Tag: Nicholas Klacsanzky

Haiku by Kala Ramesh, Jas Asencio Ramirez, and Royal Baysinger

On By Nicholas KlacsanzkyIn Haiku1 Comment

milky way …
the city’s debris choking
what is left of its river

— Kala Ramesh (India)
first published in Acorn, fall issue, 2025

Commentary by Jacob D. Salzer: 

This is a revealing haiku that speaks volumes about the amount of waste produced in cities. This haiku also shows how poorly waste is often managed, leading to polluted water, soil, and air. The first line provides a much broader perspective on the Milky Way galaxy that shows how ignorant much of humanity is, creating a narrow-minded economic system based on scarcity, supply-and-demand, competition, and a refusal to take care of the Earth. The Milky Way and the Earth have been revered for thousands of years, especially by Indigenous Peoples, environmentalists, and spiritual people. Indigenous Peoples also often live near rivers, lakes, and oceans. Indeed, where there is water, there is life. If a city’s debris is choking a river, that’s a clear sign that we have built too much, too fast, and now we are all taking the consequences. In the end, we all share our brief human lives on this small Earth, and we are all temporary visitors here. What will we do with our limited time here?

This haiku sparks conversations about ways we can protect the Earth and reduce the sheer amount of waste we produce on a daily basis. This haiku also inspires questions about where products come from, and how they are sourced and created. Hopefully, this will lead to more mindful and informed consumers who are not fooled by clever or misleading marketing campaigns.

Finally, in a much broader sense, this haiku urges us to think about our values and how we want to live on Earth with our limited time here.

According to the Global Waste Index 2025 by Sensoneo, “After a comprehensive analysis of waste management in 38 countries, Israel has emerged as the country with the highest per capita waste generation, producing up to 650 kg of municipal waste per person annually. Of this amount, 524 kg is landfilled, representing 80% of the country’s total waste  – the highest landfill share among all analyzed nations. Consistent with data from 2019 and 2022, Chile and the United States continue to rank among the world’s most significant waste polluters.

On the other end of the spectrum are two Asian countries. Japan jumped to first place from seventh in 2022, thanks to low rates of waste generation and landfilling. South Korea secured second place with the highest recycling rate among all nations – 54%. Surprisingly, Estonia joined the top three with almost no waste sent to landfills. Positive rankings were also achieved by Scandinavian countries such as Sweden and Finland, as well as by DACH region countries, Germany and Austria.”

Source: https://www.sensoneo.com/global-waste-index/2025/

An important haiku.

winter breath 
floats through chilled air-
child tries to catch it 

— Jas Asencio Ramirez (USA)
first published in Brussels Sprout, Volume XII:3, 1995

Commentary by Nicholas Klacsanzky:

The season the haiku is placed in is shown in the first line with “winter.” It is reinforced with “chilled.” The cold and sparseness of winter is contrasted by the third line. A child tries, in its innocence and playfulness, to catch the visible, floating breath. But, like the breath, a child’s carefree nature eventually dissipates. Sometimes, it seems to parents that their children grow up too fast. Classic haiku often focus on a fleeting moment, and this one is built around impermanence. The attempt by the child to catch the breath is doomed from the start. The imagery is hopeful at the same time, capturing a child’s innocent belief that something visible must also be graspable.

In the second line, there is an approximation of kireji, or a cut marker, to delineate the two parts of the haiku, with the introduction of the dash. The line break after “floats through chilled air—” creates a small pause, mirroring the way breath hangs in cold air before scattering.

The letter “r” in this haiku seems the most prominent to me, which brings a sense of heaviness. This provides more weight to the visible breath. Light letters like “t” and “i” also provide tenderness to the musicality of the haiku.

In terms of pacing, the haiku follows the short/long/short line lengths. This reflects the traditional Japanese haiku rhythm. Though this haiku is not so focused on absolute brevity, the word choice by the poet unfolds an emotional response from the reader. The poet captures a poignant moment with clarity to allow readers to ponder the relationship between innocence and experience, transience and staying power, and hope and realism.

as the heatwave settles a swell of cicada songs

— Royal Baysinger (Canada)
first published in Frogpond, 46.3, 2023

Commentary by Hifsa Ashraf:

This monoku reflects a moment of seasonal transition, where one phase of summer gradually transforms into another. The opening phrase, as the heatwave settles, suggests that the speaker has been enduring and observing an extended period of oppressive heat, waiting for the moment when its intensity finally begins to ease. The word settles becomes the hinge of the poem, marking not only a shift in the weather but also a quiet change in the speaker’s emotional state. As the heat subsides, so too does the inner tension, creating a sense of relief and anticipation.

The phrase a swell of cicada songs evokes both a rising chorus and a wave of renewed life. The word swell carries a double meaning: it suggests an increase in sound while also recalling the movement of a wave, reinforcing the poem’s sense of transformation. The cicadas seem to celebrate this subtle change in the season, their chorus becoming a natural announcement of renewal. Their songs may also foreshadow the coming rains, or express the instinctive joy of a landscape awakening after oppressive heat.

Beyond the seasonal scene, the haiku resonates as a metaphor for human experience. Just as the heatwave eventually settles, periods of hardship also come to an end. The swelling chorus of cicadas becomes a symbol of hope, resilience, and inner renewal—a reminder that difficult times can give way to fresh understanding, joy, and transformation.

The poem’s music further deepens its effect. The repeated s sounds in as, settles, swell, songs, and cicada create a soft, whispering rhythm that mirrors the gradual easing of the heat, while the w sound in heatwave and swell suggests the motion of a wave carrying the poem from stillness toward renewal.

Photo by Jon Washburne

Several one-line haiku by Alan Summers

On By Nicholas KlacsanzkyIn Haiku8 Comments

We have a special feature this time around. Here are several commentaries on one-line haiku from Alan Summers’ new book, modŏ – new & selected.

the robin and the snow and the robin’s song again underscored


Commentary by Hifsa Ashraf:

When I read this poem in one go, I feel as if an old vinyl record is playing on a loop, with slight pauses between the music that are almost imperceptible. It is a profound monoku in which the poet sketches a winter scene for us—a season of deep silence, where snow and cold weather often keep people indoors. Yet, winter is also a season of reflection, allowing us to connect more deeply with our inner selves and with nature. Since snow is a familiar part of winter in many regions of the world, connecting one’s emotions with it feels both natural and profound.

The opening word, ‘the’, makes me think of a particular robin. It may be a bird enjoying itself in the snow, or perhaps its song carries a note of sadness or loneliness. Symbolically, I also see the robin as a person seeking solace in nature in whatever way they can. Is the robin connected to deeply personal feelings that resurface each winter? Is it an old longing or desire that has quietly endured over the years and now emerges again in this season? The snow in the background plays an important role in highlighting these thoughts, emotions, moods, and desires. It also evokes a sense of nostalgia—something that keeps returning with the arrival of winter.

‘The snow’, likewise, may represent the familiar qualities associated with winter: silence, loneliness, emptiness, and stillness. Yet, I also see it as a kind of white noise, something vast and difficult to fully grasp. In this sense, the robin and the snow create a yin-yang relationship, complementing and defining one another.

The repetition of and in italics, though less emphasized, together with the recurring presence of the robin and the snow, creates an interesting rhythmic effect in the background. It emphasizes both elements and encourages readers to view them not as separate images but as parts of a unified experience.

The real cut, for me, occurs at ‘again’. The word suggests continuity—something returning time and again, whether through the cycle of the seasons or through recurring personal memories. It is as though the robin’s song repeatedly resurfaces within the snowy landscape. Perhaps it is something a solitary person longs for in winter: a sound that breaks the silence and resonates with their feelings. The song inspires one to join nature’s chorus and find comfort within it. It becomes something impossible to ignore amid the quiet fall of snow.

The haiku concludes with the word ‘underscored’, which shifts our attention from the surface imagery to the deeper music beneath it. Besides the robin’s song and the silence of the snow, there is a hidden harmony created by their interaction. The robin gives voice to the snow, while the snow, in turn, amplifies the robin’s song. The ending carries a subtle melancholy that invites us to reflect on our relationship with nature regardless of the season. At the same time, it offers hope, showing us how silence itself can become a symphony, even when no one else is there to hear it.

The repeated sounds of r, s, o, and n further enhance the musical quality of the monoku, creating a melody that readers can almost hear as they move through the poem.


wintergreen that time spent as Christmas alone


Commentary by Jacob D. Salzer:

It is remarkable how certain scents can transport us back in time to a specific memory (or a collection of memories), in a specific place and circumstance.  In this monoku, the word “alone” could have at least two different interpretations: 1) it could mean that the wintergreen scent is only smelled on Christmas Day with family and/or friends, or 2) Christmas Day was spent alone without the company of family and/or friends. This monoku makes me think of elderly people who live in assisted living homes, memory care facilities, or hospice facilities who may not have family nearby. Although the person referenced in this monoku could also be young and alone for many different reasons. Did the person get stranded in a snowstorm?  Did they experience a tragedy or a flight delay? Did they want to spend Christmas with family but their family members passed away? Does this scent bring back memories when the person celebrated Christmas with family but can no longer do this anymore?  

I also think of a beautiful forest. Perhaps the person spent Christmas in the woods for the first time.

I also appreciate how this monoku shows a disruption in our day-to-day lives, where the Christmas holiday is celebrated (hopefully beyond the capitalist mindset of gifts and money exchange), and where actual relationships are made and nourished beyond the idea of money.

Regardless of our interpretations, it is the wintergreen scent that is remembered, viscerally felt, and re-experienced in this monoku. Perhaps this scent brings a mix of emotions all at once (melancholy, joy, nostalgia, etc.). The wintergreen scent is also strong and powerful (and therefore hard to forget), which (in my mind) translates to strong emotional correlations. What other scents do we recognize, and where do they take us? What mental impressions (samskaras) remain in the subconscious mind from this lifetime (and even past lives) that are associated with various scents? This is a powerful monoku to experience and contemplate.


a single gate faces the forest snow-hinting sky


Commentary by Ron Scully:

Why “a single gate” rather than a double, or another, open or closed? Alan Summers shows deftly the doors, read gate, are one way, one off, and we are stopped by the stand of thick forest, rather than forest bathing, we are on the brink of snow bathing. Quite the piquant piece by a master. Several readings would yield richer reactions.


self-penned obituary again the snow


Commentary by Nicholas Klacsanzky:

Though this monoku is extremely concise, there are at least three ways of reading it. My first interpretation was that the poet, or another person in the poet’s life, is writing an obituary for themselves again, and this act is represented in, or connected to, the snow falling outside. The second look made me think that snow itself might be the obituary that is penned, and that the poet feels (or felt) one with snow; the snow could be falling after the obituary has been read, signifying that nature continues without indifference or reverence. Finally, on the third reading, I saw that a self-penned obituary is perhaps being compared to snowflakes, where variety is present at a focused level, but from far away, it might appear the same.

In any way you read this one-line haiku, the kigo, or seasonal reference, of snow is important. It expresses the mood, the cold, and sometimes the beauty of impending death. Snow can also be a metaphor for the blank page, or erasure. It also adds a layer of sound with “s” that matches the beginning with “self.” Perhaps it is representative of the cycle of life and death. In addition, the “o” sounds in “obituary” and “snow” provide an open feeling as if the person in the poem is welcoming death and ready for it.

The cut to form the two parts of the haiku is felt naturally after either “obituary” or “again.” The word “again” acts as a pivot that can give meaning to both the first and second parts of the haiku.

There is a lot of feeling behind the words and phrasing in this monoku. Not a word or image is out of place. An impactful haiku that calls us to pause and introspect about our relationship with nature, death, and identity.

Publications:

“the robin” previously published in whiptail: journal of the single-line poem, ed. Kat Lehmann & Robin Smith (November 2025)

“a single gate” previously published in haikuKATHA 52 (January 2026) Founder/Managing Editor: Kala Ramesh

“self-penned obituary” previously published in whiptail: journal of the single-line poem, ed. Kat Lehmann & Robin Smith (November 2025)

Roodborstje op besneeuwde boomtak (1878–1910) print in high resolution by Theo van Hoytema. Original from The Rijksmuseum. Digitally enhanced by rawpixel.

Haiku by Jeff Streeby, Richa Sharma, and Luke Levi

On By Nicholas KlacsanzkyIn HaikuLeave a comment

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)