abandoned village
her yellow raincoat jumps
in and out of silence

© Ken Sawitri (Indonesia)
Chrysanthemum 18, October 2015

This haiku brings us vivid imagery and mystery. The first line by itself is a powerful image that automatically leaves us wondering why the village was abandoned. The image of “her yellow raincoat jumps” adds another layer of mystery as to who “her” is in the haiku. Focusing on line two, I imagine a small raincoat rising and falling on the waves of a tsunami. The last line brings yet another layer of mystery and the dimension of sound. We don’t know what the other sounds are against the background of silence: perhaps only spurts of rain, the sound of waves, or perhaps distant explosions, or gusts of wind (or a combination of all of these). There is a haunting quality to this haiku. Each word supports the total effect, using descriptive imagery while the meaning, emotion(s), and interpretation is left to the reader. An excellent haiku.

– Jacob Salzer

To add to what Jacob has written, I enjoy the Zen in the state of probable chaos or despair. The yellow jacket and paying attention to it brings us into the moment. I like how this haiku shows detachment and the power of it.

But on the other hand, the image of the yellow raincoat can be quite emotional. It maybe is all that is left of her, the subject of the haiku, acting alive somewhat by jumping, either on wind, waves, or something else. It might make the witness of it cry and feel the true loss of the girl or woman who has either been lost or has died.

In terms of sound, the “i” sound features prominently, making the reading of it more stark and the intenseness of the situation more palpable. The “l” sound also gives a hand in creating a solemn mood.

The pacing of the words and the lines works well to convey the somber atmosphere. The more we as a readers take in this haiku, the more concern we have for the subject of it. I think ultimately this haiku opens our hearts and makes us concerned about the wellbeing of others, even strangers.

– Nicholas Klacsanzky (Ukraine)

after our argument
fireflies
on the way home

© Olivier Schopfer (Switzerland)

(Polish International Haiku Competition 2014, commended haiku, & Under the Basho : Personal Best 2015)

The first line brings about something common in our lives: arguments. But you know what they say: we fight with the ones we love. Anyways, if haiku are grounded in everyday experiences, it is a plus. One of the worst things a haiku writer can do is be too abstract, grand, or flowery.

I like how the second line stands on its own with one word. Also, the format makes it even more stark and emphasized, being a short line between two longer lines. It also creates a pivot to the third line, and we as readers expect a surprise.

With the third line, I get a visual of a couple walking down an evening street and fireflies surrounding them. The couple is not saying a word, as they are bitter after their argument. However, the fireflies provide either a comforting light, a romantic atmosphere, or an extra light for each partner to look at each other after their argument and maybe assess their state. Either way you look at it, the fireflies, whether they know it or not, are showing a sign of compassion. It is a paradox: though animals may not know they are harbingers of compassion, sincerity, and love, they often are. They frequently are mirrors for ourselves, so that we look at life with a renewed sense of positivity.

The openness of interpretation with the presence of fireflies I think is the key to this haiku. It gives so much to the imagery and stories readers could create in their minds. It sets several moods at the same time, making this a diverse haiku, despite it seeming simple at first glance.

In terms of sound, it seems “a” features the strongest in “after,” “argument,” and “way.” You can say the “a” is bright like the fireflies when we recite the haiku out loud and adds to the seemingly positive mood of the haiku, despite its first line.

Olivier used the right amount of words and right pacing of the lines to create an emotional, stark haiku. I think “fireflies” are an appropriate seasonal reference (for all seasons) for a haiku that has all types of emotions resonating within it.

– Nicholas Klacsanzky (Ukraine)

on the plum tree
one blossom, one blossom worth
of warmth

– Hattori Ransetsu (Japan) (1654-1707)

Before I delve into the haiku, let me mention a bit about Ransetsu’s life. Born in 1654, his name first appeared in literary circles with the 1680 publication of two anthologies under Basho’s name, which included works by both Ransetsu and Kikaku. Obviously Basho thought highly of his student’s writing if he collaborated in a joint production when Ransetsu was only twenty-six.

In the winter of 1702, Ransetsu was obviously well established as a poet because he circulated a New Year Haikai Ichimazuri—the sort of poem that was not offered for sale but distributed on a single sheet of quality paper among fellow haijins (poets).

When Basho died, Ransetsu shaved his head and became a Buddhist monk, perhaps an indication that he closely shared Basho’s later life preoccupation with Buddhism and inclination towards monastic life. Certainly, retirement to a monastery ruled out any possibility of a Ransetsu school and of disciples in whose interests it would be to promote his life and works.

Nothing seems to be known of his death other than the year of its occurrence, 1707, just five years after his New Year Haikai’s circulation, when he was fifty-three. Like his contemporaries, Ransetsu was concerned with time passing, with the transience of beauty, with capturing the unity of humankind and the natural order in the experience of natural phenomena and universal processes.

A hallmark of Ransetsu’s work is his compassion for all living things and their condition. [adapted from the World Kigo Database]

Now onto looking at the haiku. Plum blossoms are an indication of early spring in Japan, and widely loved among Japanese people. They are a symbol of refinement, purity, nobility, and also a reminder of past love. In addition, Japanese tradition holds that the plum blossom functions as a protective charm against evil. The plum tree is traditionally planted in the northeast of a garden, the direction from which evil is believed to come. Also, the eating of its pickled fruit for breakfast is supposed to stave off misfortune.

So, there is a lot behind the reference to a plum tree and its blossoms, especially in Japan. But more importantly, even in translation, this haiku carries strong emotion. It is a special feeling that is difficult to describe, but the best I can do is say it gives an emotion of the beauty of the moment and preciousness of life.

Warmth is such a wide word, especially in the context of this haiku (Ransetsu was known to be quite an austere person as well). Warmth could mean a shielding from the winds of winter, could mean feeling warm from the beauty of the blossom, or the warmth of blossom against one’s nose when smelling it, or it touching the skin, and so on. But after reading this haiku, the reader may get the impression, intuitively, that though it is one blossom, its impact is more than it looks. Its impact is as strong on a viewer as a whole plum tree full of blossoms, and maybe more.

This play of the singular and plural makes up a classic haiku aesthetic. It is kind of like blurring the lines between quantity, and possibly the lines between infinity and emptiness.

In this sense, the single plum blossom is priceless and fathomless, and can only be understood in awe. This may correlate to Ransetsu’s Zen affiliation, where infinity and emptiness eventually lose meaning, and only the moment matters. Enlightenment, suffering, mere concepts compared to the awareness of the moment.

– Nicholas Klacsanzky (Ukraine)