A total of 232 haiku from 76 authors and 50 tanka from 24 authors were submitted for this selection. The closing date for entries was July 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.

Only previously unpublished texts can be submitted (also applies to publications in blogs, forums, including the forums on HALLO HAIKU, social media and workshops, etc.).

No simultaneous submissions please!

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

December selection: Entry deadline October 15, 2022

Otherwise by email to:

selecten@sommergras.de

The next deadline for the Haiku / Tanka selection is the 15. October 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, Deborah Karl-Brandt and Tobias Tiefensee. The members of the selection group did not submit their own texts.

All selected texts - 41 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" - under this motto, each jury member has the opportunity to choose up to three texts (still anonymous), present them here and comment on them. This time six texts were selected.

Since the jury is to be made up of changing participants, I would like to take this opportunity to cordially invite all interested DHG members to participate as jury members in upcoming selection rounds.

Peter Rudolf

A haiku that particularly appeals to me

no small change
the beggar says thank you
for nothing

Frank Dietrich

Somewhere in the pedestrian zone of a city center a beggar is sitting on the pavement, in front of him a tin can with some small coins in it. A passer-by stops by him, pulls his wallet out of his pocket, looks inside and sees that there are no coins in it. With an apologetic gesture, he says, "I thought I had some change. I'm sorry.” Whereupon the beggar, who did not receive anything, thanks him.

But on closer inspection, the beggar didn't get nothing. Most people walk past him without seeming to notice him. The passer-by standing in front of him was wrong about the contents of his purse, but he did not ignore him. The beggar says thank you for the mere intention of giving and the minimal attention and attention that goes with it.

After this pleasing scene, an intrusive-aggressive one should be mentioned:

A beggar speaks to a passerby: "Do you have a euro?" The person addressed says: "No, I don't have it." As he walks on, he hears the sentence called out after him: "Thank you for nothing!"

Selected and commented by Reinhard Dellbrügge

June day, still early.
the teacup in hand,
I sit and am

Christian Hoevel

Being in the here and now, not only physically but also mentally. That means being careful. This is exactly what the author describes here in this text. Many people are stuck with their thoughts in the past or they are preoccupied with future worries. The person described in the haiku, on the other hand, is in the here and now, early on this June day, with a cup of tea in hand. The last line in particular makes this clear: “I sit and am”. Thank you for this text, which reminds me to practice mindfulness more often.

Selected and commented on by Tobias Tiefensee

Hospital,
a window slit shows
fleecy clouds.

Saskia Ishikawa Franke

A haiku that the reader must dwell on to fully appreciate. The location of the picture – which is the only thing that matters, because nothing is happening here – is a hospital. Somewhere in this building there is a window slit that lets daylight into an anonymous space. In contrast to a normal window, a window slit represents a very limited connection to the outside world. Its narrowness, which even makes you think of a prison cell, has an oppressive effect.

In sharp contrast is what can be seen through the slit: fleecy clouds. The fluffy white formations float freely in the sky. This sight is easily accompanied by the notion of the vastness of a graceful bucolic landscape.

To put it in a nutshell: the little clouds appear against the background of the claustrophobic atmosphere of the room as a symbol of freedom, which is at least difficult, if not impossible, to attain.

Selected and commented by Reinhard Dellbrügge

house clearance
The stone with the lettering MUT
keep

Ramona Left

Something has ended. It has irrevocably dissolved. The boxes are packed, the decisions are made: about what is donated to the neighborhood aid, who gets which furniture and what has to be disposed of. What to take? The choice of the lyrical I falls on a painted stone with the inscription MUT. Apparently there were more precious things to take with you into a new life. The expensive service for example. Instead, a painted stone.

But for a life to be successful, it takes courage! To go one's own way, to make necessary, perhaps painful decisions, to learn to live with the aging of the body or illnesses that have become chronic.

How good it is to have something that reminds us not to despair when our hearts are sinking with fear, but to take a small step with courage. And then another. Life is waiting. The world belongs to the brave!

This wonderful Senryu relies on clear language and clear images. His soft tones open up enough space for the reader's own interpretation. The contrast between verse one and three is particularly successful. Resolution and preservation reflect the inner conflict from which this poem draws its tension. If one wanted to shorten this poem drastically, the words "dissolution", "courage" and "keep" remained. Words that have great emotional power and that speak of the universal experience of what loss is and how to overcome it.

Selected and commented on by Deborah Karl-Brandt

beginning of war –
They say he is now
adult

Eva Limbach

When are you ever ready for war? A childhood shouldn't end like this. Here someone is made “a man” who isn’t actually a man yet and perhaps doesn’t even want to be one. Nobody asks. Who can't fight back. To whom a great injustice is done. What right do you have to do this to someone else?

And who wants to be a man if it means killing or risking being killed, captured, wounded, or tortured himself? What will he have to do to survive? And what will it cost him in the end? Does the victim become the perpetrator? Victims of perpetrators?

I think of my grandfather: the visible traces of war and the invisible ones that shaped his life. Weren't we hoping to have learned something, to have become wiser after the last time?

The Senryu fires the imagination, touches emotionally deeply and prompts the reader to confront the ugly truth: we are not masters of our destiny. Safeguards can be touched, shelters can be lost. Empathy and compassion for others are all the more important.

A successful text should speak to the truth, especially when it is uncomfortable. This poem does that in a masterful way. Not only will the lies be exposed, but also the human tragedy that war always means.

Selected and commented on by Deborah Karl-Brandt

gone forever
he carries her photo
to Compostela

Jutta Petzold

Since I myself have hiked the Way of St. James to Santiago de Compostela, this haiku appeals to me in particular. I know how different the motives for such a pilgrimage can be. Maybe a couple wanted to make the trip together here. Maybe it had already made concrete plans, and then life got in the way. After she has “gone forever”, he makes the pilgrimage to Compostela alone with her in his heart and her photo in his backpack. Buen Camino!

Selected and commented on by Tobias Tiefensee

The selection

during the search
in the determination book he flies
away - the beetle

Sylvia Bacher

stale champagne –
the moment to kiss you...
Lost

Tony Bohle

Echo
my dialogue with
the mountain

Stefanie Bucifal

Therapy
roll the medicine ball
like Sisyphus the stone

Stefanie Bucifal

Palliativstation
Mom asks me to the butterfly
to open the window

Maya Daneva

no small change
the beggar says thank you
for nothing

Frank Dietrich

sea ​​breeze
a dune
redefines itself

Frank Dietrich

cornflower field
the bright blue of your eyes

Hildegard Dohrendorf

viking village
along our shadows
currently

Petra Fischer

On the banks of the Eisack –
the one stone
breathes.

Volker Friebel

time change
the sparrows in the garden
it does not matter

Dieter Gebell

acupressure course
desperately looking for
the restart point

Ivan Georgiev

As Time Goes By
I discover in the bulky waste
die Vergangenheit

Gabriele Hartman

night thunder - how familiar we are

Gabriele Hartman

sweltering heat
nothing moves but that
Robot lawn mower

Sylvia Hartman

pillowcase
the pattern
my childhood

Birgit Heid

beach chair whispers
the events i
kept silent

Birgit Heid

distant thunderstorm –
my face in the rain barrel
very, very deep down

Kerstin Hirsch

angel sculpture
on their wingtips
roosting dragonflies

Angelica Holweger

June day, still early.
the teacup in hand,
I sit and am

Christian Hoevel

on hiking day
tirelessly until evening
the pedometer

Elisabeth Kleineheismann

paved with marble
the roads to the Acropolis
and the sleeping places of the beggars

Petra Klingl

summit cross –
into the silence
nothing

Klaus Kornexl

house clearance –
the stone with the lettering MUT
keep

Ramona Left

land rain
she closes her eyes
and listens

Ramona Left

thunderclouds
I agree with that
silence of the birds

Ingrid Meinerts

plastered tiles
a little spider
without stopping

Ruth Caroline Mieger

annual memory
she gives away
the walker

Ruth Caroline Mieger

Musikfest
in the alley the dance
the swift

Eleanor Nickolay

back to the oak
her carved heart
got cracks

Eleanor Nickolay

he loves me
he does not love me
she asks the daisy

Jutta Petzold

gone forever
he carries her photo
to Compostela

Jutta Petzold

Television news
our livingroom
already tried and tested by crises

Wolfgang Roedig

on the shell,
busy hammering on Saturdays
of the woodpecker

Michael Rasmus Schernikau

early spring
a mason bee
looks out of the tube

Elisabeth Sofia slept

the mouse in the bathroom
brings me whole
out of balance

Marie Luise Schulze Frenking

watch pictures
From last May
And again the scent

Monica Silkl

on the park bench –
touched by the shadows
pass

Angelica Seithe

thunder
a knife releases the tension
the watermelon

Elisabeth Weber Strobel

next to the dirt road
skeptical looks
a deer family

Stefanie Wichert

merged
with the still pond
a heron

Friedrich winemaker

HTA tanka selection

Silvia Kempen and Martin Thomas chose 4 Tanka from 4 authors. The selected texts are published in alphabetical order of the authors' names. A maximum of two tanka per author will be recorded.

"A tanka that particularly appeals to me" - 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

after all this years
this deep trust –
and yet I feel
in the serpentines
by the passenger door handle

Gabriele Hartman

There are two people in the car here. It is not clear what kind of people they are. I could imagine a couple living in a relationship, but they could also be friends. They've known each other for a long time and trust each other, or at least the person in the passenger seat trusts the person in the driver's seat.

As Schiller said: "Trust will come once everyone has their security."

But what if this security is no longer given? “in the serpentines” – just hearing this sentence makes me queasy, and I can very well understand feeling for the handle on the passenger door. That gives security again, although it is only a deceptive security. Because in the event of an accident or fall, this grip doesn't really help, it doesn't protect against damage.

Basically, this groping for the handle of the passenger door is a purely emotional matter and very human. The person in the passenger seat does not have to have a guilty conscience. Fear is not a breach of trust.

Selected and commented by Silvia Kempen

 The selection

if you say
this is not straight
the navel of the world
comes the long-tailed tit again
and knocks on the room window

Christopher Blumentrath

I wished
I could somehow
dismantle
The cuckoo clock
sitting on my shoulders

Frank Dietrich

after all this years
this deep trust –
and yet I feel
in the serpentines
by the passenger door handle

Gabriele Hartman

after the visit
in every corner silence
under the bed
the playmobil giraffe
stretches out on all fours

Ludmila Pettke

Special contribution by René Possél

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

annual memory
she gives away
the walker

Ruth Caroline Mieger

A haiku that speaks of "time" in multiple senses. The first time: When a year has passed since the death of a deceased, there is a mass to commemorate the dead. The term "annual memory" refers to the Catholic Church. The individual remembers a deceased within his church community and seeks the consolation of faith and community. One could call it "an ever more sinking time".

The second time: It took someone (widow/daughter) a whole year to come to terms with death and grief (?). Some conclusion to this process (or even just the end of a period of piety) seems to be the decision to give away a last utensil of his/her age and frailty. – Why did she keep the rollator for so long? Couldn't she part with what reminded her of him/her?

Perhaps giving away is a gesture of generosity, perhaps just a mundane practical act. The walker is a reminder of the deceased and the toils of the last lifetime. – It is about the last things – in several senses. Haiku can make you think.

All these whimsical ones
little things themselves
arrive
in a human life.
Each has its origin
each of us his whereto.

Lars Gustavsson