In the period from November to January 2012/2013, a total of 250 haiku (3 of which had to be removed from the rating because they had already been published elsewhere) and 14 tanka by 61 authors were submitted for this selection. The deadline for entries was January 15, 2013. Each participant could submit up to 5 haiku or tanka.
These works were anonymized before the selection began by Silvia Kempen, who also had the overall coordination. The jury consisted of Bernadette Duncan, Gerda Förster and Horst-Oliver Buchholz. The members of the selection group did not submit their own texts.
All selected works (32 haiku and 0 tanka) are listed below alphabetically by author's name - up to max. three works per author.
A haiku that particularly appeals to me
Selected and commented by Bernadette Duncan:
discreet
in Sutterlin:
your feelings
This haiku waits in silence for the reader to linger a little. Then a picture begins to open up: It's winter. While rummaging, a letter falls into your hands, written by a woman in the old handwriting that was taught at the beginning of the century. Maybe a mother, grandmother or old aunt, whose fate we know from hearsay. Nevertheless: the razor-beautiful letters reveal nothing. We search in vain, laboriously reading, in the outward appearances described for clues of their condition, which remains hidden not only in the twists of their hearts but also in the corners and curves of the letters.
The balance of the writing can be experienced in reading this three-liner. B. "Sütterlin" keeps the common word "feelings" in balance. In terms of sound, the haiku is a real gem. The repetitions of v (f), i, g, l and ü round it up to a whole without completing it. The rhythm guides the reader - with a short break after the second line - safely through the poem, in order to release him gently at the end ... perhaps on a walk through the snowy landscape, thinking of long-deceased and never quite known people.
Selected and commented by Horst-Oliver Buchholz:
Antiques business.
We look at
the ice flowers.
Antiques shop. There they are exhibited and offered, the good old things, those that are worth preserving and preserving. Most of them are also materially valuable; the expensive old furniture, the fine silver, much more. Each piece knows a memory, a story, a home. The scene in this haiku is well set. Then the phrase: not the old and steady is considered. It is the ice flowers that are fleeting. The antiques refer to the past, the ice flowers represent the present - a beautiful contrast that opens up here. Another contrast: the antiques are supposed to be sold, it's about offering for sale, about business; it could also be pointed out: about the disdainful Mammon. How different, however, are the ice flowers. Presumably they bloom on the window (opening element), maybe on the shop window? They are not for sale, you cannot even get hold of them. They bloom and fade in the sun. It is the beauty of transience that attracts attention, not the ostensibly valuable, the antiques. The point at the end of the verse could have been done without in order not to endanger the open character of the haiku. Nevertheless: a haiku that I like to put in the shop window - to linger and look at.
Selected and commented by Horst-Oliver Buchholz:
drought
a strange woman
green eyes
Droughts - the term allows many readings. Is it just hot outside, the lawn tanned under the summer heat, the harvest endangered, the entry threatened? Or is it withered within yourself, loneliness? One thing is certain: in poor times, the senses are sharpened. These wide awake senses look into "green eyes" and they look into strange eyes. Green eyes are extraordinary, so something special is seen, it is not the usual sight. And green is hope. However, this hope is not conveyed here through familiar, through tried and tested, on which hope is often based. It comes (probably unexpectedly) as "casually" in "a strange woman". That is special in these barren words. They are skinny verses that promise rich harvest when read repeatedly.
Selected and commented by Gerda Förster:
the little day ...
a fly sits
on a mobile
To tell the truth: it wasn't love at first sight. Other haiku had an easier time getting my approval. But "the little day" stubbornly stayed in my mind and never let go until I succumbed to its charm.
A simple, concrete and open haiku, without a word too much, with a fly as the acting person.
Flies are not that unusual in the haiku world. The poor animal is then often in a glass of wine or water and fighting for its life.
This one sits on a mobile and thus also gets the reader's thoughts in motion. Because there is "the little day", a word creation that I did and which is the key to this haiku for me.
We are all familiar with the “big day”, and each of us could certainly name one from our own lives. But what is meant by the "little day"?
Is it just the day of a (one-day) fly that has so far been uneventful and is now reaching its climax with a trip on the mobile? That would be nice for the fly, but maybe not enough for a haiku.
It is more likely that there is also an observer whose day is meant.
A day when not much happens, when someone has time and leisure to pursue their thoughts and perceive the simple things around them.
Maybe he watches the fly, sees how the little animal sets the mobile in motion and thereby changes the room. That could also give his thoughts a different direction, perhaps an impetus for new ideas and perspectives.
It is also possible that someone, for example due to illness and age, is tied to the bed and has this mobile as the only eye-catcher. Different scenarios and perspectives on the haiku are conceivable.
But none of this explains why it was so impressively memorized.
Is it its lightness or its hidden humor, its modesty and unaffectedness?
Yes, it all certainly matters, but there is more.
It is, above all, its aftertaste, the non-namable and the space that opens up for me between the lines.
A room where I become silent, where my thoughts get wings and can caper or break with the fly or come to rest, for a little day, and beyond.
The selection
Carnival Clean Sweep,
at Häsradua - Jessas -
hangats heart em wall!Fasnacht Clean Sweep,
taking off his fool's dress - Jesus -
your heart hangs in your robe!
New Year's morning,
the champagne bottle
unopened.
silver disc moon
in velvet night box
my wedding gift
the little day ...
a fly sits
on a mobile
January morning
the bones on the bank
rearranged
condolence
between two skyscrapers
the moon is stuck
Antiques business.
We look at
the ice flowers.
Stop on the forest path,
in the spot of light.
Melt water rushes.
Cake takes itself
the old woman looks at chewing
out into the snow.
Winter visit…
he carefully regulates
the chimney air
Round after round
over the prison yard
fly buzzards
in the neighborhood ...
under his load the tree
just buckled
don't want to hear at all
what the red woodpecker chops into the wood
take my hat
Leafy greens are resting
at the bottom of the garden pond.
Tea in the cup.
Linen shirts.
The wind teaches a boy group
Choreography.
Clearing out -
in the toy farm
The fox is still lurking
back home -
in a dream he talks
a foreign language
Opening
the delicate red
her cheeks
Clown theater -
I am a spectator
of the laughing children
The little blackbird -
up and down the whole street
fills them with singing
poppy
we practice hands-free
to drive
the braids of the willows
a sea leaves
the berth
Alone at the dining table.
The man with the cigar
it can be tasted.
End of the jetty
a swan glides
in the twilight
discreet
in Sutterlin:
your feelings
In the botanical garden
along the stream
wild rhubarb
drought
a strange woman
green eyes
On the terrace
let's look at each other in silence -
the raccoon and me.
grape harvest
unread the silence
in the pale yellow foliage
flittingly
the blue of the ambulance
in autumn gray
morning snow
The barbed wire fence
wears bonnets
rain Delay
in a pool of sunshine
bathe cats
