Haiku and Tanka Selections March 2022

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A total of 244 haiku by 87 authors and 68 tanka by 35 authors were submitted for this selection. The deadline for entries was January 15, 2022. 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.

Can be submitted only previously unpublished texts (also applies to publications on blogs, forums, including the forums on HI HAIKU, social media and workshops etc.).

No simultaneous submissions please!

Please Haiku / Tanka collected in one operation Enter yourself in the online form on the DHG website HI HAIKU:

June selection: Entry deadline April 15, 2022

Otherwise by email to:

Wahlen@deutschehaikugesellschaft.de

The next deadline for the Haiku / Tanka selection is the April 15, 2022.

Each participant can take up to six Texts - three Haiku and three Tanka - submit.

With the submission, the author gives the consent for a possible publication in the agenda of the DHG and on http://www.zugetextet.com/ as well as for a possible presentation on the website of the Haiku International Association.

 

Haiku selection from HTA

The jury consisted of Reinhard Dellbrügge, Claus Hansson and Birgit Heid. The members of the selection group did not submit their own texts.

All selected texts – 46 haiku out of 35 Authors - are published in alphabetical order of author names. A maximum of two haiku will be recorded 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.

Peter Rudolf

 

 

A haiku that particularly appeals to me

concrete garden
hung on the tree
three fat balls

Taiki Haijin

According to conventional understanding, a garden is a limited piece of land, usually belonging to a house, on which all kinds of plants grow and are cared for. The term "concrete garden" represents a contradiction in terms when it stands for a property on which a large part of the ground is concreted over.

Apparently the haiku refers to such a "garden". But the concrete is not everywhere, a bit has been left out, and there is a lonely tree. Three fat balls are hanging from it. If you understand "tit dumplings" as a season word (kigo), they point to winter, the cold of which corresponds to that of concrete. But maybe they hang there all year round, since the food supply for birds shouldn't be too plentiful in this "garden".

The owner of the property most likely appreciates its easy-care floor sealing, but at the same time feels compelled to provide compensation. So he hangs up fat balls, three at a time. This does not compensate, he has given far less than he has taken, but it has calmed his conscience.

Selected and commented on by Reinhard Dellbrügge

 

Wedding day by the sea –
the monosyllabic smack
of the brackish water

Klaus Kornexl

How romantic! A wedding day in the sight of endless expanses. Kissing each other on a posh restaurant terrace, cocktails in hand.

But far from it! It becomes monosyllabic. Brackish water sloshes back and forth. You are not on a terrace, but in a place where freshwater and seawater mix, at a border area. Brackish water zones are special ecological areas. The sound of smacking makes me think of bogs or ponds. In any case, movement is involved, probably caused by sea waves. An impulse with a constant rhythm.

A parallel to the couple comes to mind. Day after day, same movements and encounters. But if you listen to the smacking to determine and confirm its monosyllabic nature, you will probably recognize subtle differences after a while. Nuances that make the smacking distinguishable. Perhaps the couple has the leisure to figure out if the sound is really monosyllabic, or if it has various splashing, slapping, or smacking noises. I am thinking of perception games with my children. It may be that the apparent monosyllabic nature of the brackish water helps the couple to discover their everyday variations. Perhaps it would like a calmer or a stormier "sea" to provide impetus. Ultimately, it could explore for itself who is the salty element and who is the sweet element, and that only together do they add up to "brackish water." In other words, to that area that is populated by a magnificent living environment that controls the balancing of osmotic pressure. I draw the conclusion for myself that in life it is important to listen carefully when evaluating observations! Class!

Selected and commented by Birgit Heid

 

barbara branches –
our ways seperate

Ramona Left

The simplicity and the intonation of this haiku immediately appealed to me as I read it. The custom of cutting branches from fruit trees in December and placing them in a vase in the home is well known in many places. The branches should bloom until Christmas Eve and decorate the home for Christmas.
The custom goes back to a tradition of Saint Barbara, according to which she got her robe caught on a branch on her way to prison. She placed the broken branch in a vessel of water, and it blossomed on the very day she suffered martyrdom. She was beheaded by her father Dioscuros for refusing to renounce her Christian faith and virginal devotion to God.
The blossoming of the Barbara branches is supposed to bring luck in the coming year. Actually – but the haiku takes a different turn. It is surprising that two people go their separate ways. Attuned by the tradition of Saint Barbara's martyrdom, it could be a definitive separation, but the haiku is open-ended and allows for the interpretation of a merely temporary separation.
A very successful haiku for me, it makes me think about an old and beautiful Christmas tradition and at the same time reminds me of the darker sides of life like death and separation, without having to lose hope completely.
Selected and commented by Claus Hansson

 

New Years Morning -
the road ahead of me
still without traces

Sabina Ptascheck

A new year begins. It has snowed, the landscape lies under a fresh blanket of snow. There are no footsteps or other traces of the path emerging below her. Soon it will be celebrated, soon the new year will no longer be entirely new.

This is one of the images that the reader might imagine and imagine upon first reading the haiku. Like other “initial images” that are offered, it is space-related and as such also quite static. It makes sense to transfer the sensual, descriptive image, which is bound to space, to something temporal and more abstract.

Instead of a landscape, the undefined future now appears, a rather static image becomes a decidedly dynamic one - a change of meaning that goes far beyond the well-known "good resolutions" for the New Year. The will to leave traces, to put one's own stamp on the future, as well as the openness to risking the completely new now take over the direction. Temptation and adventure are announced on the horizon.

The path and the traces, detached from the spatial, stand for the conscious openness and thus freedom of the individual future in the vagueness of their transferred meaning. Capturing this openness as accurately as possible in three short lines is the feat that the haiku discussed here has achieved.

Selected and commented on by Reinhard Dellbrügge

 

Fog
not a word
wo ich bin

Sebastian Salie

six words “Not a word”, i.e. said nothing or almost nothing. Here it is whispered. With a trusted person who knows what the secret is. Where the other person will be will disappear in the fog. Nothing is said about the cause of the clandestine relocation, but it is not relevant. It is significant that there must be a serious reason to interrupt what has been experienced up to that point.

The author of the haiku has extensive writing experience. It is high art to sketch a completely unnamed life drama with such laconicism. Great!

Selected and commented by Birgit Heid

 

winter night
at my window
feel a light

Helga Stania

This haiku makes me suspicious. I barely understand it when I first read it. What do you mean please? Slowly again: on a winter night at my own window. It's probably dark, the window, the room. What do you do at your window on a winter night? These are the first questions that concerned me. I assume the person has woken up and wants to turn on the light. However, feeling a light is meant, not a switch. How is it possible to suspect a light at his window? The impression of this haiku amounts to confusion. I am so captivated by these few words that as I try to find the solution I begin to feel a little sorry for the person because they are doing or wanting something out of the ordinary. Is it a person who is equipped with a lot of imagination and who occasionally falls out of the ordinary? It definitely can't be a firefly.

I wonder how it is possible to suspect a tactile light in the window of one's own room that is dark in winter night. If it were reflected, the room would probably be lit by a lamp whose light is reflected in the window. In my view, however, this does not appear to be the case. At best, a cell phone or charger will light up and be reflected in the window. But why would you want to touch it?

I could imagine it is a person who is confused due to age or illness and can no longer get along well in their own four walls. Who possibly thinks she is at the end of her life and longs for the much-quoted light that she wants to make sure of. This light may shine in from outside.

But maybe it's just the irritation after a night of drinking (New Year's Eve) and you feel dying. Or the aftermath of a dream.

There is no clear solution. This makes the haiku with its drama open to many thoughts. It becomes apparent how narrow the line of "normal behavior" is and what small variations can lead to pondering, differentiation or stigmatization. Four of the seven words of the haiku can be seen as metaphors: the winter night for the end of life, the window for the other world, the light for life (like Goethe's alleged last words "more light"), the touch as a timid approach. Then a few shivers run down my spine.

Selected and commented by Birgit Heid

 

The selection

hard snow
take the soundtrack with you
to the campfire

Christa Beau

that they don't forget him
grandpa today
particularly funny

Martin Berner

parents evening
some take revenge
for then

Martin Berner

Thank you for everything
she kisses the air
next to my cheeks

Christopher Blumentrath

soundcheck
I give her the answer
that she wants to hear

Christopher Blumentrath

the smuggler
talked about prosperity...
waning moon

Claudia Brefeld

reflection –
I search in father's wrinkles
mother's smile

Claudia Brefeld

cut rot
from an apple
you and me

Horst Oliver Buchholz

girl hair
once again touches me
this wind

Stefanie Bucifal

deadwood
I let you
that

Stefanie Bucifal

energetic baby
the mother at the cradle
the eingeschlaf

Xiaoou Chen

Display dummy
how good you
spring is standing

Frank Dietrich

house demolition
the moon is shining
through every crack

Hildegard Dohrendorf

Mail from Dublin
well packed between the lines
your laugh

Hildegard Dohrendorf

April snow
we still wanted
learn to dance tango

Bernadette Duncan

amber ring
the little one speaks Polish
with the mosquito

Petra Fischer

melting snow
all the words
that I never wrote

Petra Fischer

on the mirror
a fly
how vain she is

Gregor Graf

A raven
another raven
and rain

Matthew Gysel

shuttle service.
she does her make up
the black eye gone.

Matthew Gysel

concrete garden
hung on the tree
three fat balls

Taiki Haijin

distance travel
was his boredom
faster again

Taiki Haijin

patina...
held in both hands
the shell with the crack

Gabriele Hartman

Falling leaves -
on her legs
the hair sprout

Deborah Karl Brandt

morning news –
In the advent calendar
Good mood tea

Deborah Karl Brandt

Wedding day by the sea –
the monosyllabic smack
of the brackish water

Klaus Kornexl

for the third time
discover the world -
with the granddaughter

Gerard Krebs

The cherry blossom branch
I would like to cancel -
but the hum...

Moritz Wulf Lange

In bulky waste
the unwanted
Fair luck.

Hanna Leese

 

Old Year's Eve ...
we dive into the flickering
of a distant star

Ramona Left

barbara branches –
our ways seperate

Ramona Left

home recording
suddenly strange
without a wig

Ruth Caroline Mieger

sea ​​of ​​flowers
under the window
laughs a child

Ulrike Mueller

laid out
our friend for the first time
neatly combed

Eleanor Nickolay

winter rain
i listen to the sea
in the shell

Eleanor Nickolay

spring cleaning;
his fingerprints
remote

Kamil Plich

The spring
jumped into my garden
he chirped at the same time

Gisela Plohnke

New Years Morning -
the road ahead of me
still without traces

Sabina Ptascheck

noch immer
expecting better days –
the river in the fog

Dragan J. Ristic

after the loud argument
the silent quarreling
with her reflection

Wolfgang Roedig

Fog
not a word
wo ich bin

Sebastian Salie

Amphitheater
in Pompeii are a pair
his own drama

Frank Sauer

wax rose
you tell me
nothing about love

Birgit Schaldach Helmlechner

Visit to Grandma
climbs out of the coffee grinder
the scent of childhood

Marie Luise Schulze Frenking

winter night
at my window
feel a light

Helga Stania

spin danger
in the ruts
the past

Brigitte ten Brink

 

 

HTA tanka selection

Silvia Kempen and Martin Thomas chose 8 Tanka from 6 authors. All selected texts are published in alphabetical order of the authors' names. A maximum of two tanka per author will be recorded.

“A tanka that appeals to me in particular” –

Under this motto, the two jury members have the opportunity to choose up to three texts (still anonymous), present them here and comment on them. This time a text was selected.

 

A tanka that particularly appeals to me

as i walked
through the streets of the city
I found the people
closed - even my reflection
did not return my greeting

Gabriele Hartman

In my opinion, the tanka selection in this issue shows one thing clearly: successful tanka are able to captivate their readership in various ways. So it is sometimes a special form of word acrobatics that radiates a special charm. In other cases, successful tanka captivate above all with a humorous note, which evokes a wink in the readers. Still other works convince primarily through the transposition of natural phenomena into the sphere of human reality. The present poem, however, appealed to me personally for a completely different reason: it is the density of the atmosphere created that immediately fascinated me.

The five-line poem describes a walk through the streets of an unspecified city. Apparently, the lyrical I meets numerous people on this walk. However, these people do not create the feeling of busy streets, but rather leave a dystopian-melancholic impression due to their reticence, which may be reflected in averted looks, motionless expressions or a lack of conversation. The lyrical ego is by no means exclusive: just as it perceives other people to be closed off, it also finds this closedness in itself. Whether it is a shop window, a puddle of rain or a car window in which it is contemplating its cheerless reflection is left to the imagination of the readership.

Linguistically, this tanka lives in particular from the extremely skilfully placed enjambement between the third and fourth lines. With the respite forced in this way, the realization that the people you meet on the streets are introverted has an even greater impact. At the same time, this interlacing underlines in a certain way the longing for contact and for a change in this state - after all, the ambiguity of the verb "find" also allows a targeted search for other people, which only reveals itself as hopeless at the beginning of the fourth line . The lyrical I encounters other people physically, but cannot connect to them on an emotional level.

As for the meaning of the text, for me it is inevitably a portrait of our contemporary times. Since the beginning of the corona pandemic, all of our lives have changed, the rifts in our society have widened and deepened, we have all lost some of the light-heartedness of days gone by. The great challenge of counteracting this fragmentation of society hovers between the lines of this tanka, as well as the fear of one day seeking community again where it seems to have broken at the moment. The poem not only impressively illustrates how up-to-date the genre as such can be, but also the important function literature has as a form of aesthetic negotiation of social problems and issues in our society.

Selected and commented by Martin Thomas

 

 The selection

I sip champagne
and show my smile to the world
what nobody knows
tonight i will
to be Mata Hari
Christopher Blumentrath

again and again
I'll come back to you
my life
is an LP
with scratch
Christopher Blumentrath

in the starry sky
implemented very differently
as I thought
my dream of
immeasurable wealth
Frank Dietrich

the spring light
will keep what it promises
but your words
freeze to death like cherry blossoms
in the last snow shower

Gabriele Hartman

as i walked
through the streets of the city
I found the people
closed - even my reflection
did not return my greeting

Gabriele Hartman

do you remember
to the ice cream parlor where we
met us then...
a colored paper umbrella
and the day was saved

Eva Limbach

men at Work
the college professor
in his home office
philosophically inspired
with the wallpaperer

Wolfgang Roedig

aufgewacht
from a bad dream
sleeps next to me
still the dream
my sleepless nights

Friedrich winemaker

 

 

Special contribution by René Possél

René Possél chose a haiku from all anonymized submissions that particularly appeals to him.

laid out
our friend for the first time
neatly combed

Eleanor Nickolay

The haiku begins with a clear statement: "laid out". It's about a dead person. All associations and thoughts will probably be determined by death and grief - right?

"our friend for the first time": It is a close person who is laid out there and looked at. The possessive pronoun "our" indicates close friends of the deceased. The second part of the line builds a certain tension: "for the first time".

What is happening here for the first time? More specifically, what might be taking place for the first time in a context involving “the last things”?

The answer in the third line, even in this heartbreaking situation, brings the haiku's own humor to bear: "neatly combed" is her boyfriend the last time he saw her - for the first time since the friends have known him...

Now it could be over. The accomplished haiku brings a humorous look even in the face of death and grief.

I have thoughts beyond that:

Does the parting suit the "messy" (perhaps more chaotic-creative) boyfriend? Couldn't the laying out leave him as he actually was? Isn't the attempt to finally bring order to the death of a disorderly person who is no longer alive a distortion of the facts?

What happens after death? The correction of life, the falsification of reality, the embellishment of an individual, deviant person with his own story? Or the completion of the unfinished, the completion of the fragments in a different order, the "annulment" of this unique person, the loving healing? What happens after death?

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