ASAHI HAIKUIST NETWORK/ David McMurray | The Asahi Shimbun: Breaking News, Japan …

ASAHI HAIKUIST NETWORK/ David McMurray | The Asahi Shimbun: Breaking News, Japan …

here they are shown there they are hidden moonbeams –Vessislava Savova (Sofia, Bulgaria) * * * moving day… I walk alpine moon back to the valley –Hifsa Ashraf (Rawalpindi, Pakistan) serene night– above temples and prisons the same moon –Vasile Moldovan (Bucharest, Romania) newly married– a new fullness to the moon –Joe Sebastian (Chennai, India) wallpaper– silver threads run through the moon –Roberta Beach Jacobson (Indianola, Iowa) moth wings the murmur of waves drawn to the moon –Mike Gallagher (Lyreacrompane, Ireland) cutlass moon– sitting next to a crass passenger the train horn –Jorge Alberto Giallorenzi (Buenos Aires, Argentina) Flanders fields whispering the names in wheat ears –Keith Evetts (Thames Ditton, U.K.) olfactory dreams– wafting mooncake odors from the oven next door –Jeff Leong (Kuala Lumpur, Malaysia) French market a whiff of olives and a runaway snail –Lee Nash (Poitou-Charentes, France) —————————— FROM THE NOTEBOOK —————————— Through perseverance white chrysanthemums bloom in time –Murasaki Sagano (Tokyo) The haikuist coaxes struggling autumn flowers. Winter and spring disappeared very quickly, yet summer is lasting forever. Satoru Kanematsu hopes to clearly view the harvest moon rise on Sept. 21, two days before the autumn equinox. Veiled by clouds eclipsed supermoon in my dreams Let’s review what haikuists have recorded in their season-word almanacs so far this year. The spring festival on the lunar calendar began on Feb. 12. Soon thereafter, Alan Summers said his leafy bamboo hedge in Wiltshire, England, “had become a small forest, and you can sense the tendrils being ready once the cold snap is over.” creeping frost… how the bamboo forest gathers its tendrils Cherry blossoms arrived a month early, according to local meteorologists and observant haikuists such as Aaron Ozment, a university student in Kagoshima who is researching death poetry. Potomac blossoms Touch the water one by one Carried out to sea Spring was short-lived: more than one month of the prime poetry-writing season was lost to global warming. Marshall Hryciuk squinted in bright Canadian sunshine. gleaming May Day more leaves than butterflies twirling through By summertime, Kanematsu’s neighborhood in Nagoya was a leafy jungle filled with missing pet snakes, tropical birds and turtles. While trimming trees and wondering whether to chop fire logs for the winter, Charlie Smith counted hundreds of fireflies in Raleigh, North Carolina. Florin Cezar Ciobica hoped for a second round in Botosani, Romania. Hryciuk was wary of wasps building paper nests in Toronto, Ontario. Crescent moon– fancy pet lizard on the loose At moonrise empty woodshed full of fireflies first date a wasp attracted by my cold beer yellowjacket already in June the trill of oak leaves According to haikuists, the regular pulse of four seasons had been disrupted by the climate crisis. Summer never seemed to end. Elizabeth Lara mixed a spicy icy drink in Silver Spring, Maryland. Eva Limbach stirred her drink with a leafy celery stalk, coyly remarking, “That was many years ago and each of us tells the story a little differently.” Fukuzawa overheard a one-way conversation. Arvinder Kaur was bemused. Weary from 45 degree heat in Catania, Italy, Rosa Maria Di Salvatore refreshed her tea leaves. Bloody Mary packed with ice sizzles down my throat bloody mary the diversity of our memories Reunion– an old man tells his wartime story to the cold beer chilled beer the time he takes to wipe the moustache hot day… a little lemon granita in my glass of tea Goran Gatalica sipped on a strong highball made with leaves of mint in Croatia. Dan Iulian twirled a paper parasol in Bucharest, Romania. At a cafe in Lazarevac, Serbia, Dejan Ivanovic romanticized tropical island life. Stephen J. DeGuire and friends doused the drought in Los Angeles, California. pineapple mojitos– much larger than ourselves this summer heat burning sun– each with its own umbrella me and my Mojito The ice melts in a glass–a topless girl under a parasol mo’ people cool off by drinking mojitos Douglas J. Lanzo blended a rosy-colored moon with blue moon wildflowers in Chevy Chase, Maryland. Anne-Marie McHarg saw a blue moon last month in a London park where she also watched a resplendent blue and green feathered Indian peafowl. Amrutha Prabhu bejeweled for the harvest in Bengaluru, India. Xenia Tran found a needle in the haystack at Nairn, Scotland. blue woodland phlox rises with pink moon casting purple hue Mesmerized Heron watching ripples Moon in her glory On green lawns The cries of peacocks From far and near lady in green with gold-plated jewelry… reaping rice lost and found the barn key glitters in the moonlight Japanese haikuists traditionally refer to the eighth month on the lunar calendar as “hazuki” (leaf month), which started Sept. 7 on the solar calendar, coincident with the withering of Kiyoshi Fukuzawa’s houseplant. The last two leaves cyclamen fight summer heat flowers long gone Hidehito Yasui whispered a prayer in Osaka. Trees in Melanie Vance’s lovely garden equally shared sun and shade in Dallas, Texas. Milan Rajkumar waited a long time for a cooling breeze in Imphal, India. Afternoon quiet a leaf detached from God’s hand falls straight to the ground garden Buddha yin and yang of the lunar eclipse autumn wind… on a stone Buddha’s lap a single leaf Marek Kozubek watched farmers in Bangkok, Thailand. J.L. Huffman referred to the palm-leaf sunhats worn in Vietnam. She is the author of “Almanac: The Four Seasons, 2020,” which chronicled the one-year cycle of nature poetry, and “an occasional human pops in to enjoy the view.” rice fields– under conical hats hidden drops of sweat rice paddies dotted with non la rice reapers Honey Novick was reinvigorated to write poetry when autumn weather mystically arrived in Toronto, Ontario. Jeffrey Winke water-painted with grays and blues in Milwaukee, Wisconsin. Fog paints blue sky grey daring adventures of hope laughter rewards warmth suspended gray blue lightning evermore Vaccines are shot into the brachia, the bare upper arm, notes Lee Nash. Aptly named, the brachia shrubs in gardens turn a gorgeous rust color toward early fall. Francoise Maurice waited on pins and needles in Draguignan, France. anxious wait an orderly queue of brachia at the edge the Covid epidemic dandelion down Richard Bailly described the taste and smell of a rainy autumn day in Fargo, North Dakota. Patrick Sweeney looked forward to a good night’s sleep with a traditional remedy of fungus and roots. malt aroma imminent heavy rainfall rusty day like an aspergil the herbalist shakes the rain out of pink valerian Maria Teresa Piras admired rain-washed leaves in Serrenti, Italy. Masumi Orihara juxtaposed heartrending news with the sounds of knocking heads of grain and drying leaves calling for a change of seasons. Zahra Mughis set sail as autumn prepared to leave Lahore, Pakistan. autumn rain– the bright green of olive leaves Afghan motherland fierce struggle for survival the soft rustling wheat sailing downstream leaf boat An official “autumn leaves day” in Japan is set by observing a sampling of maple trees. That auspicious day is declared when the majority of leaves are observed to have turned red. Vance and Pippa Philips, respectively, are watching for the first leaf to fall. somersaulting over backyard trampoline shadows of maple trees bus stop– how long before the leaf falls John S. Gilbertson has his sights set on the last leaf in Greenville, South Carolina. An ophthalmologist looked Kanematsu directly in the eyes. Vandana Parashar avoided her dad’s glare in Panchkula, India. Rosa Maria di Salvatore described the moon to an ailing family member in Catania, Italy. Adjei Agyei-Baah entered a staring contest in Kumasi, Ghana. top leaves last to see sun fall farthest Face to face with an oculist my blurred sight another business trip I hide father’s glasses veiled moon… grandpa’s cataract is getting worse full-blown moon the prolonged stare of a chimney cat Henryk Czempiel foresees an accident in Strzelce Opolskie, Poland. Ram Chandran noticed sharp-edged shadows in Madurai, India. Dan Iulian has loved autumn for a lifetime in Bucharest, Romania. Thunder moon shadows of the felled trees on the residence palm fronds split the moon– patterns on the floor the moon in the sky a lifelong friend leaves in the wind Michael Lindenhofer watched oarsmen methodically dip their blades in gold on the Danube River. Santos heard the sound of crumbling dry leaves earlier than usual this year because of extreme drought conditions in California. McHarg spent time alone. Jim Niffen fell silent in Sioux Falls, South Dakota. morning row eight golden oars’ synchronous play morning walk under my feet the crunch of dried leaves The quietness: A rustle of leaves In solitude autumn moon glides across a silent pond Bona M. Santos loves walking when colored leaves fall. Jacob Blumner went hiking in Flint, Michigan. Rose Menyon Heflin sketched the windblown dry prairies to the south of Madison, Wisconsin. morning hush the gentle caress of falling leaves crossing a dry creek the footbridge makes the only sound Gently swaying grasses Wind and lightning on the plains Thunderous silence Priti Khullar’s love parched during a drought between the two annual monsoons that cloud over Noida, India. Sushama Kapur awakened suddenly in Pune, India. Land fissures barren clouds drained our hearts eerie silence tapping my window a dry branch Neither Bakhtiyar Amini in Duesseldorf, Germany, nor Zdenka Mlinar in Zagreb, Croatia, got much sleep last night. Insomnia– keeping the moon with my gaze full moon in my bed insomnia Ozment rests in peace with insects. Kanematsu slept knowing his garden is secure. Parashar hesitated for a moment before locking her door. Aljosa Vukovic feared the sound of insects. Sweet sleep not a care On my headboard deep in prayer Guardian mantis Day and night guarding the garden sunflowers curfew– the night still alive with chirping crickets After a horror movie even the cricket sounds like the devil No haikuist could have foretold such strange seasonal deviations from reading poetry almanacs. Wondering whether winter will ever return, Carl Brennan referred to the “The Tragic History of the Life and Death of Doctor Faustus” performed in 1592. His haiku was inspired by the doctor’s longing for the devilish power to grant a woman’s request for a bunch of fresh grapes even though it was January. Floorboards splintered Hell’s melodrama rises Faustus abjures his books According to Wakayama Prefecture travel guides, the peak day for viewing red leaves was Dec. 14 last year; a half-century ago it was mid-November. This year haikuists might wait until Christmas to spot colored leaves. Lenard D. Moore noted how seasonal sports have gone topsy-turvy in North Carolina. Christmas Day– all the tennis shoes squeak on the b-ball court —————————————————————- Climate change has changed the haiku seasons at http://www.asahi.com/ajw/special/haiku/ . The next issues of the Asahi Haikuist Network appear Oct. 1, 15, and 29. Readers are invited to send haiku about apples, lemons or mandarin oranges on a postcard to David McMurray at the International University of Kagoshima, Sakanoue 8-34-1, Kagoshima, 891-0197, Japan, or e-mail to (mcmurray@fka.att.ne.jp). David McMurray has been writing the Asahi Haikuist Network column since April 1995, first for the Asahi Evening News. He is on the editorial board of the Red Moon Anthology of English-Language Haiku, columnist for the Haiku International Association, and is editor of Teaching Assistance, a column featuring graduate students in The Language Teacher of the Japan Association for Language Teaching (JALT). McMurray is professor of intercultural studies at The International University of Kagoshima where he lectures on international haiku. At the Graduate School he supervises students who research haiku. He is a correspondent school teacher of Haiku in English for the Asahi Culture Center in Tokyo. McMurray judges haiku contests organized by Ito En Oi Ocha, Asahi Culture Center, Matsuyama City, Polish Haiku Association, Ministry of Foreign Affairs, Seinan Jo Gakuin University, and Only One Tree. McMurray’s award-winning books include: “Only One Tree Haiku, Music & Metaphor” (2015); “Canada Project Collected Essays & Poems” Vols. 1-8 (2013); and “Haiku in English as a Japanese Language” (2003).
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