Tag: Elliot Diamond

Haiku by Anne Kulou, Elliot Diamond, and Małgorzata Formanowska

On By Nicholas KlacsanzkyIn Haiku1 Comment

morning fog—
a crow’s cry piercing
the layers of light

— Anne Kulou (Germany)

Commentary by Nicholas Klacsanzky:

I have a soft spot for morning fogs and crows, so this haiku gravitated towards me. The ellipsis in the beginning grounds us in the scene, allowing the reader to imagine a beautiful, yet mysterious fog. “Fog” is a double entendre, lending to interpretations about the fuzziness of the mind and other psychological disturbances, such as the “fog of war.”

No matter if the fog is literal or figurative, the crow’s cry cuts through it, even in the calmness of the morning. The word “cry” is intriguing, as it humanizes the crow. We usually associate this magnificent bird with “caw” and something abrasive. But “cry” prompts us to feel sympathy, if not empathy, for the crow.

Morning fogs and crows point towards autumn. It is a time of sparseness, with just a little light coming through. Even that minuscule amount of brightness is sliced through by the cry of the crow, which highlights or intensifies the sense of autumn.

The power of this haiku centers around its vivid imagery, the play between sound and light, and the embodiment of the season. It also reads well, with open sounds in “o” and “i” strung throughout. These pleasant letters are contrasted with the stronger letters in “r” and “g,” which connect with the juxtaposition of fog and the cry of a crow that runs through it. The pacing of the lines is also measured and weighty, like walking through a fog.

This haiku brings back awe to common themes, which is a mark of knowing tradition well and utilizing our creative spirit.

siren song                                                                  
as a fire station                                                         
empty boots

— Elliot Diamond (USA)
first published in The Pan Haiku Review Issue 2 (Winter 2023), Kigo Lab Special, ed. Alan Summers

Commentary by Jacob D. Salzer: 

This is an important haiku that gives us a glimpse into the life of firefighters. This haiku seems to have a haunting quality, as the siren song could be the silence of the fire station itself. Even in the silence, we can hear the echoes of the siren. The siren song could also be exemplified by the red color of the fire station. It is interesting to include the word song in this haiku. This seems to give the siren added dimensions. It is no longer merely a siren, but a kind of song that seems to honor those who have left the occupation or passed away. It is a sound that marks the urgency of fighting a fire. There is no time to waste.

We also don’t know why the boots are empty. A firefighter could have retired, he/she/they could have left the job for another occupation, or the firefighter could have passed away. In all three scenarios, the darkness of the empty boots allows us to step into the shoes/boots of the firefighter, even for a moment. Regardless of our interpretations, this haiku shows the inherent dangers of being a firefighter, the sheer courage and strength it takes to be on the front lines of several fires, and the consequences. Indeed, firefighters sometimes risk their lives to save others. Additionally, this haiku may inspire readers to learn more about how to prevent fires, fire safety, and what to do during wildfires.

Interestingly, Indigenous Peoples have long known the importance of controlled fires to prevent wildfires. These controlled fires also allow ashes and nutrients to supplement the soil. I think we should take the time to learn from Indigenous Peoples who are excellent caretakers of the Earth.

This haiku first appeared in The Pan Haiku Review Issue 2 (Winter 2023), edited by Alan Summers. One unique aspect of this journal is Alan’s inclusion of additional context around certain poems. For this particular haiku by Elliot Diamond, Alan adds:

“What is the life expectancy of a firefighter in the United States? Life expectancy for firefighters is 10 years less than for individuals with other occupations. The frequency of leaving the job due to health problems was 60% higher among firefighters than among individuals working in other industries.

Seasonality and Coronary Heart Disease Deaths in United States Firefighters: https://www.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/pmc/articles/PMC3756551/

The September 11 attacks (New York City 2001) 9/11 by the numbers: 8:46 a.m. and 9:02 a.m. Time the burning towers stood: 56 minutes and 102 minutes. Time they took to fall: 12 seconds. From there, they ripple out. Number of firefighters and paramedics killed: 343 September 11 by Numbers New York Magazine Despite advancements in DNA technology, roughly 40% of the victims (1,100 people) thought to have died in the disaster, remain unidentified. CNN September 2023″

In summary, this is an important haiku that provides a window into the life of firefighters. I sincerely thank all firefighters who put their lives on the line. They have a heart of compassion and will attempt to save anyone, regardless of their race, ethnicity, gender identity, or background.

winter air
the fleeting shapes
of our breaths  

— Małgorzata Formanowska (Poland)
22nd Annual UKIAH Haiku Festival: Honorable Mention for the Jane Reichhold International Award

Commentary by Hifsa Ashraf:

This haiku captures a quiet moment in cold winter, phrased in a way that makes us feel it to our core. “Winter air” may be referring to the extreme cold that may occur before or after rain or snowfall. It is something invisible but still shows its existence in mysterious ways, i.e., breath clouds. The poet showcases the moment of visibility of the air in an imaginative way, where it suddenly takes shape briefly before it disappears. The yugen and ephemeral elements of this poem make it interesting, while also being easily relatable.

“The fleeting shapes” show the transience of life. Things come and go quickly, leaving a deep impact on our lives. Fleeting shapes may allude to the possibility that there are two persons in close proximity who are not only enjoying the warmth of their breath but also the shapes that it creates in dense air, which can intermingle and overlap with each other. It may also reflect melancholic feelings, with the person being alone and enjoying the shapes of breath even in chilly weather, or being so focused on something, and then the poet gets distracted by the shapes of breath. In any case, it is a subtle awareness where breath is a symbol of life, and seeing it appear and disappear in winter air evokes the fragility and temporary nature of existence.

Looking at the sound, the frequent use of vowels in this haiku emphasizes the subtle connectivity that exists in moments but leaves strong effects behind.

Sumi-e by Carolyn Fitz

Haiku by Elliot Diamond, Hifsa Ashraf, and R.C. Thomas

On By Nicholas KlacsanzkyIn Haiku1 Comment

oil spill fish blowing bazooka bubbles

— Elliot Diamond (USA)
Failed Haiku, issue 98.1, 2024

Commentary from Jacob D. Salzer:

I appreciate this one-line haiku for revealing one of the severe consequences of oil spills. In a broader sense, this haiku is also showing the inherent economical and environmental dangers of oil dependency in modern civilization.

The word “bazooka” can refer to chewing Bazooka gum. The bazooka bubbles could visually resemble the bubbles created by fish. However, a bazooka is also a military weapon. In this monoku, the bazooka seems to signify not only a war between humans, but a war between humans and the Earth. More specifically, limited human viewpoints and ideologies (that see Nature as only resources to be extracted) leads to harm and war, which also harms ourselves, in many ways. If we want to lead healthier lives, I think we need to protect the Earth and call on Indigenous wisdom.

The strong “b” sound echoes in this monoku with the sonic impact of the oil spill and the bazooka. Even so, because sound is muffled underwater, I also feel a kind of deathly quiet in this poem.

In short, this is an important monoku that shows the dangers of oil. However, it is more than a poem as it can also inspire a social call to action.

old snow
unfolding mom’s
bridal gown

— Hifsa Ashraf (Pakistan)
ESUJ-H, September, 2025

Commentary from Nicholas Klacsanzky:

The contrast between “old snow” and “bridal gown” jumped out at me. Both are white, but with “old” and “mom’s,” we understand that both the bridal gown and snow are tainted in some way. From the poem, I get the feeling that either the poet’s mother has passed away, or is simply passing on her bridal gown as a form of heritage. Both images point to transience and create a sense of harmony between nature and human life (toriawase).

With the mention of “old snow,” I feel the seasonal reference, or kigo, is late winter. With the time being on the cusp of spring, it relates to a new beginning, such as a wedding—especially with the reference to being “mom’s bridal gown,” showing the passage of time leading to a new future.

The act of unfolding suggests a form of reverence. It also makes readers ponder questions about the haiku: why is the gown being unfolded now? Is this an act of remembrance or preparation? Finally, “unfolding” also mirrors the melting of now.

Though there is no punctuation in this haiku besides the possessive marker, the kireji, or cut, is felt in the line break in line one. However, with the lack of punctuation, the haiku can be read either as two parts or as one flowing part. Both readings are valid, and perhaps the poet wanted to leave more interpretations open for the reader through the lack of punctuation.

The pacing, however, is quite traditional. With a short first line, longer second line, and shorter third line, this haiku aligns with the traditional Japanese haiku rhythm of 5-7-5 sound units (not syllables). Following this rhythm usually allows the poet to make the haiku brief and colloquial in language.

Overall, this haiku embodies the qualities of seasons, subtle emotion, and the revelation that arises from an unforced contrast/comparison that lends to multi-layered reading.

hard-boiled summer
a busboy’s smile
begins to crack

— R.C. Thomas (UK)
Frogpond, 46.1, Winter 2023

Commentary from Hifsa Ashraf:

The opening line, “hard-boiled summer,” presents a rich, multi-layered metaphor. At one level, it conveys the intensity of extreme heat—affecting both mind and body. On another level, it could be describing a person who is emotionally hardened or indifferent. There is also a clever allusion to hard-boiled eggs—thoroughly cooked, contained, and under pressure—suggesting both physical heat and psychological tension. The poet skillfully invites the reader to navigate these interpretations without losing the poem’s emotional depth.

The second line, “a busboy’s smile,” operates both literally and symbolically. It may express a fleeting moment of joy, perhaps the result of brisk business during the summer heat, or act as a mask worn over exhaustion. Extending the egg metaphor, the smile becomes the uncracked surface of a hard-boiled egg—calm, polished, but under pressure. One might also associate egg yolk with the golden light of summer.

The concluding line, “begins to crack,” conveys a subtle shift. It suggests the gradual collapse of composure, whether the smile breaking under heat and fatigue, or the beginning of an emotional unraveling. The metaphor completes itself with the image of an egg’s shell cracking, revealing vulnerability beneath the surface.

This haiku masterfully intertwines climate, emotion, hardship, and human resilience, using layered imagery to reflect on the strain of daily labor in harsh conditions. Finally, the repetition of the letter ‘b’ in this haiku evokes a gentle, calming rhythm, subtly reflecting the sense of ease that follows the unfolding of a mystery.

Isolation Peak, Lawren Harris (Canadian, 1885–1970), oil on canvas, © Family of Lawren S. Harris

Haiku by Elliot Diamond, Neena Singh, and Jennifer Gurney

On By Nicholas KlacsanzkyIn Haiku5 Comments

the first hole of a shakuhachi dawn 

— Elliot Diamond (USA)
Modern Haiku 55.2, 2024

Commentary from Nicholas Klacsanzky:

This haiku succeeds in seamlessly layering sound and imagery to create a spiritual atmosphere. It juxtaposes the shakuhachi—an ancient Japanese bamboo flute—with the unfolding of dawn. The “first hole” can be read both literally, as the finger-hole that allows the first note to emerge, and metaphorically, as an aperture through which the first light of day enters the world. It also could be a symbol of a threshold between silence and sound, darkness and light. The shakuhachi’s connection with Zen practice further shades the image with spiritual awakening: dawn not only as a time of day, but also as a symbol of enlightenment.

The haiku, being one line, creates a representation of the shakuhachi. It could have been written as three lines, such as “dawn/the first hole/of a shakuhachi.” However, I feel the haiku is more organic and interesting as one line.

The diction is minimal, yet the resonance is wide: the reader can hear the first note, feel the cool breeze of dawn, and perhaps see the bamboo hollowed into an instrument. In addition, the phrasing enjoyably blurs instrument and environment. What we’re left with is not just an instrument or a sunrise but a moment of initiation, where time seems to exhale through the flute.

Though there is no kigo or seasonal reference, the time is evident. There is also no kireji or marker for a break, though there can be a natural pause after “shakuhachi.”

Finally, the sound of the haiku works well with the letter “h” being the most prominent. The breathiness of the letter “h” in “hole and “shakuhachi” illustrates blowing into a flute.

Despite the minimalist aesthetic of this haiku, the poet leaves a lot for the reader to ponder and feel through inner vision.

summer solstice
the busker plays
a tune from home

— Neena Singh (India)
2nd Prize, Japan Fair Haiku Contest 2025

Commentary from Hifsa Ashraf:

The haiku’s imagery, anchored by the summer solstice kigo, evokes solitude and introspection through a busker’s tune played from home. The solstice’s long daylight amplifies the sense of isolation, yet the music serves as a cathartic bridge to an unseen audience, blending self-fulfillment with a subtle yearning for connection. The summer solstice, with its prolonged daylight, casts a spotlight on the busker’s solitary performance, evoking and highlighting both isolation and self-awareness.  I see the poem as a catharsis and self-awareness where an artist thoroughly enjoys their talent without having an audience or the audience is unseen.

The haiku conveys the busker’s enjoyment of solitude, longing, or melancholy in the deepest way. The poem balances solitude and loneliness, suggesting the busker finds fulfillment in their music while possibly yearning for the connection typically found in public performance. If rooted in a Japanese context, the busker’s solitary tune might reflect a Zen-inspired embrace of the present moment, deepening the poem’s meditative quality. In any case, it is irrelevant to the person who may be in a meditative state of selflessness or enjoying being alone, only with what they enjoy the most. It also makes me wonder: does the poem suggest the busker imagines an audience, or is the music itself a bridge to an abstract sense of connection?
A “tune from home” could imply the busker is playing from within their home, possibly for an unseen audience. However, buskers traditionally perform in public spaces for passersby, so the shift to a private setting might be a deliberate contrast in the poem, symbolizing introspection or a lack of external validation.

Looking at the technical details, the lack of punctuation and the rhythmic ‘m’ sounds mirror the tune’s fluidity, creating a meditative tone that resonates with both the busker’s inner world and the listener’s sense of belonging.

the branches
of my family tree
together

— Jennifer Gurney (USA)
Cold Moon Journal, 6/19/25

Commentary from Jacob D. Salzer:

I appreciate how this haiku offers at least a few different interpretations. After the first read, I saw many lives joined through her family heritage. This seems to be a relatively simple metaphor, but it can act as a portal into the details of many family members and their stories. After reading a second time, I saw the branches as fallen and now physically gathered together. This leads to an interesting metaphorical interpretation that perhaps the souls of her family ancestors could be together in a different dimension. After a third reading, I saw the poet viewing a historical family album and/or a historical document/book about her ancestors.

As a creative writing exercise, I recently wrote a letter to my first great-grandfather, who settled in the U.S. I tried my best to transport myself back in time and asked many questions about his life. In addition, my father shared historical records of our ancestors. This has deepened my understanding of our family tree and makes me realize how much has changed in a relatively short amount of time. All this being said, I appreciate how this haiku encourages us to study our genealogy and history to see what we can learn about our ancestors and ourselves.

Suzuki Harunobu (circa 1725-1770). Courtesan playing Shakuhachi. Page from: Ehon Seiro Bijin Awase (Picture Book of comparative beauties of teahouses).