Tag: poetry

Haiku from Susan Yavaniski, Anthony Lusardi, and Jahnavi Gogoi

On By Nicholas KlacsanzkyIn Haiku1 Comment

bitter cold
a streetlight shining
on his pillow

— Susan Yavaniski (USA)
Polish International Haiku Competition 2022 Commendation 

Commentary from Jacob D. Salzer:

I appreciate the mystery (yugen) in this haiku. The pillow could belong to a homeless person who lives on the street. However, I think the streetlight is shining through the window onto his pillow. In the latter interpretation, the word “bitter” leads me to think the husband or the poet’s son is absent or has passed away. I appreciate how there is room for interpretation left to the reader. The coldness of this haiku comes through strongly with vivid imagery. This is a powerful haiku that I think many people can relate to.

for the next hiker
at the trail’s entrance
a walking stick

— Anthony Lusardi (USA)
Acorn, Issue #49, Fall 2022

Commentary from Hifsa Ashraf:

I see here a deep and inevitable connection between humans and nature. “For the next hiker” may or may not indicate every hiker. I see it like every hiker needs some assistance when they explore nature, whether they have special needs or not. As the path to explore nature is not easy, one’s needs assistance to hike and climb difficult peaks and terrains. A walking stick may be from a tree which plays a supporting role for hikers. So, it’s more like a give and take relationship between humans and nature. 

I see another aspect of this haiku which is life itself. It may reflect old age where when you enter that path, you depend on others or things to support you. I see a walking stick as a support or assistance that one needs as a senior. The word “hiker” may indicate the difficult path one has to face due to the constraints or limitations of an advanced age. The use of articles in this haiku leaves some space for the readers to relate it to their own life experiences. 

under the aurora borealis 
each whisper 
a cloud

— Jahnavi Gogoi (Canada)

Commentary from Nicholas Klacsanzky:

This haiku captures the wonder of the aurora borealis well. Haiku often promotes the sense of awe that keeps us childlike and enjoying life—even its smallest moments. In the scene of the poem, above is the spectacle of the aurora borealis, and below is the remarkable observation of each whisper of the witnesses of the aurora borealis becoming a cloud. It provides me with gratitude for each happening, as everything that unfolds can convey beauty in its own way. There is also the image of tiny clouds blanketing the view of the aurora borealis for a second, inferring that even a tiny action can have a potent effect.

Looking at the haiku more technically, the shortness of the third line manifests the quietness of the moment. The “r” sounds in the first two lines of the haiku also add to the quietude of the scene, in my opinion. The soft “o” in the last line continues this feeling. The season for this haiku is somewhat clear, as the aurora borealis appears usually in spring or autumn. However, with the breath clouds, I would suppose the season is autumn. In autumn, each living and non-living being is more noticeable and precious due to the sparseness of the environment. In this spirit, I think the poet made the observation about the breath clouds, which could be said to connect to the aesthetic of wabi-sabi. In turn, we witness as readers spectacles above and below, remembering that our world is indeed a wonderful place.

By Sephiroth

Haiku by Robert Hirschfield, John Zheng, Patrick Sweeney

On By Nicholas KlacsanzkyIn Haiku, ShahaiLeave a comment

heavy snow—
in the window
my buried name

— Robert Hirschfield (USA)
Autumn Moon Haiku Journal, autumn/winter, 2024 

Commentary: I appreciate the psychological and philosophical depth of this haiku. The first line alone carries emotional weight as well in the word “heavy.” I think the dash puts more emphasis on the snow and also creates a long silence in the poem, which resonates with the deep snow. I also appreciate the window in this haiku that seemingly separates the “inside” from the “outside.” I see the window as the lens through which we see the world. As a meditation, this haiku reflects on human mortality and encourages us to reflect on our Earthly lives and life after death. I also appreciate how this haiku shifts the focus back to the beauty and power of Mother Earth who survives long after we are physically gone. I think the poet is writing from a place of genuine humility, as his name is literally and visually buried in this haiku in the last line. In turn, it seems our names are not as permanent as they seem to be. This haiku conjures up a few questions for us to consider: 1) What do we want to leave behind after our last breath on Earth? 2) Who are we without our names? 3) What are our thoughts on life after death? 4) Are we open to the Great Mystery? I think this haiku expands our perspective and asks us to consider how important our seemingly separate sense of individuality is in relation to life itself and the cosmos. I would argue that no one is ever truly alone in this world (or in the afterlife). It seems our unique individual selves are, in the end, expressions of one universal energy, just as each snowflake is uniquely different but made of the same substance. It also seems that all of life is connected in infinitely complex and mysterious ways that we can never fully comprehend with our limited minds. In short, this is a powerful and humbling haiku that encourages us to meditate on our identity, our Earthly lives, Mother Earth spirituality, and life after death.

— Jacob D. Salzer

— John Zheng (USA)

Commentary: When I looked at this photo haiku for the first time, it reminded me of a summer vacation in my childhood in my village. My grandmother used to tell us a story in an old-fashioned room in our family house where there was a wooden ceiling, creaky stairs, a charpai, and an ancient wooden door. We used to sit on the stairs listening to our late evening stories from her and there was complete silence in the room except for the wind that would pass through the gaps in the wooden ceiling. I can relate to this haiku very well. It seems like a meditative session where everyone is mesmerised by profound poetry that has enchanting effects on listeners. Reading poetry is an art that can bring all the senses to one point and make them not only listen to it but also absorb the vivid imagery or storyline. It suddenly stops the world around us and lets us relate it to our feelings and thoughts. 

I see another aspect to this photo haiku as well. It may depict the cessation of past routines of storytelling or reading. It may suggest that the poet is all alone and there is no one to listen to their poetry. The silence of creaking stairs could mean no one from the upper part of the house comes down. Maybe, once there were children or other household members who used to gather for poetry readings and now they have gone. It’s a simple yet deep photo haiku that depicts the irony of today’s fast-paced life where no one has time for such creative activities. 

— Hifsa Ashraf

curvature of spacetime at the early bird special

— Patrick Sweeney (USA)
Wales Haiku Journal, Spring 2023

Commentary: I’m a fan of reading about physics, and haiku about spacetime are always interesting to me. In this haiku, there is an unexpected pairing with “early bird special.” For those not acquainted with this, it is a business strategy to offer discounted prices for those who buy an item early. So, the relation between the two parts is that the early bird special is akin to a curvature in spacetime in that it is sort of a bending of time. The early bird could also be referring to an actual bird or a person. Either way, it is a unique combination of elements that makes a connection between the lofty and the practical. I feel that is one of main missions of haiku: to make a web of connections between innumerable beings to demonstrate that we are all in this together somehow.

Looking at the more technical aspects, the kigo or seasonal reference is not clear—though early bird specials are often offered at the start of seasons. The flow of the poem could be seen as two parts or as one phrase, which works to its benefit. The use of sound in the haiku is subtle but powerful with a fantastic run of “r,” “t,” and “l” sounds. The “r” sounds are more favorite as they make me feel as if the sound is curving like spacetime. Overall, this is a beautiful-sounding haiku with a fine twist that is at once relatable and abstract.

— Nicholas Klacsanzky

Anna Goluba’s dreamcatcher

On By Nicholas KlacsanzkyIn Haiku1 Comment

Abandoned house
The dreamcatcher still hangs
In the children’s room

— Anna Goluba (Poland)
Published in Haikuniverse, March 7, 2019

Commentary

I appreciate the mystery (yūgen) of why the house is abandoned. Was it because of physical damage to the house itself that forced the family to move? Or, was it due to other socio-economic factors that the family relocated? The mystery (yūgen) of the abandoned house provides some space for the reader. The dreamcatcher also provides space for the reader’s imagination.

I always appreciate the symbolic importance of the dreamcatcher. According to Indigenous Peoples, the circular shape of the dreamcatcher represents the circle of life and symbolizes that there is no beginning or end. Dreamcatchers are also made of natural materials that reflect the close bond Indigenous Peoples have with the Earth. The web of the dreamcatcher is meant to catch the bad dreams and allow the good dreams to pass through to the person sleeping. In this way, the dreamcatcher is like a spider’s web that filters out negativity. Some dreamcatchers are also decorated with beads, gems, and/or stones, which give them positive energy. Lastly, feathers are also sacred to Indigenous Peoples and are found in dreamcatchers. Feathers symbolize protection, healing, and a connection with the divine.

I appreciate how this haiku transports readers back into childhood. I think a child’s imagination paired with the realm of dreams is very effective. I also feel compassion for the child who was forced to move from the house, for unknown reasons. I think of the dreams the child had when they lived in the house.

In short, this is a haunting and mysterious haiku that serves as an effective portal into the reader’s childhood, their first home, and their dreams. An excellent haiku.

— Jacob D. Salzer

The kigo or seasonal reference in this haiku is not obvious or is nonexistent. However, there is a melancholy feel to the poem; so, I would probably place this haiku in autumn. It’s fine if a haiku does not have an explicit kigo; in Japan, haiku without a seasonal reference (muki haiku) have been popular for about 100 years now.

There is no punctuation in this haiku (an approximation of kireji), yet there is a clear grammatical shift after line one. In English-language haiku, the capitalization of words is not common, though. However, the poet is from Poland, and the haiku community there might have different ideas about the capitalization of words. There is nothing wrong with it and is understandable due to many poets thinking each line of a poem should begin with a capital letter.

The combination or association of parts in the haiku works in stark fashion. The pull between emptiness and the energy/action of the dreamcatcher creates a poignant mood and scene. The ending line enhances the poignancy of the imagery even further.

Looking at the sound of the haiku, I admire the usage of the letter “h.” It’s an uncommon letter to use in succession in poetry, I believe. “h” gives an emphasis at the end of the first and second lines. It also gives strength to the third line as well.

In terms of pacing, this poem follows the conventional short/long/short rhythm in English-language haiku that approximates the rhythm of Japanese haiku. Looking closer at the words used, “the” employed for both subjects “dreamcatcher” and “children’s room” was a smart choice, as both subjects deserve proper respect.

Overall, this haiku combines elements of melancholy, hope, spirituality, and more. Without a word out of place, the poem is effective and touching.

— Nicholas Klacsanzky

Rebel Rose Artistry

Kat Lehmann’s forest stream

On By Nicholas KlacsanzkyIn Haiku1 Comment

an answer without end quotes the forest stream

— Kat Lehmann (USA)
Published in Frogpond 46:2, 2023

Commentary

I greatly appreciate how the answer in this monoku is open-ended and ongoing vs. definitive. I think sometimes the best answer is not-knowing and living in the mystery. 

Another interpretation is that even if there is an answer, there is space to be more flexible and open-minded (i.e. the answer itself is changing or capable of changing). This also shows that, despite our knowledge, there is a lot we don’t know.

I also appreciate how we don’t know the question in this monoku. This makes the poem very versatile and applies to many different questions and situations. It seems asking questions in general is often a sign of humility. Byron Katie once said: “I don’t know is my favorite position.”

The vitality of a forest stream could be a metaphor for the flow of consciousness when we are not stuck or attached to rigid thoughts, living in the constant flow of “now.” In addition, biologically, we are mostly water. It seems if more people lived like a forest stream, we would live in a much more beautiful world. “Without end quotes” also seems to speak to the continuity of life and could speak of reincarnation or a spiritual river that flows on into the afterlife. A beautiful haiku.

— Jacob D. Salzer

Thinking about the kigo or seasonal reference, it is not exactly clear, as forest streams could be present during many times of the year. However, spring and fall are common times for flowing forest streams in the poet’s part of the world. The poem flows homogeneously like a stream represented as one line. I would vie for spring, as “an answer without end” illustrates the abundance of that season.

There is no punctuation in the haiku, but there are definite ways to section the parts:
1. an answer/without end quotes, the forest stream
2. an answer without end quotes/the forest stream
3. an answer without end/quotes the forest stream

…and possibly more.

This makes it a task to choose just one interpretation, but it also gives it more breadth. The association between the words creates interesting readings, such as between “without end” and “stream”; “quotes” and “steam” (both small but integral), etc. A reader can easily sit and investigate this haiku for a good while without feeling the need to move on.

An important part of this haiku is its sound. The standout letters are “o” and “t.” The flowing “o” matches well with the subject of a stream, and “t” provides a sense of the stream’s power, in my opinion.

I like that the poet did not shy away from the possibility of surrealism. Often, westerners have the false idea that haiku needs to be written with objective realism or as an objective sketch. Subjectivity has been a cornerstone of Japanese poetics, and haiku, since its inception. Sometimes, westerners confuse the “sketch from life” approach that Shiki proposed with strict objectivity when he rather focused on writing from one’s life experiences and occurrences (including individual feelings).

This is a haiku to make you ponder and perhaps create your own meaning with. Original, imaginative, and verging on the surreal, this poem has a lot to offer.

— Nicholas Klacsanzky

Painting done by AI.

Jacob D. Salzer’s long journey

On By Nicholas KlacsanzkyIn Haiku6 Comments

a long journey . . .
in mother’s clothing
the scent of snow

— Jacob D. Salzer (USA)
(published in Autumn Moon Haiku Journal 7:1, Autumn/Winter 2023)

Commentary by the poet

In this haiku, I primarily wanted to honor my mother and her long Earth journey (and her soul’s journey, if readers are open-minded to past lives and reincarnation). I am also writing about my mother going for a long walk in the snow and carrying the “outside” into the house. The scent of snow in her coat lingers. I’m also recognizing the long journey of falling snow, as snow falls from miles above us to reach the Earth. I hope this haiku can act as a portal for the reader to reflect on their own mother and her unique journey.

Commentary by the other editors

This haiku sounds simple but carries many stories of life’s journey. A long journey describes a period that may last more than a year or a lifetime. But, it signifies the essence of a trip that has ups and downs, and deep personal experiences. The ellipses stop us for a while and let us ponder the various aspects or types of journeys. I see it as a life’s journey that has myriad phases and stages where the person continuously passes through experiences within the self and with other people.

The second line tells us about the traveller but it still doesn’t show whether she is the one who carries the clothing or is having a long journey. It may have two interpretations. One is that she passes through rigorous experiences i.e. departure, separation, illness, loneliness, etc. The second interpretation would be that someone close to her carries her clothes as a possession.

The last line depicts deep feelings, as the smell of snow can mean something went as cold as snow and leaves painful memories. Another aspect can be the smell of a person that comes from the clothes and the poet may take it as the smell of snow, akin to the lingering memories of a loved one. In both cases, the person remains discreet in expressing their feelings and tries to relate those emotions with the scent of snow, which does not make a sound.

— Hifsa Ashraf

Thinking about the seasonal reference in this haiku, “the scent of snow” is clearly directed at winter. However, a residue of snow could mean that winter has passed and that spring has come. So, the poet could be reexperiencing winter in the time of spring. This could symbolize how the poet feels about his mother’s life or even his life reflected by the one that brought him existence.

The two parts of the haiku combine well in that duration is present in each section. “Long” and “scent” both work to illustrate time passing by. “Journey” relates well to the implied cycle of seasons. With our phases as personalities, they can be representative of seasons—though one season can carry remnants of another season in it. The poet could be referring to how memory sticks to our personalities and in direct connection to his mother, it could mean that his mother has memories “too cold” to burn away.

With the punctuation, which delineates the two-part structure of the haiku, the ellipsis illustrates the duration of the journey. It also makes certain that the reader does not inadvertently read the second line as flowing from the first line.

The pacing emulates the traditional rhythm of Japanese haiku without the restriction of the syllabic count, which is often cited as an erroneous method of matching the format of Japanese haiku. The short/long/short practice is closer to the original haiku rhythm.

Looking at the sound, the letter that jumps out at the reader is “o.” Strewn throughout the poem, it gives a sense of elongation with the long syllables. In my opinion, it also heightens the emotional resonance of the subject of the haiku.

The way human life intermixes with nature in this haiku makes it special. It creates pathos and perhaps something verging on the surreal. A relatable, yet transcendent haiku.

— Nicholas Klacsanzky

Winter Scene by Louis Remy Mignot, 1856

Michael Dudley’s prized canary

On By Nicholas KlacsanzkyIn Haiku4 Comments

lockdown raised
  at sunrise he releases
       his prized canary

— Michael Dudley (Canada)
(27th Kusamakura International Haiku Contest, Second Prize)

Commentary

I appreciate the notion of freedom and non-attachment in this haiku. I also appreciate the shift in perspective from a confined space to the limitless sky. What was once highly valued and clung to is now released. It seems giving space is a gift in itself, and I admire how our attention shifts from what is seen to what is unseen in this poem. In turn, maybe the very notion of “mine” is released with the canary, as this beautiful bird returns to their true home outside of human civilization. Perhaps by releasing the sense of “me” and “mine,” we can rediscover our spiritual home as well. A beautiful haiku.

— Jacob D. Salzer

This haiku in a cascading style makes me think about its formation before I interpret it. It seems the person wants to convey a specific message through this style that can be read both horizontally and somehow vertically. The cascading style stops us so that we read the poem step by step before reaching a conclusion. I see it as if something is going down or ending nowhere.

Lockdown raised but what? It could be anxiety, uncertainty, frustration, or something that has a great impact on the person’s life that is being referenced. The past tense at the end of line one stresses the grave effects of the tense situation due to the lockdown. The sudden shift to the present in line two shows how smoothly the person has gotten over what he has been going through (maybe for a long time). 

The sunrise brings hope and warmth to one’s thoughts and feelings. We can feel the way the sunrise provides a sense of relief or healing. I see it as if the person is liberated after having a change in thoughts or has detached himself from what he may hold dear. This line stands alone, where one can try to guess what the whole story is.

The prized canary may have an association with the person’s life in terms of honour, achievement, memorable event, etc. But, it also symbolizes a hope for the future where the person in question has stepped over the barrier of attachment and possession. If it is a pet bird, then releasing it at the time of a lockdown is the realization of freedom, which often comes through rigorous life experiences. 

— Hifsa Ashraf

If we try to figure out the season this haiku is placed in, it is not so easy. However, if I had to pick one, it would be spring. Not only is it a season with less disease (“lockdown raised”), but it is also the time when canaries are more active. Spring, in addition, symbolizes a new life—corresponding well with “sunrise” and “releases.”

The two parts of the haiku can be delineated from the grammatical pause after the first line, or even after “at sunrise.” So, punctuation is not quite needed.

The association between the words “raised” and “releases” is quite deliberate, I feel. Furthermore, the color of the sunrise and the canary are most likely similar, if not yellow. Both the canary and the sunrise are not only colorful but also bring hope and pack a punch though one lasts a short time (sunrise) and one is small (the canary).

The spacing of the lines brings about a sense of release and perhaps steps to that letting go. However, the lines still approximate the traditional rhythm of haiku in Japanese in terms of syllables with a short first line, a longer second line, and a shorter last line.

In terms of sound, the haiku prominently features the letter “i” in “raised,” “sunrise,” and “prized.” Through this sound, it creates a starker mood for the haiku and points to the importance of the canary.

With a unique format, the implication of color, a keen sense of sound, and relatable kindness, this haiku deserves study and ponderance.

— Nicholas Klacsanzky

“The illustrated book of canaries and cage-birds, British and foreign” (1878) Public Domain

John Pappas’ returning geese

On By Nicholas KlacsanzkyIn Haiku1 Comment

returning geese
a few more pebbles
on her headstone

— John Pappas (USA)

Commentary

I appreciate the message of returning to the headstone of someone who was well-loved. I like how returning speaks of the cycles of the seasons as well. I also see the small pebbles as symbols of humility and modesty. The pebbles that were already there could have been placed by the poet last year or over several years, and/or some of the pebbles could have been placed by other people who knew and loved the person.

In addition, by returning to their headstone, we are reminded of our limited time here in a single human life. This puts our lives into perspective, which I think is much needed in today’s modern world. I often think cemeteries can help us reflect and reevaluate our lives and our values.

I also like the first line very much because it depicts a migration. In turn, I believe our souls are also migrating and will go to another dimension after death. The well-known saying: “Birds of a feather flock together” also comes to mind when I read this haiku. It seems the poet resonates with the energy of the person who passed away, and their spirit lives on, in many ways. I can feel a unity of spirits or souls and a deep, prevailing silence in this poem. A beautiful haiku.

— Jacob D. Salzer

A very deep and thought-provoking haiku that tells the story of our short-lived journey in this world. Returning geese depict a migration or departure to another place temporarily and coming back to a place where they belong. It leaves us with a few questions: is it the departure and return of loved ones of the deceased person who was buried? Is it the departure of war victims who left without their loved ones (maybe dead in a war) and came back after peace? Is it a spiritual journey where one thinks more about annihilation and our short life span? Is it the time when someone comes back after feeling the absence of a deceased person?

I take it as an inner journey when a person, after having a lot of harrowing experiences that usually keep them away from their essence, comes back and finds the whole journey nothing but anonymity and annihilation. The obvious interpretation of this poem may be the death that symbolizes more of what is being missed about “her.” Is she a significant person in many ways? A few more pebbles on her headstone may be taken as her identity after death or the way one tries to pay tribute to her in a modest way.

In short, this haiku to me is about oscillating between life and death symbolically, where a person moves between outer and inner selves, with their life experiences pushing and pulling them towards their end.

— Hifsa Ashraf

Pinning down the season referred to in the first line is not so easy, but “returning” is most likely pointing to when geese come back to their nesting sites after winter. This means that the first line could be a kigo (seasonal reference) for late February to early March, but it depends on the region. In Boston, where the poet resides, Canadian geese can be seen almost any time of the year. 

There is no punctuation in this haiku, but the cut between the two parts of the poem is felt after the syntactical shift at the end of line one. I can imagine an ellipsis being used on the first line but it is not needed for the poem to work. 

How the two parts combine is intriguing. I think the key word is “returning” as it can easily relate to the pebbles being put on the headstone. The headstone is most probably made of a type of rock, and the pebbles being laid there either by natural circumstances or by human intervention connects to “returning” well. The pebbles could also be an indication of the headstone coming apart and slowly going back to its original form found in nature. Lastly, I can just as well imagine the geese dropping pebbles on the headstone—though unlikely.

In terms of sound, the letter “r” features strongest in my eye. The effect is that it has a “pulling” sound which matches with the idea of returning. In addition, the letter “e” provides elongated syllables that connect to the sense of “a few more.”

Finally, the pacing of the haiku fits the standard for English-language haiku with a short first line, a longer second line, and a short third line. This approximates the rhythm of traditional Japanese haiku.

This haiku has a fine sense of mystery and imagery, which allows readers to interact with the content on different levels.

— Nicholas Klacsanzky

“Mud Season” by John Sloane

Ian Gwin’s faceless flowers

On By Nicholas KlacsanzkyIn HaikuLeave a comment

faceless flowers how
to mind this flesh and bone
in an age of steam

— Ian Gwin (USA)

Commentary

The initial message I received in this haiku is a warning to not become another “gear in the machine” in a modern capitalistic society that seems to promote conformity and the accumulation of material objects. “Faceless flowers” seems to be a metaphor for perhaps certain workers who may, unfortunately, not feel truly valued or seen. However, I also read “faceless flowers” to perhaps mean some people are ignoring Nature. I wonder if this haiku is saying that it’s difficult to see some people’s unique individuality through the steam of modernity that can sometimes cloud our vision. 

This reminds me of a chapter in the novel A Wrinkle in Time by Madeleine L’Engle where all the suburban houses look the same and all the children are bouncing balls on their driveways at the same time, much like robots. The children also all went inside their houses at the same time, on a precise schedule. Later on in the novel, it was discovered that a large brain was controlling the actions of the people on this planet. This telling symbol of mental conditioning seems to relate to this haiku. The mention of steam also brings to mind steam engines in trains and their environmental consequences. 

“How to mind this flesh and bone” seems to translate as: “How can I take care of myself in mind, body, and spirit within modern society and feel a true sense of belonging?” It seems this is something many of us strive for and struggle with to some degree. This body that is made of the Earth’s elements seems to be disconnected from the Earth in a concrete city. As a result, do some people sometimes feel like “faceless flowers?” Are we being conditioned to believe modern city life is “normal?” Do the majority of people truly believe that “more is better?” Are we often blind to the origins of the products that we buy? Do we pay too much attention to marketing? Have our values largely shifted to a productivity-based model that ignores creativity? These are the questions that come to mind when I read this haiku. It’s a powerful poem that faces the subjects of identity, our values in modern society, and our connection and/or disconnection with Nature.

— Jacob D. Salzer

This haiku has some traditional phrasing we don’t see often these days. Through its phrasing, it presents streaks of modernity and dystopia, showing a world that is transforming from the traditional to the modern era with the sense and love for nature gradually degrading.

I see the faceless flowers as a lack of communication and connection with what is happening due to a fast-paced life. People are more involved in the artificiality of things and becoming akin to robots who keep on striving for success and satisfaction. In reality, they are far away from their essential nature.

— Hifsa Ashraf

The haiku’s season could be placed in spring with the reference to “flowers” as a kigo. However, flowers bloom in several seasons.

This haiku displays unique phrasing and line breaks, with “how” sticking out on the first line and no comma before it. The sound of the line works well and puts focus on the question. You can say the “cut” (kireji) is invisible before “how” but it is syntactically evident while reading.

How the two parts of the haiku combine (toriawase) creates perhaps a comparison between humanity’s loss of identity through industrialization and the faceless faces of flowers. Essentially, through technology and our actions, we have become cogs that somehow have to maintain ourselves despite dehumanization.

Like Hifsa noted, the diction of this haiku is intriguing, especially in the second line. Also, the sound made by the letter “f” manifests a sharp resonance that matches the bitter mood. The last line has softer sounds to perhaps make a somber effect.

Ian Gwin has crafted a fresh haiku with creative phrasing, diction, and symbolism.

— Nicholas Klacsanzky

The Engineer’s Handy Book, 1884, Stephen Roper

Chittaluri Satyanarayana’s river bed

On 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 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