Haiku by Jeff Streeby, Richa Sharma, and Luke Levi

On the Jefferson River
one swallow’s perch song
making a summer


Jeff Streeby (USA)
Part of a haibun titled “A Brindle Bull.” Published in Bacopa Literary Review, September 2019; won Bacopa Literary Review’s Mixed Form Prize in 2019; nominated for a Pushcart Prize; reprinted in January 2020 by Contemporary Haibun Online.

Commentary by Nicholas Klacsanzky:

The Jefferson River grounds the poem in a historically significant place. It was named by the Lewis and Clark expedition in 1805 in honor of President Thomas Jefferson because it carried the largest volume of water at the time compared to the nearby Madison and Gallatin rivers. The river also carves through the dramatic Jefferson Canyon near Cardwell, which is also home to the famous Lewis and Clark Caverns State Park.

In juxtaposition to this important river is a swallow perched and singing, bringing the present into focus. The poet’s choice of one swallow instead of many makes the haiku more centered in the moment. Swallows are birds of motion, being aerial acrobats and migratory. To witness one perched and singing is to recognize a pause in perpetual movement. This corresponds to the river, which is constantly flowing. The swallow, unlike the river, takes a moment to provide a song that could be perceived as a celebration or initiation of summer. It is almost as if the swallow is saying, “River, I know you will not stop, so I will stop for you and sing your glories.”

The final line makes the seasonal reference or kigo clear. “making a summer” is where the poem diverges from simple observation. A single swallow, as perceived by the poet, creates an embodiment of summer with its song. It echoes the Zen notion that perception and reality arise together. Summer is often a time of joy, and I feel the poet is comparing this season’s emotions to the history of the Jefferson River, embodied in the swallow’s song.

Though the haiku lacks a cut marker (kireji) to separate its two parts, a comma is intuitively felt after the first line. There is no real need for punctuation to be added.

The pacing is in the traditional English-language haiku format of short/long/short lines, which approximates the rhythm of Japanese haiku. The brevity and minimalistic language of the poem matches haiku tradition. The poet could easily make this haiku verbose but rightly did not.

Looking at the sound, the contrast between the soft “o” sounds and the harder “r” sounds brings musicality to the haiku. Swallows have a “twitter-warble” song during courtship and egg-laying, with a series of continuous warbling sounds followed by rapid, mechanical-sounding whirrs. These sounds could be reflected in the letter “r” used throughout the haiku.

This is a haiku that merges the past and the present, flow and pause, and the miniscule and grandiose with great effectiveness.

bird by bird
I dismantle
the birdcage


Richa Sharma (India)
published in folk ku journal, issue 3, 2024

Commentary by Jacob D. Salzer

I appreciate this haiku for its metaphorical value. What is the birdcage? The limited thoughts/beliefs we have on a myriad of subjects seem to create a mental birdcage. The birdcage could also represent a limited worldview or mental prison that is self-created and/or imposed by others. What would happen if the mental birdcage was dismantled? Would our inner birds then truly begin to sing and fly?

This haiku reminds me of the four questions that Byron Katie offers regarding any thought or belief that someone is struggling with: 1) Is that thought true? 2) Can you absolutely know that the thought is true? 3) How do you react when you believe that thought? 4) Who would you be without the thought? Byron Katie then asks her clients to explore “turnarounds” or what are potential opposites of the thought that we believed was true. This process of inquiry can be highly enlightening as we learn to see and experience life without limited thoughts/beliefs that may not even be true to begin with. I highly recommend her book Loving What Is.

In terms of sound, the “b” sound is predominant throughout this haiku, which seems to make the word “dismantle” stand out even more. I think dismantle is a powerful word. I had not seen this word in a haiku before, until now. I think it works great in this poem. What else can we dismantle to live more loving and joyful lives? What can we let go of to walk lighter and with more ease and less suffering?

Aside from the metaphorical power of this haiku, it can also be read literally (i.e., the poet saw birds and heard the beauty of birdsongs, to such an extent that he physically took apart his birdcage). This haiku might also spark conversations about animals and birds in the zoo. In addition, this haiku brings to mind a famous poem by Maya Angelou, “Caged Bird.”

This is a powerful haiku that borders on surrealism (and perhaps folklore) but is also accessible with deep psychological meaning and modern-day relevance.

river rope
swinging into
no thoughts 


Luke Levi (USA)
published in Frogpond, 48:2, 2025 

Commentary by Hifsa Ashraf:

The phrase “river rope” immediately draws attention with its unusual pairing and the soft repetition of the ‘r’ sound. Without punctuation, the opening remains open-ended, inviting readers to imagine the river and the rope in their own way. Is the river calm or rushing? What kind of rope is it? What time of day is it? The poet leaves space for multiple interpretations.

“swinging into” introduces a gentle rhythmic movement—the pull, sway, and faint sound of the rope in the air.

The final line, “no thoughts,” turns the poem inward. Rather than presenting a concrete image, it leaves us in a meditative stillness, suggesting a mind emptied by the simple act of watching the rope swing. Everything else in the scene seems on hold around that quiet or subtle motion.

The absence of punctuation and a clear kigo further deepens the haiku’s openness and mystery.

Robert S. Duncanson – Meeting by the River (1864)

Luke Levi’s owl

caught
between two worlds
an owl at sunset

Luke Levi (USA)

(previously published in Fireflies’ Light, issue 25)

Commentary

I immediately connect with this haiku, partly because I am drawn towards Indigenous spirituality and appreciate how they acknowledge everything has a Spirit in the Great Mystery of life. I also connect with this haiku because I have seen owls in person that have inspired writing a few haiku about owls and their dreams. When I read “caught between two worlds,” I imagine twilight or what some people call the “golden hour” between day and night. It has been said that twilight can inspire mystical or spiritual experiences.  

At the same time, I appreciate how the poet left the first two lines open for interpretation. When I read “caught between two worlds,” my first interpretation was the gap between the material/seen world and the Spiritual/unseen world that actually may not be seen as separate at all. The Buddhist saying: Form is Emptiness and Emptiness is Form comes to mind. Even atoms are mostly “empty” space. Therefore, it seems material forms are not as concrete as they appear to be. The two worlds could also be between a lifetime on Mother Earth and a spiritual afterlife after physical death. As the sun sets into the mysteries of night, this could be a symbol for our last breath into the afterlife. The two worlds could also be between the waking-dream state that many call “reality” and the world of sleep, dreams, and the subconscious. Possible states of consciousness between these two worlds are the hypnopompic (the state right before entering the “waking” world) or the hypnagogic state (the state right before falling asleep). Regardless of our interpretation(s), I think this haiku has a universal appeal and significance. 

In more down-to-earth terms, I think “caught between two worlds” could easily apply to a wide range of relationships between two people with very different backgrounds and/or worldviews. In a broader sense, the two worlds could even be two cultures, two perspectives, or two sides of a war, etc. It seems the word “caught” holds inherent tension. It’s interesting to observe worlds within worlds here on Mother Earth: from microscopic/quantum to macro/cosmic perspectives and everything in between.

In Indigenous cultures, there are myths and legends about owls. Owls are excellent observers who are very quiet. It’s been said they mostly live their lives in solitude. In this perspective, one interpretation is the poet might be deciding whether or not to be (or possibly remain) single vs. be in a relationship. The word “caught” could imply uncertainty. 

In short, I feel this haiku expresses animistic/Indigenous spirituality, different perspectives, and the depth of relationships and solitude. I also feel this haiku is also a portal into the world of dreams and the subconscious. It seems to carry contemplative power and encourages introspection. I think it also has the power to open our hearts and minds to what is possible in this lifetime. Perhaps it can encourage us to try our best to resolve conflicts. Ultimately, it seems in the gap between two worlds, we can silence the mind and experience peace. A powerful haiku. 

 — Jacob D. Salzer (USA)

The poem starts with the simple word ‘caught’ that resonates a lot and pauses our thoughts to think for a while before moving on to the next lines. The two worlds can be interpreted as: changing seasons, day and night, present and past, life and death, or time and space. Whatever it is, there is a transition where something got stuck, and it is experiencing some sort of unknown circumstances. Being inclined to spiritualism, I can see the two worlds as materialism (outer self) and selflessness (inner self). It’s more like yin-yang where one world reflects the other, or where one world overshadows the other one, causing chaos, confusion, or bewilderment. I also see ‘caught’ as a threshold level where a person initially tries to adjust to what is not visible or known to them.

The third line reveals some specifications of two worlds where ‘owl’ and ‘sunset’ may project time and space. An owl can symbolize wealth, prosperity, a good omen, wisdom, or fortune but in certain other cultures, it is a sign of bad omen. Keeping both aspects in mind, an owl as a nocturnal bird personifies our life as a combination of both good and bad, where a person struggles by exploring their inner and outer worlds—passing through ups and downs but with choices. It depends on where a person’s locus of control is. The sunset gives a clear demarcation of two worlds where the light enters into darkness and opens the new horizon, which may be subtle or sophisticated for a person if their senses are intact with reality.

Hifsa Ashraf (Pakistan)

If I were to say what the kigo or seasonal reference is for this haiku, I would say winter. Owls are commonly a kigo for winter in the haiku tradition, but they may be different in various locales. Winter is often seen as a magical time, with gleaming snow and the cold that brings about a whole new landscape. This relates well to the supernatural symbolism of the owl.

In terms of how the two parts of haiku operate, we have the cut in the second line with the line break. It’s not a direct juxtaposition, but rather an association between the sunset and two worlds, plus the owl itself and two worlds. The sunset is a transition from one time to the next, which could be said to be another world. The owl, as we have discussed, has mystical qualities that can be seen as a bridge between two worlds or dimensions by many cultures.

This haiku might contain yugen or as described by Zeami Motokiyo: “To watch the sun sink behind a flower clad hill. To wander on in a huge forest without thought of return. To stand upon the shore and gaze after a boat that disappears behind distant islands. To contemplate the flight of wild geese seen and lost among the clouds.” There is a sense of natural awe and mystery in this haiku, plus a possible nod to nothingness as espoused by Buddhism. The nothingness in this haiku is the owl not being a part of any world, where its identity is gone. The nothingness in Buddhism is not physical but rather the emptiness of identity.

Two letters stand out to me when I read this haiku out loud: “t” and “o.” The letter “t” is great at creating an atmosphere of starkness and the letter “o” is excellent at slowing down the pace and making a piece more contemplative.

The format follows the common short-line-short lines sequence of English-language haiku that try to match the 5-7-5 sound units in Japanese judiciously. Most haiku by masters are between 6-9 words, and this one fits in nicely with eight. This ensures brevity and the effectiveness of expression.

The feeling behind this poem is deep, philosophical, and introspective. We need more haiku about owls in English, and this is a fine addition.

Nicholas Klacsanzky (USA)

“Sunset Owl” by Alan Galindo