autumn wind
I’m the pomegranate
I’m its branch

© Lucia Fontana (Italy)
The Mainichi, November 3, 2016

In the first line, we get a direct kigo, or seasonal reference for autumn. Also, the pomegranate is a typical kigo for mid-autumn. Autumn is a month that is often serious and introspective, though it showcases beautiful colors. It is when things are dying all around—leaves, blossoms, fruits, and more—but yet they pass away in such riveting displays that sometimes it almost seems nature is trying to open our hearts to it.

An autumn wind can make the process of life crumbling come faster, and can push the already frail down. In its chilling sound, a melancholy arises that is hard to depict.

However, the world still has compassion. One of the prime things Japanese poetry tries to show is the human heart, especially in relation to nature. In the last two lines of the haiku, the poet expresses, in my opinion, compassion and a connection to the pomegranate tree.

Either metaphorically or scientifically, the poet is expressing her direct connection with nature. Maybe she sees something in the pomegranate tree that is like her, or maybe she is expressing that in reality, there is no separation between things—the space between entities is filled with vibrating atoms and on an atomic level, it is difficult to discern any real separation. In fact, there can physically be no space that contains nothing. In this way, we are connected by an infinite spread of life, all with no space between us.

In this expression of connection, the poet is calling out to the pomegranate tree and says: “You are not alone. In fact, I am actually you, and feel your suffering.” It is a consolation.

Coming down from these philosophical thoughts, we can look at the haiku technically. The lines are paced naturally, with a short first line, a longer second line, and short third line (which is the most common way to pace lines for haiku in English). In regard to sound, the letter “i” features strongly, and I believe it makes the consolation more convincing. The letter “m” on the other hand, supplies a soothing feeling.

Overall, the haiku gives off an atmosphere of both distress and tranquility. This mix of feelings is crucial for haiku to stand the test of time. If a haiku is one-sided, there is less one can get from it. The best haiku have layers of meaning and ultimately, feeling.

– Nicholas Klacsanzky (Ukraine)

last day of autumn:
and still the sunset lingers
in a one-way street.

© Eric W. Amann (Canada) (1934 – 2016)
(Modern Haiku 1:1, 6)

Before I comment on this haiku, let’s learn a bit about Eric W. Amann. One of the most influential figures in the formative years of the haiku movement in Canada was Toronto medical doctor and poet Eric Amann. He was born in Munich in 1934. In 1952, Eric and his family emigrated to Chester, Pennsylvania. In 1953, Eric was drafted for the Korean War and escaped to Winnipeg where he stayed with family friends from Munich. He earned his medical degree in 1961.

As many other poets in the 1960s, Amann’s interest in haiku was sparked by the six volumes written by R.H. Blyth. After reading and writing haiku for several years, Eric Amann edited and published the first Canadian haiku magazine Haiku from 1967-1970. Under Amann’s editorship, Haiku rapidly became one of the most influential North American periodicals, publishing experimental as well as classical work. After a hiatus of seven years, during which he engaged in other kinds of writing, in 1977 Amann returned to haiku with a new magazine Cicada (from 1977-1982) which immediately achieved a similar status. The same year, Eric Amann, Betty Drevniok, and George Swede founded the Haiku Society of Canada, which later in 1985 was renamed Haiku Canada. Eric served as its first president during 1977-79. In 1979, Eric Amann also published one issue of konkret [a journey into the concrete and visual].

In the preface to the 1986 edition of The Haiku Anthology, Cor van den Heuvel wrote that “Haiku and Cicada [were] perhaps English language haiku’s most influential magazines [and that they] are still unsurpassed for excellence in both content and design, though both have ceased publication.”

Eric W. Amann sadly passed away in July 2016 and left a huge void in the international haiku community.

While writing about the significant achievement of one of the pioneers of English-language haiku, Richard Stevenson states: “For Eric Amann, the ideal is to capture the ‘ah experience’ or ‘a mood of serene calm and beauty.’ The form may vary from the traditional three-line, 5-7-5 syllable count to the one-line portrait; it may even be stretched to include the “mutational possibilities” of senryu, vertical, visual, and sound haiku.” – (Richard Stevenson in Canadian Literature, Spring 1985) [adapted from The Living Haiku Anthology]

Commentary

First, I want to say that for a reason I can’t explain, I got into a deep meditative state while reading this haiku and this is the main reason I selected this haiku. Just imagining the imagery presented in the haiku brought me to a change in consciousness. That is what a real haiku, or any poem, should do. As Emily Dickinson said, “If I feel physically as if the top of my head were taken off, I know that is poetry.” And that is exactly what I felt while reading this haiku.

It is a common haiku aesthetic to show the continuity of something. But the way Amann has presented this aesthetic is unique. The one-way street makes us, as readers, give our full attention to the sunset, and signifies that autumn may in fact be present in every season.

The sunset itself is a representation of autumn: though it is a day dying, it shows death in a beautiful way by showcasing the rich colors of life. With the imagery of the sunset lingering in a one-way street, the author must have felt that this is all of autumn being shown, or that autumn was giving its last display as a kind of a last expenditure. In a sense, we can say autumn did not give up being itself to the very end, and as mentioned before, maybe this is an indication that autumn never truly fades throughout the seasons (especially since we can see sunsets each day of the year).

The one-way street can signify many things. It could mean all seasons are all the same, the way of life is singular, or that autumn is only itself, in its melancholy glory… and many more interpretations are possible. However, I think the best thing to do is to read this haiku as it is and let the imagery soak in your mind and you will get the real experience of this haiku.

The “s” letter features strongly in the haiku, reflecting the sound of leaves rustling. The lines are paced in the classical way for English haiku: short line-longer line-short line. Though the punctuation being used, such as the colon and period, might seem strange to readers now, it was regularly used at the time this was written. But there is nothing wrong with the use of the colon and period, as kireji (cutting words, or punctuation in English) was often used at the end of haiku in Japanese and colons are still in use in English haiku.

To read more haiku by Eric W. Amann, visit: http://terebess.hu/english/haiku/amann.html

– Nicholas Klacsanzky (Ukraine)

 

 

abandoned village
her yellow raincoat jumps
in and out of silence

© Ken Sawitri (Indonesia)
Chrysanthemum 18, October 2015

This haiku brings us vivid imagery and mystery. The first line by itself is a powerful image that automatically leaves us wondering why the village was abandoned. The image of “her yellow raincoat jumps” adds another layer of mystery as to who “her” is in the haiku. Focusing on line two, I imagine a small raincoat rising and falling on the waves of a tsunami. The last line brings yet another layer of mystery and the dimension of sound. We don’t know what the other sounds are against the background of silence: perhaps only spurts of rain, the sound of waves, or perhaps distant explosions, or gusts of wind (or a combination of all of these). There is a haunting quality to this haiku. Each word supports the total effect, using descriptive imagery while the meaning, emotion(s), and interpretation is left to the reader. An excellent haiku.

– Jacob Salzer

To add to what Jacob has written, I enjoy the Zen in the state of probable chaos or despair. The yellow jacket and paying attention to it brings us into the moment. I like how this haiku shows detachment and the power of it.

But on the other hand, the image of the yellow raincoat can be quite emotional. It maybe is all that is left of her, the subject of the haiku, acting alive somewhat by jumping, either on wind, waves, or something else. It might make the witness of it cry and feel the true loss of the girl or woman who has either been lost or has died.

In terms of sound, the “i” sound features prominently, making the reading of it more stark and the intenseness of the situation more palpable. The “l” sound also gives a hand in creating a solemn mood.

The pacing of the words and the lines works well to convey the somber atmosphere. The more we as a readers take in this haiku, the more concern we have for the subject of it. I think ultimately this haiku opens our hearts and makes us concerned about the wellbeing of others, even strangers.

– Nicholas Klacsanzky (Ukraine)