My haiku “whale vertebrae” won a Touchstone Award for Individual Poems in 2016, from the Haiku Foundation.

whale vertebrae
drifting from one god
to another

(first printed in A Hundred Gourds 5.3)

Here is commentary on this haiku from the panelists from the Haiku Foundation:

“This haiku brings the sense of a timelessness of all things in our own great human journey between birth and death. A lot to imply in eight carefully crafted words but what an impact they have. They evoke something greater in our understanding and the search for the true self. Every time I read this haiku I find more places to travel and discover the subtleties that tantalize me as a reader. Nothing is explained, only suggested, and the reader can find what it means to them by going deeper.”

“The magnificence of the life force expressed in a whale, and the universal and critical message that from one god to another, no matter who we worship or where we’re from, there is only one Truth. And just as the dead whale has drifted across the sea, so too might we at times feel lost, drifting from one religious or spiritual path to another, hoping to find healing. With racism and refugees much on our minds today, this poem offers the hope of healing. And in the echo of the repetitive r’s and o’s, the power of this spare haiku reverberates with sound.”

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For more information, and to look at other winners, please visit: https://www.thehaikufoundation.org/2017/04/30/commentaries-for-the-2016-touchstone-awards/

Background on the Poet

Cyril Childs was a cricketer, scientist, leading haiku poet, and editor of national haiku anthologies in New Zealand. He was born in Invercargill in 1941. He became intrigued with haiku while living in Matsuyama, Japan for several months during 1989-90. He was a past president of the NZ Poetry Society, edited both of the NZ Haiku Anthologies published by the NZPS (1993,1998), and co-edited Listening to the Rain (Small White Teapot Group, Christchurch, 2002) – an anthology of haiku and haibun by Christchurch writers.

His own book, Beyond the Paper Lanterns: A Journey with Cancer, dedicated to his first wife, was published in 2000.

Cyril judged three NZPS haiku competitions and was co-judge, with Jerry Kilbride, of the HSA’s Henderson Award in 2000. Cyril also wrote in other poetic forms like free verse. His poetry appeared widely in international magazines and anthologies such as contemporary haibun online, Modern Haiku, Frogpond, and Wind over Water: an anthology of haiku and tanka and in New Zealand journals, including Poetry NZ, JAAM, Kokako, CommonTatta, and Bravado. His book reviews appeared in JAAM, New Zealand Books, and on the NZ Poetry Society website. Childs also had a keen interest in sports such as rugby and cricket and in 2010 appeared in the cricket poetry anthology A Tingling Catch: A Century of New Zealand Cricket Poems 1864-2009.

After a career as a scientist, Cyril retired to Port Chalmers in a home overlooking Otago Harbour and also enjoyed spending time at his beloved bach (crib) in Riverton. A biography of his uncle’s wartime exploits absorbed most of his writing energy in later years. The book was under contract for publication at the time of his death.  Childs died on 27 January 2012, only a few months after himself being diagnosed with cancer. He is survived by his son Norris, his daughter Lia and his second wife Christine.

(From The Living Haiku Anthology, with edits)

Haiku Commentary

full white moon
touching . . . not touching
the top of the hill

© Cyril Childs (New Zealand) (1941 – 2012)

Down to our basest essentials, we are something that sways in and out of existence. Our virtual particles flash with life and death. And this relates to enlightenment as well. It is not an assured thing—something that can be pinned down with the stroke of words. However, we can portray it through conundrums, especially presented in poetic form.

This haiku, in my mind, shows this confusion with significance. The moon touches the top of the hill with its light, but doesn’t at the same time, as the light it emits is not itself. In many traditions, the full moon is a symbol of spiritual enlightenment and fulfillment (and “white” gives a sense of symbolizing purity). However, the experience of it is not something that can be properly defined. That is why in Buddhism, ultimately, there is no difference between the cycle of suffering that we live in and the heightened consciousness of enlightenment.

Why is that? Enlightenment is simply being. It is not as grandiose as one might believe. Suffering is not knowing how or not being willing to be simply one’s self. Yet, suffering leads to the experience of the self, and enlightenment owes its realization to it. Suffering and enlightenment is a single process. There is no goal. Your suffering self is already enlightened, if you would only look a little within, past thought, emotion, and bodily sensation.

“The top of the hill” could be the summit by which we imagine ourselves when enlightened. After reading so many books about nirvana, when one might believe that it can be conceptualized. As this haiku confirms, it cannot.

– Nicholas Klacsanzky (Ukraine)

friday morning
from the white mosque porch
cry of a swan

© Ken Sawitri (Indonesia)

Chrysanthemum 19, April 15th, 2016
http://www.chrysanthemum-haiku.net/media/Chrysanthemum_19.pdf

Friday mornings are usually cheerful with the prospect of the oncoming weekend. We can also take into account that the poet might have been at the mosque for the dawn prayer time, or Fajr. In Islam, it is seen as God’s most favored prayer since others are asleep. Also, the call to Fajr marks the beginning of the obligatory daily fasting during the holy month of Ramadan.

The cry of the swan creates a contrast between the jovial mood of Friday mornings and the peacefulness of prayer time in the mosque. Why is the swan crying? It is inexplicable, as it conveys a different emotion for each person that hears it. One person might see the swan crying and think, “Yes, Islam is going through a troubled time currently,” but another person might think, “Look, even a swan calls us to the mosque to pray, just as the muezzin  (the man who calls Muslims to the mosque) does,” while yet another person might think, “The swan is sad it cannot enter the mosque to pray.” There are a myriad interpretations one can get from the cry of the swan, and that is what makes this haiku engaging and versatile.

This scene reminds me of the term aware, which is a Japanese word that means the ability of an object, event, or scene to stimulate emotion, particularly of sadness or regret. The cry of the swan in the context of the scene brings about emotions, though we are not quite sure which ones exactly. But emotions that cannot be accurately defined are commonly the most powerful.

Another thing to consider is “white” being used directly and being implied in the haiku. The swan, in a sense, blends in with the mosque, and could be acting as its mouthpiece. Or, we could think of the mosque blending in with the swan, suggesting religion returning to simpler times. White is often a symbol of clarity, and maybe the haiku is suggesting the swan and mosque are not so distant from each other.

Sonically, the sounds of “f” in “friday” and “from,” and the “m” sounds in “morning” and “mosque” brings out the intensity of the swan’s cry. In terms of punctuation, I believe the author was correct in not using it in the first line, as it will make “friday morning” too heavy, when it is something light.

A haiku that lends itself to be commentary on religion and its connection with the natural world, it also showcases an excellent sense of sound, color, and scenery.

– Nicholas Klacsanzky (Ukraine)