Eva Limbach’s Gods

all those Gods
I lost and found
dandelion fluff

Sonic Boom Journal, 2016
© Eva Limbach (Germany)

The first thing that struck me about this haiku was the capitalization of “Gods” instead of “gods.” Grammatically, “gods” is preferred in most cases, but in this haiku, I believe the author is giving respect to each god she has encountered, loved, and may have freed herself of.

What also made me turn my head was the striking juxtaposition between gods and dandelion fluff. So much can be implied:

1) All gods are same, essentially.

2) All gods share the same purpose.

3) Which god we choose to worship may not be that important after all.

4) Like dandelion fluff, gods drift in and out favor.

… and maybe much more.

Another part of the haiku that got me interested in it is the use of “I’ instead of just keeping it as “all those gods/lost and found.” Bringing in a personal side to the issue adds weight, and allows readers to identify with the experience of the haiku, rather than see it purely as something philosophical or historical.

A strong part of this haiku is its sound. The “o” sound flows through “those,” “Gods,” “lost,” “found,” and “dandelion.” I believe this sound aims for euphony, or a harmonious and beautiful connection of sound. This could be another way the haiku shows how gods are one.

Maybe in our modern times, gods have become like dandelion fluff: revered and memorable, but somehow not worth much in these times of technological and scientific progress. Or maybe gods are numerous but one, and in these times of fast-paced developments in human progress, we have so many resources and chances to get connected with one of them. There is no right answer, but this haiku for sure makes us introspect on the state of religion and what we ourselves have experienced on our own spiritual journeys.

– Nicholas Klacsanzky (Ukraine)

Jacob Salzer’s Hook

forgetting my name
the hook disappears
beneath the water

 
A Hundred Gourds 9/20/15
 
© Jacob Salzer (USA)
 
This haiku is about being immersed in something so completely, that the mind becomes quiet. In this haiku, it was an experience I had fishing with a family friend and my sister. As I fished with him and my sister, my own name disappeared, along with the hook beneath the water.
 
Sometimes, it seems our analytical minds get in the way of experiencing life itself. Analysis and describing things has its place, but it seems we can also get paralysis by analysis. This haiku is about letting go of describing life sometimes, and allowing ourselves to simply be and to experience something completely, without any words, judgments, or concepts. 
 
It seems we are mentally conditioned to continuously think and act in certain ways. But is our true identity limited to a transient mental concept? Is our own name as permanent as it seems? Who are we without our names? To experience the continuous now without thought (even for a moment) allows us to experience the beauty of being, and thereby allows us to dis-identify with all thoughts. 
 
Perhaps this is why some people enjoy extreme sports like rock climbing; the activity is so intense that it requires your complete attention. You can’t be thinking about other things, otherwise, one wrong move could result in serious injury or even death. 
 
Fortunately, we don’t have to be rock climbers to quiet the mind. Any activity, when done fully, is a key to unlock moments of silence, and the great doorways of the unknown.
 
– Jacob Salzer (USA)

Irene Riz’s Flood

blooming hibiscus
the morning after the flood
excuse accepted

© Irene Riz (Russia)

It is not common to write in 5-7-5 syllables in modern English haiku, as we have gone to the short line-longer line-short line format that lends more to the English language. However, this haiku works great as a 5-7-5 syllable haiku.

(If you want to read more about why we don’t write in 5-7-5 syllables in English haiku often, please read this essay by Michael Dylan Welch: http://www.graceguts.com/essays/go-shichi-go-how-japanese-and-english-syllables-differ)

We start with a classical topic: a flower. A blooming hibiscus is especially beautiful. It has rich colors, a striking anther, and elegant overlapping petals.

Then, with line two, we go onto something striking: a tragedy. Making turns like this in haiku is normal if you want to surprise and engage readers.

In the third line, we have a consequence of the flood: through the circumstances, the main person in focus accepts someone’s excuse in light of the danger and maybe a change of mind.

I like how the flood relates to the blossoming hibiscus. You can say that hibiscuses “flood” our eyes with color and beauty, and through them, we can become more soft-hearted, and maybe change our minds about someone’s flaws or our own.

The sound of “o” courses through the first two lines with “blooming,” “morning,” and “flood.” I think this sound creates the effect of the flood water continuing and slows us down as readers to take in the weight of the situation.

At the heart of haiku is compassion, I believe, and seeing each living thing as a blessing in disguise. This haiku reveals the interweaving of nature and humanity, where nature makes us see the heart of each other, past our mistakes. We might say that in the end, forgiveness can save us from inhumanity.

– Nicholas Klacsanzky (Ukraine)