Posted in Haiku

Cyril Childs’ Full White Moon

Background on the Poet

Cyril Childs was a cricketer, scientist, leading haiku poet, and editor of national haiku anthologies in New Zealand. He was born in Invercargill in 1941. He became intrigued with haiku while living in Matsuyama, Japan for several months during 1989-90. He was a past president of the NZ Poetry Society, edited both of the NZ Haiku Anthologies published by the NZPS (1993,1998), and co-edited Listening to the Rain (Small White Teapot Group, Christchurch, 2002) – an anthology of haiku and haibun by Christchurch writers.

His own book, Beyond the Paper Lanterns: A Journey with Cancer, dedicated to his first wife, was published in 2000.

Cyril judged three NZPS haiku competitions and was co-judge, with Jerry Kilbride, of the HSA’s Henderson Award in 2000. Cyril also wrote in other poetic forms like free verse. His poetry appeared widely in international magazines and anthologies such as contemporary haibun online, Modern Haiku, Frogpond, and Wind over Water: an anthology of haiku and tanka and in New Zealand journals, including Poetry NZ, JAAM, Kokako, CommonTatta, and Bravado. His book reviews appeared in JAAM, New Zealand Books, and on the NZ Poetry Society website. Childs also had a keen interest in sports such as rugby and cricket and in 2010 appeared in the cricket poetry anthology A Tingling Catch: A Century of New Zealand Cricket Poems 1864-2009.

After a career as a scientist, Cyril retired to Port Chalmers in a home overlooking Otago Harbour and also enjoyed spending time at his beloved bach (crib) in Riverton. A biography of his uncle’s wartime exploits absorbed most of his writing energy in later years. The book was under contract for publication at the time of his death.  Childs died on 27 January 2012, only a few months after himself being diagnosed with cancer. He is survived by his son Norris, his daughter Lia and his second wife Christine.

(From The Living Haiku Anthology, with edits)

Haiku Commentary

full white moon
touching . . . not touching
the top of the hill

© Cyril Childs

Down to our basest essentials, we are something that sways in and out of existence. Our virtual particles flash with life and death. And this relates to enlightenment as well. It is not an assured thingsomething that can be pinned down with the stroke of words. However, we can portray it through conundrums, especially presented in poetic form.

This haiku, in my mind, shows this confusion with significance. The moon touches the top of the hill with its light, but doesn’t at the same time, as the light it emits is not itself. In many traditions, the full moon is a symbol of spiritual enlightenment and fulfillment (and “white” gives a sense of symbolizing purity). However, the experience of it is not something that can be properly defined. That is why in Buddhism, ultimately, there is no difference between the cycle of suffering that we live in and the heightened consciousness of enlightenment.

Why is that? Enlightenment is simply being. It is not as grandiose as one might believe. Suffering is not knowing how or not being willing to be simply one’s self. Yet, suffering leads to the experience of the self, and enlightenment owes its realization to it. Suffering and enlightenment is a single process. There is no goal. Your suffering self is already enlightened, if you would only look a little within, past thought, emotion, and bodily sensation.

“The top of the hill” could be the summit by which we imagine ourselves when enlightened. After reading so many books about nirvana, when one might believe that it can be conceptualized. As this haiku confirms, it cannot.

– Nicholas Klacsanzky

Posted in Haiku

Ken Sawitri’s Friday Morning

friday morning
from the white mosque porch
cry of a swan

© Ken Sawitri (Indonesia)

Chrysanthemum 19, April 15th, 2016

Friday mornings are usually cheerful with the prospect of the oncoming weekend. We can also take into account that the poet might have been at the mosque for the dawn prayer time, or Fajr. In Islam, it is seen as God’s most favored prayer since others are asleep. Also, the call to Fajr marks the beginning of the obligatory daily fasting during the holy month of Ramadan.

The cry of the swan creates a contrast between the jovial mood of Friday mornings and the peacefulness of prayer time in the mosque. Why is the swan crying? It is inexplicable, as it conveys a different emotion for each person that hears it. One person might see the swan crying and think, “Yes, Islam is going through a troubled time currently,” but another person might think, “Look, even a swan calls us to the mosque to pray, just as the muezzin  (the man who calls Muslims to the mosque) does,” while yet another person might think, “The swan is sad it cannot enter the mosque to pray.” There are a myriad interpretations one can get from the cry of the swan, and that is what makes this haiku engaging and versatile.

This scene reminds me of the term aware, which is a Japanese word that means the ability of an object, event, or scene to stimulate emotion, particularly of sadness or regret. The cry of the swan in the context of the scene brings about emotions, though we are not quite sure which ones exactly. But emotions that cannot be accurately defined are commonly the most powerful.

Another thing to consider is “white” being used directly and being implied in the haiku. The swan, in a sense, blends in with the mosque, and could be acting as its mouthpiece. Or, we could think of the mosque blending in with the swan, suggesting religion returning to simpler times. White is often a symbol of clarity, and maybe the haiku is suggesting the swan and mosque are not so distant from each other.

Sonically, the sounds of “f” in “friday” and “from,” and the “m” sounds in “morning” and “mosque” brings out the intensity of the swan’s cry. In terms of punctuation, I believe the author was correct in not using it in the first line, as it will make “friday morning” too heavy, when it is something light.

A haiku that lends itself to be commentary on religion and its connection with the natural world, it also showcases an excellent sense of sound, color, and scenery.

– Nicholas Klacsanzky

Posted in Haiku

John E. Carley’s Gate

Background on the Poet

John E. Carley, translator, polyglot, creator of the zip form of haiku, renku master, author of “The Little Book of Yotsomunos” and “The Book of Renku,” was born and raised in an Irish Catholic family in the north of England in 1955. He lived in the Pennine Hills of northern England. Discovering poetry helped John to overcome dyslexia in his early years. A former musician, John developed a particular interest in the phonic properties of poetry and has written, performed, and published a wide range of material in English, Italian, French, and Piedmontese as well as literary translations from Urdu, Bangla, and, more recently, Japanese. John was inspired by working with William J. Higginson, as he always paid a great attention to minor detail. But the figure that made the biggest impression was without a doubt Nobuyuki Yuasa with his 1966 translation of The Narrow Road by Basho. In John’s eyes, Yuasa held the keys to the spirit of haikai.

In recent years, John’s radical analogue to Japanese teikei (the patterns of rhythm and sound used in poetry), nicknamed the ‘zip’ style, has earned both dismay and support amongst those specializing in Japanese verse forms in the English language. His love of linked verse saw him invent the four-verse yotsumono, and he celebrated the form with a collection written with several authors, in The Little Book of Yotsumonos (Darlington Richards, 2012). The same publisher is bringing out the hard-copy edition of The Renku Reckoner, John’s life work and taken from his website of the same name.

From 2004 through 2006, John Carley served as renku editor for the haikai journal Simply Haiku and has appeared frequently as an essayist for the World Haiku ReviewThe Journal of Renga and Renku, as well as in A Hundred Gourds, and other journals. His Renku Reckoner was considered to be the most viewed source of renku diagram and aesthetics in the English speaking world.

John has acted as a poem leader (sabaki) for more than a hundred renku sequences, many composed in more than one language. Several have been published in international venues and won awards, including First place in the 2013 Einbond competition.  John’s emphasis lied in that kind of collaborative linked verse composed after the style or in the school of Matsuo BashoShomon haikai rengaa distinction he strives to make perfectly clear.

John E. Carley died on New Year’s Eve in 2013 after a four year battle with mesothelioma. He was a friend, a supporter, and a mentor to so many. The haiku community will be reaping the rewards of his kindness for a long time to come, and his support for renku made him a modern master of the form in English Language Haiku.

(From The Living Haiku Anthology, with a few edits)


by the time I      reach the gate post

another leaf      has fallen

© John E. Carley

This is a zip poem, which closely resembles haiku in form and content, though it is 15 syllables and contains one internal caesura represented by a double space. You can say the poem is divided into four parts. Let’s take a look at why the poet possibly divided the poem into these parts.

I think the first gap shows the time it took the poet to reach the gatethe elongation of time. The second gap demonstrates the moment of witnessing: him watching the leaf fall.

The meaning of the poem can be said to be many things. The poet, through his keen awareness, notices the decaying world around him, symbolized in the fallen leaf. It is not just decay, but the amount of it. The poem could be reminding readers that in each thing we do, there is loss, and that things around us are ceasing to exist. It is saying, in a sense, that we must weigh our construction in light of deconstruction.

The poem could also be about reaching one’s goals, and seeing loved ones pass away in the process.  Also, when he writes “another leaf,” we can start to think about the other leaves that fell. There could also be an implication that the poet is the other fallen leaf.

But I believe at the heart of the poem is an awareness of longing, and giving sacred time to view it—not ignoring it. 

The sound of the poem contributes to its reading. “by the time I      reach the gate” has a string of “eh” sounds, which bring out the starkness of the moment, and the “eh” sound continues with “another leaf      has fallen.” What’s also interesting is the pivot sound of “post” having a long “oo” sound, showing the length of time the leaf has fallen.

John E. Carley created haiku and poems that made us think of the greater potential of micropoetry. Through spacing, sound, and aesthetics that seemed new but linked with the past, he presented a fresh voice for the world.

– Nicholas Klacsanzky


Posted in Haiku

Christina Sng’s Catku

This is a review of Christina Sng’s book, “Catku,” from Allegra Press. To check out the book, and to purchase it, visit:

Though they say there are dog people and cat people, I believe that all of us see something special in cats: their individuality, their mysterious behavior, their love (given on their own accord), and much more.

Catku by Christina Sng is a celebration of and exposition into the lives we share with cats, and the inner lives of these felines through a mixture of light, meditative, and poignant haiku. There are standout haiku on every page, but the following are my favorite three from the book:

a world
of possibilities
kitten in a box

This points to several things: the possibilities of the power of innocence, the possibilities of the kitty tearing things up, and also imagining how the kitty will look in its future. Also, this haiku could be saying that our world is like a kitten in a box. It gives a lot for the reader to imagine and to ponder over. Notice also the great sense of sound with the use of “o” which gives the reader a strong sense of wonder.

meandering stream
our cat languorously
grooms herself

I love how the connection between the two parts of the haiku make one think if the stream is actually grooming its surroundings through its relaxed pace. People step on, spit on, and do whatever they like to Mother Earth, and the stream is in a sense cleaning and soothing the land. But on the other end, maybe it can be seen as the stream constantly purifying itself through its own movement. The sense of sound in this haiku is also intriguing, with a focus on “ea” in the first line, and “o” in the last two lines. The sound in the first line calls attention to the stream itself, and the sound in the last two lines lend to the slow pace of the stream.

white lilies
the empty pet bed
in the corner

Maybe the poet was sitting in her living room, and saw white lilies in her garden, and then turned to the white, empty pet bed in the room. White lilies commonly symbolize innocence and purity, and the empty pet bed gives a sharp contrast. This haiku implies that one of the poet’s pets died not long ago, and seeing the white lilies maybe brought back memories of her pet, in all its sweetness and emotional fullness. The haiku could also be a reflection of where the pet has gone in the afterlife, and that maybe there is a sense of hope in seeing the white lilies. Whatever the haiku brings to the mind of the reader, it has a clear mood that can be felt palpably.

My recommendation would be to read this book alone with your cat, sipping some tea. The haiku are quite striking, comedic, and at times rather emotional, so it is good to give yourself space to read it.

– Nicholas Klacsanzky

Posted in Haiku

Margherita Petriccione’s Acacia

the scent of acacia
carries it through the evening . . .
train whistle

© Margherita Petriccione (Italy)

The scent of acacia is sweet, and even candy-like. Acacia usually blossoms in early spring, and when one smells acacia, a sense of hope and renewal can be felt. Traditionally, this tree is found all over the world and especially in Australia. It has diverse mythological roots (playing an important role in both Egyptian and Judeo-Christian lore) and has been used as a source of medicine and incense. Acacia blossoms are also often associated with honor, resurrection, and immortality, and chaste or friendly affection.

The second line leaves a mystery for the reader—some suspense. The thought of the scent of acacia carrying something is intriguing in itself. The ellipsis is interesting in its use, as it shows the continuation of something being carried. The bright scent of acacia is contrasted by the evening and sets up the context for the third line.

The shrill sound of the train whistle is a sharp contrast with the scent of acacia. Train whistles can bring about many feelings: longing, nostalgia, a sense of distance, sadness, and more. With the mention of evening, I believe the train whistle represents more of a nostalgia or longing. What the nostalgia or longing is for is not presented in the haiku (which is good, as haiku writers like to leave mysteries for their readers), but one can guess that the poet misses someone deeply.

But by the scent of acacia carrying the train whistle (either physically through vibration, or metaphorically), there is a sense of renewal or even immortality of something or someone. This causes the haiku to be bittersweet in mood with the juxtaposition.

Looking at the haiku in terms of sound, the “s” sound runs through it strongly, which shows perhaps the wind and the scent of acacia passing because of it. Also, the “k” sound in “acacia” and “carries” brings more weight and starkness to the senses of the reader.

This haiku creates a poignant atmosphere that can be palpably felt. A sense of loss and renewal together, reading this haiku gives a real sense of life.

– Nicholas Klacsanzky

Posted in Haiku

Francesco Palladino’s Church

bells . . .
in the silence of the church
an ant

campane …
nel silenzio della chiesa
una formica

(Italian translation by the author)

© Francesco Palladino (Italy)

The first thing that got me thinking while I read this haiku was how bells were supposedly ringing in the church, and yet somehow the church was silent. Then I understood that ants can’t really hear. They can perceive vibrations created by sound, but not really hear in the sense that humans do.

Anyways, the ant is in the church for some reason. Did the bells call to him, like he was attracted to the vibrations the bells created? Probably not. The ant seems to be just there.

“Silence,” in the context of the haiku, has several implications. It implies that the ant is taking part in reverence or prayer. Also, it could imply that no one is in the church, except the ant. This reminds me of Saint Francis of Assisi, who encouraged animals to attend his services and sermons. Saint Francis even preached the gospel to birds when people would not listen to him. In this sense, the haiku could be reminding us of the universal spirit in all of us, even in an ant.

And maybe there is a connection between the ant and the calling of the bells. The ant, though small and not seen as worthy of being in a church, is showing humans how they should be: worshiping God and being spiritual. Though, of course, the ant is unaware that it is making this impression. In haiku, a common theme is that by things being as they are, the greatest truths are shown.

And finally, maybe the ant is representative of humans. Maybe we’re just ants in the eyes of God—small servants in a huge, divine play.

Now let’s look at the technical side of it. The ellipsis was used, to my knowledge, to show the swing of the bells and the continuation of their sound.

The pacing of the lines is quite interesting. It makes both the first and last line starker than usual by being so short.

In terms of sound, the letter “l” in “bells” and “silence” emphasizes a contrast and adds to the serious mood.

With overtones of religious and spiritual commentary, this haiku presents an observation through engaging pacing, sound, punctuation, and imagery.

– Nicholas Klacsanzky


Posted in Haiku

Jennifer Hambrick’s Shadow

Labor Day
the shadow
of Dad’s headstone

Presence 56, autumn issue, 2016

© Jennifer Hambrick (USA)

The commentary is by two writers: Jacob Salzer and Nicholas Klacsanzky:

Jennifer has provided a vivid haiku that resonates within us for a long time. We celebrate Labor Day as a day of remembrance, and in this haiku, it conjures up deep feelings of gratitude for the many years that her dad worked to support a family, provide a roof over her head, and bring food to her table. At the same time, Labor Day can stimulate sadness if we go back in time and recall the difficult, (and even harsh) working conditions of our previous generations.

This haiku provides that angle of interpretation: her dad worked so hard (in perhaps a difficult environment), his physical labor and/or environment may have (directly or indirectly) contributed to his death. There is sadness not knowing how old her dad was when he passed away, or exactly how he passed away. In that sense, this haiku may also shed some light on our current working conditions. How many workers are exposed to daily hazards, such as air and water pollution? How safe is our current work environment? “The shadow of Dad’s headstone” is symbolic of the length of  her dad’s life and of human life. Shadows are also cooler in temperature, and this only adds to the stark, vivid imagery.

– Jacob Salzer

To add to what Jacob wrote, the elongation of the shadow could have pressed the emotions of Jennifer when she saw it. The shadow could have been as long as her father was, and this could have magnified the sadness she felt from her father’s passing. In this way, “labor” could be a play on words, like the shadow was laboring to witness.

In addition, the capitalization of “Dad” strikes me as interesting. It seems to give prominence to him as somehow living, and in combination with “headstone” not just “grave,” makes this haiku more personable.

The sound of the haiku also enhances the mood. The letter “o”elongates the reading of the haiku, illustrating a laboring process. The letter “a” gives a starkness to the reading, and brings the reader more into the moment described.

The brief lines give this haiku a pace that is impacting. The last line being much longer than the other lines gives an impression of the long shadow. Also, with the lack of punctuation, the two subjects blend more together.

An emotional and surprising haiku, the author created a poignant mood and image without directly referencing it. This is not an intellectual haiku, but one that relies more on intuition to spread its meaning.

– Nicholas Klacsanzky

Posted in Haiku

Ken Sawitri’s Bell

abandoned house
I strike the bell
with my shadow

Wild Plum, 2.1, Spring & Summer Issue, March 1st, 2016

© Ken Sawitri (Indonesia)

The surprise in the last line is not just there for shock, but also for its image. It conjures a mood of intense loneliness.

“Shadow” could be physical or metaphorical. It could be a play of perception, or an introspection on the past or present misery that came to the house or the narrator.

The action (or imagination of the action) of striking the bell brings the house back to life, occupying it with sound. However, this occupation only increases its somber mood, as it is even more obvious that no one lives there anymore.

In reality, the bell probably was not rung, but the narrator only touched the bell with her shadow (showing that even in the possible reluctance to ring the bell, the shadow did it for him). Houses have characters and lives of their own, and only touching the doorbell with her shadow is in a sense displaying the lonely atmosphere the house emits.

The image of the shadow touching the doorbell also shows a sense of reflection about times past, and maybe that the narrator is thinking of how she could have done something different to change the situation that made this house abandoned.

Getting more into the technical side, I think the lack of punctuation adds to the atmosphere of abandonment. The somber pace of the lines also points to the mood.

The two most prominent sounds in the haiku come from the letters “s” and “o.” The letter “s” gives way to the sound of “shhh,” kind of like a shadow brushing up against the doorbell (though shadows don’t make sounds, but in our imagination they can). The letter “o” puts more emphasis on the melancholy mood.

Starting from an initial surprise, the haiku leads to introspection and wonder about the sad state of one’s past that led to the present, and what we could have done to avoid our suffering. Though the haiku appears simple, it revs up our imagination through imagery and sound.

– Nicholas Klacsanzky

Posted in Haiku

Angiola Inglese’s Persimmon

Italian original:

cachi maturo—
una luna è una luna
anche stasera

English translation:

ripe persimmon—
moon’s a moon
too tonight

© Angiola Inglese (Italy)

Persimmons are the favorite fruit of many people (including my wife) for their sweetness and honey flavor. They are also quite bulbous and charming to look it.

To compare a persimmon to the moon is apt. Not only are they both round, they both are well admired. Persimmons are often referred to as “the fruit of the gods” and their trees can reach up to 70 feet. The moon is also epic in its nature: a variety of cultures have moon-viewing traditions to glimpse at its beauty, but it is also associated with many spiritual and even religious traditions.

But to get to the essence of this haiku, I believe the author is saying, “Yes, the ripe persimmon is grand, but don’t forget about the moon, which is quite similar to this persimmon.”

We can look at this essence at different angles. One could be that we should not get lost in the mundane, and keep our attention rather on the spiritual. Another interpretation could be: don’t give heed to what is ephemeral, but rather to what is eternal. Yet another way to interpret it is that while we enjoy one thing, don’t forget about everything else that exists—have care and compassion for all life at all times. It is a sense of balance in a world of allure—kind of like the idea of the “floating world” in historical Japanese literature.

And with the reference to the ripe permission, we can probably guess the moon in the haiku is a full moon. Also, we can take a gander at the season: persimmons are in season from October through February. So much is said in this haiku through so few words. This is one sign that a haiku has done its job.

Looking at the sound, at least in the English translation, the most distinct sounds are in the letters “i” and “o.” In my opinion, the “i” sound adds to the mood of observation of the moon and persimmon, and the “o” sound gives a hypnotic feel to the haiku, allowing to feel the union of the moon and persimmon a bit more.

With many interpretations available through its simplicity, this haiku is a fine example of how to say a lot with just a few words.

– Nicholas Klacsanzky

Posted in Haiku

Anna Cates’ Walking Stick

at the muddy end
of a walking stick
wild oats

Hedgerow No. 42 August 14, 2015

© Anna Cates (USA)

(side note: check out the comments below this post for more insights into this haiku)

It seems like a simple image, but it has a significant sense of white space and resonance. What is the significance of the wild oats? What is the significance of the walking stick and it being muddy?

To me as a reader, the importance of “wild oats” is natural beauty and natural existence. The walking stick hints at the author, or someone being observed, needing support to walk—either because of feebleness or by the rough character of nature. Also, the walking stick, though natural, has now been rendered as a tool for a person. The wild oats, though humble in their appearance, can be seen as vibrant and pure. The word “wild” also contrasts the constrained life of the person who needs a walking stick.

The mud further reflects the idea of impurity or a soiled existence, in comparison with the simple purity of wild oats. But even though this mud may be a representation of impurity, it also may have wild oats attached to it. It is almost as if the wild oats are trying to tell something to the author: the separation between the human and natural world, the way to be pure in an impure world, and so on.

It is a moment that seems continuous at first (walking), but the poet takes a break to peer at the wild oats and to contemplate beauty, existence, and maybe more. Writing haiku and reading haiku usually allows us to take a break to feel what is around us more keenly.

In looking at the sense of sound, the most prominent sounds in the haiku come from the letter “d” and “i.” In my reading, the letter gives more weight to the haiku (and maybe its subject matter), and the letter “i” makes the reading of it more stark.

Also, I think the lack of punctuation was a good choice, as it reflects the idea of naturalness and purity.

Understated, grounded in its style, and having an open nature for interpretation, this haiku gets at the heart of a moment with a humble aesthetic.

– Nicholas Klacsanzky