My Haiku Pond świętuje dziesiąte urodziny. W konkursie zorganizowanym z tej okazji zostało wyróżnionych dziesięć utworów, w tym moja urodzinowa drobinka.
fortieth birthday
I am sledding down
the highest hill
czterdzieste urodziny
zjeżdżam na sankach
z najwyższej górki
Haiku miesiąca w The Wee Sparrow Haiku Nook:
raven's call...
wherever you look
only snow
krakanie kruka
gdziekolwiek byś nie spojrzał
tylko biel śniegu
Moja pierwsza publikacja w nowym roku: Haiku in Action - Nick Virgilio Haiku Association, haiku napisane do tematu Explosive Rebirth.
new year's confetti
the world in snowflakes
reborn
new year
I take out of the drawer
my old poems
Moje zwycięskie haiku w konkursie Basho's Haiku Journeys:
a frozen puddle
broken into pieces
the full moon
Debiutuję w magazynie Wales Haiku Journal zimowym haiku:
early winter
a hint of cinnamon
in her perfume
wczesna zima
nuta cynamonu
w jej perfumach
Haiku in Action - Nick Virgilio Haiku Association:
a son
I never had
deepening snow
syn
którego nigdy nie miałam
głęboka zima
W zimowym wydaniu Shadow Pond Journal moje haiku:
frozen waterfall
the final phase
of mourning
wodospad zimą
ostatnia faza
żałoby
Moje zimowe haiku w magazynie haikuNetra 1.4.
winter blizzard
feathers of rooks
turn white
śnieżyca
pióra gawronów
bieleją
Po raz pierwszy na stronie VSANA - Viewing Stone Association of North America zostały opublikowane moje haiku, zainspirowane czarnym kamieniem Dai Binh Stone z Wietnamu.
deep winter
when I open my eyes
darkness
głęboka zima
kiedy otwieram oczy
ciemność
a flock of crows
everywhere except them
whiteness
stado wron
wszędzie poza nimi
biel
W lutowym wydaniu Stardust Haiku - Poetry With a Little Sparkle moja cekinowa kruszyna:
winter night
on her sequin dress
an infinite sky
zimowa noc
na cekinowej sukni
nieskończone niebo
Mój debiut w Scarlet Dragonfly Journal.
white snowflakes
someone shakes again
the glass ball
płatki śniegu
ktoś znowu potrząsa
szklaną kulą
❄
Moje urodzinowe haiku na stronie Japan Society London.
heavy snowfall
more and more whipped cream
on my birthday cake
opady śniegu
mnóstwo bitej śmietany
na moim torcie
Moje haiku po raz pierwszy na stronie Japan Society London.
new year
another crossed out name
in my notebook
nowy rok
skreślam w notesie
kolejne nazwisko
W jesienno-zimowym wydaniu Autumn Moon Haiku Journal ukazały się moje dwa haiku w języku angielskim i polskim:
autumn sun
wrinkles on my father's face
deepen
jesienne słońce
zmarszczki na twarzy ojca
pogłębiają się
leaving the hospital
on the cheek of the newborn
snowflake
przed szpitalem
na policzku noworodka
płatek śniegu
W Under the Bashō w dziale Personal Best haiku, które po raz pierwszy zostało opublikowane w amerykańskim magazynie Frogpond w 2021 roku, a w 2022 roku pojawiło się w Haiku Commentary.
white morning
on grandfather's grave
fox footprints
Moje haiku na stronie Haiku Commentary z komentarzami Hifsy Ashraf, Jacoba Salzera i Nicholasa Klacsanzky'ego.
white morning
on grandfather's grave
fox footprints
I like the notion of reincarnation or transformation in this haiku. From the untouched snow, new life. Out of death, signs of life. Out of silence, new stories. A part of me wonders if the poet’s grandfather liked foxes and the poet sees their grandfather’s spirit in the fox in some way.
I like the atmosphere and deep silence in the first two lines. It sets the tone of the haiku and paints a somber mood. Additionally, when I read “morning” I also think of “mourning” sonically, so I feel hints of grief already in the first line and then the mood solidifies in line 2. By contrast, the third line contains new energy that is fresh and alive. Even though we are only seeing footprints, I also see a timelapse of the fox trotting through the graveyard with his or her vivid orange fur against the stark background of snow.
This haiku transports me into the lives of my own grandfathers and stories I know about them. I appreciate the acknowledgement of the poet’s grandfather in this haiku. I could also see this haiku as being an excellent start to a haibun about the poet’s grandfather and his stories.
Overall, an excellent haiku that pays tribute to family, animals, and the cycles of life.
— Jacob D. Salzer (USA)
When I visualize ‘white morning’ I feel as if I am drifting through a dream that is not so vivid or clear to my imagination or sight. The white morning adds more subtlety to this haiku as it’s the early part of the dawn—probably pre-dawn or early dawn. The time when a person’s mental faculties revolve around the self that reflect the true or deep meaning of the realities of life.
The grandfather’s grave with fox footprints gives a sort of mystery that takes us on a walk through the white morning or a dream to imagine a cemetery—perhaps an abandoned one or somewhere in a wild place. I could see the fox footprints as memories of the past that are fresh and deeply imprinted on the mind, maybe from childhood. The connection between the grandfather’s grave and fox footprints is elusive as it could be certain family traditions that pass on from one generation to another, or family affairs that seem to be not well settled, or it could be a sign of good or bad omens.
Overall, I see it as certain deeds or behaviours remaining fresh and unforgettable even after the demise of a person. It’s the next generation who decides how to perceive and interpret them, especially when there are a lot of rumours about them that are not clear, like the white morning.
— Hifsa Ashraf (Pakistan)
We have a clear kigo (seasonal reference) with “white morning,” which refers to winter and specifically snow. In context of this haiku, it brings a sense of coldness and melancholy.
For the pacing, we have a traditional English-language rhythm of a short first line, a longer second line, and a short third line. What is also of importance is that the second line acts as a pivot, where it can be read as connecting to both the first and third line: “white morning on grandfather’s grave” and “on grandfather’s grave, fox footprints.”
Turning our attention to aesthetics, this haiku may contain ma, which is a Japanese aesthetic that stands for not only the unsaid in the poem, but also “the sense of time and space, incorporating between, space, room, interval, pause, time, timing, passing, distanced, etc. More particularly, ma may be taken as the timing of space, as in the duration between two musical notes. Silence is valued as well as sound. It is said that the ma aesthetic is influential upon all varieties of Japanese art” (Simply Haiku, Denis Garrison). There is quite a bit unsaid in this haiku, but we can feel the powerful possibilities therein. In addition, there is a play of time of someone’s passing and the occurrence of fox’s footprints, bringing the past and present into union.
Looking at the sound, I’m drawn to the “o” sounds that elongate the reading and make it more somber in tone. The “i” sounds also give it a sense of urgency.
The language used is simple and effective, and not unnecessarily formal, sentimental, or verbose. It follows the principle of employing just the right amount of words needed to express the moment and feeling.
A haiku with an ethereal quality that makes the reader step inside the emotions and mystery of the moment.
— Nicholas Klacsanzky (USA)
W zimowym wydaniu World Haiku Review moja drobina:
first sunrise
shines on the portrait
of a deceased child
pierwszy wschód słońca
rozświetla zdjęcie dziecka
którego nie ma
W jesienno-zimowym wydaniu Autumn Moon Haiku Journal moje cztery haiku w języku angielskim i polskim.
.jpg)