Tag: Haiku

Haiku from Susan Yavaniski, Anthony Lusardi, and Jahnavi Gogoi

On By Nicholas KlacsanzkyIn Haiku1 Comment

bitter cold
a streetlight shining
on his pillow

— Susan Yavaniski (USA)
Polish International Haiku Competition 2022 Commendation 

Commentary from Jacob D. Salzer:

I appreciate the mystery (yugen) in this haiku. The pillow could belong to a homeless person who lives on the street. However, I think the streetlight is shining through the window onto his pillow. In the latter interpretation, the word “bitter” leads me to think the husband or the poet’s son is absent or has passed away. I appreciate how there is room for interpretation left to the reader. The coldness of this haiku comes through strongly with vivid imagery. This is a powerful haiku that I think many people can relate to.

for the next hiker
at the trail’s entrance
a walking stick

— Anthony Lusardi (USA)
Acorn, Issue #49, Fall 2022

Commentary from Hifsa Ashraf:

I see here a deep and inevitable connection between humans and nature. “For the next hiker” may or may not indicate every hiker. I see it like every hiker needs some assistance when they explore nature, whether they have special needs or not. As the path to explore nature is not easy, one’s needs assistance to hike and climb difficult peaks and terrains. A walking stick may be from a tree which plays a supporting role for hikers. So, it’s more like a give and take relationship between humans and nature. 

I see another aspect of this haiku which is life itself. It may reflect old age where when you enter that path, you depend on others or things to support you. I see a walking stick as a support or assistance that one needs as a senior. The word “hiker” may indicate the difficult path one has to face due to the constraints or limitations of an advanced age. The use of articles in this haiku leaves some space for the readers to relate it to their own life experiences. 

under the aurora borealis 
each whisper 
a cloud

— Jahnavi Gogoi (Canada)

Commentary from Nicholas Klacsanzky:

This haiku captures the wonder of the aurora borealis well. Haiku often promotes the sense of awe that keeps us childlike and enjoying life—even its smallest moments. In the scene of the poem, above is the spectacle of the aurora borealis, and below is the remarkable observation of each whisper of the witnesses of the aurora borealis becoming a cloud. It provides me with gratitude for each happening, as everything that unfolds can convey beauty in its own way. There is also the image of tiny clouds blanketing the view of the aurora borealis for a second, inferring that even a tiny action can have a potent effect.

Looking at the haiku more technically, the shortness of the third line manifests the quietness of the moment. The “r” sounds in the first two lines of the haiku also add to the quietude of the scene, in my opinion. The soft “o” in the last line continues this feeling. The season for this haiku is somewhat clear, as the aurora borealis appears usually in spring or autumn. However, with the breath clouds, I would suppose the season is autumn. In autumn, each living and non-living being is more noticeable and precious due to the sparseness of the environment. In this spirit, I think the poet made the observation about the breath clouds, which could be said to connect to the aesthetic of wabi-sabi. In turn, we witness as readers spectacles above and below, remembering that our world is indeed a wonderful place.

By Sephiroth

Haiku by Robert Hirschfield, John Zheng, Patrick Sweeney

On By Nicholas KlacsanzkyIn Haiku, ShahaiLeave a comment

heavy snow—
in the window
my buried name

— Robert Hirschfield (USA)
Autumn Moon Haiku Journal, autumn/winter, 2024 

Commentary: I appreciate the psychological and philosophical depth of this haiku. The first line alone carries emotional weight as well in the word “heavy.” I think the dash puts more emphasis on the snow and also creates a long silence in the poem, which resonates with the deep snow. I also appreciate the window in this haiku that seemingly separates the “inside” from the “outside.” I see the window as the lens through which we see the world. As a meditation, this haiku reflects on human mortality and encourages us to reflect on our Earthly lives and life after death. I also appreciate how this haiku shifts the focus back to the beauty and power of Mother Earth who survives long after we are physically gone. I think the poet is writing from a place of genuine humility, as his name is literally and visually buried in this haiku in the last line. In turn, it seems our names are not as permanent as they seem to be. This haiku conjures up a few questions for us to consider: 1) What do we want to leave behind after our last breath on Earth? 2) Who are we without our names? 3) What are our thoughts on life after death? 4) Are we open to the Great Mystery? I think this haiku expands our perspective and asks us to consider how important our seemingly separate sense of individuality is in relation to life itself and the cosmos. I would argue that no one is ever truly alone in this world (or in the afterlife). It seems our unique individual selves are, in the end, expressions of one universal energy, just as each snowflake is uniquely different but made of the same substance. It also seems that all of life is connected in infinitely complex and mysterious ways that we can never fully comprehend with our limited minds. In short, this is a powerful and humbling haiku that encourages us to meditate on our identity, our Earthly lives, Mother Earth spirituality, and life after death.

— Jacob D. Salzer

— John Zheng (USA)

Commentary: When I looked at this photo haiku for the first time, it reminded me of a summer vacation in my childhood in my village. My grandmother used to tell us a story in an old-fashioned room in our family house where there was a wooden ceiling, creaky stairs, a charpai, and an ancient wooden door. We used to sit on the stairs listening to our late evening stories from her and there was complete silence in the room except for the wind that would pass through the gaps in the wooden ceiling. I can relate to this haiku very well. It seems like a meditative session where everyone is mesmerised by profound poetry that has enchanting effects on listeners. Reading poetry is an art that can bring all the senses to one point and make them not only listen to it but also absorb the vivid imagery or storyline. It suddenly stops the world around us and lets us relate it to our feelings and thoughts. 

I see another aspect to this photo haiku as well. It may depict the cessation of past routines of storytelling or reading. It may suggest that the poet is all alone and there is no one to listen to their poetry. The silence of creaking stairs could mean no one from the upper part of the house comes down. Maybe, once there were children or other household members who used to gather for poetry readings and now they have gone. It’s a simple yet deep photo haiku that depicts the irony of today’s fast-paced life where no one has time for such creative activities. 

— Hifsa Ashraf

curvature of spacetime at the early bird special

— Patrick Sweeney (USA)
Wales Haiku Journal, Spring 2023

Commentary: I’m a fan of reading about physics, and haiku about spacetime are always interesting to me. In this haiku, there is an unexpected pairing with “early bird special.” For those not acquainted with this, it is a business strategy to offer discounted prices for those who buy an item early. So, the relation between the two parts is that the early bird special is akin to a curvature in spacetime in that it is sort of a bending of time. The early bird could also be referring to an actual bird or a person. Either way, it is a unique combination of elements that makes a connection between the lofty and the practical. I feel that is one of main missions of haiku: to make a web of connections between innumerable beings to demonstrate that we are all in this together somehow.

Looking at the more technical aspects, the kigo or seasonal reference is not clear—though early bird specials are often offered at the start of seasons. The flow of the poem could be seen as two parts or as one phrase, which works to its benefit. The use of sound in the haiku is subtle but powerful with a fantastic run of “r,” “t,” and “l” sounds. The “r” sounds are more favorite as they make me feel as if the sound is curving like spacetime. Overall, this is a beautiful-sounding haiku with a fine twist that is at once relatable and abstract.

— Nicholas Klacsanzky

Haiku from Deborah A. Bennett, Samo Kreutz, and Randy Brooks

On By Nicholas KlacsanzkyIn Haiku4 Comments

first snow
caught in the willow branches
my mother’s white hair

— Deborah A. Bennett (USA)
Under the Basho, November 2022

Commentary: I can feel the problems of ageing in this haiku, especially since the colour ‘white’ is projected in this haiku by adding snow and white hair. First snow as used in many haiku is a symbol of yearning, grief, stillness, contemplation, ageing, and deep feelings. In this haiku, first snow seems to project ageing and its issues related to either hardship, loss, and/or grief.  “Caught in the willow branches” seems to mean a tangled story of when life becomes more complicated with age. I also see white hair as nerves/neurotransmitters that are linked with memory. It appears the person has lost her memory or already suffers from it i.e. Alzheimer’s, dementia, etc. I liked the mystery and subtlety of this haiku which conveys many meanings in the most decent and precise way.

— Hifsa Ashraf

neighbour dispute
the loudest of us all
a cricket

— Samo Kreutz (Slovenia)
Modern Haiku, Issue 54.2, Summer 2023

Commentary: I greatly appreciate the perspective, meaning, and humor in this haiku. It reminds us that Nature speaks louder than a dispute with our neighbor. In general, I think a good question to ask is: during disputes or conflicts, can we take a step back and listen to the voices of Mother Earth? What does the Earth have to say? Indeed, human beings are only small threads in the infinite web of life. With a greater point of view, our lives and circumstances are put into perspective. An excellent haiku.

— Jacob D. Salzer 

the wren’s garden
chattering in case
you forgot

— Randy Brooks (USA)
haikuNetra 1.3, 2023

Commentary: What drew me to this haiku was the ownership the wren has over the garden. The wren most likely does not see the garden as human-made or cultivated, but rather as another part of nature. I feel the haiku makes us ponder about our relationship to the natural world and its beings. It also makes me contemplate about how something so small can be powerful and take up space. The “c” sounds in the second line bring alive the chattering, and the “e” and “n” sounds in the first line emit a sense of dignity. In terms of season, I would place this haiku in spring, as you see wrens the most during that time; the haiku as a whole has a spring aesthetic, in my opinion. Additionally, I enjoy the simplicity and phrasing in the poem, with “chattering” connected either to the wren or the garden itself. Overall, this haiku is charming, humorous, and concisely profound.

— Nicholas Klacsanzky

Art by Ľudovít Čordák

Brendon Kent’s Navigating Moons

On By Nicholas KlacsanzkyIn Haiku6 Comments

The posthumous book, Navigating Moons by Brendon Kent (February 1, 1958–February 24, 2024) is out. Below are commentaries on three poems from the collection by our three editors. Also, at the end of the post, there is information on how to obtain a copy of Navigating Moons.

every moon out of my hands stardust i return to

Commentary: It has been said that we are made of stardust. In this monoku, the late haiku poet Brendon Kent returns to the Great Mystery of the cosmos and relinquishes personal attachments. It seems “every moon out of my hands” shows humility, as he sees what is beyond us. As another interpretation, “out of my hands” could speak of the poet’s own co-creation of the universe he was (and still is) a part of. When I think of stardust, I think of the essence of life, and traces of a life, still giving light. This is a memorable and important haiku that speaks of the poet’s spirit and the afterlife. 

— Jacob D. Salzer 

between this world and the next butterfly echoes

Commentary: The overall imagery of this haiku is about the transience of life, revolving around deep experiences that make things so subtle at the end that one feels nothing but emptiness. Butterfly echoes are a reminder of the transformation of life (both within and outside) that runs in an endless circle. So, we are constantly moving between life and death as nothing is permanent here. As Rumi says:

“You don’t live on Earth—you are passing through it.” 

— Hifsa Ashraf

so much to say
in so little time!
spring daffodils

Commentary: In light of Brendon’s impending passing due to cancer when this haiku was written, it takes on a mixture of despair and a hint of joy. I believe Brendon realized his life was like spring daffodils: brilliant, bright, and beautiful, but only around for a short time. And indeed, spring daffodils say so much without words. The poet could have been feeling restrained in speech and action due to his cancer and felt he could only be like the daffodils in his communication. One of his last efforts to communicate his message was writing Navigating Moons—a window into not only a cancer journey but also a man of humanity and introspection.

— Nicholas Klacsanzky

Dear haiku friends,

The posthumous ebook by Brendon Kent entitled “Navigating Moons — poems of a cancer journey” is now available.

It contains Brendon’s final published and unpublished haiku, senryu, and more. Much of the book is illustrated with sumi-e or sumi-e-like drawings.

The ebook is available as a PDF file for a donation of 5 euros or higher. Brendon has requested all proceeds to go to Macmillan Cancer Support (an official UK charity).

Your orders can now be emailed to navmoonsbook@gmail.com after making your donation. The subject line should read: “Navigating Moons order.” In response, you will receive an email from us containing the direct link to download the ebook (PDF file).

Donations for UK residents: https://donation.macmillan.org.uk/

We recommend selecting the option to donate in memory of Brendon Kent.

Donations for non-UK residents: www.justgiving.com/macmillan

Other options for non-UK residents are to phone in a donation at +44 207 091 2235.

For further options, check https://www.macmillan.org.uk/donate/how-to-donate or email fundraising@macmillan.org.uk.

A Kindle version of the ebook will be available from Amazon in the future.

Thanks for your support and we hope you’ll enjoy reading it. 🙏

Best wishes on Brendon’s behalf.

Anna Goluba’s dreamcatcher

On By Nicholas KlacsanzkyIn Haiku1 Comment

Abandoned house
The dreamcatcher still hangs
In the children’s room

— Anna Goluba (Poland)
Published in Haikuniverse, March 7, 2019

Commentary

I appreciate the mystery (yūgen) of why the house is abandoned. Was it because of physical damage to the house itself that forced the family to move? Or, was it due to other socio-economic factors that the family relocated? The mystery (yūgen) of the abandoned house provides some space for the reader. The dreamcatcher also provides space for the reader’s imagination.

I always appreciate the symbolic importance of the dreamcatcher. According to Indigenous Peoples, the circular shape of the dreamcatcher represents the circle of life and symbolizes that there is no beginning or end. Dreamcatchers are also made of natural materials that reflect the close bond Indigenous Peoples have with the Earth. The web of the dreamcatcher is meant to catch the bad dreams and allow the good dreams to pass through to the person sleeping. In this way, the dreamcatcher is like a spider’s web that filters out negativity. Some dreamcatchers are also decorated with beads, gems, and/or stones, which give them positive energy. Lastly, feathers are also sacred to Indigenous Peoples and are found in dreamcatchers. Feathers symbolize protection, healing, and a connection with the divine.

I appreciate how this haiku transports readers back into childhood. I think a child’s imagination paired with the realm of dreams is very effective. I also feel compassion for the child who was forced to move from the house, for unknown reasons. I think of the dreams the child had when they lived in the house.

In short, this is a haunting and mysterious haiku that serves as an effective portal into the reader’s childhood, their first home, and their dreams. An excellent haiku.

— Jacob D. Salzer

The kigo or seasonal reference in this haiku is not obvious or is nonexistent. However, there is a melancholy feel to the poem; so, I would probably place this haiku in autumn. It’s fine if a haiku does not have an explicit kigo; in Japan, haiku without a seasonal reference (muki haiku) have been popular for about 100 years now.

There is no punctuation in this haiku (an approximation of kireji), yet there is a clear grammatical shift after line one. In English-language haiku, the capitalization of words is not common, though. However, the poet is from Poland, and the haiku community there might have different ideas about the capitalization of words. There is nothing wrong with it and is understandable due to many poets thinking each line of a poem should begin with a capital letter.

The combination or association of parts in the haiku works in stark fashion. The pull between emptiness and the energy/action of the dreamcatcher creates a poignant mood and scene. The ending line enhances the poignancy of the imagery even further.

Looking at the sound of the haiku, I admire the usage of the letter “h.” It’s an uncommon letter to use in succession in poetry, I believe. “h” gives an emphasis at the end of the first and second lines. It also gives strength to the third line as well.

In terms of pacing, this poem follows the conventional short/long/short rhythm in English-language haiku that approximates the rhythm of Japanese haiku. Looking closer at the words used, “the” employed for both subjects “dreamcatcher” and “children’s room” was a smart choice, as both subjects deserve proper respect.

Overall, this haiku combines elements of melancholy, hope, spirituality, and more. Without a word out of place, the poem is effective and touching.

— Nicholas Klacsanzky

Rebel Rose Artistry

Kat Lehmann’s forest stream

On By Nicholas KlacsanzkyIn Haiku1 Comment

an answer without end quotes the forest stream

— Kat Lehmann (USA)
Published in Frogpond 46:2, 2023

Commentary

I greatly appreciate how the answer in this monoku is open-ended and ongoing vs. definitive. I think sometimes the best answer is not-knowing and living in the mystery. 

Another interpretation is that even if there is an answer, there is space to be more flexible and open-minded (i.e. the answer itself is changing or capable of changing). This also shows that, despite our knowledge, there is a lot we don’t know.

I also appreciate how we don’t know the question in this monoku. This makes the poem very versatile and applies to many different questions and situations. It seems asking questions in general is often a sign of humility. Byron Katie once said: “I don’t know is my favorite position.”

The vitality of a forest stream could be a metaphor for the flow of consciousness when we are not stuck or attached to rigid thoughts, living in the constant flow of “now.” In addition, biologically, we are mostly water. It seems if more people lived like a forest stream, we would live in a much more beautiful world. “Without end quotes” also seems to speak to the continuity of life and could speak of reincarnation or a spiritual river that flows on into the afterlife. A beautiful haiku.

— Jacob D. Salzer

Thinking about the kigo or seasonal reference, it is not exactly clear, as forest streams could be present during many times of the year. However, spring and fall are common times for flowing forest streams in the poet’s part of the world. The poem flows homogeneously like a stream represented as one line. I would vie for spring, as “an answer without end” illustrates the abundance of that season.

There is no punctuation in the haiku, but there are definite ways to section the parts:
1. an answer/without end quotes, the forest stream
2. an answer without end quotes/the forest stream
3. an answer without end/quotes the forest stream

…and possibly more.

This makes it a task to choose just one interpretation, but it also gives it more breadth. The association between the words creates interesting readings, such as between “without end” and “stream”; “quotes” and “steam” (both small but integral), etc. A reader can easily sit and investigate this haiku for a good while without feeling the need to move on.

An important part of this haiku is its sound. The standout letters are “o” and “t.” The flowing “o” matches well with the subject of a stream, and “t” provides a sense of the stream’s power, in my opinion.

I like that the poet did not shy away from the possibility of surrealism. Often, westerners have the false idea that haiku needs to be written with objective realism or as an objective sketch. Subjectivity has been a cornerstone of Japanese poetics, and haiku, since its inception. Sometimes, westerners confuse the “sketch from life” approach that Shiki proposed with strict objectivity when he rather focused on writing from one’s life experiences and occurrences (including individual feelings).

This is a haiku to make you ponder and perhaps create your own meaning with. Original, imaginative, and verging on the surreal, this poem has a lot to offer.

— Nicholas Klacsanzky

Painting done by AI.

Alice Wanderer’s summer refuge

On By Nicholas KlacsanzkyIn Haiga, Shahai1 Comment

Haiku: Alice Wanderer (Australia)
Photography: Di Cousens (Australia)

Commentary

Refugees, seeking a safer place to live, demonstrate the strength and resilience of the human spirit. In this haiku, it is the scent of a refugee (or refugees) that we recognize in their absence. The word “perfume” seems to entail a strong scent that lingers. This haiku could also symbolize humility and frugality. With very few possessions, it seems refugees don’t leave many (if any) material objects behind. This makes me think: on our brief human journey of a lifetime, what are we leaving behind? What do we want to leave behind?

In turn, it seems the presence of a kind and compassionate human being is a gift that stretches far beyond material wealth. In the end, physically, we are all visitors on this Earth. The steps in the photo could be a symbol of human striving or steps in human growth/evolution. I think the long journey of refugees both spiritually and physically can redefine what truly is home. 

— Jacob D. Salzer

First, I would like to say that I enjoy the shading and light in the photograph. Also, the textures in the wall and steps make it an intriguing capture. The font for the haiku is appropriate for the subject matter and matches the atmosphere of the photograph.

The seasonal reference (kigo) is in the first line with “summer refuge.” We can guess that the summers where this haiku takes place are exceptionally hot. It might even be in a desert. The poet and photographer being both from Australia can make readers think it might be in the Australian outback. This photograph could indeed be a summer refuge made by Australian Aboriginals to combat the outback heat. In this context, the last line referencing possible ancestors could gain more meaning.

There is no punctuation in the haiku (kireji), but there is a clear delineation of the two parts of the poem by a grammatical shift from the first and second lines.

How the two parts of the haiku combine and interact (toriawase) is pleasant in its melancholy. With summer being a happy and chill time, in this space of sanctuary, there are the remnants of ancestors. Whether this is a joyous or sad happening is up to the reader. “Perfume” is used interestingly in this haiku, as the poet could have easily written “scent.” “Perfume” is a much more endearing word that could have multiple meanings. But overall, this haiku could have an intermixing of emotions or be about a silent celebration of ancestors still with us.

Looking at how the lines are laid out, the pacing approximates the Japanese traditional rhythm of short/long/short.

The diction is in line with haiku principles of simplicity and brevity. It is also important that the poet left space for the reader to ponder through her choice of words.

In terms of sound, the letter “r” is especially important. With four instances and in every line, “r” gives a hard edge to the haiku that connects to the walls and steps in the photo.

Ultimately, this photo haiku (shahai) expresses inexplicable emotions with grace. Though the image and haiku might be endemic to Australia, it is written in a universal way.

— Nicholas Klacsanzky


Jacob D. Salzer’s long journey

On By Nicholas KlacsanzkyIn Haiku6 Comments

a long journey . . .
in mother’s clothing
the scent of snow

— Jacob D. Salzer (USA)
(published in Autumn Moon Haiku Journal 7:1, Autumn/Winter 2023)

Commentary by the poet

In this haiku, I primarily wanted to honor my mother and her long Earth journey (and her soul’s journey, if readers are open-minded to past lives and reincarnation). I am also writing about my mother going for a long walk in the snow and carrying the “outside” into the house. The scent of snow in her coat lingers. I’m also recognizing the long journey of falling snow, as snow falls from miles above us to reach the Earth. I hope this haiku can act as a portal for the reader to reflect on their own mother and her unique journey.

Commentary by the other editors

This haiku sounds simple but carries many stories of life’s journey. A long journey describes a period that may last more than a year or a lifetime. But, it signifies the essence of a trip that has ups and downs, and deep personal experiences. The ellipses stop us for a while and let us ponder the various aspects or types of journeys. I see it as a life’s journey that has myriad phases and stages where the person continuously passes through experiences within the self and with other people.

The second line tells us about the traveller but it still doesn’t show whether she is the one who carries the clothing or is having a long journey. It may have two interpretations. One is that she passes through rigorous experiences i.e. departure, separation, illness, loneliness, etc. The second interpretation would be that someone close to her carries her clothes as a possession.

The last line depicts deep feelings, as the smell of snow can mean something went as cold as snow and leaves painful memories. Another aspect can be the smell of a person that comes from the clothes and the poet may take it as the smell of snow, akin to the lingering memories of a loved one. In both cases, the person remains discreet in expressing their feelings and tries to relate those emotions with the scent of snow, which does not make a sound.

— Hifsa Ashraf

Thinking about the seasonal reference in this haiku, “the scent of snow” is clearly directed at winter. However, a residue of snow could mean that winter has passed and that spring has come. So, the poet could be reexperiencing winter in the time of spring. This could symbolize how the poet feels about his mother’s life or even his life reflected by the one that brought him existence.

The two parts of the haiku combine well in that duration is present in each section. “Long” and “scent” both work to illustrate time passing by. “Journey” relates well to the implied cycle of seasons. With our phases as personalities, they can be representative of seasons—though one season can carry remnants of another season in it. The poet could be referring to how memory sticks to our personalities and in direct connection to his mother, it could mean that his mother has memories “too cold” to burn away.

With the punctuation, which delineates the two-part structure of the haiku, the ellipsis illustrates the duration of the journey. It also makes certain that the reader does not inadvertently read the second line as flowing from the first line.

The pacing emulates the traditional rhythm of Japanese haiku without the restriction of the syllabic count, which is often cited as an erroneous method of matching the format of Japanese haiku. The short/long/short practice is closer to the original haiku rhythm.

Looking at the sound, the letter that jumps out at the reader is “o.” Strewn throughout the poem, it gives a sense of elongation with the long syllables. In my opinion, it also heightens the emotional resonance of the subject of the haiku.

The way human life intermixes with nature in this haiku makes it special. It creates pathos and perhaps something verging on the surreal. A relatable, yet transcendent haiku.

— Nicholas Klacsanzky

Winter Scene by Louis Remy Mignot, 1856

Michael Dudley’s prized canary

On By Nicholas KlacsanzkyIn Haiku4 Comments

lockdown raised
  at sunrise he releases
       his prized canary

— Michael Dudley (Canada)
(27th Kusamakura International Haiku Contest, Second Prize)

Commentary

I appreciate the notion of freedom and non-attachment in this haiku. I also appreciate the shift in perspective from a confined space to the limitless sky. What was once highly valued and clung to is now released. It seems giving space is a gift in itself, and I admire how our attention shifts from what is seen to what is unseen in this poem. In turn, maybe the very notion of “mine” is released with the canary, as this beautiful bird returns to their true home outside of human civilization. Perhaps by releasing the sense of “me” and “mine,” we can rediscover our spiritual home as well. A beautiful haiku.

— Jacob D. Salzer

This haiku in a cascading style makes me think about its formation before I interpret it. It seems the person wants to convey a specific message through this style that can be read both horizontally and somehow vertically. The cascading style stops us so that we read the poem step by step before reaching a conclusion. I see it as if something is going down or ending nowhere.

Lockdown raised but what? It could be anxiety, uncertainty, frustration, or something that has a great impact on the person’s life that is being referenced. The past tense at the end of line one stresses the grave effects of the tense situation due to the lockdown. The sudden shift to the present in line two shows how smoothly the person has gotten over what he has been going through (maybe for a long time). 

The sunrise brings hope and warmth to one’s thoughts and feelings. We can feel the way the sunrise provides a sense of relief or healing. I see it as if the person is liberated after having a change in thoughts or has detached himself from what he may hold dear. This line stands alone, where one can try to guess what the whole story is.

The prized canary may have an association with the person’s life in terms of honour, achievement, memorable event, etc. But, it also symbolizes a hope for the future where the person in question has stepped over the barrier of attachment and possession. If it is a pet bird, then releasing it at the time of a lockdown is the realization of freedom, which often comes through rigorous life experiences. 

— Hifsa Ashraf

If we try to figure out the season this haiku is placed in, it is not so easy. However, if I had to pick one, it would be spring. Not only is it a season with less disease (“lockdown raised”), but it is also the time when canaries are more active. Spring, in addition, symbolizes a new life—corresponding well with “sunrise” and “releases.”

The two parts of the haiku can be delineated from the grammatical pause after the first line, or even after “at sunrise.” So, punctuation is not quite needed.

The association between the words “raised” and “releases” is quite deliberate, I feel. Furthermore, the color of the sunrise and the canary are most likely similar, if not yellow. Both the canary and the sunrise are not only colorful but also bring hope and pack a punch though one lasts a short time (sunrise) and one is small (the canary).

The spacing of the lines brings about a sense of release and perhaps steps to that letting go. However, the lines still approximate the traditional rhythm of haiku in Japanese in terms of syllables with a short first line, a longer second line, and a shorter last line.

In terms of sound, the haiku prominently features the letter “i” in “raised,” “sunrise,” and “prized.” Through this sound, it creates a starker mood for the haiku and points to the importance of the canary.

With a unique format, the implication of color, a keen sense of sound, and relatable kindness, this haiku deserves study and ponderance.

— Nicholas Klacsanzky

“The illustrated book of canaries and cage-birds, British and foreign” (1878) Public Domain

John Pappas’ returning geese

On By Nicholas KlacsanzkyIn Haiku1 Comment

returning geese
a few more pebbles
on her headstone

— John Pappas (USA)

Commentary

I appreciate the message of returning to the headstone of someone who was well-loved. I like how returning speaks of the cycles of the seasons as well. I also see the small pebbles as symbols of humility and modesty. The pebbles that were already there could have been placed by the poet last year or over several years, and/or some of the pebbles could have been placed by other people who knew and loved the person.

In addition, by returning to their headstone, we are reminded of our limited time here in a single human life. This puts our lives into perspective, which I think is much needed in today’s modern world. I often think cemeteries can help us reflect and reevaluate our lives and our values.

I also like the first line very much because it depicts a migration. In turn, I believe our souls are also migrating and will go to another dimension after death. The well-known saying: “Birds of a feather flock together” also comes to mind when I read this haiku. It seems the poet resonates with the energy of the person who passed away, and their spirit lives on, in many ways. I can feel a unity of spirits or souls and a deep, prevailing silence in this poem. A beautiful haiku.

— Jacob D. Salzer

A very deep and thought-provoking haiku that tells the story of our short-lived journey in this world. Returning geese depict a migration or departure to another place temporarily and coming back to a place where they belong. It leaves us with a few questions: is it the departure and return of loved ones of the deceased person who was buried? Is it the departure of war victims who left without their loved ones (maybe dead in a war) and came back after peace? Is it a spiritual journey where one thinks more about annihilation and our short life span? Is it the time when someone comes back after feeling the absence of a deceased person?

I take it as an inner journey when a person, after having a lot of harrowing experiences that usually keep them away from their essence, comes back and finds the whole journey nothing but anonymity and annihilation. The obvious interpretation of this poem may be the death that symbolizes more of what is being missed about “her.” Is she a significant person in many ways? A few more pebbles on her headstone may be taken as her identity after death or the way one tries to pay tribute to her in a modest way.

In short, this haiku to me is about oscillating between life and death symbolically, where a person moves between outer and inner selves, with their life experiences pushing and pulling them towards their end.

— Hifsa Ashraf

Pinning down the season referred to in the first line is not so easy, but “returning” is most likely pointing to when geese come back to their nesting sites after winter. This means that the first line could be a kigo (seasonal reference) for late February to early March, but it depends on the region. In Boston, where the poet resides, Canadian geese can be seen almost any time of the year. 

There is no punctuation in this haiku, but the cut between the two parts of the poem is felt after the syntactical shift at the end of line one. I can imagine an ellipsis being used on the first line but it is not needed for the poem to work. 

How the two parts combine is intriguing. I think the key word is “returning” as it can easily relate to the pebbles being put on the headstone. The headstone is most probably made of a type of rock, and the pebbles being laid there either by natural circumstances or by human intervention connects to “returning” well. The pebbles could also be an indication of the headstone coming apart and slowly going back to its original form found in nature. Lastly, I can just as well imagine the geese dropping pebbles on the headstone—though unlikely.

In terms of sound, the letter “r” features strongest in my eye. The effect is that it has a “pulling” sound which matches with the idea of returning. In addition, the letter “e” provides elongated syllables that connect to the sense of “a few more.”

Finally, the pacing of the haiku fits the standard for English-language haiku with a short first line, a longer second line, and a short third line. This approximates the rhythm of traditional Japanese haiku.

This haiku has a fine sense of mystery and imagery, which allows readers to interact with the content on different levels.

— Nicholas Klacsanzky

“Mud Season” by John Sloane