leaves, so that the plant itself does not appear to become wet. In the symbolism of plants the maidenhair fern therefore represents purity and innocence, meanings that also recur in the ancient legend that said that someone is still a virgin if they can hold a branch of maidenhair fern without the leaves moving.”

The mention of a virgin should direct you to the Virgin Mary, with various interpretations. But, it seems what is of more importance is that the fern is a symbol of purity and innocence in a place such as an old church. It gives me a thought of paganism versus organized religion and how the elemental world may once again reclaim power over our lives in the current international decline of religious fervor. This haiku also makes me contemplate how the natural world reclaims human-made structures with grace and quiet. 

The word “heaven” can relate to a religious heaven or the physical heavens or cosmos. There could also be a painting of heaven in the old church that the fern is climbing towards. 

In terms of kigo, or a seasonal reference, the maidenhair fern is found in Ireland from June to September. So, maybe it is a summer-to-early-autumn kigo. This haiku does not have punctuation or any other approximation to kireji (cutting word), but there is a clear grammatical break after the first line. Looking at the pacing, the lines do not follow the usual English-language haiku lengths of a short first line, a longer second line, and a short third line. However, I find making the last line longer as if the climb to heaven is arduous is suiting. Finally, the soft sounds of the letters “o” and “l” provide sensitivity to the reading. 

This is a haiku with judicious use of imagery and symbolism. It drives us to contemplate religion, the natural world, and original innocence. 

— Nicholas Klacsanzky

This is one of the best examples of metaphoric haiku where the opening line ‘old church wall’ makes it significant as it sets the direction. I wonder whether it is about a physical wall or used as an analogy where something protects or sets limits for certain beliefs. I take it as a traditional practice of religion or something/someone that holds their beliefs firm no matter how difficult the path is.

The maidenhair fern is quite delicate, though it can survive in a moderate environment. I see it as how balanced thoughts and beliefs help someone to achieve eternal blessings that may be referred to as ‘heaven’ in this case. The simple message behind this haiku may seem religious but it represents something universal: a way to live life by following the moderate path. This path can be rewarding here as well in the hereafter and brings happiness and satisfaction which one seeks as the most significant purpose of life.

— Hifsa Ashraf



Painting by Joni Murphy