Gareth Nurden – Haiku Commentary

civil twilight
around the old parish
the halogen glow of snow

— Gareth Nurden (Wales)

Commentary by Nicholas Klacsanzky:

What initially got me interested in this haiku was the first line, “civil twilight.” I had to look it up, and found out that it means “the brightest of the three twilight phases, occurring when the sun is between the horizon and 6° below the horizon. It provides enough natural light for most outdoor activities, often making artificial lighting unnecessary. It begins in the morning before sunrise and ends in the evening after sunset” (National Weather Service). I never saw this kigo being used, and I was impressed by its sense of sound. The running of “i” and “l” through the line makes it sing.

The second line further sets the scene and serves as a pivot between the first and third lines. The lack of punctuation helps this pivot succeed. The word “parish” is wonderful in its specificity, while “old” adds to the “l” sound in the first line and creates a contrast of times.

Though the first line introduced the time of day, the last line features the season: winter. This supplies a direct comparison between the state of the parish and the stark season it now inhabits. The word “halogen” is a brilliant touch, not just from an imagistic standpoint but also from a mood perspective. The radioactive glow of halogen is reminiscent of war, industry, science, and more. However, the take that stuck with me is the relation to the aftermath of war. The old parish is most likely in ruin (physically or metaphorically), and the halogen of snow magnifies this fact. The snow and twilight did not intend to illustrate the old parish’s wrecked state, but it did in the poet’s eyes, and maybe in the eyes of others around. On another note, the third line keeps with “l” and “o” sounds that blend musically with the second line, and some of the first line.

The relationship between civil twilight and the halogen glow of snow creates toriawase, or a skillful combination of different elements. Though both of these parts are of nature, the old parish brings in a human and spiritual element. This adds another layer to the toriawase.

This haiku is understated and unfolds with meaning with each line and word. It brings in time, seasons, and the connection between human architecture and spirituality with the natural world. It is a contemplative work that delivers through excellent diction, imagery, and phrasing.

red alert
the umbrella seller sits back
to enjoy his tea

— Sathya Venkatesh (India)
published in haikuKATHA, issue #44, 2025

Commentary by Hifsa Ashraf:

The haiku presents a striking shift in mood, moving from danger or urgency to quiet ease. The opening line, “red alert,” signals danger or impending disruption, immediately creating tension and uncertainty. Without punctuation, it allows readers to imagine various interpretations, the most common ones maybe a storm, heavy rain, or another natural calamity.

The second line introduces an umbrella seller that subtly hinting at the nature of the alert. Umbrellas suggest rain or rain related disasters. Yet instead of reacting with alarm, the seller seems to be relaxed, creating a contrast between the urgency and the utter relaxation.

In the final line, “to enjoy his tea,” there is a quiet sense of ease, even a hint of enjoyment. The umbrella seller appears untroubled, suggesting that what brings concern to some may offer opportunity or simply remain an ordinary moment to others.

The overall imagery can be read as revealing a colder, more self-interested side of human nature, where one benefits from circumstances that may trouble many. At the same time, the haiku remains open to multiple interpretations and invites the reader to consider both its subtle implications and its silences.

A haibun:

while reading ryokan’s poetry

i thought about the annual christmas parade in boonton, new jersey. held right after black friday on main street with fire trucks and floats for every local business. the high school marching band, the politicians, the VFWs, the church choirs, the boy and girl scouts and all the neighbors lining up and down the road, taking selfies and tossing confetti with the first falling snow. and if i was his pupil, i would try to convince ryokan to join me in the festivities . . . yet i would imagine, he would convince me to join him near the rockaway river, right near its small falls, far away from all activities and ask me to just listen.

late autumn moon;
eventually the town sleeps
but never the river

— Anthony Lusardi (USA)
first published in failed haiku, issue #111, September 2025

Commentary by Jacob D. Salzer:

This is an intriguing haibun where modern culture collides with Nature. The parade and modern culture also contrast with the monastic life of a Japanese poet, calligrapher, and Zen Buddhist priest, Ryōkan, who lived in the 18th and 19th centuries. The annual Christmas parade is loud and full of bright colors, sounds, and music, flashing phone cameras, confetti, etc. The parade is happening after Black Friday, when people buy things that day at discounted prices, but it can also involve physical violence and be dangerous. This kind of stimulation at the parade and during Black Friday can easily activate the human sympathetic nervous system (fight, flight, or freeze).

By contrast, the life of Ryōkan is strongly aligned with the beauty of Nature, without loud sounds or other excessive multisensory stimulation. The atmosphere of his life in Nature easily activates our parasympathetic nervous system (rest and digest), where we can relax, while being fully alert and present.

In this haibun, a powerful example of the collision between two worlds is “tossing confetti with the first falling snow.” With Ryōkan’s life and perspective in mind, perhaps the poet is ultimately starting to see modern culture as a kind of distraction that has established traditions, but are ultimately short-lived, while our true home is found in Nature and a quiet mind.

According to Britannica: “Ryōkan (born 1758, Izumozaki, Japan—died Feb. 18, 1831, Echigo province) was a Zen Buddhist priest of the late Tokugawa period (1603–1867) who was renowned as a poet and calligrapher. The eldest son of a village headman, he became a Buddhist priest at about the age of 17 under the religious name of Taigu Ryōkan. When he was 21 he met an itinerant monk, Kokusen, and followed him to his temple, Entsū-ji, at Tamashima, Bitchū province. He followed a life of monastic discipline there for 12 years. After Kokusen’s death he traveled to various parts of Japan as a mendicant priest. In old age he returned to his native Echigo province, where he studied the Man’yōshū and ancient calligraphy. He developed a strong master-pupil relationship with a young nun, Teishin, who after his death compiled Hachisu no tsuyu (1835; “Dew on the Lotus”), a collection of his haiku and waka poems. He also executed many pieces of calligraphy that are esteemed for their elegant beauty.”

Interestingly, there is no capitalization found in this haibun, aside from VFW’s (which I learned means Veterans of Foreign Wars, which is an organization representing U.S. veterans who have served in overseas conflicts). The lowercase words in this haibun seem to create a tone of humility.

In short, this is an intriguing haibun that offers social commentary on modern culture and the importance of being in Nature. It also provides a small window into the life of Ryōkan and Zen Buddhism. Despite our technological advances, cities will rise and fall with time, but Nature will remain. A powerful haibun.