FROM THE FALLEN PETALS (SHU-I-SHU) PART TWO
Susumu Takiguchi, UK
 

When petals fall, we are saddened by the ending of a flower's life. However, we also notice incredible beauty just in that natural act. We pray for the colour, shape and texture of each petal to last, knowing perfectly well that it is not to be. During that brief evanescent time we encounter a magic experience of mixed sense and sensibility: a mixture of a passing moment and eternity, of the beauty of life and death, of everything and nothingness and of here and now and everywhere and all time.

Each petal I pick is precious. Likewise, I pick haiku from among many. Some may live long as part of a potpourri. Others may go on decaying or getting rotten (pourri). But they are all beautiful fallen petals. Shu-i-shu is a Japanese literary term. Meaning gleanings, the term used to be chosen for the title of anthologies of those poems that escaped a first anthology.

Note: Some English translations from Romanian haiku were altered for editorial purposes. We selected mostly Romanian poets in honour of their efforts to develop haiku in this beautiful country and of hosting the World Haiku Festival 2005.

Poets featured in this issue:

•         Kirsty Karkow, US

•         Manuela Miga, RO

•         Laura Vaceanu, RO

•         Alexandra Flora Munteanu, RO

•         Stela Moise, RO

•         Vasile Moldovan, RO

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Kirsty Karkow, US
From: water poems—haiku, tanka, and sijo, Kirsty Karkow,
ed. by Cathy Drinkwater Better,  Black Cat Press, Eldersburg,
Maryland, USA, 2005

offshore
butterflies grace the sail
for a moment

reverie...
the cry of a seagull
calls me back
        
not a whale...
the dark bank of seaweed
rises on each swell

wild pond
step by step a turtle
meets the heat

late afternoon
at the harbor market
one codfish for sale

bone cold
lights from shore
lost to the fog

ice moon
long-haired ponies turn
tail to the wind

winter beach
moonlight cupped
in the shell of a clam

elbow deep
in the cold stream
fool's gold

squeezing the dawn
back over the mountain
storm clouds

incoming tide
a hermit crab wanders
among empty shells

---

Manuela Miga, RO
From: 99 haiku exercises, Manuela Miga, Editura Sakura, Bucharest,
1994 ISBN 973-95533-5-4

Unworthy I feel
to yield fruit—grain of wheat
left in the barn.

Dewdrop.
Its sparkling overwhelms
the blade of grass

Trees reach for the sky.
The willow alone
yearns for the ground.

Singing its mantra
the cricket reaches
the source of stillness.

Over the marsh
the mist is fading away:
lotus buds!

Stifling heat.
A fly is licking
the eye of the stale fish.

Barely in bloom,
unadmired irises
already wither.

Blizzard. Willow turning green:
the restless spirit
of the drowned woman.

So many fireworks!
Will they succeed in keeping back
the darkness?

Back into the sky
I'll throw all your snow!
Give me the Spring!

Leafless poplar
poisoned last summer,
teach me how to die!

At a street corner
crunching popcorn—
 the Death.

In my lap
Dearth is crouching:
embers smoulder.

No more
white hairs in the soup.
My mother's absence.

Deserted grave.
This year too
pink forget-me-nots.

Cat run over by a car.
Its kittens
are playing in the sun.

Birds' prints on the shore:
undeciphered,
the tide is washing them away.

---

Laura Vaceanu, RO
From: The memory of the while, Editura Europolis,
Constantza, Romania, 2003

Leaf rustle—
two lizard eyes
look at me curiously

Whirling rivers—
the piano sounds
in the April evening

Yard invaded
by the locust tree's smell
the moon among clouds

Abandoned home—
the violet mallow
is just for me

Summer rain—
a little sparrow shriveling
under a car

A hot day—
a hollow trunk
covered by moss and insects

Summer storm—
drops on the window
distracting me

Dry summer—
to and fro
a chain of ants

Many stars—
too much for
a single night

Autumn twilight—
on the lake shore
a dead frog

Autumn evening—
the first leaf
by the chestnut

Green pine needles—
thrusting in the white snow
the strong wind

---

Alexandra Flora Munteanu, RO
From: The signs of the weather, Editura Europolis,
Constantza, Romania, 2005

The foamy wave
Paving the shores
Forgets the shells

The pale moon
Celebrating the rose
In my garden

The sound of the rain
Silent keys
Of the piano

The boat on the river
Hot spring
Pelicans in confusion

A lonely cat
On the bench—
The sun in the fog

Nobody in the street—
The stones speak ill of
The passers-by

---

Stela Moise, RO
From: Only the blue—Lyric Miniatures—,
Editura Fundatiei "Andrei Saguna,"
Constantza, Romania, 2002

The green ivy
rejuvenates the house
abandoned long ago.

The shadow of the cloud
dominates the silhouette
of the castle.

Spring-like blue,
the sadness doesn't
surround us.

In the old apricot tree
a lot of butterflies
and flowers.

The May sunset,
the cherry tree flowers
lose the petals.

Only the crickets and the moon—
in the night's coolness
with lime perfume.

The thistles rise,
the blue of the flowers
in the poppy field.

A summer's day—
after the rain, the rainbow
and a poppy carpet.

Edge of the road—
a partridge drinks
the dew on the poppy.

The Autumn wind
takes the honeysuckle perfume
to the sea.

Noon—
bees swarm at the harvest
in the vineyards.

On the horizon—
the finite blue comprises
the infinite blue.

The poem—
the haunted soul
dies.

---

Vasile Moldovan, RO
From: Ikebana—haiku—, Editura Orion,
Bucharest, Romania, 2005

New Year's dawn—
the north wind playing
fir's cones

The first New Year's dream—
transplanting olive branches
all over the world

Hey, you, snowdrops,
why in such a hurry?
The winter returns!

Spring wind—
on the bed of melting snow
fallen plum petals

Under the moonlight,
a barren apple tree
blossoming too

Wind from the orchard—
on the clothes line
scented shirts

On the way home,
from on all sides fragrances
of cherry blossoms

Summer daybreak—
some dewdrops hidden
in the morning glory

In the field of poppies
even the old scarecrow
wears a red cap

White water lilies
a buffalo takes a bath
under their glimmer

Green on green—
the grasshopper's siesta
on a leaf of bur

Haymaking season—
both the grass and the weeds
under the scythe's blade

Waiting for the suitors,
the heart of the amaryllis
always wide open

Half open window—
some intruders in the room:
the autumn leaves

Company—
a leaf takes up a seat too
on the park bench

After the harvest,
the weeds invade again
all the field

Seeds scattered by the wind—
a new flower garden
on the rooftop

Sick in bed—
through the open window
rustle of herbs

Late autumn—
so many dry branches,
but no raven

Winter rain—
on the lonely poplar
only a single leaf

 

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