Tag: poetry

John Hawkhead’s apple tree

On By Nicholas KlacsanzkyIn Haiku5 Comments

in the apple tree
a nest full of snow
the wind’s soft whistle

— John Hawkhead (UK)
(Presence magazine, issue 70)

I appreciate how this haiku depicts the cycles of life, and also hints at life after death. I feel the last line could be (or include) the spirits of the birds. The contrast of the warmth that was once present in the nest with the stark cold snow gives me a feeling of impermanence and letting go. I also interpreted this haiku as a metaphor for human families when children go off to college and the parents become “empty nesters.” The children’s bedrooms become empty and are sometimes remodeled for other purposes. It seems emptiness is what allows life to become full. Even if the glass is empty, I see this as a creative space, filled with possibilities vs. an absence devoid of life.

I miss the presence of birds in this haiku and their songs. They may have passed away long ago, or simply migrated to another tree that provides more protection. However, despite the winter season, the main feeling I get from this haiku is gratitude, acceptance, and beauty in the mystery of both life and death. I get a sense that when winter fades to spring, perhaps at least part of this nest will remain for future bird families.

All this being said, I feel a combination of melancholy and abundance in this haiku at the same time. I also appreciate how this haiku engages our senses. I can smell the snow in this haiku. I can even smell the apples from past seasons. I can hear the wind and the memories of birds singing that are also linked with other memories. I can feel the coldness in my bones, and the reassurance that even in death, life goes on. A beautiful haiku.

— Jacob D. Salzer (USA)

This haiku starts with a tinge of mystery where the poet takes us to the ambience that is only observed by those who focus on the intricacies of nature. ‘Apple tree’ is often symbolized as a sacred tree or a tree of love, which makes the opening line more significant by pausing our thoughts for a while.

Visualizing a nest full of snow on an apple tree gives an idea of ‘filling the void’ in life where snow as a temporary and the most delicate phase may either project abandonment, emptiness, melancholy, and loneliness or replacement, the yearning of dreams, and hope. In both cases, it shows how fragile and uncertain this life is when one does not remain productive. The wind’s soft whistle gives some hope and positivity besides the melancholic imagery of this haiku. It also indicates the continuity or flow of life even in the most unfavorable circumstances.

From apple tree to soft whistle, this haiku gives a holistic picture of different phases of life and nature that are interconnected and depend on each other for survival. I also see this haiku as an incubation period of creativity where the poet as an observant seeks solace in the delicacies of nature by synchronizing all thoughts and feelings.   

— Hifsa Ashraf (Pakistan)

Jacob and Hifsa discussed the meaning behind this haiku well. I now want to delve into the more technical aspects of this poem.

The thing I noticed first was the lack of punctuation in the second line. The break between the two parts is defined by the line break, though. If it were me, I might have added an ellipsis. However, nothing is taken away from the haiku due to a lack of a dash or ellipsis to act as kireji.

The kigo is easy to identify with “snow.” The desolation of this season is expressed even more in the third line.

Though there are three articles in this haiku, each one is used appropriately and meaningfully. Concision and brevity play a large part in the success of this poem.

In terms of sound, a lot is going on that helps the haiku read well. The “l” and “o” sounds are the most beautiful, bringing a lilting feeling and a softness if read out loud. In contrast, the “i” sound displays starkness that coincides with the imagery.

The last line for me is the most significant. The whistle can be a chilling reminder of the fragility of life and its harshness. It can also be a tribute, a soothing song, or nature being playful despite the circumstances. The poet leaves the interpretation up to the reader.

— Nicholas Klacsanzky (USA)

Painting by Wolfram Diehl

Agus Maulana Sunjaya’s swirling leaves

On By Nicholas KlacsanzkyIn HaikuLeave a comment

ten little fingers
of my deaf son …
swirling leaves

— Agus Maulana Sunjaya (Indonesia)
(Cattails – April 2021)

The depth of this beautiful haiku is difficult to decipher in a few words, as it has many dark and light shades of life a person may pass through. I don’t see it only from a disability perspective but the far side of certain realities that we may not be able to hear or feel.

‘Ten little fingers’ depict the deep connection that one has with the outer world that doesn’t need to be only heard. The sense of touch is a powerful sense that lets us feel the presence of both tangible and intangible things, which in this case may look more rhythmic where a deaf boy tries to feel the sound wave with his fingers.

I can see three aspects here. One is the sense of enjoyment where the boy feels the pulse of the wind that may be the autumn wind who confided in him and shares the secret of autumn like uplifted dry leaves, making them alive one more time before annihilation. The second aspect can be of mysticism or spiritualism—the third eye that becomes active usually when one has a disability. So, in this sense, the swirl of leaves looks more like a whirling dervish who is selflessly enjoying his life despite having flaws. The third angle is the sense of despair where the connectivity of his sense of touch brings nothing but a deep autumn where everything is scattered around him, and he, out of curiosity or confusion, wants to know what’s happening in his surroundings.

In terms of the kireji, the ellipses after ‘my deaf son’ shows how deeply the father feels and understands the pain of his son but is helpless to help him. It also alludes to the father’s anxiety about his son’s life, especially his future that he may perceive as swirling leaves, not settled well, but moving towards annihilation.

— Hifsa Ashraf (Pakistan)

This is a touching haiku. I directly resonate with nonverbal communication and the wordless space in this haiku. Especially because the word “little” is used, I imagine a baby. This leads me to believe the baby may have been born deaf. This by itself is very interesting. I’ve read that babies hear sounds in the womb as their brains are developing. I wonder if this is the case for babies who are born deaf. More specifically, in the mother’s womb, I wonder when exactly did this baby lose the capacity to hear? 

I’ve also read that people who are deaf see things more vividly as it heightens other senses. The last line gives me a playful, lighthearted feeling and also wonder.

As another interpretation, this haiku could lead me to imagine the poet’s young child is learning ASL and communicating in that way. I took ASL (American Sign Language) in college. One of my assignments was to live one day without speaking, wearing earbuds. At the grocery store, I relied on taking notes and reading body language to communicate. 

This is a beautiful haiku that makes me grateful for the ability to hear, and also makes me grateful for silence, where I feel a lot of love, gentleness, mystery, and compassion. 

— Jacob D. Salzer (USA)

This haiku caught me off guard because of its poignancy. The connection between the two parts of the haiku creates palpable imagery of beauty and a sense of sadness. Swirling leaves relate well to the motion of sign language, and readers can easily imagine the movement for themselves. With the autumn tone of this haiku, I can see wonder and melancholy.

Sonically, the stark sounds of “i” or “ee” in the haiku make me feel that the father is concentrating on his son and reflecting on his condition. It also brings about a sense of awe to my attention.

A touching haiku that can be felt as much as it can be thought about.

— Nicholas Klacsanzky (USA)

Painting by Hishida Shunsō

Jay Friedenberg’s fading dream

On By Nicholas KlacsanzkyIn HaikuLeave a comment

fading dream
the shape of her curve
in empty sheets

— Jay Friedenberg (USA)

Melancholy is the first impression (pun intended) I get from this poem. The impression of this woman’s body on the bedsheets seems to point to a relationship that has ended or is ending. I get the feeling this woman got up early in the morning before the poet did and left without a sound. There is some mystery as to why she left. There is also a mystery as to what the dream entailed. Did the author have a dream of raising a family with this woman? Did the poet have a dream that the woman had no interest in? Or did she leave for other reasons and the poet’s dream is left unsaid? The poet did a good job leaving room for the reader to enter the poem. 

Specifically, the words “fading” and “empty” carry a heavy emotional weight in this poem.

Sometimes it seems someone’s silence (or absence) can speak louder than words. This poem sparks a conversation about what dreams we can have with a partner and perhaps what dreams are best to be avoided. I also think this poem could imply the dream(s) we have can adversely affect our relationships and blur our vision without even knowing it. In other words, it seems if someone is preoccupied with (or attached to) his or her own dream (or a vision of what they want a relationship to be), it could narrow their mind and result in negative outcomes. This dream could also be subconsciously influenced by society and mental programming of what is believed to be “normal” in a relationship. For instance, I think of “the American Dream” and honestly wonder what those words mean from person to person. Regardless of our answer, it seems by being attached to a specific dream, we can close the doors to other possibilities with a partner and it seems this can sometimes lead to the end of a relationship.

In short, this is an emotional poem that sparks an important conversation about our values, and encourages us to explore the complex psychology of our relationships and dreams. 

— Jacob Salzer (USA)

The mystery in this haiku makes it a manifold poem that is a bit challenging to interpret. This haiku starts with hopelessness where something is slipping out of a person’s hand—a ‘fading dream’. It seems the person yearned for this dream for a long time, held it dearly, strove for it, and longed for it. To see your dream fading in front of you is more like missing a train that goes away in front of your eyes and you can’t stop it or catch it. ‘Fading’ indicates that the dream is still there but not strong enough to be fulfilled, or the person gave up on it which leads to restlessness, anxiety, and frustration, as it can be observed through ‘the shape of her curve’ where she is sleepless and passing through some deep pain left by the dream. ‘Curve’ shows how complicated the situation is where there is nothing straight or clear, making the situation more ambiguous.

‘Empty sheets’ depict loneliness, detachment, and emptiness that a dreamer faces when they can’t fulfill their dreams. This also indicates that the person is fearful and not ready to sleep again to yearn for another dream. The possible white sheets may also allude to a ‘shroud’ where the person metaphorically is thinking to shroud the dream in white sheets before burying it.

Overall, the depth of this haiku makes the reader pause, and explore various dimensions before reaching a conclusion.

— Hifsa Ashraf (Pakistan)

Jacob and Hifsa went over the substance and word usage well. I want to cover a bit more of the technical areas of the haiku.

There is not a direct kigo expressed but the word “fading” might refer to autumn. The word “empty,” however, might refer to winter.

In terms of kireji, there is no punctuation marking the separation between the two parts of the haiku. But as with many English-language haiku, a line break is commonly sufficient to show this distinction.

For the format, the length of the lines is standard for English-language haiku, with a short first line, a longer second line, and a short third line.

When looking at the haiku sonically, the “i”, “y”, “ea”, and “ee” sounds in the first and last line adds to the melancholy of the scene.

No word used is excessive and overall this haiku is concise. It is written in a simple, natural style that is a hallmark of fine haiku.

— Nicholas Klacsanzky (USA)

Painting by Stephanie Serpick

Saumya Bansal’s radish harvest

On By Nicholas KlacsanzkyIn HaikuLeave a comment

radish harvest—
a child’s tug of war
with the earth

— Saumya Bansal (India)
(Grand prize winner at the 25th International Kusamakura Haiku Competition, 2020)

This haiku speaks to me in several ways. 

The child specifically struggling in a tug-of-war with the radish tells me the child may not be physically strong enough yet and could be very young. In fact, it could be the very first time the child has tugged on a plant before. The tug-of-war could also mean the soil conditions are not ideal. According to my research on https://www.gardeningknowhow.com, it states: “…a good way to tell if the radishes are ready to be harvested is to simply pull one from the soil. If the soil is particularly crusted or hard, use a garden fork or trowel to gently lift the root from the soil.” With this in mind, perhaps the tug-of-war has more to do with dry soil. In that interpretation, climate change could be a part of this haiku, contributing to drought. The tug-of-war could also mean the radishes are not ready to be pulled, yet the child still pulls simply out of curiosity, not knowing if it’s ripe yet. In that sense, I feel this haiku speaks to the importance of patience and timing. The word “harvest” tells me there is an abundance of radishes here, so it seems this child is growing up on a farm.

This haiku, however, goes beyond just pulling radishes and expands to include the child’s long-term relationship with Mother Earth and food. It sparks an important discussion about what we teach our children about food and how we care for each other and the Earth sustainably. On the note of parenting, I wonder where the child’s mother and father are in this haiku? Did the child wander out alone to pull radishes? Is this child lost? Did he/she run away from home for unknown reasons? Is the mother and/or father nearby watching over the child? There is some mystery here. 

There is another connection regarding the nutritional value of radishes that will become an integral part of this child’s life. According to my research on: 

https://www.healthline.com/health/food-nutrition/the-benefits-of-radishes#5-health-benefits-of-radishes: “…radishes have been used as a folk remedy for centuries. They are used in Ayurveda and Traditional Chinese Medicine to treat many conditions such as fever, sore throat, bile disorders, and inflammation.” Radishes have a wide range of other health benefits as well. They have anti-cancer properties, help prevent cell aging through antioxidants such as Vitamin C, are high in fiber and help with our digestive system, and have antifungal properties. Another site states: “Radishes are rich in antioxidants and minerals like calcium and potassium. Together, these nutrients help lower high blood pressure and reduce your risks for heart disease.”

 (source: https://www.webmd.com/diet/health-benefits-radish) 

We know sustainable farming methods were well-developed in indigenous communities for thousands of years. They took only what they needed and harvested crops not only to feed themselves but also future generations. I appreciate their strong communities. In this modern age, I think we can learn a lot from indigenous people and their care and reverence for the Earth.

In short, it’s clear to me this child (at a very young age) is developing a deep physical and psychological connection with radishes (and presumably other crops) that will last for the rest of his or her lifetime. It has become an integral part of the roots of the child’s upbringing. This haiku sparks an important conversation about how we relate to food and sustainably care for each other and Mother Earth.

— Jacob Salzer (USA)

Radishes are cultivated and harvested normally from October to November—the time when the season is transforming and summer is replaced with autumn. This is also the time for focusing within as our inner energies are at their peak. Since a radish is a root, it can be easily related to one’s deep-rooted feelings and emotions. A child is usually curious about their surroundings and being impatient, they need to reach a conclusion very quickly regardless of whether it will fulfill a purpose or not. The relationship between a child’s curiosity, impatience, and fighting (tug of war) may also point towards needs that are not being fulfilled due to various reasons. The earth metaphorically may be the circumstances that are given to that child, and their survival instinct pushing them to fight for their primary needs. As it is the season of transformation, the child maybe has developed or learned how to fight for their primary needs. 

Overall, this poignant haiku reflects how in the early stages of childhood, life teaches us how to become aware of our primary needs and how they can sometimes even go against nature. 

— Hifsa Ashraf (Pakistan)

Jacob and Hifsa amply explored this haiku already. However, I can lend a bit more observation.

Radish harvesting could be a kigo for several seasons, depending on the type of radish and the place. For instance, daikon radishes are often pulled out before winter truly sets in. Radishes can be harvested as little as three weeks from their planting, though. So, pinpointing the kigo for this haiku can be difficult.

The em dash in the first line works well to set the mood and to separate the two parts of the haiku. Also, the pacing and the length of the lines match approximately with the rhythm of traditional Japanese haiku, with a short first line, a longer second line, and a longer third line to make the “go-shichi-go” rhythm.

The usage of the article “a” for the child shows that the poet wanted to put more focus on “the earth.” It perhaps speaks to the grandiosity of the earth in comparison to the child.

In terms of sound, I notice that “i” and “r” feature strongly. I feel a sense of starkness from the “i” sounds and a feeling of being grounded by the “r” sounds. Anyway, they both add to the musicality of the poem.

This is a haiku that can mean many things to different people. It’s not easy to achieve that universality when writing haiku.

— Nicholas Klacsanzky (USA)

Painting by Qing Ping


Goran Gatalica’s glint

On By Nicholas KlacsanzkyIn HaikuLeave a comment

daughter’s wedding —
glinting in moonlight
the first snowflakes

— Goran Gatalica (Croatia)
(published in The Mainichi, 1/13/2021)

The haiku starts with one of the most precious and emotional days of a person’s life. The festivity, reunion, laughter, and collectivity at a daughter’s wedding may not surpass the deep feelings that are contrary to the celebrations, as it’s a day of departure as well. The subtlety of a parent’s feelings is well interwoven with the weather outside. The first snowflakes are light in weight but still leave behind heavy hearts due to old or new memories—particularly the memories of loved ones that glint or get highlighted in the moonlight where a person, especially parents, reminisce about those memories near the window or fireplace. The winter hush usually brings to the surface feelings of special days and it seems time slows down like a flurry of snowflakes that takes its time before finally touching the ground.

The em dash in the first line pauses one’s thoughts and feelings to imagine the whole scene of the wedding day. I loved the way the writer linked this special event with the subtlety of moonlight and the silence of snowflakes.

— Hifsa Ashraf (Pakistan)

Written from the perspective of a mother or father, I immediately feel the special connection between the parent and daughter in this haiku. This allows me to step into the parent’s shoes and reflect on the long journey it took to arrive at this moment. 

I think the juxtaposition between the daughter’s presumably white wedding dress and moonlit snowflakes is a stark comparison, showing the fragile, delicate nature of a marriage, yet also its beauty. I see her wedding dress made of delicate patterns that are interwoven, just as so many lives have been interwoven in the daughter’s life that has led her to this significant event.

The connection between women and the moon is well-known with a long history, stretching back to ancient indigenous cultures on this Earth. In that light, it seems the moon in this haiku connects the daughter with past generations of women and her family lineage. I like how the moon in this haiku links to the mysteries of women and the cycles of life. In a more spiritual sense, during a reverential moment, I can see the daughter’s mind becoming quiet and reflecting a kind of hidden inner light, just as the moon reflects sunlight in silence. It’s interesting to note the daughter’s wedding has continued into the evening hours. I normally associate weddings as a daytime event, but I like how it seems the celebration started in the day and has continued into the evening. I feel this depicts a more romantic and mystical atmosphere. 

In the last line, I like how the first snowflakes mark new beginnings, as the newlywed couple starts their journey together. At the same time, I like how snowflakes mark the eventual depth of snow over time, and the depth of the relationship, that ultimately, will seemingly melt and evaporate, “’till death do us part” or perhaps the couple will eventually be reincarnated and meet in another life or in another dimension. Either way, juxtaposing snowflakes with marriage allows me to reflect on the nature of marriage, our human impermanence, and the importance of a spiritual dimension in a partner relationship.  

Finally, I like the implied contrast of warmth and coldness in this haiku, and the contrast of darkness and light. I can feel the warmth of people, the glow of lights, and a hopeful, uplifting atmosphere at this wedding, despite the cold, dark night. A beautiful, touching haiku. 

— Jacob Salzer (USA)

Hifsa and Jacob went into great detail about the subject of this haiku and its symbolism. I want to provide a bit more technical insight.

I enjoy and respect that the poet used an em dash in the first dash to make the two parts of the haiku distinct. Without it, the second line would act as a pivot, which might not have made sense in this instance.

The length of the lines is in the common range for English-language haiku. Brevity was employed well. The pace and flow of the haiku are smooth, and mirror the original pace of Japanese haiku appropriately.

We have a definite kigo with “first snowflakes,” placing the haiku in early winter. The comparison between such a jovial time as a daughter’s wedding and the enchantment of seeing the first snowflakes is poignant.

The haiku is quite vivid, with the imagery of moonlight on snowflakes, and them glinting during a wedding. There is a lot to imagine for the reader, and that is always a plus. Moods of mirth, eeriness (moonlight), wonder, and more are here.

In terms of sound, I can say that the letter “t” holds sway. With five appearances, and perhaps a semi-appearance of it in “wedding,” I can feel the classiness and tenderness of the event.

It is a fine haiku that illustrates the power of humanity’s connection with nature and vice versa.

— Nicholas Klacsanzky (USA)

Photograph by Wilson Bentley

Carmela Marino’s starry avenue

On By Nicholas KlacsanzkyIn Haiku2 Comments

starry avenue
the same thought
after a year

— Carmela Marino (Italy)

(published previously in Stardust, January 2021)

I appreciate the atmosphere of this haiku. I see an avenue full of puddles after rain, and each puddle is reflecting the stars. I feel the silence of the evening. I see the poet walking alone, contemplating. Combined with the silence after rain, I feel the poet’s deep meditation and possibly a feeling of déjà vu. 

I like how we don’t know what “the same thought” is. This opens up many interpretations for us as readers. Here are 5 interpretations that come to mind:

1) The poet could have made a New Year’s Resolution (or a birthday wish) and now the poet’s resolution or wish did not come true after one year (possibly because of barriers such as the COVID-19 pandemic or other things) and this could bring a sense of melancholy and struggle. If it’s the poet’s birthday, perhaps the unfulfilled wish brings a real sense of longing. In a more humorous sense, it could communicate how New Year’s Resolutions are sometimes forgotten and get brushed under the rug, only to reappear after a year. 

2) Sometimes, it seems our New Year’s Resolution or birthday wish can take longer to appear than we originally thought. In this light, I can feel the value and wisdom of patience in this haiku. A favorite quote by haiku poet and teacher Alan Summers comes to mind: “The best things in life should rarely be rushed.” 

3) The same thought in this haiku could be a repeated question or problem the poet is contemplating that still doesn’t have an answer after one year. This question/problem could be personal, scientific, or philosophical among many other things. One possibility is the poet could be asking a question such as: “What is the cure for the disease ALS (amyotrophic lateral sclerosis)?” Because there is no known cure for ALS, the poet could be internally asking the same question, digging deeper for answers. 

4) The poet could have a focused thought of recovery from some form of addiction, and each day, after one year has passed, continues to show dedication and perseverance through focused attention on one single thought. This haiku moment could be a celebration of the poet being sober from drugs or alcohol for one year. 

5) Along similar lines, the poet could be focused on a single thought devoted to the Divine and the Great Mystery each day after one year has passed.  

There is a great balance in this haiku between the known and the unknown, between concrete imagery and mystery. Regardless of what thought comes to mind for us in the haiku, I appreciate how this poet opens the door for us to enter a serious, or humorous, contemplative mood. Ultimately, it seems this haiku reminds us of the power of attention. With the one-pointed mind of concentration, we can get a lot more done each day with few distractions to reach our goals. Spiritually, with a focus on the Divine and the Great Mystery, it seems ordinary life and, indeed, even an ordinary street, can become extraordinary and meaningful. In a world where everything is connected, it seems every single thought and action we take makes a difference in ways that are far beyond our ability to comprehend. In light of this interconnectedness, this haiku reminds us to be mindful of what we pay attention to. As I walk with the poet on the quiet, star-filled avenue, I’m immersed in a space of deep meditation, contemplation, and reflection. 

— Jacob Salzer (USA)

A starry avenue is always a source of inspiration, dreaming, and hope. This haiku connects us not only to the ambiance of a starry avenue but also alludes to the big constellations that one makes to redirect their imagination, thoughts, and feelings. I feel a sense of connectivity between the person and that place where they like to explore more and more in their thoughts. A year’s gap may be due to the pandemic year, which has changed nothing about them and this place.

The intangible aspect of this haiku is related to the creative or aesthetic part of life. Irrelevant of the circumstances, a person remains curious about their imaginative world, daydreaming that takes them away from worldly chaos. They feel a connection between the Earth and the sky that can be felt through the strings of imagination, daydreaming, and a curious mind. 

— Hifsa Ashraf (Pakistan)

Jacob and Hifsa went over the possible interpretations and meanings of this haiku in depth. I’ll now look over the more technical elements.

As Jacob mentioned, this might be a New Year’s haiku. So, the second and third lines could be a kigo for New Year’s Day. This might relate well with “starry avenue as well, as fireworks have a similar look to stars.

The line break in the first line is a sufficient supplement for kireji, or a cutting mark in Japanese haiku. The cut is obvious without punctuation, though an ellipsis would have worked well too.

The connection between the two parts of the haiku, or toriawase, is not too close or too distant in its association. This is a sign of a skillful haiku. The stars being reflected from the sky onto water in an avenue is related to having the same thought after a year. Or, the stars are seen in the sky through the narrow confines of an avenue, and that limitation is felt in having the same thought after a year. The poet tells readers of this echo between humanity and nature without stating it directly.

The poet does well to match the original rhythm of Japanese haiku with a short first line, a longer second line, and short third line. It was also composed with brevity in mind and common language, which is also essential to the art of haiku.

Finally, sound plays a role too, with “s” and “t” letters make readers feel the power of the moment more.

All in all, this is a well-composed haiku that follows the traditional art of this genre and brings about a fresh image for us to take a deep meaning from.

— Nicholas Klacsanzky (USA)

A discussion of The Starry Night by Vincent van Gogh
Café Terrace at Night by Van Gogh

Stephen Curro’s fog

On By Nicholas KlacsanzkyIn HaikuLeave a comment

just off the plane
humidity fogs
my glasses

— Stephen Curro (USA)

I like how this haiku let’s the reader step into another world. It conjures up a memory of visiting family in Alabama years ago. The humidity there was so thick. I would step outside for five or ten minutes and be sweating, just from standing! It seems “humidity fogs my glasses” could also represent the hazy feeling of visiting a foreign country filled with unknowns on the journey. It seems to mark a degree of uncertainty, which can be beautiful, accompanied by unexpected turns and surprises on the adventure. At the same time, the mental haze/foggy glasses could represent stepping onto land that might be intimidating (or at least appear to be). I also interpreted the foggy glasses as the psychological haze from jet lag, adjusting to a new time zone. It seems the physical fog could also represent mental fog. i.e. if we cling and identify with certain thoughts or ideas, they seem to shape how we physically see the world. Another literal interpretation is the author’s own breath could create fog on their glasses. I have experienced this while wearing a COVID-19 mask. My warm breath rises from inside the mask and fogs my glasses.

While we don’t know where the poet has landed, or exactly why they are there, I feel his courage in this haiku and all the emotions (and culture shock) that comes with the adventure. I get a clear sense that he has stepped outside of his comfort zone. If opportunities arise, I think it’s important to experience the diversity of life and embrace different cultures. A deceptively simple and powerful haiku. 

— Jacob Salzer (USA)

It’s difficult sometimes to get rid of certain memories that usually jump in during the journey, especially when someone lands in another place. This haiku depicts how memories, departure, separation, and leaving the past behind can dilute one’s thoughts, vision, and future. The expression ‘humidity fogs’ is beautifully used here as it is a phenomenon that rarely catches the attention of poets. Foggy glasses simply show that the person passes from one illusion of life to another with no clarity of his/her vision, and the future as well.

— Hifsa Ashraf (Pakistan)

This haiku caught my attention because of the idea that the poet enters a new environment and cannot enjoy it/perceive it properly. It resonates with me in that, no matter where we go, our biases and individual perceptions cloud our awareness. Even though we go to a new place on our travels, we carry our personal baggage with us everywhere we go. It may not be possible to experience anything without the interruption of our ego and mental conditioning. It seems that only by being in the state of pure awareness can we witness a new environment without hindrance.

In terms of kigo, there may not seem to be a seasonal reference at first glance. However, “humidity” can refer to summer indirectly. I think the relation between summer humidity and not being able to perceive a place properly makes sense to me. With the fogging of the poet’s glasses, the poet could feel overwhelmed, annoyed, or disturbed, like being in intense humidity. For the kireji, the line break in the first line is sufficient.

Looking at the structure of the haiku, we can see it is a bit different than the usual English-language format of three lines short/long/short. For this haiku, I don’t think this variation matters much for the content and reading of it.

Sound plays a big role in this haiku, too. The “o”s seem to bring about the feeling of frustration of having fogged glasses. The “l”s bring a softness to the reading and the “f”s could be said to accentuate the starkness of the moment.

Overall, I believe this haiku at once portrays a mood and also a spiritual fact about perception and ego.

— Nicholas Klacsanzky (USA)

Sumi-e by David Moeljadi

Matúš Nižňanský’s snowflakes

On By Nicholas KlacsanzkyIn Haiku1 Comment

monastery garden —
the sound of 
snowflakes

— Matúš Nižňanský (Slovakia)

The deep silence in this haiku is palpable. This is an exceptional example of the power of “show not tell” in haiku. In this moment, we can hear the snowflakes falling onto the plants in the garden. There are no other sounds. Because of the delicate nature of snowflakes and plants, they further amplify the silence and deepen it.

The ancient beauty of a monastery is juxtaposed with the fresh beauty of new snowflakes. While some predict the first snow on this Earth happened 2.4 billion years ago, it is astounding to note that each and every snowflake is different and unique. Along these lines, the image of a monastery conjures up memories of many monks or nuns who lived here over many years since its construction. While this poem is clearly a haiku moment, there is also an implication that the snowflakes will continue to fall for quite some time. Simultaneously, as with many snow-related poems, this haiku feels timeless. 

While this moment was presumed to be observed and heard by the poet, the haiku itself seems to be devoid of any sense of ego. No additional people can be heard or seen. No one is standing out trying to get attention. I do have serious doubts that this monastery is vacant of monks or nuns living in it. The notion of an empty monastery could be possible, though I feel the monks or nuns are dwelling inside. They could be meditating, praying, or sleeping and likely do not physically appear in this particular scene. Regardless, even if they did physically appear to the poet, in this atmosphere, the poet and monks (or nuns) have become quiet and one with nature. 

In terms of mood, this haiku brings feelings of reverence, devotion, peace, and yūgen (mystery and depth). Snowflakes fall naturally and gently cover the earth evenly. As such, it seems all thoughts too must eventually fall and dissolve into their roots, into the ancient silence that carries them.

— Jacob Salzer (USA)

A monastery is a place full of peace, reverence, and life, whereas a monastery garden sounds no less than heaven where one can find inner peace and deep experiences. The same goes for natural elements which can be experienced differently but in a unique way in that garden.

This simple yet deep poem reflects the focus of mind and heart, the subtlety of life at its peak, the alertness of all senses, the awakening consciousness, and the spiritual touch where a person’s threshold level can even feel the subtlety in the surroundings, and listen to the miraculous sounds of nature for the ultimate peace and elation. The sound of a snowflake shows the ultimate focus of a person whose body and soul have reached the level where even the smallest element of nature connects deeply.

— Hifsa Ashraf (Pakistan)

Jacob and Hifsa went over the meaning and mood of this haiku in depth already. I’ll focus a bit on the technical side of this poem.

One thing that caught my eye immediately was that the haiku was quite brief: only six words. The art of haiku is often how you can make a strong image and create emotions within such a small space. Through kigo (seasonal references–in this case, winter), kireji (a marker that shows that separation between two parts; in this case, it is the em dash), and concision, the poet achieves effective brevity.

And talking about punctuation, the dash allows readers to pause and take in the scene. The environment of the haiku is calming and meditative, and taking a pause fits well in this context.

I think the layout of the haiku could work in multiple ways. I believe this could also work as a one-line haiku:

monastery garden the sound of snowflakes

In fact, Japanese haiku are written in a single vertical line. However, in this haiku in English, leaving us on edge with “of” on the second line is a fine idea. Sometimes, it is advised not to have only one word for the last line in order to not overemphasize. Yet, I feel the calming effect of this choice brings it merit.

Another aspect to note is the sound. The letter “s” runs through this haiku. For such a silent scene, the poem speaks quite a bit through its sound. Perhaps it is illustrating the starkness of silence in the monastery garden.

Great imagery paired with a resonant juxtaposition makes this haiku stand out as well.

— Nicholas Klacsanzky (USA)

By Caroline Stroeks

Kat Lehmann’s news

On By Nicholas KlacsanzkyIn Haiku1 Comment


evening news
junipers consume
the moon

Haiku Society of America Harold G. Henderson Haiku Award, Second Place (2020)
— Kat Lehmann (USA)

This haiku has a very effective juxtaposition. It shows us through imagery how consuming the news can be. The word “consume” has a negative connotation that implies an extreme. The juniper’s invasiveness is an apt image to describe this. It seems the news tends to be very unbalanced and focused on negative events that cloud our perception, while many positive events go unnoticed and are often not covered. While most news seems to be dark and narrow-minded, by stark contrast, the moon inspires open-mindedness, mystery, and wonder. 

My father had junipers in his yard many years ago. They were very large and obstructed the view to his yard and the neighborhood. Now that they’re removed, he can see his yard and neighborhood in full view.  

This is a powerful haiku that reminds us to not be consumed by news stations, which seems to be a form of mental programming, and to notice the beauty of the moon and what is beyond us.

—  Jacob Salzer (USA)

It starts with the news that may or may not be reliable, ‘evening news’ which means one has to read it carefully before relating it to any news and its relationship with the rest of the haiku. Evening news can be thrilling, mysterious, and evokes our deepest feelings.

A juniper tree is a sign of strength, divinity, power, and safety. If we see it from that context, then it means something is being covered or not openly revealed. The word ‘consume’, like the evening news, shows exaggeration here but it is cleverly used to make this haiku more powerful and with broader perspectives. I see ‘the moon’ as a metaphor which may show signs of visibility as someone/something in the limelight but not now because of the junipers’ shadows and the same are not catching much attention in the evening news.

I love the rhythmic sounds of ‘news, consume, and moon’ as these provide an interesting and lighter side of this haiku. Overall, I think this haiku represents someone who needs attention but is getting it neither in nature nor in the evening news. 

— Hifsa Ashraf (Pakistan)

The juniper, with its prickly branches and stout shape, covering the moon, is a great comparison with the evening news. I think this comparison can be seen both in a positive and negative light, which has been expounded on by Jacob and Hifsa above. I think this gives this haiku more nuance and layers, which is a common quality of strong haiku.

I also think the usage of the word “consume” is an interesting choice. It relates to us as people in modern society, who consume information and materials at an alarming rate. The poet could have used “cover” but I think the poet chose a word that is more pertinent and imaginative, which works well in this particular haiku.

As Hifsa mentioned, the sound of the haiku is rhythmic. The “e” and “o” vowel sounds bring about a soothing tone despite the subject. This contrast creates a more nuanced power behind the haiku.

— Nicholas Klacsanzky (USA)

By Paivi Ojala



George Klacsanzky’s moth

On By Nicholas KlacsanzkyIn Haiku2 Comments

touching
the dead moth
it flies away

— George Klacsanzky (1956-2003)  
(published in Yanty’s Butterfly: Haiku Nook: An Anthology (2016))

Brevity, simplicity, and honesty always reflect in George’s haiku. Every time I write about his poems, I see a new aspect of his life that helps me know more about this great haiku poet. 


The opening line ‘touching’ pauses the moment and lets the readers feel the resonance of this sense and its subtlety. It also suggests how hard it is to focus on nuances of life but when one does, there is an element of surprise in them. In this haiku, the writer shares the concept of seeing beyond sight where even stillness looks moving. The dead moth presents the depth of life, the transformation of life, that one cannot see but feel through one’s third eye or insight and once one does, miracles happen and thoughts get transformed into wisdom and reveal the secrets of life that are long-lasting. Somehow, there are shades of mysticism that make this haiku more open to the concept of life in death.

— Hifsa Ashraf (Pakistan)

I love this haiku. The first word that comes to mind is resurrection: something seemingly dead is brought back to life. The moth flying away could be a metaphor for rejuvenation within a relationship or your own self. Maybe an old hobby is given attention again. Or, maybe a neglected house is being remodeled. Something seemingly dead is given new life. George’s haiku reminds us that what appears to be motionless or dead could be only an appearance; it speaks to how subtle life can be. Maybe the moth was sleeping? Maybe it was just resting. But through his touch, by making a connection with the moth, it seems to move on to the next stage of its life.

This could apply to humans too: when someone genuinely reaches out and touches us in some way, we are often sparked with a new energy that makes us feel fresh and alive. Like making a new friend, this connection helps us grow and evolve in the next stages of our lives. The vision of the moth flying away also gives me a feeling of liberation and transcendence. Just like a butterfly, moths go through the process of metamorphosis—a process that we as humans may go through as well. A beautiful haiku. This haiku is one of my all-time favorites.

— Jacob Salzer (USA)

Hifsa and Jacob have brought up great points in terms of meaning and substance. I’ll take a look at the more technical aspects of this haiku.

One can say the kigo of this haiku is summer. Traditionally in Japan, moths are a seasonal reference for summer. That may not be the case in Seattle, Washington where this poem was written though. However, as this poet’s son and growing up in Seattle, I can say that moths do come out quite a bit in the summer in the Pacific Northwest.

But the second half of the haiku seems to relate more to spring, with the theme of resurrection, as Jacob pointed out. Moths come out in sizable numbers in spring in Seattle as well. So, “moth” as a seasonal word can relate to the content directly.

I also wanted to point out the sense of sound, with the powerful music of “o” in the first two lines and the lack of “o” in the last line. This creates a stronger sense of the starkness of the moment described.

As Hifsa said, my father focused a lot on brevity. With only seven words, every word counts and shines through. It is said that only geniuses can explain complicated concepts in simple terms. I think that is the art of the haiku poet.

A haiku that is at once mundane and supernatural, and melancholic and awe-inspiring.

— Nicholas Klacsanzky (USA)

By Cozy Guru