A total of 181 haiku by 65 authors and 55 tanka by 23 authors were submitted for this selection. The closing date for entries was July 15, 2021. 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Can be submitted only previously unpublished texts (also applies to publications on blogs, forums, including the forums on HI HAIKU, social media and workshops etc.).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:

March selection: Entry deadline January 15, 2022

Otherwise by email with a keyword Haiku / Tanka selection January 15, 10 in the subject please to:


The next deadline for the Haiku / Tanka selection is the 15. October 2021.

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 Gregor Graf, Taiki Haijin and Dagmar Westphal. The members of the selection group did not submit their own texts.

All selected texts - 37 haiku by 33 authors - are published in alphabetical order of the author's name. A maximum of two haiku per author will be recorded.

"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

leafing through old notebooks
she says
it is the evening wind

Eva Limbach

For me a wonderful Senryu full of poetry, without any blemishes!

Old yourself, I see myself leafing through old notebooks in the attic. Exercise books, a certificate, hard work enough, the script Chemical with many underlines, a household book four rolls 60 centimes, a photo album, Aunt Fanny as a girl, my father as a student with a cigarette in the corner of his mouth, my mother in Paris and I, a toddler with lots of curls. Everything smells musty. Time stood still. At some point nobody will remember.

My wife calls: You were up there for a long time! - It was the evening wind.

Selected and commented by Gregor Graf


keeps turning
the little one turns the hourglass,
admires the time

Klaus-Dieter Wirth

A successful Senryu that speaks to me directly. There is the child who is forgetting himself playing with his mother's egg timer, watching how the fine sand trickles through the narrowness of the glass, back and forth, watching the flow of time. Time - when did it start, when will it end? - People have always been concerned with what time is. Philosophers, scientists, artists of all fields. The question is not easy to answer. Augustine wrote: “If no one asks me about it, I know it; if I want to explain it to someone asking, I don't know. ”Newton said:“ Time is, and it ticks evenly from moment to moment. ”To mention just two other great thinkers who dealt with the puzzle of time: Marcel Proust, “In search of lost time” and Martin Heidegger with “Being and Time”. Einstein also made a fundamental contribution to the understanding of time as a physical quantity.

And what role does time play in my personal life, in our society? - Time is a precious commodity. I can have time and waste time. And in sports, where sometimes a split second decides victory? Who does not know the picture of the grim reaper with the hourglass in hand, which reminds us of our transience? And what did I write in the girls' poetry album at school and paint a big sun with it?

Do it like the sundial
just count the cheerful hours!

Actually not that bad, right?

Selected and commented by Gregor Graf


The mountains cheer

Frank Dietrich

Maybe it's due to my approaching vacation; the longing to finally go on a trip again - but this loud, happy haiku speaks to me. I hear someone cheering euphorically ... and even with exclamation marks. I suppose it is a delighted wanderer. But maybe also a tourist who screams his luck on his first day of vacation in the mountains or on a peak that has just been climbed. And he enthusiastically cheers back from the mountains.

That can be an echo, another wanderer, maybe children. You can't know for sure. Perhaps the screamer does not hear an answer at all, but only feels fervently how the mountains are expectantly inviting him to climb them. They may also celebrate him with an ovation for the triumph of successful promotion. The Bible already says: “You will go out into freedom full of joy and go your way well protected. Mountains and hills burst into jubilation, and the trees along the way clap their hands ”(Isaiah 55,12:XNUMX).

In addition to the immediate image of the noisy joy of enjoying nature, the saying also comes to mind that it echoes out of the forest as much as one calls into it. Someone who appears with exuberant enthusiasm like this will often carry away even the most curmudgeonly with passion.

And if you think that a haiku should sound more wistful and emphasize transience, the answer is that unfortunately even the most beautiful vacation comes to an end. In this respect, the evanescence of all pleasure also resonates in this cry of jubilation. Nevertheless, I will now make my own way to the Chiemgau Alps with the family - to actually practice cheering a little there.

Selected and commented by Taiki Haijin


Old pond in the park.
The sound of impact
the coke can.

Moritz Wulf Lange

What is it? A twisted copy of Matsuo Bashō's frog haiku? Pretty cheeky, something.

The old pond
A frog jumps in -
the sound of the water

That was how Bashō had written poems with his friends. An intense picture of nature. A picture of the silence and the unity of things. But this haiku is completely different. An urban park, an art landscape - maybe a bit degenerate. Someone who throws a soda can into the pond, and maybe there is more rubbish floating around there. Apparently an environmental pig that disturbs the middle-class idyll. And the thrower drinks cola. That fits! After all, according to a US study, adolescents who drink large amounts of sugary soda are more often involved in violent arguments. Consumers can therefore be trusted to do a lot. On the other hand, according to another study, children and adolescents drink less and less cola and other sugar bombs. In any case, it must remain open which age group the sinner belongs to.

And who - besides the reader of the haiku - hears the noise that the can makes when it hits the surface of the water? The thrower who enjoys this? His friends who think that's cool? An observer who is angry about the outrage? A park visitor who thinks that is completely normal? This also remains unclear. What is certain, however, is that these days you are more likely to catch someone throwing their garbage in the area than watching a frog bathing. Therefore, this haiku offers a more up-to-date picture than the frog haiku.

Just as the pond at Bashō is a mirror of the outside world, so it is with this park water. Of course, we may not like what we see there. And unlike Basho's frog, the coke can certainly doesn't belong in the pond. But especially during Corona it is clear that more free time outside automatically means more rubbish in public spaces. With the sound of the impact, we recognize both the bad habits of the park visitors and, at the same time, nature itself in the pond. We may do this without having seen the thrower ourselves. It could have been anyone.

In this respect, researchers at the Humboldt University advocate using what is known as “nudging” to avoid waste. Here people are guided by a little "nudge" without compulsion to behave sensibly. This haiku can also pass as a “nudge”. Another merit of this haiku is undoubtedly that it makes reality the object of contemplation. Far too many haiku contain romanticizing, even kitschy ideas of processes that can hardly be experienced. The fact that the author breaks with this custom makes his haiku sympathetic to me; Didn't he also tell "the truth" with the Coke can!

Selected and commented by Taiki Haijin


They return
and catch the pear tree -
noisy sparrows

Christopher Blumentrath

Lunch break on the lounger in the shade of the pear tree. The air shimmers, the sparrows above me in the branches are very talkative, their chirping is no noise for me, rather meditative music that makes me wonderfully relaxed and so sleepy that I doze off. At some point I wake up because it's so quiet. Where have they gone, my happily chattering high-flyers, who drove them away? Neighbors hangover sneaking through the thicket or the circling shadow high above us? I don't have to wait long, even if the cause of their flight remains a mystery. Suddenly they zoom in from nowhere and catch the pear tree, the first brave ones on the upper echelons, the rest of the swarm spread out on the lower floors, and they have a lot of new things to tell me - so much that my eyes close again.

 Selected and commented by Dagmar Westphal


Choir rehearsal
Wind in the curtains
open window

Michael Deisenrieder

After a year off, the first meeting for choir rehearsal. My anticipation is limitless, I can hardly wait to see and hear the others again. I enter the great hall. It's cold, all the windows are wide open. I'm shivering, my jacket stays on my shoulders. I look to the left: an empty chair between me and my neighbor, the chair to my right also remains empty. My voice sounds strangely strange to my ears, wanders lonely through the room. My high spirits are sinking, taking a step back from the initially joyful expectation of a happy evening together. The curtains in the open windows are blowing, my hands are clammy, the sheet music trembles with the fabric of the curtains. Nobody closes the window, the aerosols fly outside.

Selected and commented by Dagmar Westphal


The cat is coming home
on his fur
the warm sun

Jan Wake

The hours creep through the night. My tomcat usually comes through the cat flap at some point after stalking it late at night. I can't sleep, open the door, search the darkness. Dawn is already announcing itself far on the horizon. Engine noise from the street, brakes screeching. I call: “CATO! CATO! ”Rattled the can of treats. Nothing - just a streak of fog and again an eerie silence.

I drag myself into the house, make myself a coffee, nod off in the armchair, wake up, nod off ... suddenly the familiar noise, I flinch: click-clack ... closes the cat flap, I'm wide awake immediately.

And then the familiar nudge against my leg, my hand is magically drawn to the warm, sun-kissed fur of my cat. In which cozy hollow did he sleep until the rays of the morning sun woke him up and sent him home to me?

No end to the crawl, the heartbeat of my favorite makes my fingertips vibrate. Sun floods the house.

Selected and commented by Dagmar Westphal



The selection

Heat wave -
the endless silence
in the streambed

Valeria Barouch

To the village and back ...
I greet the same snail
eight inches earlier

Valeria Barouch

Sea of ​​flowers in the park
i can't go

Christa Beau

in the midst of the dolls

Christa Beau

Corpus Christi procession
Forget-me-not kneel
by the wayside

Daniel Behrens

falling flowers
from the bees onslaught
no more tinnitus

Eva Beilich

They return
and catch the pear tree -
noisy sparrows

Christopher Blumentrath

hot summer day
I hear the concert of the cicadas
via Amazon Alexa

Maya Daneva

Choir rehearsal
Wind in the curtains
open window

Michael Deisenrieder

Old photos -
the fading
the recorded time

Reinhard Dellbrugge

in the dictionary
after the daughter cell
the death

Frank Dietrich

The mountains cheer

Frank Dietrich

Blood moon
i run barefoot
through cherry blossom snow

Hildegard Dohrendorf

foggy day
don't interfere
in the talks of the stones

Bernadette Duncan

as you say YOU
dog rose scent

Petra Fischer

a moss pillow -
the wooden board
the old swing is in bloom ...

Ruth Guggenmos-Walter

chestnut avenue
our steps
between light and shadow

Use Jacobson

Lean two spades
on the garden wall

Deborah Karl Brandt

Chick cries
the duck mom

Petra Klingl

Old pond in the park.
The sound of impact
the coke can.

Moritz Wulf Lange

empty swallow nests
the silence

Eva Limbach

a new layer
autumn leaves
she still wears black

Ruth Caroline Mieger

Cooing pigeons
the baker in the alley
Half past eight in the morning

Maximilian Pohl

Cathedral vault -
filled with prayers
from centuries

Sabina Ptascheck

Blue March evening.
Glass beads, silver threads
in the bare field.

Johann Reichsthaler

The summer goes by -
in the non-coming letter
everything is said

Dragan J. Ristic

Midnight mist -
the red-green eyes
the traffic light

Dragan J. Ristic

Return home
the song of the blackbird and
your hug

Peter Rohrbeck

Terrace party
Cocktails in colorful glasses
the ice melts quickly

Rita Rosen

over damp green
glow worms

Evelyn Schmidt

Thunderstorm rain -
Petals, transparent
on the asphalt

Marie Luise Schulze Frenking

rainy night
i hear the color
of the brook

Helga Stania

my way to the canal
waddles on the sidewalk
a pair of mallards

Ingrid Toebermann

the cat is coming home
on his fur
the warm sun

Jan Wake

the dry click
the boule balls

Friedrich winemaker

The morning chill
sneaks in through the window -
welcome guest

Birgit Wendling

keeps turning
the little one turns the hourglass,
admires the time

Klaus-Dieter Wirth


HTA tanka selection


Silvia Kempen

Brief introduction by Martin Thomas

Fortunately, Martin Thomas has agreed to help choose the Tanka. I would like to thank him very much, also on behalf of the DHG and the SOMMERGRAS editorial team.

Martin was born in Bautzen in 1989. From 2008 to 2017 he studied Japanese Studies and German Studies in Leipzig, Nagoya and Kyoto and has been a member of the Japanese Studies department at the University of Cologne since 2017.

His first contact with Japanese short poetry was during his studies, the first contact with the DHG in April 2009 through Georges Hartmann, who provided him with a number of old SOMMERGRAS editions. Martin took part in the Haiku meetings and general assemblies in Wiesbaden in 2015 and in Traben-Trarbach in 2019. That's where I got to know him.

He says of himself: “I tend to write a few haiku and tanka myself, but rather do research. I am particularly interested in the political dimensions and the social functions that the various forms of short poetry assume in Japan. "


Silvia Kempen and Martin Thomas selected 6 Tanka from 5 authors. A maximum of two tanka per author will be accepted.

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


A tanka that particularly appeals to me

very very far
you have to spit the kernels
or so you say
and look up at me
from your bobby car

Christopher Blumentrath

This poem put a smile on my face within a few seconds. Inevitably, I had to think of how my four-year-old nephew had already tried to explain the world to me once or twice with his forefinger up and his eyes wide open, mainly how I had to play with his Matchbox cars. The present Tanka is evidently dedicated to a no less exciting pastime, namely spitting the cherry pit. It is particularly impressive because of its tiered structure, which reveals a further content-related detail like an arc of tension from line to line.

Right at the beginning the poem comes up with a word repetition that arouses curiosity about what follows and is relatively untypical in this prominent position. The doubling of “completely” hits the child's tone exactly, which seems to be intended with a view to the rest of the text and coherently underlines the overall picture. Cherry pits should not only be spit “far”, but “very, very far”, as the second line reveals. In line three, the readers will find out that this instruction, which is also expressed appropriately through the use of the declined form of the verb “must”, comes from another person. But only in the last two is it resolved who it is the initially still anonymous "you": a child.

The quality of the text consists in the fact that this last issue is not simply trumpeted outwardly, but elegantly packaged in a description that begins with the child's view from below and in the spatial location of the child on a bobby car ends. In this way, the poem stimulates the reader's imagination not only acoustically in relation to the spoken word, but also visually in relation to the acting people and their location. In addition, there is the haptic moment when you catch yourself spitting your mouth involuntarily at the thought of how you last spat a cherry stone (wide) and start pondering about the best technique.

Since the cherry harvest falls mainly in the months of June and July, the poem exudes a really summery flair overall. In addition, due to its subject matter, it exudes a certain lightness that has unfortunately had to be missed far too often in recent months due to the corona pandemic. It is a modern tanka whose levels of meaning are close together, but whose shape and linguistic design leave no doubt as to its genre. Personally, it appealed to me in particular, as it was able to let an entire short film run in front of my inner eye in brief words. It also gave me an appetite for cherries (with an ulterior motive).

Selected and commented by Martin Thomas



 The selection

The carpet dealer
I already imagined in the hereafter
that was how old he seemed at the time
Smiling happily, he now pushes
his grandchildren through this world

Valeria Barouch

very very far
you have to spit the kernels
or so you say
and look up at me
from your bobby car

Christopher Blumentrath

hand in hand
with small steps through the leaves
she winks at him
and smiles - heaven
have to wait

Christopher Blumentrath

a christmas tree frame
from the kids
dragged into her hiding place -
in August
soft Christmas melodies ...

Ruth Guggenmos-Walter

lonely forest clearing
a place with potential
for magical moments
she conjures up her knitting
from the picnic basket

Wolfgang Roedig

You have my sore spot
hit exactly -
without thinking
I press on purposefully
your red button ...

Birgit Wendling


Special contribution by René Possél

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

Heat wave -
the endless silence
in the streambed

Valeria Barouch

A haiku about the effects of the last weather capers. The word in the first line "heat wave" conjures up a phenomenon that we could still experience in June: Persistent extreme warmth-heat! “The endless silence” of the second line prepares what completes the third line with “in the creek bed”. Unspoken but abundantly clear, the silence in the streambed reveals the lack of water due to the heat wave. Very nice how the image of the heat "wave" taken from the water is indirectly present in the missing water "waves" in the stream bed! Phonetically, “wave” and “silence” also have something in common. The latter appears like "endless" because of the persistent duration. A good haiku, convincing in his pictures, on a topic that worries people like no other at the moment: climate change.

Personal epilogue:

I have already been criticized at this point for a suggested correction of a haiku. Hence a point in my afterword ich would do differently. The word "endless" is an often used word, but it does not describe what is really "endless" , but what gives us "endless" appear (such as the horizon or the waiting or here the silence). “Appearing endlessly” is not a really good expression for a haiku because it is too cumbersome. It seems more appropriate to me: "persistent or persistent or long-lasting silence". But again: that is my problem linguistic accuracy.



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