Between May and July 2013, a total of 335 haiku and 25 tanka were submitted by 85 authors for this selection. The deadline for entries was July 15, 2013. Each participant could submit up to 5 haiku or tanka.
These works were anonymized by Claudia Brefeld, who also had the overall coordination, before the selection began. The jury consisted of Wolfgang Beutke, Gerd Börner and Claudia Melchior. The members of the selection group did not submit their own texts.
All selected works (30 haiku and 6 tanka) are listed below alphabetically by author's name - up to max. three works per author.
“A haiku / a tanka that appeals to me in particular” - under this motto, every jury member has the opportunity to choose a work (still anonymized), present it here and comment on it.
Claudia Brefeld
A haiku that particularly appeals to me
Selected and commented by Wolfgang Beutke:
fallow land
vergessen
the old games
Extremely spartan, consisting of only five words and therefore only very limitedly variable, the text stands in block form in front of me. A haiku in which it was possible to accommodate a strong verb and an adjective in addition to two nouns. There is no indication of the season by a kigo.
"Barrens", for me the key word in this haiku that has it all. From him my train of memory immediately sets in motion:
I'm back in Berlin in the 2s. Orphaned and overgrown plots of land initially only appear in shadowy form, but then I become more and more conscious. Decommissioned train stations and abandoned factories or houses that were destroyed in World War II and never rebuilt come to my mind. The scents and colors of a species-rich flora, which could develop undisturbed over the years of fallow land, are present again. I even see plants from distant lands, the seeds of which the railroad trains transported as “blind passengers”, in the old train stations in front of me ...
It becomes clear to me what a large field of association this keyword offers and with what power buried images of childhood come to light again.
With the author's subsequent inner monologue
To forget
the old games
my flow of memory is only briefly interrupted A kind of melancholy arises, perhaps even the realization that these old games are lost forever. I focus my memory seamlessly:
These mysterious, overgrown plots magically attracted children to play.
Games and rules of the game often sprang from her imagination, or what was already known was modified and adapted to the area. Playground equipment? Everything the ruins gave! Cobblestones and bricks, old tires; rusted iron girders served as a balance beam, and brittle masonry as a climbing wall, an almost inexhaustible reservoir for games and tests of courage ...
These are the first thoughts that trigger these lines in me and make them valuable for me. Although the text does not indicate a season, I am amazed that I see myself romping through this wilderness again and again in summer and midsummer as a child.
It may well be that the author had different images in mind when he wrote his lines. However, this does not detract from the whole, because if a text is scarce, as is the case here, it must be assumed that there is inevitably a broad scope for association that allows a wealth of interpretations.
Yes, I like this haiku because it is short and specific, has a restrained but effective sound and invites me to an excursion into childhood, on which long-forgotten pictures and games can be grasped again. And what I particularly appreciate is that extensive research on the "World Wide Web" is not required to enjoy the text.
Selected and commented by Claudia Melchior:
empty cocoon -
the fear, the right word
to lose
Do I say it or don't I say it?
Do I lose a word (the singular form is selected here) and if so, is it "the right one"?
Great uncertainty, doubts and fear are raised here - also by the reader.
Fear of loss, which is made very clear here with the words "empty", "fear", "lose".
Fear is on a line with the right word (2nd line). Equivalent to. You can feel the inner conflict.
If you consider the cocoon as a shelter for growing up, as a home, where trust has been built and the right tone for development has always been found, there is now the fear of losing this natural closeness and connection from the past.
The offspring has already broken out of the protective cocoon and is now on the way to unfolding.
It is not necessarily guaranteed whether you like the direction that you are now taking independently. Do you still give him a word on the way? Even if you know: not one has the power to stop him.
Selected and commented by Gerd Börner:
Owl calls
the shade of gray
the pasture
Goethe's Erlkönig immediately occurred to me: "(...) The old willows seem so gray." In the ballad it is the ghostly scene in which the son, terrified, calls out to the riding father to escape the Erlkönig and his daughters. In the present haiku it is the bird of twilight and night that calls - an owl that we also like to associate with cemeteries and ruins. Owls are feared as devil birds in some areas because they supposedly herald death ...
"Lady Macbeth hears the owl in the drama Macbeth while her husband murders the rightful king:
- Quiet, listen! -
It was the owl that screamed, the sad watchman,
The horribly good night wishes."
Even those who do not have to think of the Erlkönig or Macbeth can feel the unspoken: something uncanny, plaintive in the owl's call. In the twilight, not only willow appears gray ... In three extremely concise lines and successful synesthesia, the author lets us experience the mood of fear and horror with multiple senses.
The selection
Mach's garden door zua
dr moon and dr big bear
send scho do
morning fog
in the vanished country
looking for traces
In the scent of the hedge ...
his breath
when I was eighteen
bright message
the silhouettes faded
in Nagasaki
Garden of stones
An old man rakes
the universe
sunset
In the fast lane
check mails
Crossword -
the fields are slowly filling up
with sun
Sculptor's workshop -
Helena is at your feet
smashed a lot of stone
The night falls quietly
a cat ducks
- ready to jump
After long walks
the dried up river bed
a sea of flowers
flowering linden trees -
but the wind
comes from the slaughterhouse
fallow land
vergessen
the old games
Hiking rest.
The warmth of the sun
in the apple.
oval moon - night grass caresses my knees
autumn afternoon
Mother has already
put to sleep
Owl calls
the shade of gray
the pasture
evening sun
a new path
crosses the slope
Rain melody.
I accompany the drops
on my drum.
the new pastor
barfuß
he swings the scythe
tumbling leaves
so many colors
for two eyes
empty cocoon -
the fear, the right word
to lose
Opening
I feel my way carefully
in public
Alone in the inn -
the next chair goes again
to a group
No mans land -
the strange fragrance
white flowers
Eyebright
a blue moth touches
my shadow
Buchenwald
The sound of the wind
today
phantom pain
in the ashtray
a stub
Visited the hedgehog
naked before sunrise
back to my bed
the bark, the hand;
some branches of the tree
stay bald
battle zone
curved across the battlefield
a rainbow
So rich in light
der Sommer
in my garden
before saying goodbye
open the doors
"Do you want
don't tell me something? ”
you ask -
but there is nothing i
want to tell you; not now.
when rain falls
in the cedars
and the heat wipes off ...
tinny evening bells tell
from the leap in time
Weeping willow ...
their branches in the spring wind
wheat blond
like my braids back then Mother,
you combed my hair so gently.
knock on the window
of the empty farmhouse -
yes, now you are right:
together are the questions
and their answers
A falling star
flew there -
on the voice
the deep night
I listened.
