Toshiro Takeshita
Orlando, Florida, USA
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Haiku Treasure Trove is this magazine's feature for raising the readers'
awareness to fine haiku composed by new poets, obscure poets, or poets who
generally write in other genres as well as poetry written by well-known authors,
which has been written for friends or family and which has not appeared in view
of the general public.
Toshiro Takeshita is a Japanese poet living in
America. He was born in Sakai City, Osaka but was brought up in Orlando, Florida
where he still lives. He has a long career as a poet, writing haiku, tanka,
senryu and haibun, for over forty years. During that time, he has belonged to
many literary circles at different times. He has closely studied all the major
haiku masters from the beginning to modern times. He especially likes the work
of Taneda Santoka. He is a Buddhist and his works reflect this.
Takeshita writes haiku in Japanese, but we regard his haiku in English as being
distinct, original and deep. Within a short period of time since he joined the
World Haiku Club, he has already brought to the table fresh air, new style and
different way of seeing the world through haiku to the delight of the existing
members.
Takeshita is the most harsh critic of his own work. He seems to be mindful of
the question of standards and quality before posting his poems to the WHC's
list, posting some of those works on which he wishes to hear other
members' comment. This is a happy coincidence with our initiative for
"Raising Standards & Quality". He seems to be even more strict
when deciding whether a particular work of his would pass his own ultimate test.
The following poems are those which have passed such a test plus some others
which we have selected from his postings and which we hope would pass the test
as well.
moment of silence—
the sounds of a nearby
playground
after your death
awakened by the sound
of silence
alone...
I paint the house
for no one
homecoming—
I kiss a cherry
tree
I never saw
childhood home—
searching for the
smell
I remember
winter night—
losing the little dipper
again
flurries—
autumn slowly
disappears
falling snow—
the scarecrow's
face
unchanged
blizzard—
backwards through the snow
my footprints and I
early morn—
defrosting my windows
defrosting myself
wilting narcissus—
admiring his own voice
despite the words
snow
falls upon the pond
reflection first
new snow
on cherry blossoms—
a different white
