A total of 226 haiku from 82 authors and 38 tanka from 26 authors were submitted for this selection.
The closing date for entries was October 15, 2018. I anonymized these texts before the selection began.
Each member of the DHG has the option of naming a submission that should be published on the member's own page if the jury disregards it.

Only previously unpublished texts can be submitted (also applies to publications in blogs, forums, social media and workshops etc.). No simultaneous submissions please!

Please preferably enter the haiku / tanka yourself in the online form on the DHG website:


Otherwise by email to: Wahlen@deutschehaikugesellschaft.de

The next closing date
for the haiku / tanka selection
is January 15th, 2019

Each participant can submit up to five texts - three of which are haiku. With the submission, the author gives his consent for a possible publication in the DHG Agenda 2020 as well http: /www.zugetextet.com/.


Haiku selection from HTA

The jury consisted of Valeria Barouch, Gerd Börner and Angelika Holweger. The members of the selection group did not submit their own texts.
All selected texts - 32 haiku - are published in alphabetical order of the author's names. Up to max. added two haiku per author.
"A haiku that particularly appeals to me" - this is the motto for each jury member to select up to three texts (still anonymized), to present and comment on them here.
Since the jury is made up of changing participants, I would like to cordially invite all interested DHG members to participate as a jury member in upcoming selection rounds.

Eleanor Nickolay


A haiku that particularly appeals to me

Come on, black beetle,
we hike without danger
on morning trails!

Thomas Berger

This haiku has a note that we know from Issa, who spoke to everything that crawls and hisses there. I especially like the picture "on morning trails". It sets the mood, which we can easily associate with harmlessness. In my mind's eye, fields emerge over which the sun slowly rises, while the world around is not yet fully equipped for the day's work. "Morning hour has gold in your mouth," it says so nicely, which means that you can work particularly well in the early morning. But the early hour especially also shines a special light on nature, and if you walk on lonely paths away from traffic, open to the beauty that surrounds you, it can happen that you share your thoughts aloud with fauna and flora ,
An atmospheric, endearing text.

Selected and commented by Valeria Barouch

"God reward"
the old woman is giving me presents
for a smile

Erika Uhlmann

When reading at a glance, one is tempted to think that the third line is an error. Shouldn't it be "with a smile"? Being given a present for a smile sounds a bit unrealistic. What does the author receive? Is it the warm “God bless” that is perceived as a gift, or was the thank you accompanied by a gift? The nature of the gift is irrelevant, only the fact seems important to me.
As I read it, I couldn't help but think of an encounter in a park, where a woman thanked me so warmly for a few words that I had exchanged with her that I was stunned and thoughtful. People who express their gratitude for something as natural as a smile or a few words seem to me to be indicative of the lack of contact in our society. Our means of communication are becoming faster, more numerous and more sophisticated, which unfortunately does not automatically lead to better communication with our environment.

Selected and commented by Valeria Barouch

Morning sun -
I'm going through that
Shadow of a fence

Angelica Seithe

After observing a specific moment on the way to the workplace, the level of the unsaid follows in the reverberation: the day begins with the morning sun, a day full of hope and expectations. Someone walks along a fence along the neighboring garden to the bus. The still low sun casts shadows on the fence slats on the way to work. Thoughts revolve around the experiences of the past week. She remembers smiling happy hours, but also the disputes and the small annoyances in the company. She passed through the shadow play very quickly and is now standing in the warming sunlight at the bus stop, her head clear again for the tasks that lie ahead of her. A wonderful text, which by definition only becomes haiku in reverberation.

Selected and commented by Gerd Börner

grave visit
die Blumen
of the other

Horst Oliver Buchholz

Only five words or ten syllables are enough to summarize this explosive topic.
Visiting the grave: Is it a fresh grave that is decorated or is it just the annual duty on All Saints' Day, on the anniversary or Sunday of the Dead?
The other's flowers: who is this other? Probably the friend or lover of a woman not named here. That would be the classic variant. Of course, it could also be men. But where does the certainty come from that the flowers are from the other? Is a mourning ribbon attached that reveals the donor? That would be brave and at the same time a great provocation. Now what predominates: sadness, jealousy or maybe even anger when you see "the flowers of the other"? I don't know and will never know. In these few words, skilfully divided into three lines, I can feel an unsolvable tension.
The haiku leaves many lines of thought open, offers space for your own images and associations. It is this multilayeredness that appeals to me about this haiku. Not to forget the sound of the vowels a and u.

Selected and commented by Angelika Holweger

field Idyllic
where else the buzzard circles
a drone

Petra Klingl

When I read the word "field idyll", a whole range of natural beauties opens up to me. The buzzard, a bird of prey, doesn't really want to go with it. And yet it belongs to the natural cycle of life and death. Now, in the third line, “a drone” appears, this high-tech aircraft that gives the “field idyll” a certain cynical sound. Drones to take pictures, to transport directly to the front door, to monitor, pollinate the flowers, etc. Where will this development lead? I read this question between the lines of this haiku. Buzzards are still circling, birds are still singing. But they are becoming less and less due to lack of feed and pesticides. And at some point in the spring, bees may no longer hum, but instead drones modeled on the insects. Is my imagination playing tricks on me here? No, because in Japan and America, e.g. For example, at Havard University, scientists are already working on it with zeal. Attempts to pollinate lilies are said to have already been successful. Such horror visions open up between the lines of this haiku, which is very successful for me.

Selected and commented by Angelika Holweger


The selection

smoldering ashes
he brings his wedding ring
to the pawnshop
Christa Beau

Petunia red
women laugh again
from the widower's balcony
Christa Beau

Come on, black beetle,
we hike without danger
on morning trails!
Thomas Berger

Tango Nuevo
slowly circling us
two violins
Christopher Blumentrath

grave visit
die Blumen
of the other
Horst Oliver Buchholz

Blood moon
we discuss
about superstition
Hildegard Dohrendorf

on the way to the roses
about the buddha in the grass
Bernadette Duncan

on my lids
the light, eight minutes old
I hold onto it
Stephen Einhaus

The day
through the evening rain
Wolfgang founder

Autumn rain -
on the bench in the grove
moss fragrance
Claus Hansson

roaring wind
a voice, the calm

Gabriele Hartman

evening sun
we are approaching
the red line

Gabriele Hartman

after twenty years
the you

Birgit Heid

summer breeze
the cycle of life and death
under her skirt

Xavier Helix

Persian shower
our desire for eternity

Anne Holtz

on my hand
you whisper

Use Jacobson

After being released
The weight of the keychain
so much easier

Deborah Karl Brandt

field Idyllic
where else the buzzard circles
a drone

Petra Klingl

mirror images
the wind takes off
the swans

Petra Klingl

mild air
a lark disappears
in their song

Gerard Krebs

Marathon -
a girl on the roadside
plucks petals

Eva Limbach

Matcha tea -
knock the dust out of mine
meditation cushions

Eva Limbach

in front of the state theater
the pirouettes
the plane tree leaves

Ruth Caroline Mieger

end of summer
in her urn

Eleanor Nickolay

drift wood
we keep up
On the hands

Eleanor Nickolay

lava Field
how long does the magic last
yesterday's embers

Sebastian Salie

cobwebs -
what to talk about
from the open end

Birgit Schaldach Helmlechner

Evening breeze -
at the telegraph pole
Indian threads

Angelica Seithe

Morning sun -
I'm going through that
Shadow of a fence

Angelica Seithe

"God reward"
the old woman is giving me presents
for a smile

Erika Uhlmann

rainy weather
i get my photos
from the cloud

Friedrich winemaker

after the funeral
Emptiness that fills up
with emptiness

Klaus-Dieter Wirth


HTA tanka selection

Tony Böhle and Silvia Kempen selected four tanka.

"A tanka that appeals to me particularly" - texts are presented and commented on under this motto.


A tanka that particularly appeals to me

Stormy night.
At the table
in the glow of the reading lamp

a traveller
through worlds from words.

Reinhard Dellbrugge

Autumn is approaching with unstoppable steps. Even if the temperatures do not really suggest it, it does not remain hidden from the eyes. The trees become colorful again and the wind carries the colorful foliage through all streets. And where you could still walk home in the light a few weeks ago, you now need the support of street lighting again.

Probably on such a day - or rather in such a night - the tanka above gives us. Even if storms do not only occur in autumn, it is the stormy nights of this time of the year in particular that arouse particularly strong associations with their howling wind, rustling leaves and the cold, wet wind. Yes, here and there in the "sch" sounds ("stormy", "table" and "Schein") you can even hear the wind blowing around the corners of the house and its rustling in the foliage.

But what drives the reader to hang out on a book so late at the table in the light of the reading lamp? From the context itself, one can only guess what the reasons for this could be, as well as the content of the book (or even the books?). The nightly table is apparently initially a place where the reader - who is referred to here as a "traveler" - can explore the "worlds of words" undisturbed. Otherwise, would there be a reason to turn on just a small reading lamp instead of lighting up the whole room if there was another one? Perhaps the reading material is also so interesting that our protagonist could not get away from it and was simply exiled from the bedroom by the partner to read.

After all, the protagonist is then missing and observed, without even noticing it, perhaps without being interested. The text is written from the perspective of a second person, but reports nothing of looking up or returning from the reading material. Even if the tanka breaks off at this point, you would almost like to hear a "honey, come to bed!"

In design terms, the Tanka shows some skills, as the system demonstrates in the so-called zoom technique. The text moves line by line from a large image section to ever smaller details. The first line illuminates the time and external circumstances of the event ("Stormy Night") in order to show the exact location ("table") and finally the even smaller light cone of the lamp in the next two lines. Finally, lines four and five focus a person in the light and their reading. It is particularly pointy that this zooming finally culminates in the smallest image section, but paradoxically it is not just one world, but several "worlds" - if only "made up of words" - is large! This also demonstrates a certain decoupling between the storm's outside world and the inside of the traveling reader.

Selected and commented by Tony Böhle

Step by step
my way
through the full moon night ...
Shadow after shadow
stay behind

Horst Oliver Buchholz

Stormy night.
At the table
in the glow of the reading lamp
a traveller
through worlds from words.

Reinhard Dellbrugge

Burden and worry
a year there - how nice
colorful leaves dance
Cranes in the blue sky
"I will see you again"

Ute till tree

plastic waste
grown in the grass
bit by bit
marvel at the children
the colors in autumn

Henrietta Tomasi

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