lattice window —
the lacemaker pauses
to gaze at the moon

© Hortensia Anderson (19??-2012) (USA)
tinywords, December 24, 2004

Before giving commentary on this haiku, let’s get to know Hortensia Anderson first. Hortensia Anderson is the author of numerous chapbooks as well as a volume of poetry, Trust (fly-by night press, 1995). She maintained an interest in renga and other forms of collaborative poetry with other poets around the world and explored paintings by Frido Kahlo and Georgia O’Keeffe via ekphrastic poems.

Her work has been published in Frogpond, The Heron’s Nest, Ribbons, Simply Haiku, The Mainichi Daily News, Asahi Haikuist Network, tinywords, Lynx, Haijinx, Hermitage, Woodnotes, South by Southeast, Modern English Tanka Quarterly, Contemporary Haibun, Haibun Today,Prune Juice, Ambrosia, Concise Delight, Modern Tanka and Haibun Prose, and moonset.

Awards and Other Honors include: Best of 2002: Haiku in English, The Mainichi Daily News; 5th Annual Suruga Baika Winner; Honorable Mention, Mainichi Contest (2003); Tanka Splendor Awards (2003, 2004); and Third Prize, Kusamakura (2004).

Her work has been selected to appear in various anthologies, including edge of light: The Red Moon Anthology of English-Language Haiku 2003 (Red Moon Press, 2004), dust of summers: The Red Moon Anthology of English-Language Haiku 2007 (Red Moon Press, 2008); Rose Haiku for Flower Lovers and Gardeners (Price-Patterson, Ltd., 2005); The Five-Hole Flute (MET Press, 2006); The Tanka Prose Anthology (MET Press, 2008); Ash Moon Anthology: Poems on Aging (Lulu Press, 2008); and Take Five: Best Contemporary Tanka (MET Press, 2009).

Books Published: Trust ( fly-by-night press, 1994) [ISBN 0-9639585-1-8]; Georgia on My Mind (Imp Press, 1992); Awareness of Rose (Imp Press, 1993); Beg, Borrow or Steal (Betty Elyse Press, 1994); Living in Frida’s Body (Imp Press, 1995); The Plenitude of Emptiness: Collected Haibun (Darlington Richards, 2010). [Adapted from The Living Haiku Anthology]

Commentary

As you can see, Anderson was a widely respected haijin (haiku poet) and one can see clearly why in this haiku. We start with a unique first line: “lattice window —”. A lattice is a structure consisting of strips of wood or metal crossed and fastened together with square or diamond-shaped spaces left between, used as a screen or fence or as a support for climbing plants. So, it seems the poet is talking about a window screen in the form of a lattice.

But from the second line, “the lacemaker pauses,” we understand the lattice is made out of either cotton, silk, or a different thread. I enjoy how the word “pauses” is at the end of the second line as an actual pause. If gives us suspense and maybe a moment of silence for ourselves.

In the third line, we get to know why the lacemaker was pausing: “to gaze at the moon.” And directly after envisioning this in our minds, we see a correlation between the lace and the moon: its white color and its softness (the moon’s light and symbolism). Also, we have a relation between space: close and far. Haiku often contrast distances to demonstrate many things, or to show an emotion. The lacemaker, in this instance, might feel guilty for building a lace to partially block the splendor of the moon.

We do not know the true reason why the lacemaker looks at the moon, though, but there could be multiple reasons: the beauty of the moon is enchanting, the lacemaker sees something spiritual in the moon, the lacemaker recognizes that the lace and the moon have a correlation and ponders it, or the lacemaker might feel some pull to give up worldly life for a spiritual life, seeing the contrast between his or her lace and the majesty of the moon.

Whatever the reason is exactly, or if there is no reason other than what is, this haiku has a feeling of reverence to it, especially when it is read out loud. There is a spiritual tinge to it that is hard to pin down, but you can feel it.

The dash used in the first line points to the calmness of the moment. The lines are paced in common fashion for English haiku, with a short first line, longer second line, and short first line. In terms of sound, the strongest letter is “a,” which seems to increase the reverential mood of the haiku.
A meditative, spiritual haiku, I believe Hortensia Anderson got to the essence of this form with this poem.

– Nicholas Klacsanzky (Ukraine)

autumn wind
I’m the pomegranate
I’m its branch

© Lucia Fontana (Italy)
The Mainichi, November 3, 2016

In the first line, we get a direct kigo, or seasonal reference for autumn. Also, the pomegranate is a typical kigo for mid-autumn. Autumn is a month that is often serious and introspective, though it showcases beautiful colors. It is when things are dying all around—leaves, blossoms, fruits, and more—but yet they pass away in such riveting displays that sometimes it almost seems nature is trying to open our hearts to it.

An autumn wind can make the process of life crumbling come faster, and can push the already frail down. In its chilling sound, a melancholy arises that is hard to depict.

However, the world still has compassion. One of the prime things Japanese poetry tries to show is the human heart, especially in relation to nature. In the last two lines of the haiku, the poet expresses, in my opinion, compassion and a connection to the pomegranate tree.

Either metaphorically or scientifically, the poet is expressing her direct connection with nature. Maybe she sees something in the pomegranate tree that is like her, or maybe she is expressing that in reality, there is no separation between things—the space between entities is filled with vibrating atoms and on an atomic level, it is difficult to discern any real separation. In fact, there can physically be no space that contains nothing. In this way, we are connected by an infinite spread of life, all with no space between us.

In this expression of connection, the poet is calling out to the pomegranate tree and says: “You are not alone. In fact, I am actually you, and feel your suffering.” It is a consolation.

Coming down from these philosophical thoughts, we can look at the haiku technically. The lines are paced naturally, with a short first line, a longer second line, and short third line (which is the most common way to pace lines for haiku in English). In regard to sound, the letter “i” features strongly, and I believe it makes the consolation more convincing. The letter “m” on the other hand, supplies a soothing feeling.

Overall, the haiku gives off an atmosphere of both distress and tranquility. This mix of feelings is crucial for haiku to stand the test of time. If a haiku is one-sided, there is less one can get from it. The best haiku have layers of meaning and ultimately, feeling.

– Nicholas Klacsanzky (Ukraine)

last day of autumn:
and still the sunset lingers
in a one-way street.

© Eric W. Amann (Canada) (1934 – 2016)
(Modern Haiku 1:1, 6)

Before I comment on this haiku, let’s learn a bit about Eric W. Amann. One of the most influential figures in the formative years of the haiku movement in Canada was Toronto medical doctor and poet Eric Amann. He was born in Munich in 1934. In 1952, Eric and his family emigrated to Chester, Pennsylvania. In 1953, Eric was drafted for the Korean War and escaped to Winnipeg where he stayed with family friends from Munich. He earned his medical degree in 1961.

As many other poets in the 1960s, Amann’s interest in haiku was sparked by the six volumes written by R.H. Blyth. After reading and writing haiku for several years, Eric Amann edited and published the first Canadian haiku magazine Haiku from 1967-1970. Under Amann’s editorship, Haiku rapidly became one of the most influential North American periodicals, publishing experimental as well as classical work. After a hiatus of seven years, during which he engaged in other kinds of writing, in 1977 Amann returned to haiku with a new magazine Cicada (from 1977-1982) which immediately achieved a similar status. The same year, Eric Amann, Betty Drevniok, and George Swede founded the Haiku Society of Canada, which later in 1985 was renamed Haiku Canada. Eric served as its first president during 1977-79. In 1979, Eric Amann also published one issue of konkret [a journey into the concrete and visual].

In the preface to the 1986 edition of The Haiku Anthology, Cor van den Heuvel wrote that “Haiku and Cicada [were] perhaps English language haiku’s most influential magazines [and that they] are still unsurpassed for excellence in both content and design, though both have ceased publication.”

Eric W. Amann sadly passed away in July 2016 and left a huge void in the international haiku community.

While writing about the significant achievement of one of the pioneers of English-language haiku, Richard Stevenson states: “For Eric Amann, the ideal is to capture the ‘ah experience’ or ‘a mood of serene calm and beauty.’ The form may vary from the traditional three-line, 5-7-5 syllable count to the one-line portrait; it may even be stretched to include the “mutational possibilities” of senryu, vertical, visual, and sound haiku.” – (Richard Stevenson in Canadian Literature, Spring 1985) [adapted from The Living Haiku Anthology]

Commentary

First, I want to say that for a reason I can’t explain, I got into a deep meditative state while reading this haiku and this is the main reason I selected this haiku. Just imagining the imagery presented in the haiku brought me to a change in consciousness. That is what a real haiku, or any poem, should do. As Emily Dickinson said, “If I feel physically as if the top of my head were taken off, I know that is poetry.” And that is exactly what I felt while reading this haiku.

It is a common haiku aesthetic to show the continuity of something. But the way Amann has presented this aesthetic is unique. The one-way street makes us, as readers, give our full attention to the sunset, and signifies that autumn may in fact be present in every season.

The sunset itself is a representation of autumn: though it is a day dying, it shows death in a beautiful way by showcasing the rich colors of life. With the imagery of the sunset lingering in a one-way street, the author must have felt that this is all of autumn being shown, or that autumn was giving its last display as a kind of a last expenditure. In a sense, we can say autumn did not give up being itself to the very end, and as mentioned before, maybe this is an indication that autumn never truly fades throughout the seasons (especially since we can see sunsets each day of the year).

The one-way street can signify many things. It could mean all seasons are all the same, the way of life is singular, or that autumn is only itself, in its melancholy glory… and many more interpretations are possible. However, I think the best thing to do is to read this haiku as it is and let the imagery soak in your mind and you will get the real experience of this haiku.

The “s” letter features strongly in the haiku, reflecting the sound of leaves rustling. The lines are paced in the classical way for English haiku: short line-longer line-short line. Though the punctuation being used, such as the colon and period, might seem strange to readers now, it was regularly used at the time this was written. But there is nothing wrong with the use of the colon and period, as kireji (cutting words, or punctuation in English) was often used at the end of haiku in Japanese and colons are still in use in English haiku.

To read more haiku by Eric W. Amann, visit: http://terebess.hu/english/haiku/amann.html

– Nicholas Klacsanzky (Ukraine)