enclosed
in a soap bubble
summer

© Eufemia Griffo (Italy)

A respected haiku aesthetic is the beauty in transience. I believe this haiku wonderfully demonstrates this aesthetic.

Soap bubbles definitely do not last long, if not for a few seconds. This speaks of the attentiveness of the poet and sharpness with which she was in the moment while writing this haiku. Even though the soap bubble is short-lived, it presents summer in all its glory. Being spherical and clear, a soap bubble can mirror the surrounding world in a comprehensive way.

Philosophically, this can speak volumes. It could mean that even if we have lived one moment in complete understanding, our life has been fulfilled. Another perspective could be that even the most momentary of things can have a deep significance in the lives of others. And yet another take on this imagery is that it represents ourselves: our lives are short, though the joy and bliss of life should be fully viewed.

Beyond philosophy, haiku are just what they are. This haiku could be simply about a bubble reflecting the summer day around it. Nothing more, nothing less.

Usually, if we overthink haiku, we are not seeing its truth. The deepest truth of any haiku is that it is, and that isness brings us into a state of pure awareness without thought.

Looking at sound, I enjoy how the letters “o” and “u” are used to create a sensation of roundness, like the bubble. The “s” sound makes it more musical and perhaps could be the sound of the water running in the bathtub.

Soap bubbles correctly add to the atmosphere of summer: playful, comforting, warm, though temporary. The two parts seem to work well together not only as imagery, but also as an atmosphere.

Though our lives are transient, let’s enjoy each moment of it. This is the essential message that seems to stem from this haiku.

– Nicholas Klacsanzky (Ukraine)

 

 

 

why
are some icicles long
some short?

– Ueshima Onitsura (1660-1738) (Japan)

I want to mention a few things about Onitsura before I look at his haiku. He was a Japanese haiku poet of the Edo period, famous in the Osaka region for his haiku poetry. Belonging to the Danrin school of Japanese poetry, Onitsura is credited (along with other Edo-era poets) of helping to define and exemplify Bashō’s style of poetry.

Born to a family of brewers in Itami (present-day Hyōgo Prefecture), Onitsura showed exceptional talent in poetry at the age of eight. At the age of 25, Onitsura moved to Osaka, where he begun his professional career in haiku and other forms of poetry.

Although he never became as influential and famous as Basho, Onitsura has a strong place in the history of haiku. In R.H. Blyth’s words, a prominent translator of haiku:

“Onitsura composed the first real haiku. They show his genius; they show pure nature; they best express his unintellectualized experience; they are ‘a sort of thought in sense.’ His verses are simple and easy, melodious, and poetical. Contemporary with Basho, he was independent of him, and the chief difference between the two men was in their power of making disciples. … The poetry of Onitsura has something in common with that of Robert Frost.”

With that being said, let’s dive into one of Onitsura’s haiku, which I greatly admire.

At first, it looks extremely simple. It seems almost like a question a child would ask. However, it is a deep question that reflects Onitsura’s Zen practice (in his old age, he stopped writing haiku to practice only Zen).

There is no answer to the question. Icicles simply grow the length they are through random processes. There is no fate, no engineering. They form spontaneously. The length of the icicles is not important in this haiku, only the act itself of forming an icicle, which has nothing to think about it.

Whether long or short, an icicle is an icicle. Part of the wabi-sabi philosophy of Japan is to accept things at they are, and seeing beauty in seeming imperfection. In this sense, no matter how long or short, each icicle is perfect in its own way.

Essentially, Onitsura is asking readers to ponder why things are the way they are. The easiest answer: they are because they are.

Here are some more haiku by Onitsura for your reading pleasure:

skeletons
all prettily made up –
cherry blossom viewing

there is no place
to throw the used bath water
insect cries!

this cool breeze –
the empty sky fills
with the sound of pines

though I have no lover
I too rejoice:
the change of clothes

my soul
dives in and out of the water
with the cormorant

Thank you for reading and taking the time to learn more about haiku.

– Nicholas Klacsanzky (Ukraine)

winter evening
grandma dozes off
mid-conversation

© Christina Sng (Singapore)

Kokako 25, September 2016

What stroke me the most about this haiku was the ambiguity of the last two lines.  The act of dozing off could mean simply that her grandma was sleeping or that she had passed away.

It might not be so unclear though, as winter evenings can be harsh and lonely, and Christina sets an appropriate mood for death.

However, there is also an air of comedy as well. If she wrote, “grandma closes her eyes/mid-conversation” it would be much more obvious as to the poet’s intentions.

In haiku, though, ambiguity is a strength. Part of the reason why masters of haiku are read throughout centuries is because their haiku was not straightforward. Reading a haiku over several years, and maybe a lifetime, can yield discoveries of new layers of meaning and/or implication.

If one reads this haiku out loud, the second line seems light in mood, whereas the third line seems more serious. Plus, “winter evening” is a serious seasonal reference or kigo. So, I don’t want to pin down this haiku, but I am leaning more on the serious than the comical.

Though seasonal references are not required in haiku, they do add a lot of historical and philosophical information. With “winter evening” Christina adds our collective memories of winter evenings. They are often stark, lonely, harsh, but also a time for families to come together. In fact, each season is a duality. Winter is harsh, but brings us together for holidays and to escape the cold. Spring is the time of blossoms, but sometimes winter’s harshness remains, which is shown in what does not blossom. Summer is a fun time and full of energy, but the sun sometimes causes famines and natural disasters. Autumn is when the natural world is dying all around us, but in such a beautiful form that sometimes we forget about the suffering nature is enduring.

Just like winter being double-sided, so is this haiku. You can feel sadness, comedy, or maybe an indescribable mixture of both. This haiku shows us the spontaneity of life, and possibly death. Though we try to control our lives and manage our surroundings somewhat, we are far from being rulers over our lives.

Looking at it sonically, the “i” sound in the first line makes the winter even starker. The “o” sound carried through the last two lines show the lull and continuation that is insinuated. I think Christina made a smart choice not to use punctuation or kireji (cutting word) in the first line, as she already used a hyphen in the third line, and using a dash or ellipses may have looked awkward.

Technically, sonically, and atmospherically, this is a poignant haiku that begs to be read over and over again.

– Nicholas Klacsanzky (Ukraine)