Chittaluri Satyanarayana’s river bed

On August 29, 2023 By Nicholas KlacsanzkyIn Haiku1 Comment

river bed
the sound of water still
beneath my feet

— Chittaluri Satyanarayana (India)
(published in haikuKATHA on 11/13/2022)

Commentary

The river bed in this haiku could still be wet or dry. Perhaps both the river bed and the poet carry the memory of the river. It’s interesting to note that human beings are mostly water. Indeed, there are many rivers inside of us. As we carry memories, it seems water too carries memories, though I appreciate how a river is timeless because the water is always flowing. I think this haiku could be about drought, possibly due to climate change. Against this sad sight, I’m also filled with hope that the landscape will be revitalized with the flowing river once again.

— Jacob D. Salzer

This haiku reflects subtle, meditative, and deep experiences that leave deep impressions. It’s our state of mind and heart that binds us with our surroundings and sometimes, there comes a point when our senses sync together to experience unique happenings that a person waits for their whole life.

The river bed as a concrete part not only shares the secrets of different regions from where it passes through but shows a deep connection of nature with human nature through a common feature which is soil. One cannot see it with the naked eye but one can surely feel what a riverbed holds and offers to those who want to unfold the stories of its unending journey.

After being connected to the river bed, the first thing we can feel is the sound of water which is not an ordinary sound. It seems more musical and rhythmic where the waves of water pass through one’s feet and change the rhythm. The word ‘still’ may indicate the quiet of the mind or mindfulness when the person is experiencing the ‘here and now’. It may also reflect the slowing down of the flow of water—the calmness both within and outside. It’s the highly subtle experience of meditation when everything converges to one point which brings tranquility.

‘Beneath my feet’ is a shift in this haiku that binds the person to connect deeply with their surroundings. The feet, probably bare, have healing properties that help us to gain peace of mind after fatigue or stress. These healing points pass on tranquility from bottom to top i.e. from soil/earth to mind/brain where the impulses, like the waves of water, slow down our thought process and bring peace. The soil as a soft and passive element of nature clears our flaws, cracks, and voids in life as both the river bed and human body are made of early elements.

My concluding point is, that when all senses are deeply intact and in sync with nature, one can experience wonders in less than a moment. That type of experience can change the state of our mind and heart for good.

— Hifsa Ashraf

What draws me into this haiku is its imaginative sense. There are multiple ways we can hear the water of a river despite it being dried up. It can come through daydreaming, imagination, hallucination, a nearby water source which is mistaken for the river’s flow, and more. The unsaid part of this haiku makes it stronger and more resonant.

If I had to place this poem in a season, I would say summer. Riverbeds commonly dry out during this season. Summer connects well to the idea of a flourishing imagination and an abundance of activity.
In terms of punctuation, there isn’t any. However, I don’t personally think it’s needed in this haiku. The line break in the first line works well to make a grammatical shift.

The pacing of the lines can be said to be the standard in the English-language haiku world, with a short first line, a longer second line, and a short third line. With the second line resting on “still,” it gains more focus and amplifies its double meaning.

Looking at the sound, a few letters stand out. In the first two lines, the letter “r” dominates and gives a sense of movement. Throughout the whole haiku, the letters “e” and “i” create a stark mood that resonates with the reappearance of the sound of water.

Ultimately, the haiku’s unique line break, strong sense of sound, and expansive space for the reader’s interpretation make this a well-crafted poem.

— Nicholas Klacsanzky

Painting by John White.

Jacob D. Salzer’s river mist

On June 11, 2023 By Nicholas KlacsanzkyIn Haiku1 Comment

river mist…
the faint whispers
of a lost prophet

— Jacob D. Salzer (USA)
Published in The Heron’s Nest, Volume XXIV, Number 3: September 2022

Commentary

The haiku begins with a mystery of belief or religious life. The poet may have diluted thoughts or beliefs. I see ‘river mist’ as a sign of a lack of clarity or less understanding of one’s beliefs where one’s thoughts may be covered in a mist—the discontinuity of a spiritual or religious lesson. I also see it as how directionless a person is if they have no spiritual or religious leader who can show them the path and live a modest and peaceful life. The ellipses after ‘mist’ let us pause and ponder more on things that are not clear to us, which may be misguided or misleading in many ways.

After ‘mist’, ‘faint whispers’ add more to the modification of religious practices that used to be followed by people to get inspiration and guidance for a righteous path. With time, certain voices have lost their strength, positive influence, and power which may be the cause of some worldly chaos.

I see ‘lost prophet’ here as a spiritual leader who helps us heal wounds of our soul and who inspires us as a role model to live an exemplary life full of compassion, kindness, and peace. In other words, this haiku might be implying that we don’t have much of a platform to explore and understand our spirituality currently.

— Hifsa Ashraf

The haiku begins with perhaps a spring kigo in “river mist.” Coupled with the second part of the haiku, I feel the season is early spring with the word “whispers.”

The word “mist” connects well to “whispers” and even to “lost.” It’s a strongly visual haiku in that respect. You can see the mist move about the river, like the whispers of a lost prophet. The juxtaposition shows a comparison between nature and spirituality. It could be that the mist is the whispers themselves, or that the whispers are simply present in the river mist.

The idea of a lost prophet is intriguing. It could be that a prophet has passed away, is physically lost, or that the people have stopped listening to them.

Looking at the punctuation, the ellipses act as a kireji or cutting word that as Hifsa noted, allows us to pause and imagine the mist floating over the river. The haiku is stronger because of this effect.

The sense of sound in this haiku is something to pay keen attention to as well. The letter “r” struck me as the most important. It gave me the feeling of a moving river. Overall, the haiku has a soft reading to it that is reminiscent of whispers.

In terms of pacing, the haiku follows the standard English-language format of a short first line, a longer second line, and a short third line to approximate the original rhythm of Japanese haiku.

Salzer has done a fine job to combine spirituality, nature, and human limitations.

— Nicholas Klacsanzky

The first interpretation I was going for is the lost prophet signifies he or she has physically passed away. As the prophet takes their last breath, all that’s left of his/her life are faint whispers, Mother Earth, the endless river, and the mist. The mist could symbolize their spirit passing away/slowly evaporating into sunlight as the river of life flows on. When I saw the river mist in my mind’s eye, I felt an ethereal quality right away, and this led to writing about faint whispers. I also saw the evaporating mist as a kind of transfiguration. I appreciate how mist is water in a more subtle form that becomes nameless and formless.

I also wrote ‘a lost prophet’ to describe how the prophet may feel lost in human civilization, i.e. he or she doesn’t truly feel like they belong in human society. As a result, he or she retreats to Nature and finds their true home there, to such an extent that even their own words and teachings have become indiscernible and are only heard now as faint whispers. In other words, their life and teachings could now be Silence itself. It could be that the person has lost all labels, including the word ‘prophet.’ The sound of the river and his or her voice is all that remains instead of words. But the whispers are so faint, we and maybe even the prophet cannot know what they are saying. I intentionally left that open for the reader to hear maybe faint words in his or her whispers, maybe to hear their final words, but in a very gentle way; but the real message I’m going for is not found in words at all, but in the silences and in the sound of the river, and the Great Mystery and a deep wordless Love.

In short, I wanted to describe a transition from someone being mentally pinned as ‘a prophet’ to the essence of the prophet’s Real teaching that is not found in words but in Nature and Silence. Now, the river’s mist is the whispers of the prophet, calling people back to Nature, to Real Spirit and Love. There is a mergence of identity when the prophet loses their mental labels. They are now unified with Mother Earth and the Divine Spirit as there are no longer any mental barriers. I was deeply inspired to show a wordless Love found in Nature in this haiku.

I also wrote ‘a lost prophet’ to possibly mean the person has become physically lost in Nature. The person perhaps has left behind city life for good, but they were maybe not really prepared, and got lost in Nature, leading to their physical death. This circles back to the first interpretation. As the prophet takes their last breath and says their last faint whispers with hardly any physical strength left, what survives is Mother Earth and Spirit. I wanted to show perspective too, that the founding of religions is actually not very old compared to the history of Mother Earth Herself, and that the human race and human history is actually not very old either. But the prophet also may not necessarily be religious at all. I was actually leaning more towards a spiritual prophet outside of religion whose teachings revolve around Mother Earth.

There is another darker interpretation I thought about when writing this. I saw “a lost prophet” as someone who is mentally lost, who has gotten so caught up in the ‘prophet’ label and has a kind of ‘cult’ following. Some people may follow this prophet into Nature and suffer the consequences. When this lost prophet finally dies, the hollowness of their life is revealed in the mist, and their faint whispers and corrupt words have disappeared for good.

In this haiku, I also wanted to show how all verbal words are transient. Words appear and disappear, just like the mist.

In the end, I feel Nature will endure, and the Great Spirit. The Great Mystery will last. And Silence and Love.

— Jacob D. Salzer

Painting by M. Martin Vicente

Vladislav Hristov’s no man’s land

On May 13, 2023May 13, 2023 By Nicholas KlacsanzkyIn Haiku2 Comments

no man’s land
between two graves
thin strip of grass

— Vladislav Hristov (Bulgaria)

Scarlet Dragonfly, May 20, 2022

Commentary

The first line is impactful because “no man’s land” is a term used during trench warfare (as the land between opposing trenches during a war). Such a desolate scene explains why this saying exists because no human survives in that stretch of land. However, in another sense, I think “no man’s land” could also mean a severe disconnect between humans and the Earth (i.e. it could mean two humans in this haiku didn’t feel connected with the land, but now their remains are buried in Mother Earth). Reclaiming land that was once seemingly devoid of life and labeled “no man’s land” shows the regenerative power of Mother Earth. Reincarnation also comes to mind as a possibility in the third line.

An impactful haiku that depicts the space between life & death, and between war & Nature.

— Jacob D. Salzer

The haiku starts with a strong statement of ‘no man’s land’, indicating the miseries of war. It shows how power and conflict end in nothing but annihilation. This also reminds us how irrelevant life and worldly boundaries are after the death of people in war. I also see it as a defeat where one may claim a piece of land after winning a war but that land is also used to bury victims.

‘Between two graves’ may symbolize two countries or boundaries of two countries that are doomed in a war, or destroyed enough to look like graves. I see it as the graves of unknowns who may be foes or feud but now are buried on the same land, side by side, facing the consequences of hate simultaneously.

I like the third line of this haiku which projects exactly the harsh realities and miseries that countries face due to disastrous conflicts. It shows despair, conflict, and cynicism that does not end even after a war. A ‘thin strip of grass’ may look like a sword, tongue, or the fragility of life after conflict which leads to more hatred and fear. It shows how one war leads to another where those in power do not think about martyrs or victims.

It’s a vicious cycle of hostility that goes on from one generation to another, from one country to another, and it ends nowhere but the massive destruction and death of countless precious lives.

— Hifsa Ashraf

One of the potent features of this haiku is its pivot in the second line. “between two graves” can lend to both the first and third lines. It can be read as “no man’s land between two graves/thin strip of grass” or “no man’s land/between two graves thin strip of grass.”

There is no mention or implication of a kigo (seasonal reference). Yet, kigoless haiku have been written for hundreds of years. These haiku are called muki.

In terms of toriawase, or how things are combined, we have the solemnity of the graves and the thin strip of grass. The grass, though occupying a small area, becomes enlarged in our minds. Its importance becomes significant and represents sadness and cynicism.

There is no punctuation, but this seems reasonable in order for the pivot line to work. In English-language haiku, often punctuation is omitted in favor of the line break and a pivot line.

The pacing is the standard of English-language haiku, which is a short first line, a longer second line, and a short third line. This format approximates the rhythm of Japanese haiku.

Looking at the sound, the letter “a” is the most prominent. These long syllables bring gravity to the haiku. The “o”s in the poem also elongate the syllables.

Lastly, the language is simple and the composition is concise while conveying a poignant scene. Hallmarks of fine haiku.

This haiku describes something we might have seen many times but have not given its due importance. The poem also displays a relationship between the natural world and humanity, no matter how slight. Even a small connection can feel big in the eyes of the perceiver.

— Nicholas Klacsanzky