R.H. Blyth Award - Popular Vote

WHF2002 - R. H. Blyth Award

The R. H. Blyth Award/WHF2002 World Haiku Competition

Ten Most Popular Haiku Poems
(in order of votes counted)
Susumu Takiguchi, Editor

The World Haiku Club conducted a popular voting in relation to this Competition. Out of the 24 haiku poems which were the selections of the best three made by nine official international judges, WHC members and their friends outside WHC were asked to cast a single vote per person. They were given perhaps the shortest ever deadline, i.e. five days after the call for voting, but the popular voting became not just "popular" but something of a craze. As many as 131 poets, except for those who could not make the deadline, voted for what they thought was a very difficult choice. For most of them, narrowing down to the best three or five was relatively easy but to choose only one was a challenge. They could also see things from the judge's perspective.
The votes were spread across all poems but one, which got no vote, showing a vast diversity of preferences. However, a pattern soon emerged, and the "best ten" started to lead the rest. The following are the most popular ten, with the number of votes for each poem shown. The reader can draw his/her own conclusion. People liked this popular voting as it involved them in the "participatory" culture WHC encourages. However, this is only to demonstrate the selections by popular vote, and is not part of the official selection process which belongs entirely to the realm of the nine judges (the official results are also announced in this issue). However, with the best ten selections by each official judge (i.e. 90 poems in total), these ten most popular poems will constitute the 100 selections from this Competition, though some selections overlap.

The 10 Most Popular Haiku Poems

Unique number to each poem with the number of votes cast for each:
1) 54 (14 votes)

underground parking
no space
for the moon

Terry Ann Carter
Ontario, Canada

2) 202 (11 votes)

returning geese --
dawn rises over the rim
of my coffee cup

kirsty karkow
Maine, United States

3) 406 (10 votes)

bus journey . . .
an old lady knits her way
through miles of prairie

Maria Steyn
Johanessburg, South Africa

4) 328 (9 votes)

twilight...
a boy brings down
his kite

K. Ramesh
Chennai, India

5) Four poems are joint fifth, all with 8 votes
12

open the door
to the lime-tree fragrance -

guest is coming

Dimitar Argakijev
Skopje, Macedonia

127

......spring morning . . .
the position of the chairs
from last night's meeting

Michael Fessler
Kanagawa-ken, Japan

232

a dark bruise
on a stranger's shoulder . . .
summer dusk

Peggy Willis Lyles
Georgia, United States

303

the planets align . . .
at the bottom of a glass
lemon seeds

W.F. Owen
California, United States

6) 15 (7 votes)

changing kimonos
between seasons...
my ordinary life

Pamela A. Babusci
New York, United States

7) 182 (6 votes)

Cryptomerias
receding in mountain mist
I forget the shrine

Tim Hornyak
Tokyo, Japan

Some responses from those who sent in a popular vote:

Jessica Stampfli on #12:

open the door
to the lime-tree fragrance

guest is coming

Dimitar Argakijev
Skopje, Macedonia

What caught my attention in this haiku was the use and the lack of use of the words "a" and "the". Many people would be tempted to add an "a" or "the" to the
last line, making it, "a guest is coming" or "the guest is coming", but often the use of these words can undermine or change the meaning of a haiku completely.
Since haiku are short to begin with, even the smallest connotations need to be considered. In my interpretation of this piece, the lime-tree fragrance is strongly tied not only to this guest who is coming, but also to the feeling of opening and letting in. If the last line were changed to "a guest is coming" it sounds as though it could be any guest, but the door wasn't opened to the smell of just any tree, nor, do I think, is the door being opened to just any guest, so "a" won't do. If the word "the" had been added to make it, "the guest is coming," the phrase becomes too specific. It sounds as though the guest is approaching at that very moment, and draws our attention away from the opening of the door and the lime-tree fragrance. We may be inclined to think that the door was opened only for the guest and the lime-tree fragrance was just a bonus. The absence of the word "the" leaves us questioning if the guest is approaching, or if the speaker opens the door at only the thought of the guest, or if they are opening the door to the fragrance just as they will soon be opening the door to their guest. The ambiguity of the last line is what makes this haiku successful, and it leaves us with the feeling of "letting in" without drawing our attention unnecessarily to one of the
three elements at work: the door, the fragrance, or the guest. [JS]

R. Wilson on #12:

open the door
to the lime-tree fragrance ?

guest is coming

Dimitar Argakijev
Skopje, Macedonia

Is it the guest or a lime tree outside providing fragrance when the door is opened? Or, is it a combination of the two? The haiku is a dichotomy...a convergence of complexity and simplicity. Simply written with room for thought. Having a guest visit can be a joyous occasion...the flavor of the haiku is definitely Asian and incorporates a kigo (lime tree fragrance). I can smell the lime tree fragrance as the door opens. I welcome the visit as each visit is a time for fresh
thoughts and newness of now. [RW, Philippines]

Michael Fessler on #15:

changing kimonos
between seasons . . .
my ordinary life

Pamela A. Babusci
New York, United States

Every season, the woman in this haiku selects the appropriate kimono, and this never varies. There is a hint that she considers her life drab in comparison with these exquisite traditional garments. The fact that she is sensitive to the 'ordinariness' of her life makes it somehow extraordinary. [MF, Japan]

John Garrett on #54:

underground parking
no space
for the moon

Terry Ann Carter
Ontario, Canada

I like the abrupt shift of perspective from the mundane dirty world of the crowded
underground parking to the natural world of the moon and the night sky. For me, it also included a shift of mood, from irritated to reflective.

I was reminded of a classic haiku:

barn's burnt down
now
I can see the moon

Masahide
(tr. by Lucien Stryk and Takashi Ikemoti)

and also one of may favourite modern haiku:

from house
to barn:
the milky way

Lee Gurga

[JG, Canada]

Art Stein on # 54:

underground parking
no space
or the moon

Terry Ann Carter
Ontario, Canada

This haiku appeals to me for several reasons:

It is the sort of image I like -- ,the everyday (no space) against the natural objects of this world (the moon). Its brevity: i usually use no more than 12 English syllables in my own haiku. It also could be considered a senryu, which i like. [AS, United States]

Victoria Tarrani (zephyr) on # 54:

underground parking
no space
or the moon

Terry Ann Carter
Ontario, Canada

This haiku gives me a sense of assurance. Even in the darkest, most hopeless
situations, there is always the possibility of light and beauty if we give it
space. The scene is stark: a black and white still -- Ansel Adams captured more
than things with his photography -- he captured the essence of what he saw.

I visualize an underground parking lot:

(1) That may have a window, which shows part of the sky. The moonlight shines
enough that the window's outline may be seen, but the moon never comes into view. Or if it does, the space is never big enough for the full moon.

(2) The moon could be symbolic for constant light in darkness; the heavenly orbs shine continuously. Although appearing to appear and disappear by the rotation of earth, it's changeable atmosphere and weather, the light of the moon and stars are, nevertheless, constant.

(3) Perhaps someone works nights, and the only natural light they ever see is sunlight -- there is no space or time in their life to stop and be one with the nightlife, and the serenity of watching the moon, full or partly-hid behind mist.

(4) Metaphorically, the underground parking could be death or a grave; the moon,
all that is alive and can never be part of the grave.

(5) This brings about thoughts of the underground parking as the life of a
hermit; a recluse who closes the shutters to stay hidden and never allows
anyone or anything (the light and beauty of the full moon) to have space in a
closed, sheltered soul. [VT, United States]

Mykel Board on #54:

underground parking
no space
for the moon

Terry Ann Carter
Ontario, Canada

So much has been written about the concretizing of the world and how we're further removed from nature. An underground parking lot is the height of urban claustrophobic hell. Without sentimentalizing or spouting, the poet, here, gives us a sense of isolation from nature and removal from everything non-concrete. It's a sad, beautiful poem. [MB, United States]

underground parking
no space
for the moon

Terry Ann Carter
Ontario, Canada

Kathi Rudawski on # 54:

The lines: "underground parking/no space" of #54 placed me in a world of concrete and cigarette butts, line after line of cars. It is the use of the word "space" that makes the haiku for me. Just as a car pulls into a vacant slot I wanted the moon to slip into an empty space between the endless cars. The thought of the moon gliding into place made me smile. the fact that the moon had no space/place in this setting made me sigh. (smile- sigh - aha!) [KR, United States]

Anita Wintz on #127:

"A haiku...is a hand beckoning, a door half-opened...."

....................R.H. Blyth, HAIKU Vol. l, p.243

To share another's haiku moment is a privilege, a global bonding of our universal human senses. There is no single "best" haiku for everyone. Each person is touched by a different 'tuning fork'. Therefore, a popular vote on the 24 poems selected by the judges increases our involvement, as well as our exposure to the best.

spring morning...

the position of the chairs

from last night's meeting

Michael Fessler
Kanagawa-ken, Japan

............remained with me as the strongest visual image, and an invitation to wonderment. It's an honor to participate in this exchange of communications with The World Haiku Club members.

Daniel Gallimore on # 127:

spring morning . . .
the position of the chairs
from last night's meeting

Michael Fessler
Kanagawa-ken, Japan

This is one of those poems which is immediately familiar, and yet has an element of mystery which draws the reader in. Are we talking about the church council meeting or something very different, a romantic encounter perhaps? This duality suits the season well: nature falling into place (like the chairs) against a feeling that although we have been here before it is ever so slightly changed. The unfamiliarity of spring is inscribed in the position of those chairs. This spring morning rouses the senses and opens the mind to the apparently mundane. I also like the way that concrete 'chairs' acts as a cutting word, breaking the momentum of what comes before; we stop and think, and I am sure one could say even more about this memorable poem.

Hugh Waterhouse on # 127:

spring morning . . .
the position of the chairs
from last night's meeting

Michael Fessler
Kanagawa-ken, Japan

Early morning; a coolness. Yesterday there was chatter, interaction, emotion
perhaps, in this pattern. Then everyone slept. Today, from a moment of
stillness, we begin again, creating our own pattern.

and...

Last year's snowberries cling to this stem and that stem. But here and
here - the new flowers. [HW, England]

Christopher Patchel on #182:

Cryptomerias
receding in mountain mist
I forget the shrine

Tim Hornyak
Tokyo, Japan

You might say that shrines provide a point of intersection between the temporal and eternal worlds. In this scene, we find a better "blurring of worlds" in nature, or it finds us. The writer has managed to convey this moment with a traditional 5-7-5 format without it feeling the least bit forced. It reads beautifully with three 'm' sounds giving it a softness, like the image it describes. [CP, United States]

Nan Dozier on #182:

Cryptomerias
receding in mountain mist
I forget the shrine

Tim Hornyak
Tokyo, Japan

My humble reaction to these words, as a novice writer of haiku, was purely intuitive and immediate. The transporting was complete. I was near the fragrant Japanese cedar, tall and sun-loving, growing in a forest that melted into the softness of the upper mountain incline as the climber's head lifted for a glance up the trail. The purposeful search for the elusive mountain shrine speaks to me of a need to find and connect with a particular sacred place, perhaps visited before, perhaps as a promise to someone dear, perhaps as an alternative to the standard list of tourist activities. The haiku awareness of a sacred moment of unity, followed by a sensation of timelessness and serenity, was clearly presented to me, and I relished it with gratitude. As I savored the carefully selected words, I realized that each single line is a poetic image, true to nature and human response. In the intentional search for the sacred place, we are gifted with moments of harmony that illuminate the sacred all around us, and a fleeting conviction that All is One. That happened for me on this mountainside. I offer a bow of thanks to this writer. [ND, United States]

Maria Steyn on #182:

It was difficult to vote for only one haiku. My seven favourites were (in numerical order):

nr. 15 "changing kimonos"

nr. 47 "spring equinox"

nr. 79 "melting snow"

nr. 127 "spring morning"

nr. 167 "indian summer"

nr. 182 "Cryptomerias"

nr. 202 "returning geese"

Finally I had to choose between nr. 182 and 202, my two favourites. It was an incredibly difficult choice.

Cryptomerias
receding in mountain mist
I forget the shrine

Tim Hornyak
Tokyo, Japan

I like the evocative visual and spiritual qualities created in this haiku. Cryptomerias, Japanese cedars according to the dictionary, have soft, emerald green, spring foliage, tinged with bronze. The kigo, "mountain mist", anchors this haiku in spring, traditionally the season of rejuvenation. Overcome by the beauty of the cedars receding in a misty veil of mountain green, somewhere between reality and another dimension, the speaker's mind wanders off, and the reader follows suit. The pivotal construction leaves the reader with a pleasant sense of mystery: is it the trees that recede into mountain mist, does the speaker disappear into the mist, or do trees and speaker both recede into the mist? I understand the "shrine" in this haiku to mean an altar or chapel with special associations, perhaps a place the speaker planned to visit as part of a spiritual ritual, a journey to re-establish a relationship with the divine. Something interesting however happens in this haiku. Instead of visiting the shrine as planned, the speaker gets distracted by, and lost among the trees in the mountain. I see the speaker wandering off among the trees and into the mist, not needing the inspiration or reassurance of the shrine anymore. The speaker has found that which she/he has been searching for. In the mist of the mountain, human and divine planes meet in a way not expected. The divine is "set free" from the shrine and revealed in nature. [MS, South Africa]

Billie Wilson on # 202:

returning geese --
dawn rises over the rim
of my coffee cup

kirsty karkow
Maine, United States

This one easily got my vote. I love the promise of spring in the first line, the symbol of hope in the second, and the surprise of line three -- expecting horizon, and having the "horizon" right there in "my" hands -- very powerful!! I also really like the idea of being awake and aware this early in the day, and getting those returning geese as the reward. I can feel the coolness of morning and the warmth of the cup. It's a neat haiku and I'm eager to learn the poet's name. [BW, United States]

Judit Vihar on # 202:

Returning geese
dawn rises over the rim
of my coffee cup

kirsty karkow
Maine, United States

This haiku is the haiku of contrasts: contrasts of nature (geese) and everyday life (rim of coffee cup) -- the unusual and the habitual. Together, they form an astonishing picture: I drink my coffee, I am surprised and a little bit; I feel fear. Why? Maybe the geese are airplanes (there is a sound of motors "r" 5x in haiku and the nasal "n" and "m" 5x)? I feel (in the alliteration of "c") the coffee cup trembling in my hand and the sound of chattering teeth. It is the feeling of 11th September 2001. When I feel, maybe geese also feel, but why, I don't know -- it is an anguish without any reason in everyday life. I think, this feeling is typical at the beginning of 21th century.

Anamaria Crowe Serrano on # 202:

returning geese --
dawn rises over the rim
of my coffee cup

kirsty karkow
Maine, United States

I've chosen this haiku because I love the tranquility and soft hues it evokes. I love the pause in the rhythm - after the word "geese" - evoking a great sense of calm, taking the time to capture something beautiful before the frantic day kicks in. The visual perspective (over the rim of the cup) makes the scene intimate -- quite different to viewing it unobstructed, outdoors, or through a window. I love the contrasts evoked: night and day, earth and sky, movement and stillness, urban and natural world, indoors and outdoors. Amazing the infinite number of things you can convey in 3 brush strokes! [ACS, Ireland]

Marylouise Knight on #202:

returning geese -
dawn rises over the rim
of my coffee cup

kirsty karkow
Maine, United States

My appreciation of any haiku always starts with resonance - if I feel it or not. From there, is there anything in the chosen words and arrangement that get in the way of that. This haiku feels right to me on both counts. I feel a completeness that is satisfying to me -- the quiet moment at dawn, the sound or the sighting of the geese and the vapor rising like dawn mist from the morning coffee. I find a sense of beauty and a quiet hope for the beginning of the day or the new season.

I did look up "returning geese" in Higginson's almanac and found that 'return' can mean either coming or going, depending on culture and thus author. Since I don't know who the author is, I went with what made it meaningful to me -- spring and new beginnings. [MK, United States]

Alison Williams on # 232

a dark bruise
on a stranger's shoulder . . .
summer dusk

Peggy Willis Lyles
Georgia, United States

For me this is an excellent haiku. There are several reasons for saying this. It is a strong subject, well observed, clearly and simply expressed -- but it also has an undercurrent of feeling, although no emotion is stated in it. Haiku that neglect either of these areas tend be weak in different ways. If they are not clearly expressed they may cause confusion or misunderstanding. If they are clear, but present just a pleasant picture, then they do not engage us fully.

There are associations with the words 'bruise', 'stranger', and 'dusk' that create a mood. These words are well chosen and work together to make us feel both the connection between the writer and the stranger and the separation between them. This is something very personal and also a universal feeling that we all know. It has a seasonal reference (kigo) that is in harmony with the other images. In the slight pause (kireji) between the images and the seasonal setting there is room for us to find meaning. The writer does not explain the meaning but allows us to find it.

In a simple three lines the writer of this haiku has shown a balance between observation of, and engagement with, the world and between particular
experience and universal truth. [AW, England]

Alan J Summers on #'s 232, 15, 54 & 127:

....AJS on 232 (1st favourite):

a dark bruise
on a stranger's shoulder . . .
summer dusk

Peggy Willis Lyles
Georgia, United States

Although the comparison used in the haiku is obvious it is also a very striking (no pun intended!) one, and brings us a new way to see the end of the day. As well as making us see the close of day i feel that there are more layers than are thought after it is read more than once. I wouldn't wish to break down every interpretation I see; the reader must have that enjoyment! [AJS, England]

....AJS on 15 (2nd favourite) :

changing kimonos
between seasons...
my ordinary life

Pamela A. Babusci
New York, United States

My second favourite, and very close to being the popular vote, was this simple but evocative haiku. I know that the last line states facts about themselves but this is so subtly moving, and impossibly sad, that I find it extremely haunting. Perhaps it isn't as sad as I perceive, and yet it is a haiku that stays with me. [AJS, England]

....AJS on 54 (3rd favourite):

underground parking
no space
for the moon

Terry Ann Carter
Ontario, Canada

I am not aware of seeing a haiku involve underground parking before, and the moon, although in 'absentia' but it worked for me as recently I was traversing one looking for an engraved poem, which was for a past poetry festival in my city! Yes, really! [AJS, England]

....AJS on 127 (4th favourite):

.......spring morning . . .
the position of the chairs
from last night's meeting

Michael Fessler
Kanagawa-ken, Japan

I have seen at least one on this subject, but as a person who has been involved in the setting up of meetings, conferences, and poetry events, of all shapes and sizes, this appealed to me greatly. I feel a great test of haiku is whether it can touch me personally, act as a spark to a past experience. This has done so. [AJS, England]

Tim Hornyak on # 303:

the planets align . . .
at the bottom of a glass
lemon seeds

W.F. Owen
California, United States

The scope of this poem is striking. The rare celestial event is pregnant with
significance. The discovery of seeds is ironic, yet suggestive of a deep
relationship between the two; one can even imagine a vast, cosmic being looking
down into his glass and finding the planets. The verse spans the macro- and
microcosmic deftly and concisely, leading the reader to question his location
while simply evoking a sultry, but portentous day for sipping lemonade. [TH, Japan]

Marjorie Buettner on # 303:

the planets align . . .
at the bottom of a glass
lemon seeds

W.F. Owen
California, United States

Carl Jung had a favorite quotation from an ancient philosopher: "Heaven above, heaven below, stars above, stars below, all that is above also is below, know this and rejoice." This haiku is a perfect adaptation of this statement. I feel the vast design of this haiku; everything seems to interrelate with everything else. The planets are in alignment and so very much depends upon a homemade glass of lemonade. The poet drains the glass just as he or she partakes wholly in life itself. Even the lemon seeds left at the bottom of the glass seem an appropriate symbol of a life in balance, a life lived in the minute to the fullest -- and like tea leaves at the bottom of the cup foretelling fortune, the reader can feel this poet's fortunes are vast and eternal. This is a wonderful haiku! [MB, United States]

K. Ramesh on # 303:

I was pleasantly surprised to see my haiku among the 24 poems selected by the judges! Initially, I was not interested in participating in the competition. When I
shared my thoughts with Dr. Angelee Deodhar, an Indian haiku poet and haiga artist, she offered her views. It is her perspectives on the subject that changed my mind. In a message which Mr. Susumu Takiguchi shared with the WHC members, he had given his opinions on competitions. And this message also made me look at competitions from a different angle!

I have gone through the haiku carefully. Here is my vote:

the planets align...
at the bottom of the glass
lemon seeds

W.F. Owen
California, United States

There were many good haiku. I liked this one very much.

The poet is back home after work. He is sitting on the porch with a glass of lemon juice in his hand. It is quiet and he is pondering over a phenomenon that is going to happen in the sky. Alignment of the planets! He is lost in his thoughts. When he completes drinking the juice, he happens to see the lemon seeds at the bottom of the glass. And, he captures a moment in which he sees both the distant and the near! That is it. There is no need for him to say more. The rest is left to the reader... [KR, Chennai, India]

Terumasa Ishii on # 328:

twilight...
a boy brings down
his kite

K. Ramesh
Chennai, India

This haiku gives simplicity and clearness. It reminds me of my life in boyhood. In those days things to play with were simple yet a lot of fun. Even now, I love to fly a kite. I have still childish aspirations for playing with toys.

I was tickled at "a boy brings down his kite" at twilight. It made me recall the same sight, drawing my nostalgia for my boyhood. [TI, United States]

Kate Creighton on #328:

twilight...
a boy brings down
his kite

K. Ramesh
Chennai, India

I find this haiku to be quite touching in its brevity, clarity and simplicity. It is playfully simple, yet multi-layered. At first glance, it seems nothing more than a boy ending his play because it is getting dark. This is a scene easily identifiable to any reader. It could be taking place anywhere in the world. The first line, written in a single word, clearly sets the scene," twilight"... Line two..."a boy." Line 3..."his kite."

I see more, however, than a boy and his kite in nature’s twilight. Could this be part of the circle of aging? A young man who must cease being a child and put his toys away to accept the responsibilities of adulthood; a senior citizen who perhaps can not do as much as he once did because of physical constraints; someone settling their affairs as death approaches?

OR, is it simply a boy who, sadly, has run out of daylight playtime? A kiter must carefully reel in the kite, pulling it slowly to avoid wind damage, and wrapping or tangling of string around the holder -- all done with arms most likely tired from a day of kite-flying. The writer of this ku has done just that: gently reeled the reader in. [KC, United States]

Joyce Maxner on # 328:

twilight...
a boy brings down
his kite

K. Ramesh
Chennai, India

My short time with Peggy Lyles learning kansho has helped me to develop a deeper insight as both a reader and a writer of haiku poetry. It's almost impossible for me now to judge or evaluate a poem without going through a critical process that begins with my opening up my own sensibilities to the poems in question.

When I first saw this poem, #328, it stood out among all others. As I read it, and read it again and again, everything about kansho I learned from Peggy, and about sound and rhythm from Ferris, and about simplicity and clarity from Susumu during the course of my participation at WHCschools actually precipitated me into writing a kansho to see if what I was feeling about this poem had a true basis in
reality. In other words, I was somehow compelled to test my own judgment out of respect for the poems and for those that had written them, rather than to toss off a vote casually:

It's twilight; a boy brings his kite down from the sky after hours of the pure pleasure of kite-flying. There is nothing quite like it: sharing the flight. With only a tether between them, kite and boy (and reader!) become fully engaged, both responding to the tension felt on the tether between them.

Every tiny pull of a breeze, every lift and fall of an air current, every snap and rustle of struts and tail, every shifting change of light bonds boy to kite in a wordless world where time stands still. For the kite-flyer, as every kite flyer knows, nothing exists but kite, sky, and currents of air.

Then, twilight comes. The sun has set and the day is over. The joyous tone evoked by the action of kite-flying dissolves into a sensation that is a mix of tranquility and an indescribably plaintive emotion. This haiku is a fine example what Reginald Horace Blyth refers to as "the deepest truths". The poem is about endings: the end of the day, the end of the pleasure of play, and as the poem is felt more deeply, a sense that all particular things come to an end, while at the
same time, all that which is absolute goes on forever. There comes an end even
to boyhood and beloved kites, with all they symbolize.

This sense of the changing and the unchanging existing simultaneously fills the poem with the quality of transcendence -- without the poet referring to it directly. As R. H. Blyth said, "the deepest truths are imageless and emanate from the unexpressed." This is one beautiful poem that does that exactly! I think Blyth, himself, would have given the poet who composed haiku #328, his sincerest compliments. [JM, United States]

Anna Tambour on # 406:

bus journey . . .
an old lady knits her way
through miles of prairie

Maria Steyn
Johannesburg, South Africa

This has great force and beauty. Highly evocative, it also arrests our attention in the immensity of time and space -- ever bigger than us. Bus journeys? Who takes them any more; how do we put up with something that takes so many hours to
get from here to there in our world, where we demand instantaneous satisfaction? The vast space of nature, and the mind. What is she thinking, as the yarn winds off the ball... turned into what? A bonnet for a new life? [AT, Australia]

Florence Vilén on #s 406 & 20:

Among the haiku submitted for the Blyth Award my favourite was the last one on the list, 406

bus journey...
an old lady knits her way
through miles of prairie

Maria Steyn
Johannesburg, South Africa

It is completely natural in its diction -- a characteristic wanting in many submissions -- and the situation is easy to visualize. There is a visible contrast between the vastness of the prairie and the limited space of seating in the bus. As a contrast to the length of time of this journey there are the many short moments that make up a work like knitting. Or we may imagine the knitting of, perhaps a scarf, as long in its own way, as the trip itself. The woman has character, even if it is only her age. We can also get an emotion from the situation: an attempt to relieve the boredom of this trip with something to occupy her mind as well as her hands. The reader may guess that she has seen this scenery many times and prefers the knitting to watching -- or perhaps she can do both things at once, as experienced knitters may. The subject is everyday as is the feeling; no false poetic beautification here. My only objection is the common use of the word "lady" to denote a woman of rather low social standing, as in the horrid term, "bag lady".

Otherwise, his poem is completely satisfactory; it gives us a well developed situation, a scene from life which we may recognize, a person with whom we might imagine a conversation even. We may also project various emotions into the haiku, but are not forced to choose any particular one. Also, it grows with repeated readings, yet is clear from the outset.

My second choice would be 20:

walking
after our quarrel
snow lower on the mountain

Bruce Ross
Ontario, Canada

Here, there is juxtaposition, the cold feeling after the quarrel and the increasing cold outdoors, shown by the snowline being deeper down than before. A human situation is contrasted -- as well as connected to -- nature. My only objection would be, that in an unkind mood, the reader might think this is just too much of a textbook example on the construction of haiku. [FV, Sweden]

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