Daniela Misso’s Moorings

On May 7, 2022 By Nicholas KlacsanzkyIn HaikuLeave a comment

moorings
creaking on the lake…
deep autumn

(published in Wales Haiku Journal, Autumn 2020)

Commentary

This is an excellent haiku with depth, a strong atmosphere, and mystery (yugen). It also evokes potent emotions and has metaphorical value as well.

Starting with the first line, moorings comes from the verb moor. As an intransitive verb, there are three definitions of moor I would like to highlight:

moor

1. To fix in place; secure: synonym: fasten.

2. To provide with an abiding emotional attachment.

3. To secure a vessel or aircraft with lines or anchors.

Source: https://www.wordnik.com/words/moor

With these definitions in mind, the moorings in this haiku are not only strong cables, ropes, or anchors that are securing a boat or vessel to a dock (or another structure); they are also a metaphor for emotional attachments in a relationship (or within several relationships). In particular, the second definition above “to provide with an abiding emotional attachment” reminds me of a couple providing for their family. More concretely, I can see an emotional attachment to a specific boat as well. In this haiku, I imagine an empty boat overflowing with memories and stories. However, I feel these stories could be not only from one person’s lifetime, but rather span across several generations and even several lifetimes.

Furthermore, I would like to highlight this definition of moorings:

moorings

1. the place where a ship is anchored or fastened.

Source: https://dictionary.cambridge.org/es-LA/dictionary/english-portuguese/moorings

With this definition, in this haiku, I feel a very strong emotional attachment to the lake and the surrounding land. Therefore, this haiku is not limited to emotional attachments between people, but also includes our emotional attachments with Mother Earth. I also like that the lake in this haiku is not named, leaving it open for the reader to connect with experiences they’ve had at different lakes.

Moving to the second line, I am drawn to the sound. Creaking brings an eerie feeling that amplifies the silence of the scene and has a haunting quality to it. I could see this haiku being the start of a mystery novel or movie. In light of the moor definitions, moorings creaking could signify the wear and tear of an emotional attachment between two or more people over time that, despite the challenges, is showing strength, dependability, and longevity. On the other hand, the creaking sound could point to a degree of uncertainty and weakness in a relationship. I like how the creaking sound evokes the emotional complexity of relationships. This interpretation equally and powerfully applies to our relationships with Mother Earth.

In the third line, deep autumn effectively shows us how cold it is, with hints of winter already in the air. I feel it adds to the atmosphere of the scene and brings the universal emotions of grief, loss and letting go, but also expresses a slower pace of life and reflection.

This is a moving haiku that has depth, a strong atmosphere, and significant emotional and metaphorical power.

— Jacob D. Salzer (USA)

What is being moored? This question came to my mind after reading this poem. Perhaps boats, thoughts, fatigue, silence, worries, nostalgia, or anything else that is still hidden from our sight. Moorings indicate that we have to run our imagination wild and think of things that may fit best to the scene, as we have choices. So, the person who is at the seaside is the one who ties up whatever they want. I see it as more personal, intangible, and discreet where it’s not the matter of fastening boats but the things that are related to it—maybe something burdensome as alluded to in the second line by using the word ‘creaking’. But on the other hand, a person may not have control over those choices that are creaking and haunting again and again.

The poet concludes the scene by taking us to the deep autumn which adds more depth and silence in the background, where one can introspect and find out how to run the boat of life without distractions, and shortcomings.

The sound of ‘ing’ in this haiku resonates with the feelings of helplessness and aimlessness that continue without any interruption.

— Hifsa Ashraf (Pakistan)

Jacob and Hifsa have provided thorough commentary that leaves me with a bit to add. I will go over the kigo (seasonal reference), pacing, sound, and language.

Sometimes in haiku, using a direct name of a season works well, and this haiku is a fine example of that. What is interesting is commonly haiku poets put the kigo in the first line if they are naming it directly. But in this haiku, the kigo carves out a more resonant space for the reader to ponder as it is given in the last line. The way the kigo interacts with the creaking brings out the melancholy, introspection, and loneliness of autumn.

The pacing of the lines follows the standard for English-language haiku with a short first line, a longer second line, and a short last line that mimics the traditional Japanese haiku rhythm.

As Hifsa noted, the “ing” sounds carry that somberness that is present in haiku. Also, the “m” sounds bring a sense of eeriness, and “ee”/”ea” slows down the pace. There are many elongated syllables in this haiku, which showcase the slowness of time of the moment described.

The language is simple and concise, with enough poetic phrasing to bring out emotion. Not one word is unnecessary and the poem is not begging for words to be added.

The relation between human-made instruments and nature, combined with the mentioned season, makes this haiku especially resonant.

— Nicholas Klacsanzky (USA)

Srinivas S’s footprint

On April 16, 2022 By Nicholas KlacsanzkyIn Haiku1 Comment

between waves the life of a footprint

— Srinivas S (India)

(The Heron’s Nest, March 2021)

This simple monoku manifests all the key perspectives of life, but the most obvious one is the journey of life. It may consist of hardship and difficult trials. A footprint is something that is left behind in life—a past life that may be imprinted in the mind as a memory or depicts the choices a person made, the path they took. A footprint could symbolize the vivid memories of a person of life events where every step carved or reshaped one’s decisions, choices, and thinking.

The concept of waves is cleverly used in this monoku as our senses that are connected with the surrounding through waves, our brain activities, our nervous system, and our body is similar to the rhythmic movement of waves. What matters the most is whether these waves erase the footprint or fill it with water. It may also unfold the path one has chosen, the path that faces the ups and downs of life, or to and fro movement. The concept of our lives is shown in this haiku as a footprint, which is the mark that a person leaves behind as an example or memory.

— Hifsa Ashraf (Pakistan)

This is a beautiful monoku that sparks a conversation about the miracle of life, impermanence, reincarnation, and the afterlife.

When I read “between waves” I see it as a metaphor for between lifetimes. In a vast scale of time, a human lifetime appears to be like a brief footprint.

In that sense, I feel the footprint could create a sense of melancholy (from how brief human lives are) and also joy and gratitude (from how precious life is). The footprint could be from a child, an adult, or an elderly person. It could also be the footprint of a seagull or of a dog running on the beach. I like how the poet left this open for us as readers.

The footprint also shows a single step on a long journey, as part of a larger story. In that sense, this monoku makes me wonder what stories have been passed down and recorded throughout several generations and what stories have been lost? Some stories have been preserved, while other stories have been mistranslated or buried and forgotten. I think this is a critical subject because stories and literature have significant influence and power. Stories contain our ethics, values, and principles of how to live. They create new worlds and different ways of seeing. They record history and document what we learned. They can inspire our imagination. And, they set an example. In particular, I think some of the oldest stories and legends from Indigenous People contain strong values and important lessons for us all, especially involving spirituality, community, and taking care of Mother Earth.

Additionally, I see the footprint as a metaphor for a samskara or mental impression. We could ask ourselves: compared to the sand, how real is the footprint? It seems we all leave several marks in this lifetime and some impressions seem to last longer than others. But, in the end, it seems something universal (in this case, the ocean) washes away all our impressions or footprints. Then, it seems we’re only left with the wordless present moment, without a past or a future. As the Estonian composer Arvo Pärt has said: “Time and timelessness are connected. This moment and eternity are struggling within us.” On the other hand, I wonder if perhaps our impressions and memories are permanently stored in a universal consciousness. In any case, it is the silence itself that carries all words and sounds. Everything appears to rise and fall into silence. Even as the footprint disappears, the sound of the waves is in synch with the rhythm of my heartbeat.

The footprint also shows engagement and actively participating in the play of life vs. becoming a passive observer. I think there is a time and place for active, compassionate observing, and as haiku poets we do this very well, but I think there’s also a time and place to be actively immersed in life and living without reflection or observation. In fact, sometimes, only when I return home from an adventure does a haiku appear.

This is a monoku that is simultaneously deep and simple at the same time. I think it’s also a moment that many people can relate to and has a universal appeal and power.

A beautiful monoku.

Book recommendations on these subjects: Indian Legends of the Pacific Northwest by Ella E. Clark, The Spiritual Teachings of Sri Ramana Maharshi, and The Power of Now by Eckhart Tolle.

— Jacob D. Salzer (USA)

I can’t touch on more about the interpretation and meaning of this haiku that Hifsa and Jacob already expressed. They discussed the many layers of this monoku’s substance deftly.

I’ll now explore the technical points of this poem. First, there is no specific kigo or seasonal reference to be found in this haiku. We know that perhaps it is a low tide but the action of the haiku might be talking about someone walking close to the waves at any kind of tide. There is no issue is not having a kigo. The requirement for haiku to have a kigo has been loose for a century, even in Japan. Perhaps the exclusion of kigo began to be commonplace in Japan in the late 1800s, with masters such as Kawahigashi Hekigotō and Ogiwara Seisensui.

This haiku being written as one line is not experimental or strange, as haiku is originally written as one vertical line in Japanese. The major difference between English monoku and Japanese haiku is that English monoku don’t use punctuation usually. Japanese haiku have kireji, or cutting words that signify a shift in grammar or phrasing to make the two parts of a haiku distinct. Without punctuation, though, English monoku can be read in more ways sometimes:

between / waves the life of a footprint

between waves / the life of a footprint

or as one phrase: between waves the life of a footprint

In terms of sound, we have the unusual consonance of “w” which makes a “whhh” noise when said, imitating the song of waves. The “e” and “i” sounds also bring another layer of softness to the reading.

The haiku is noticeably brief. With only seven words, the poem is quite concise. This is hard to pull off, and if one is a beginner in this art form, I would not recommend writing in such a terse way. By Srinivas has skillfully used the right combination of words, sounds, and phrasing to create a strong visual effect in the reader and potent resonance.

— Nicholas Klacsanzky (USA)

Painting by Ken Figurski

Jennifer Hambrick’s budding branches

On March 30, 2022 By Nicholas KlacsanzkyIn HaikuLeave a comment

budding branches
the ellipsis at the end
of his text

— Jennifer Hambrick (USA)
(Mayfly 71, Summer 2021)

This is an important social consciousness haiku that speaks to both the limitations and the value of text messaging. On one hand, brief text messages can be useful and save us time. On the other hand, emotions and meanings can often be misinterpreted in text messages. This is partly because experts say over 85% of communication is nonverbal and accomplished by our tone of voice and body language. Along these lines, in my opinion, emojis also don’t do us justice in accurately conveying emotions and meanings. In terms of punctuation, specifically, an ellipsis can convey many different messages. It can be a sign of gentleness, caution/warning, uncertainty, or even a threat or dark sarcasm/humiliation, as if someone is looking down on someone else, conveying a sense that the receiver should have known something or is somehow inferior to the person who sent the text. This wide range of interpretations in an ellipsis can leave us scratching our heads, wondering what was the real intent behind the message.

Budding branches could be a symbol for the start of a new relationship. It could also simultaneously be a metaphor for a new baby or babies starting their life/lives on Earth. I get a feeling this haiku is an exchange between a girlfriend & boyfriend or between a wife & husband as they are attempting to communicate via text messages due to their busy lives.

This is an important haiku that sparks conversations about how we communicate. While emails, text messaging, and phone calls have their place, I think video calls or in-person meetings are the best ways to have quality conversations. They can also save us from a lot of stress and conflicts down the road.

For more info on nonverbal communication: https://www.sciencedirect.com/topics/social-sciences/nonverbal-communication

— Jacob D. Salzer (USA)

The poem starts with hope, and a presence of life probably after autumn. Budding branches depict the seasonal transformation that someone is closely observing, maybe while strolling, or through a window, viewing a painting, sketching a tree, or watching it live somewhere, etc. In any case, it shows how keen and resilient a person is who focuses on something that is progressing positively. The first line in this haiku is so engaging that a reader like me starts thinking about the colour, type, ambience, and style of budding branches as it gives a lot of pleasure exploring nature when it retreats after a dry winter.

There is a shift in this haiku in the last two lines that the poet cleverly related to the budding branches: a deeply personal experience where the text of a person with an ellipsis is accepted with possibly a positive interpretation. The ellipsis can allude to subtle emotions and feelings or an incomplete sentence that is left with curiosity and assumptions. I see it as if the seasonal transformation is related to personal transformation where things are in process and a person is not certain about the results.

Budding branches may be a positive sign, beckoning spring to appear, but it’s premature and uncertain whether these budding branches will bloom fully, and whether the birds will perch on them and sing melodious songs. Somehow, it’s daydreaming that runs the imagination of the poet wild from ‘tree to text’ where both thoughts and feelings oscillate between imagination and reality.

— Hifsa Ashraf (Pakistan)

Jacob and Hifsa have delved deep into the meanings and interpretations of this haiku. I will now explore more of its technical side.

In the first line, we get a clear indication of the kigo, or seasonal reference. “Budding” shows the haiku refers to spring. As you may know, haiku are primarily poems based on seasons and poets use them as springboards to resonance.

The first line would seem to need punctuation to mark the separation between the two parts of the haiku, called kireji in Japanese. However, the line break is a clear enough break in phrasing to aid readers in knowing that a fresh section has begun.

The second line brings about a sense of suspense, as we await what the third line will display. We can also see a pattern of alliteration with the “b” and “e” sounds in the first two lines. This echoes the repetition of an ellipsis.

In the third line, we discover the conclusion. The end has yugen, or a sense of mystery. We don’t who “his” refers to, but we do feel the significance of it. My best guess is it is about the husband or boyfriend of the poet. As Jacob and Hifsa have mentioned, an ellipsis in a text message can mean many things. Since it is a spring haiku, it could pertain to something exciting and adventurous. However, it could also be introduced as a contrast to spring, with the ellipsis meant to stand for melancholy or something left undone.

In terms of pacing, this poem follows the common line lengths of English-language haiku, with a short first line, a longer second line, and a short third line to approximately match the traditional Japanese rhythm. The pacing works well, especially with how the third line comes.

A masterfully written haiku with strong aesthetics, conciseness, and sound.

— Nicholas Klacsanzky (USA)