Nov. 20, 2009

The last leaf
taken by the wind
at dawn

The harvest season is a time for celebration and thanksgiving. At this time of year, however, Qing Xu--a Tsukuba University researcher from China--feels empty and lost. He explains, "Things you cherish so much are drawing apart--just like these falling leaves." Farewells are an important and memorable point in human relationships. We hope to meet again, but it could be our last time to see each other. This ephemeral poem hints at death, a final farewell.

No more parents
Kyoto still my hometown
Daimonji Bon Fire

Though he resides in Saitama, Sosuke Kanda regularly visits the hillside graves of his parents in Kyoto. "Never cut your nails at night" warns Kiyoko Hirao in the following haiku, because according to a superstition your parents might die. Having lost her parents, the Chiba-based poet writes about not having to worry so much now.

Parents gone
clipping fingernails
longest night

Satoru Kanematsu has lost both his parents, but on the day of his mother's funeral he placed his recently completed haiku collection "Snail"in her coffin, whispering: "Mom, read this with dad in heaven." Tenshi Sakai recently lost her husband and co-author of a haiku book due to be published posthumously. Italian poet Mario Zontini pens an ode to his dearest teacher.

My book "Snail"
in mother’s coffin
with white mums

Whispers to a man
who never answers
long autumn night

Old school photo
my teacher and I--
she was my mom

With financial assistance from his grandfather, Richard Jodoin's father opened a restaurant in an old funeral home in Montreal. Referring to the summer of 1968 as "the summer of love" he describes the change during this short and violent period.

Summer '68
this old funeral home
our restaurant

Stephen Brannon celebrates Halloween in Cuba with a rhyming poem. Claudia Melchoir's grandfather may have gone to bed early on Halloween night in Germany. She pens a humorous poem that also makes us feel a little squeamish.

Halloween
I give candy to a ghoul
And play the Kings fool

All Hallows' Eve--
grandpa puts his teeth
into a glass

Koutarou Onishi closed his eyes while eating a bowl of rice so he could better recall what his grandmother looks like. She was a rice farmer; he is a sophomore student in the Haiku in English class at Tezukayama Gakuin University. Origa tried to save a puppy abandoned in the cold in Michigan. Sadly she writes, it "got sick and died, as we unfortunately didn't have veterinarians in Salehard; but I still remember her face, after almost 50 years ..."

New rice
remembering
grandmother's face

A found puppy
put in the dog house
polar night

A large yellow ginkgo leaf reminds Takako Nagai of the bright moon in Tokyo. Jacek Margolak observes a religious holiday in Poland. Michael Corr pens monochrome images by a pond near Nagoya.

Ginkgo stands
on its yellow shadow
tranquility

All Souls' Day ...
the moon rises
above her grave

Still lake moon
light meanders
across ripples

Matsuo Basho died Nov. 28, 1694. According to the lunar calendar, the anniversary of his death fell on Oct. 12 this year. Yamada commemorates his wayfaring ways. She currently lives in Kamakura, but has been uprooted several times. Kanematsu contemplates taking a trip away from his home in Nagoya.

Deracine
this wandering life--
shooting star

Sailing clouds
lure me to travel
Basho Day

After visiting the poet's statue in Akita, Hiruta plans to stay at home and reread his travel journal, "The Narrow Road to the Deep North."

Frozen leaves
carpet Basho's feet
memorial

First hailstone
hits the garden
Basho reread

Want to try composing haiku ?

Back numbers

Send haiku about winter by 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>. The next issues of the Asahi Haikuist Network appear Dec. 18 and New Year's Day. One haiku is selected for printing in the Asahi Haikuist column in the International Herald Tribune/Asahi Shimbun on the first, third and fifth Fridays of the month.