The Haiku and Tanka selection September 2018

A total of 175 haiku from 61 authors and 31 tanka from 19 authors were submitted for this selection. The closing date for entries was July 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Only previously unpublished texts can be submitted (also applies to publications in blogs, forums, social media and workshops etc.).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:

deutschehaikugesellschaft.de/haiku-und-tanka-die-wahl/
Otherwise by email to: Wahlen@deutschehaikugesellschaft.de

The next submission deadline for the Haiku / Tanka selection is October 15, 2018.

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 on http: /www.zugetextet.com/.

 

Haiku selection from HTA

The jury consisted of Sylvia Bacher, Rainer Randig and Angelica Seithe. The members of the selection group did not submit their own texts.

All selected 36 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 should consist 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

contrails

who will my obituary

write?

 

Gabriele Hartman

A senryû it is, personally and without seasonality, but with tension due to the clear break and with an open outcome.

Contrails occur regardless of the weather in the cold, especially at high altitudes and humidity. The higher this is, the longer they remain and are visible to us. The unobstructed view is not dependent on the seasons, but depending on the weather.

The author and questioner (I am so emancipated that I take the male form for both genders) has reached an age when losses increase, including my own physical complaints and the associated depressive mood.

Then the question arises, what will remain of me when I am no longer, of my life, my work, of me as a person. How long will the memory last? Who do I care so much about writing my obituary?

I like the association with the clear sky, where something remains visible over a long period of time, even though the cause is no longer there. An impressively long reverberation ...

Selected and commented by Sylvia Bacher

the sharp nose

the cloud in the sky

pulls long and longer

 

Ingrid Toebermann

Yes, these clouds! Apparently immaterial, barely palpable, yet noticeable, flowing, enveloping, they can even take a look. On the other hand, they can be viewed from the outside. True chameleons of shape, there are no two with the same shape. Independent liveliness is pretended to be variable in becoming and decaying. They are also involved in the active forces of the world. Fascinating when they move isolated, floating and changing. Crazy clouds! Our one down here can almost only make references to them by interpreting similarities in form.

So look up there, a head with Pinocchionase! Strange - that doesn't apply to me, does it? What was I thinking? Now the nose extends further! Truly, not a look into nothing - but at a menekel!

Hardly relieving when the stretched cloud slowly dissolves. Pinocchio is mine! I do not say more. Only so much: Imagination also has its causes ...

Selected and commented by Rainer Randig

thunderstorms sultriness

our words undress

 

Anne Holtz

The haiku initially confronts a natural mood that we know. It is usually problematic, usually difficult to endure. It makes you irritable or sluggish. Something is charged in the atmosphere, urging for discharge. At the same time, it is warm, the need to rid yourself of unnecessary clothes is overwhelming.

We learn on the second line that the author is not alone. He shares the sultry with at least one person. The Entclothing gets a special meaning due to the possible togetherness. Something intimate sounds.

But wait, it's the words that undress here: "our words".

I like the metaphorical condensation. And I like the originality of this phrase. But what does it mean when words undress? What is indicated in this picture?

As is well known, sultry can also refer to an inner process, to an inner tension between (two) people, to discomfort or tightness. This is the second level of haiku. It is about (linguistic) conventions, inhibitions that are released as a result of the stormy sweltering, dropped like clothes. It remains open whether the undressing of the words follows an aggressively explosive impulse, in which irritation and anger emerge unmasked - or whether it is about restrained passion, where words throw off their disguise and love reveals itself undisguised. The haiku leaves it open. That makes the two-liner mysterious.

Speaking of two lines: could the haiku also have three lines? It seems to me that the three-line spelling weakens some of the force of its effect.

The haiku therefore has everything that a good haiku should have: the immediacy of experiencing at the moment, the sensual and the openness with which the recipient's imagination can freely develop. In addition, it is anchored in a season. But what particularly appealed to me is the originality of this poetic idea, and the two are artfully - and at the same time simple - interwoven levels of meaning. It is also important that the picture is correct on both levels, on the outer, arrested in nature, where clothes are thrown off because it is muggy and warm, and on the inner, communicative level, where words come from cover because of an inner one Tension has become too great. By short-circuiting these two levels, the haiku achieves a special compression. It is surprising.

In just a few words (before the thunderstorm) a real blast is achieved!

Selected and commented by Angelica Seithe

old fire -

she blows into the

last embers

 

Taiki Haijin

First a picture. We see a fireplace - campfire or fireplace. The fire has been burning for a while. It's old". We see a female person blowing into the "last glow" of this almost extinguished fire.

An understanding of its symbolism arises in us almost simultaneously with the fire. The "old fire", symbol of a past passion, an old love perhaps - but which has not yet completely died out. There is still some embers left. And by blowing it in, the woman tries to rekindle the old relationship or her feelings.

Questions arise that concern us: When and how does a fire run out, which means that a partnership gets less food? How can we keep them alive? Or do you have to accept the end of love as natural? Does it make sense to blow into the fire?

At the same time, the haiku could also refer to an inner fire of the protagonist herself, to her energy, her ability to love, her ability to feel sensually passionate - for a person or a loved activity. It is an "old fire", but it still has that "last ember", it still has the potential to catch fire, come to life and, if the assault is allowed, ... write a wonderfully stimulating haiku.

Selected and commented by Angelica Seithe

 

The selection

Café Gourmand ...

the sparrow leaves the table

without crumbs

 

Valeria Barouch

Lime blossom fragrance

he attracts

yes for the chemo

 

Martin Berner

the narrow path in the bog

here and there -

silver bowls

 

Gerd Borner

this day at the sea -

I write in my notebook

not a word

 

Gerd Borner

glowing day

only the shadows

hike

 

Horst Oliver Buchholz

Rainydays.

The cat jumps

after the housefly.

 

Reinhard Dellbrugge

Gipfelkreuz

I stand

on a cloud

 

Frank Dietrich

spring meadow

in every drop of dew

another world

 

Frank Dietrich

spring meadow

in every drop of dew

another world

 

Frank Dietrich

stormy evening

next to the source

a salamander

 

Bernadette Duncan

evening sun

Our shadows are coming

getting closer

 

Hans-Jürgen Goehrung

evening sun

Our shadows are coming

getting closer

 

Hans-Jürgen Goehrung

Foreign smells

the sea floods the evening

with a noise

 

Hans-Jürgen Goehrung

old fire -

she blows into the

last embers

 

Taiki Haijin

old fire -

she blows into the

last embers

 

Taiki Haijin

Under the linden tree

a silent contemporary witness -

the old wooden bench

 

Erika Hanning

felled willow -

drive again

in the rapeseed sea

 

Claus Hansson

the birch whispers

over cotton grass

shimmer dragonflies

 

Claus Hansson

contrails

who will my obituary

write

 

Gabriele Hartman

tomorrow silent

ebbs away in the noise of the big city

waiting for the tide

 

Kerstin Hirsch

thunderstorms sultriness

our words undress

 

Anne Holtz

with a wish

the coin tumbles

on the bottom of the fountain

 

Anne Holtz

Amelanchier

the birds share their fruits

mit mir

 

Angelica Holweger

cemetery Bank

Stories of the deceased

come alive

 

Gerard Krebs

Under the waves

the deep sigh

the silent one

 

Matteo dear

tide

the silence

when he guts the fish

 

Eva Limbach

hospice visit

and the blackbird sings and sings

 

Ramona Left

there was a lot to tell

seated angler

silent like fish

 

Wolfgang Roedig

dawn hour

to sink without fear

before blushing

 

Birgit Schaldach Helmlechner

The world becomes emptier

and my steps shorter

how long the way ...

 

Hildegund Sell

a bird song

throws me the morning

forest shadows

 

Helga Stania

lark songs of my thoughts lightness

 

Helga Stania

arm-in-arm

Count mouse steps

with grandma Erna

 

Angela Hilde Timm

At the sight of the

Leash jumps in my hand

he like a bouncy ball

 

Angela Hilde Timm

below and above

our hangover and the sparrow

above and below

 

Erika Uhlmann

moths

panicked in curtain folds

the clock is ticking

 

Traude Veran

Farewell

her mascara

goes on trips

 

Friedrich winemaker

Empty …

my trash

full of haiku

 

Friedrich winemaker

seeing hands

the anatomical smile

the masseuse

 

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

this sweat-soaked

Back-and-forth rolling

night for night

the fight of the snakes

in my head

 

Frank Dietrich

Every third person in Germany sleeps poorly, suffers from lack of sleep or a sleep disorder. Who doesn't know this restless rolling back and forth when worries, problems, fear or restless daily routines rob sleep or express themselves in dreams.

The snake is one of the oldest primordial symbols of humanity and has complex meanings that can be positive or negative. Here are a few examples: In Greek mythology, snakes were seen as beings of healing. The molting is seen as a symbol for the renewal of life. On the other hand, there is the serpent as we know it from the story of creation: it embodies evil, betrayal and falseness.

In this tanka, the lyrical ego rolls back and forth bathed in sweat, which does not exactly speak for positive dreams. And that "night after night". Recurring dreams often point to old behavior patterns that do not let go of the respective person and which are very often coupled with negative experiences. This usually lasts until the experience is deliberately processed.

The reference to this "experience" is "the fight of the snakes".

Selected and commented by Silvia Kempen

 

The selection

Grandmother's photo

blink in the candlelight

Your eyes

like at Christmas time

when I got the doll

 

Christa Beau

this sweat-soaked

Back-and-forth rolling

night for night

the fight of the snakes

in my head

 

Frank Dietrich

only my best

wanted mother and left behind

along with good advice to me

family jewelry - both

I will probably rework

 

Gabriele Hartman

the good vinyl

turns the time back so beautiful

crackling tension

even on some scratches

hangs a memory

 

Wolfgang Roedig

 

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