HAIKU OF THE DAY
31.10.2021
first dose -
I become immune
to their comments
—Ana Drobot
Acest blog este destinat semnalării oricăror informaţii despre prezenţele autorilor români pe alte site-uri decît cele de limbă română.
El continuă seria de texte despre prezenţe româneşti în reviste şi în concursuri din străinătate (8) existente pe ROMANIAN KUKAI.
Intenţia este aceea de a lăsa mînă liberă celor care accesează site-urile de haiku din afară şi doresc să devină autorii unor articole de informaţie. Se simte nevoia unor forţe proaspete care să poată face o activitate minimă de a accesa paginile de pe internet referitoare la poezia niponă şi de a pune acea informaţie care ne interesează la îndemîna celor care au mai puţin timp, mai puţină abilitate şi nu stăpînesc prea bine o limbă străină.
Toţi cei care doresc să o facă pot deveni autori ai acestui blog dacă sînt în stare să facă un text onorabil referitor la cele de mai sus şi să-l posteze singuri pe blog. Dacă există doritori, e suficient să-mi semnaleze intenţia lor pe adresa forevernelcor@gmail.com şi le voi trimite o invitaţie.
Ca o confirmare a abilităţii lor, îmi pot trimite linkul la blogul personal. Dar o pot confirma la fel de bine şi cu o primă postare după ce au dat curs invitaţiei.
HAIKU OF THE DAY
31.10.2021
first dose -
I become immune
to their comments
—Ana Drobot
leaf after leaf --
the old tree returns
to its roots
--
Mirela Brailean (Iasi, Romania)
Selected by Dhugal J. Lindsay
https://mainichi.jp/english/articles/20210927/p2g/00m/0su/054000c?fbclid=IwAR2UzLwfsgtkGWr4i8T5Lm0jCEyEvt_M1KQRiwlMcy68KXpzPilW7uK-URs
eaf after leaf --
the old tree returns
to its roots
--
Mirela Brailean (Iasi, Romania)
Selected by Dhugal J. Lindsay
(Illustration by Mitsuaki Kojima)
reaping rice--
my first haiku translated
into Japanese
--Mirela Brailean (Iasi, Romania)
FROM THE NOTEBOOK
Mirela Brailean’s interlocutor swirled back and forth in Iasi, Romania.
rippling wheat--
the way she chooses to tell me
about pregnancy
* * *
Vasile Moldovan paid tribute to ancestry in Bucharest, Romania.
* * *
Division 1b: General Public (Non‐Japanese applicants)
① rural summer –
a hay carriage crosses the hill
close to the moon
Steliana Cristina Voicu (Romania)
① small tombstone
the distance between
caterpillar and butterfly
Eduard Tara (Romania)
① chemotherapy –
this time she greets me
with wildflowers in hair
Dan Iulian (Romania)
① old airfield –
a flock of pigeons
lands on a patch of grass
② last stop –
a dandelion fluff
in the spider web
Capotă Daniela Lăcrămioara (Romania)
① dinner on the pier
two seagulls on a mast
tasting the silence
Clara Toma (Romania)
① artesian fountain
a flutter of sparrows
peck at the rainbow
Mona Jordan (Romania)
① floating lotus
separating night and day
blue innocence
Mircea Moldovan (Romania)
① days of blossoming
the elders in the hospice
compare their lifelines
② one legged pigeon
on the sundial
Hiroshima Day
Cezar‐Florin Ciobîcă (Romania)
Division 3: Junior High School Students
① pandemic days
my cat brings inside
dandelion fluff
Andreea Buzuc (8th grade) "Elena Rareș” School, Romania
① artesian well
coins sparkling
among stars
Karina Panainte (8th grade) "Elena Rareș” School, Romania
① rain puddles
noisy children jumping
from cloud to cloud
Mircea Basarab (8th grade) "Elena Rareș” School, Romania
① old pond
tadpoles dotting
the moon
Sebastian Ciobica (3rd grade) "Elena Rareș” School, Romania
rush hour—
I turn on
the walkman
Mirela Brăilean
Romania
***
a frog hesitates
in the quiet pond
skyscrapers
Mircea Moldovan
Romania
***
city blackout
for the first time
I can see my star
Mona Iordan
Romania
***
park alleys . . .
I imagine my steps
elsewhere
Ana Drobot
Romania
my pink-tinted glasses
the downcast sky
smiles back to me
Mona Iordan
https://coldmoonjournal.blogspot.com/2021/10/by-mona-iordan.html
night walk
carrying on his shoulders
the moon of stone
Mircea Moldovan
https://coldmoonjournal.blogspot.com/2021/10/by-mircea-moldovan_18.html
blackbird's song
repeating the mantra
for
forgiveness
Mirela Brăilean
October 15, 2021
lightning...
I’ve never thoughtFirst place
autumn rain…
the desire to become
his urn
– Cristina Apetrei, Romania
This powerful haiku suffused with longing is a fitting winner of the 2021 Katikati Haiku Contest. My reading of it, and so the commentary that follows, is of a mother mourning her son – others may see it as a wife grief-stricken for her husband and that is equally valid. One of the marks of an exceptional haiku is that it remains ‘open’ enough for the reader to bring their own experiences and interpretations to the poem.
Initially, the first line seems simple, a scene setting only, but as we read the rest of the haiku, it’s worth circling back to line one to appreciate the heft it brings to the rest of the poem. In autumn leaves lose their ability to photosynthesise, so colour up and fall (die); it is the season of harvest (in this case of a human); the season when the verdant growth of spring and summer withers and decays. From all this, we might deduce we are mourning a man in his prime. And we can certainly read ‘rain’ as literal rain and metaphorical tears. The ellipses, meanwhile, has the effect of slowing us down as we enter the main part of the haiku, as well as graphically representing raindrops/tears.
The body that grew inside the poet’s for nine months, that relied on hers for nourishment and oxygen, is now ashes. And she fervently wishes she could protect and hold him again, as she did before he was born and many times after. It’s not possible to ‘reanimate’ a dead body and the poet has accepted this – she is not longing for her son to come back to life. Instead, her thoughts have led her to a particular desire, the sort we might find in a Greek myth that is as much curse as solution. She would turn herself into a stone womb for her child and be his protector for evermore.
HAIKU SECTION
Judge: Simon Hanson, Australia
1st Place/Jeanette Stace Memorial Award:
Maori lullaby
resting on top of the Kauri pine
the pale moon
by Mircea Moldovan, Romania
Judge’s commentary:
On first reading I was moved, my response was visceral, I had to share it immediately with my wife and haven’t wavered for a moment since that this well deserves the Jeanette Stace Memorial Award. One mustn’t say too much—poetry speaks for itself; beautifully constructed in word and visual appearance. This poem’s centred format is done for very good reason—symmetrical like a great pine, an image to behold, crowned by the moon. As befitting a lullaby, the wording of this haiku is softly sounding when read aloud and more so when whispered—it reads very nicely whispered.
I have learnt that the Kauri pine is much revered in Maori culture. A native tree to Aotearoa, it is the subject of legend and myth, used in carvings and the construction of dwellings and because of its strength and natural resistance to seawater many canoes were made from a single Kauri trunk, some holding up to 180 warriors—amidst the softness there is great power here too. And I’ve learnt also that the moon holds a central place in the Maori calendar, the Maramataka, is a lunar calendar. These details are important for it shows that the subject of this haiku is well informed, known first-hand or well researched, more than just a pretty ornament. But an ornament it is too, lovely to look at, lovely to read, while containing depths of historical significance. On another level this haiku is energising by a symbol of some fascination—the image of the moon resting on top of the pine and its juxtaposition with the first line speaks deeply to our collective and ancient history—of fertility and of new life. My gratitude, thank you.
https://poetrysociety.org.nz/2021/07/26/2021-international-poetry-competition-results/
kintsugi —
over the fallen leaves
a ray of sun
end of October —
flocks of sheep descending
to winter
how many sunrises scattered by the stag's horns
silver
wedding—
my son ties
the first tie
knot
Dan Iulian
anchor on a field
two seagulls
watching over
the sea
Mircea
Moldovan
rusty anchor
the sails
still
flapping
Mona Iordan
lockdown
my son draws
again
swing chains
Florin C.
Ciobica
50 percent
of my happiness —a snake coiling on Buddha's thoughts
***
mimosa i'm wondering should i...better not
Mircea Moldovan
***
squeaky-clean
the loofa exceeds
my expectations
Mona Iordan
***
morning walk
careful not to step
on masks
chestnuts rain...
as if it's not enough
the pungent chill
Mirela Brăilean
***
our photo together so many windows left open in Word
Ana Drobot
https://www.haikuhut.com/FailedHaikuIssue70.pdf?fbclid=IwAR1OyzB4pdQHF2RlCrkLEG6eVCQfJGXgzF_NPx9uNRHw3UxcIxW4-qs7Ni8
Mirela Brailean watched reflections of star-shaped flowers fold their blooms at dusk in Iasi, Romania"David McMurray