HARD HAIKU - PART TWO:  60 YEARS ON............
Selected by Susumu Takiguchi

 

E: WHCvanguard

 

POETS (click author's name to read selections)
Richard Vallance, CA Dietmar Tauchner, DE Andrea Gradidge, CA Robert Wilson, US asheofmoth (Tim Singleton), Maryland, US Paul Conneally, UK Victor P. Gendrano, US Carol Raisfeld, US	Darrell Byrd, US Angèle Lux, CA Carlos Fleitas, UR Mary Angela Nangini, CA Denis Garrison, US Nancy Stewart Smith, US DW Bender, US Susumu Takiguchi, UK
Richard Vallance Hiroshima, Ottawa, CA
While rains wept over the blind and dead they'll weep on our blossoms now... Hiroshima 60th. Anniversary # 1 I gag on your mushrooms today... August 6. August 6, 2005 Coventry Pearl Harbor Warsaw Dresden World Trade Center ashes... August 8, 2005 Black hypocentre piano barely scratched... she plays Chopin Black hypocentre: CBC TV news, Canada just reported today that a beautiful blackpiano almost at the hypocentre of the Hiroshima blast survived with barely a scratch. There was a young Japanese woman playing a bit of Chopin on it on the news.	Les pluies larmoyaient vers les aveugles et les morts enfin sur nos fleurs... Hiroshima 60th. Anniversary # 1 J'ai envie de vomir vos champignons... c'est le 6 août. le 6 août 2005 Coventry Pearl Harbor Varsovie Dresden World Trade Center en cendres... le 8 août 2005 Hypocentre noir piano à peine éraflé... elle y joue Chopin hypocentre noir: Radio Canada vient d'annoncer aux nouvelles d'aujourd'hui qu'unbeau piano noir a survécu presque intacte à l'explosion atomique à Hiroshima. Il y avait même une jeune femme japonaisequi y jouait un peu de Chopin aux nouvelles.
Dietmar Tauchner, Puchberg, AT
dog day at the lake— was Hitler one of us? first day of war on a sunlit wall two flies making love (Acorn, No.11, 2003) lingering heat out of a small shop the smell of the past (The Heron's Nest, V-11, 2003)	june shower at the square of burning books Written in Berlin at the Bebel-square, where the Nazis burnt numberless books of human and liberal authors Mauthausen Day a big dog barks at me On the 8th of May 2005 there was the 60th anniversary of the concentration camp Mauthausen's liberation...nowadays a memorial place.
Andrea Gradidge, CA
radiation scare mum reassures me we'll be vapourized	Hiroshima Day watering the bonsai pine
Robert Wilson, California, US
burnt rice on tables made of skin c harred bodies in pieces on the ground... nagasaki they whisper to keep us from forgetting hot august ... the stench of burnt flesh...	understanding godzilla— hiroshima! longing to play chopin with both hands— hiroshima! charred bodies in a classroom ... light ? the heat! a child covered with napalm!
ashofmoth (Tim Singleton), Maryland, US
bavarian sunflowers— shamed head after shamed head bends soldiers vacation— after the orgasm he, too, shudders buzzbomb— out of the silence such a horrible noise seeded memory— the lips of each poem's germination hiroshima— just three days and again oh, those old wars! today we can justify killing less at a time each land mind waits like the next hiroshima today what?! and in three days what?! 60 years later so many reasons to be upset	frankfurt line— that sound, the same the same firing squad field— what generation of bees is this? tee shirt shop— today's nazi's slight hesitation summer buzzards— is this the smell? is this the smell? schloss neuschwanstein— the tour guide's animosity this way and that tanks—the autobahn the dentist's hands in his german accent (for harvey wurtz) reagan's grave— the audacity of his visit each dead face looking back at the living
Paul Conneally, Loughborough, UK
barefoot gen the world still holds its breath	a death for each one of its 120,000 sleepers the burma railway
Victor P. Gendrano, California, US
Tagalog, a Philippine language: sa puso mo may puwang ba ang pagpapatawad— alalahanin ang Hiroshima	English version: in your heart is there room for forgiveness— remembering Hiroshima
Carol Raisfeld, New York, US	Darrell Byrd, US
boundless grief— a naked girl's scream echoes for 60 years	peace park a scarred face smiles as children play
Angèle Lux, Val-des-Monts (Québec) CA	Carlos Fleitas, UY
pound digging the veteran stares at the deep hole under a scorching sun a wizened old man remember— 6th of August Hiroshima day— a few paper birds in my garden pond	rag doll; waiting to be rescued among the debris
Mary Angela Nangini, Ontario, Canada	Denis Garrison, Maryland, US
candle vigil: flickering sirens dance to the war bombs candlelight flames: souls in-waiting in our homes extinguished candles— human enlightenment without the light war initiation: giving permission to kill each other's children war triumphs: claiming most body notches on earthen plots body bag piles wait: heads of nation families play life-cards to death war ends when those with resources control those without self-defeating sport annihilating neighbours: 3-D war goggles fearing death we rush to war to kill one potato—war two potato ...three...four Tower of Babel dust to dust bodies born, bodies die war fast-forwards life	sixty years— the half-life of hatreds? the flames in mother's stove—that was friendly fire harder to tell friend from foe through hot tears war poems wrinkle noses— written in blood millions of coffins send up green shoots— waiting to see the fruit silent night on Bataan broken the marching ghosts unnatural, being survived by your shadow sun to my back I bow to shadows— honoring the dead ambitions metastasized— fatal to millions battlefield dead— these red blooms gone black by dusk * this field of slaughter— stormclouds! have you tears enough for this? in triumph, in defeat— broken parents, widowed wives, orphans, curse war for the worms here, sharks in the sea below— corpses all taste alike as these enemies slay each other, at home, their mothers pray above this blasted marsh a flock circles once and moves on south grenade in flight— my enemy's face suddenly reminds me of after the shell blast— a wet warmth ... a spreading chill a boy who went to war a year ago a lifetime ago sixty years later casualty estimates near completion war talk— those who do not know imagine glory
Nancy Stewart Smith, US
Pearl Harbor shatters a child's family leaving abandonment fears sunlit stream a child fishes with a bent pin as Japan burns floating lanterns on rivers of infamy— war of the basilisk bright light filled the plane— a mushroom of unknowing smothers Hiroshima * what comfort to know: all one is may disappear in a flash of light Chicago slept in blissful ignorance of the monstrous birth where football died the egg of war was hatched— U of C stadium that we may each contain our own nuclear reactions a prayer or meditation where each is ones own container roses may bloom in peace a dewdrop glistens on the flesh-toned yellow of a peace rose	Nagasaki day: mulberry hearts littered my yard after the storm different places different spaces... poets all we speak that we may let go of horror— the scent of the rose * the crunch  as I stepped on  a  can with lids inside— metal  recycling mother's car hits a pup. calling, all come but my favorite— world war two dad mends Italy's schools— school  books with nazi pages razored out arrive * all these years later realizing the napalm girl wasn't japanese end of days huddle— where my father taught peace mankind's black day Never Never Land— When archetypes ran away with souls World War I
DW Bender, Florida, US
RED CAMELLIA BUDS August 6-23, 2005   In Japan, the sixtieth birthday, kanreki, is a "coming full circle back to the beginning." World War II ended exactly sixty years ago. It is an opportune time for each person to reflect on those troubled days. As for me, the thought of one particular piece of paper is enough to take me back to days preceding my own birth. That paper is a teletype message which ended the "War to end all wars."   red camellia buds Father's paper heirloom ended World War II   My father, Quentin Gordon Woolard, was a young radioman in the US Navy during the War. On the night of August 15, 1945, he was at Guam when he received a twx (TeletypeWriter eXchange) from none other than General Douglas MacAuthur. The message ordered him to contact, by any means possible, the Japanese Emperor, the Japanese Imperial Government and Headquarters, directing the end of hostilities with procedures for the Imperial Navy to surrender to the Allied Forces. And for hours on end, as a young sailor, he sat at the radio transmitting the coded message to Tokyo and the Pacific. By following those orders, my father would be bringing World War II toward its closure.   Having foresight to realize the twx and 2 accompanying pages were important historic documents, he asked his superior officer for permission to keep them. Permission granted, they remained in our family's possession until, over two decades after Dad's death, they were auctioned and sold in September 2001. I had long forgotten about the twx, and didn't realize the scope of that role which fate had determined for him.   Atomic Day... again, the door opens to a blast of heat   Not long ago, browsing the internet for genealogical information, I came upon the Jackson Auction #220 announcement, complete with the 3 documents and a 1957 news clipping of my father dressed in his Air Force blues, his dress uniform, holding the twx: http://www.jacksonsauction.com/Sep02_catalog/DAY_1web/pages/CC_SEP02_web_09.htm A RARE AND IMPORTANT ORIGINAL TELETYPE MESSAGE FROM GENERAL DOUGLAS MACARTHUR TO THE JAPANESE GOVERNMENT ENDING WORLD WAR II. Late on the night of August 15, 1945, Radioman First Class Quentin G. Woolard, transmitted the offered Teletyped message signed by Gen, Douglas MacArthur to Tokyo, Japan from his forward base on the island of Guam. Lot consists of the actual Teletyped instructions sent by Gen MacArthur, together with additional surrender instructions for the Japanese Imperial Navy. Additionally lot includes a 1957 newspaper article depicting Woolard holding the actual Teletype message. In the enclosed article Woolard indicates that his copy (the offered lot) is one of only three ever to exist stating Admiral Nimitz received a copy, as did Headquarters at Guam. The Teletype begins: "TRANSMIT FOLLOWING TO JAPANESE GOVERNMENT BY ANY MEANS AVAILABLE TO THE JAPANESE EMPEROR THE JAPANESE IMPERIAL GOVERNMENT THE JAPANESE IMPERIAL GENERAL HEADQUARTERS FROM SUPREME COMMANDER FOR THE ALLIED POWERS PURSUANT TO THE ACCEPTANCE OF THE TERMS OF SURRENDER OF THE ALLIED POWERS BY THE EMPEROR OF JAPAN, THE JAPANESE IMPERIAL GOVERNMENT, AND THE JAPANESE IMPERIAL HEADQUARTERS, THE SUPREME COMMANDER FOR THE ALLIED POWERS HERBY DIRECTS THE IMMEDIATE CESSATION OF HOSTILITIES BY JAPANESE FORCES85" On the reverse of Teletype Woolard inscribed the following; "Message sent by me to Japan from Guam announcing end of World War II. I contacted Tokyo on code then after 5 hours calling, I contacted them. Then for 12 more hours I sent surrender traffic to Tokyo on teletype." After sending the message to Tokyo, Woolard sent another Teletype to the Imperial Navy, which gave instructions on surrender procedures. A copy of these orders is also included in this lot. A rare and historically important, truly one-of-a-kind item of the type never offered for public consumption. PROVENANCE: Mrs. Quentin G. Woolard How very ironic it seems to me, that his firstborn, nearly 55 years after the War, began to write haiku and other Japanese poetic genres, going on to work with Mr. Susumu Takiguchi, a Japanese national living in England, toward the development of the World Haiku Club and its magazine, the World Haiku Review.   reading of cancer from Hiroshima's terror at my fathers' hands the long scar on my own belly seems too small   And now, 60 years on, the United States is in another war. A different kind of war, a deep, troubling war. Another that encompasses the world, its nations, its peoples. Sons and daughters, husbands, wives, mothers and fathers have died and will die. I often read poems by poets in my country and others, protesting and voicing heartfelt angst and anger against my country's President and my government's actions, some in outright mockery. While I detest war, I do not and cannot stand with those in protest. One can kill in a worse manner, from within, when trying to follow one's beliefs, yet impacting others in ways which may have deadly results, more devastating than the war itself. Similar protests and attitudes happened during Vietnam, which took a terrible and demoralizing toll on our soldiers, both in mind and lives, giving psychological and real power to those who would kill them as "the enemy". At the same time, I am for peace, for freedom, for life—as are our soldiers and allies serving in the Middle East, now—and as was my dad, then. As was my husband, who served in Vietnam, and as our son, who serves in the Air Force, today. And as my father-in-law, who served in WWII, and my nephew, recently returned from Iraq. To everything there is a season and a time for every purpose under Heaven...A time for war and a time for peace... Would that I could receive word, as did Dad that night 60 years ago, to broadcast the end of war, and to issue an effective order to cease hostilities, for all to surrender and live in peace. And yet, and yet, even now, there is such a divine Word, such a surrender and peace, but not of this world... at war against the likeness of God— the likeness of god with a roar of cicadae, night falls on Atomic Day   NOTES:   "red camellia buds," DW Bender, 2001: haiku published in Asahi Shimbun, 'Haiku in English,' August 2001 "Atomic Day...," DW Bender, August 6, 2005 "reading of cancer," DW Bender, from "Thoughts on Hiroshima Day," August 2001, World Haiku Review, Volume 1, Issue 2, WHCvanguard ("my fathers'" hands" refers to my nation's leaders before my birth, who were responsible for developing and using Atomic power against Japan; the "scar on my own belly" is from cancer surgery.) "To everything there is a season..." Ecclesiastes 3, Holy Bible, KJV "at war against," DW Bender, August 23, 2003 "with a roar," DW Bender August 6, 2005 Thanks to Susumu Takiguchi and Denis Garrison for their encouragement and help to me concerning this piece.
Susumu Takiguchi, Oxford, UK
THE END OF THE LINE—The Sixtieth Anniversary of the Auschwitz Liberation IIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII IIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII IIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII snow falls endlessly - on the railway tracks. —leading nowhere—the end of the line—where human beings—perished Echo on Serge Tome's Cry (In saluting to and in praise of this brave poet) snow falls endlessly on the railway tracks. leading nowhere the end of the line where human beings perished treated as sub-human by self-appointed super-humans. one winter too many prejudice and violence matched by paranoia and inferiority complex reversed neither summer grass nor winter snow can hide its shame two rusty iron rails lit by countless candle lights show up failed final solution sixty years on. even the bitter cold, not deterring survivors this sixtieth anniversary. liberation of the unthinkable; but what do we celebrate? as dusk takes over, braziers at the camp fence lighted, whipping winter wind red brazier lights loom. like victims' haunting eyes, yet like evil eyes also with the unblinking eyes survivors look into the darkness, their eyebrows white with snow face the dead and survived, even writing a line of poetry feels sinful and disrespectful but what can strangers do? especially from other nations? and from other generations? a European affair? Yes, but. but it's our affairs too; cut ourselves, blood spews from our wound love us, we love back; hate us, we hate back; despise us, we despise back a 20th century affair? Yes, but. Auschwitz was not unprecedented, nor has it been un-repeated atrocities are no monopoly; they may differ in size or appearances but share the same cause as snowfall does not end, so Auschwitz will happen again, unless humanity ends no one in conflicts wishes to be compared with the Nazi none of little-Hitlers wishes to be identified as or compared to the greatest incarnate of evil so many modern religious wars, so many contemporary political conflicts share so much with this man's war and yet such comparisons have become a new taboo: a sure cause of troubles Auschwitz is a complex issue; difficult to unravel or comprehend but. but, a best textbook of humanity thoughts wander and linger around why we've failed to learn lessons even from the Auschwitz? like the Great Tsunami, I wouldn't presume to understand the Holocaust but as I paint small waves, I try to understand it in ways I know how not in dozens or hundreds but I have a few individuals whom I hate personally these hateful faces, whenever I think of them I think of Auschwitz when I am angry I try to look into the mirror and gaze at what I see when I see conflicts I look into each party's own causes leading to such collisions whenever anyone criticises or attacks someone else, I rather scrutinise the attacker when a whistle-blower begins to be victimised, I will begin to take him/her seriously when people become in denial, or try to save their own skin, or fudge I start to be nervous when someone starts to preach I turn my back against him/her, checking on the preacher when someone crosses the point of moderation, I make myself agitated and alert I have trained myself hard to be able to detect any falsehood like a drug-sniffing dog I look into underlying motives, especially ulterior or selfish ones, behind people's behaviour I spend time not to gain satori but to spot the very point where normality turns into fanaticism never trust any government; not a bad starting point, be a contrarian; another cast a fundamental doubt to fundamental fallacies accepted as fundamental truths men are never created equal; making the contrary a starting point is a cause of many contradictions to treat them as if they were is what distinguishes man from beast and a base of civilisation the Nazi flouted this wisdom, one of the few noblest achievements of otherwise flawed humanity deluding themselves that they were a super race was normal madness declaring that Jews were sub-humans was abnormal madness exterminating them on the greatest racial prejudice was madness beyond comprehension attempts at playing god often end up in calamities; maybe god's wrath! the Auschwitz survivors are dying; soon there will be none, so are others of their generation collective memory and collective sense of guilt: fading or vanishing little-Hitlers are everywhere, little-collaborators, little-sympathisers and connivance abound stop these little ones or you will have another Auschwitz, not an empty threat the Nazi pushed human history back to barbarism as their dogma contained fundamental flaws but many of us have committed similar mistakes: the Japanese military, Stalin, the British Empire. The Serge Tome's list, chilling and uncomfortable, indicts today's atrocities the fundamental understanding should be: that all of us are capable of everything, including atrocities each one of us has all capabilities, good and evil, potential or overt if we deny this we still do not know much about humanity snow keeps falling at Auschwitz, buttercups will flower in spring neither of them can hide the shame of all human beings the shame should be seen, talked about and exposed, to be shared by us all otherwise, the evil in the darkest corner of our mind would be out again we must have dominion over the devil within us, by keeping our immune system strong the beauty of snow contrasts the lowest degradation, at Auschwitz	sensoh ya teki wa kaware-do nakunarazu wars never die... only enemies keep changing B29 formation against the summer sky— too young to know it was the Korean War! thought of suicide bombers on Enola Gay! little boy and fat boy— brothers of death Fat boy on Nagasaki: "Pika-Don"— blinding flash and almighty bang, granny used to say Remember Pearl Harbour! Never forget the Atomic Bombs! the darkest days between the two 8th August 1945: August—a crowded month: the atomic bomb anniversaries and that of father's death * The Hiroshima Day The Three Seconds When the World Went Mad 6 August 1945 one summer's day— bright man-made light reduced humanity into nothingness burning the hot summer— the light brighter than the sun, unleashed by human evil Little Boy from Enola Gay— three seconds' reckless mischief, then darkness and silence the three seconds when the world went mad— summer turned winter immense summer sky yielding to evil forces— black rain fire-fighting cistern— packed with schoolgirls' bodies, escaping the hell fire young mother wanders, holding fast her molten baby boy; in search of him on the ordinary steps ivory shadow of a man, transfigured into void adults as well as children were heard as they perished— calling, "Mother, Mother." charred bodies float downstream— only yesterday a serene summery stream; now an ill-smelling black river condemned to be barren— sooner than not, in autumn rain first sprouts of grasses human survival— after the Zero Hour nature restored * archopportunist— Stalin declares war between two a-bombs archopportunist— the attacks on Pearl Harbor without declaring war

 

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