Archive for the New Year Category

New Year Rambling

Posted in Haibun, New Year with tags on January 1, 2017 by Hisashi Miyazaki

Kigo (season words) generally contain a sense of time passing, and this is particularly so when a change of year is concerned. The season word, kozo-kotoshi 去年今年 (last year/this year), when used in a haiku, will conjure deep emotion for the changing of one year into the next on New Year’s Day. In a single night, yesterday will become part of the old year and today, the new. The New Year (kotoshi, or shin-nen) physically stands on the base of the Old Year (kozo, kyonen, or furutoshi).

The existence of time in this world is said to be the most perplexing enigma for the physicists to theorize over. How is it, for example, that two years can share a time border? And should such a boundary be accurate to the nearest second? Or can it be further refined to the nearest milli-, micro-, nano-, or even pico-second? Perhaps not, … although 1/∞ (infinity) second surely exists!

New Year hike –
my hot lunch at the summit,
cup noodles as usual

Old Year/New Year:
as the bullet train
passes Nagoya

Lines and limbs

Posted in Haibun, New Year, Travel on July 14, 2015 by Tito

.  “It is the line, as the custodian of the syllable, that controls the shape of a poem. Vowels expand the line; consonants contract it. … The line is the divining rod that releases the wellspring of poetry” (R. Parthasarathy). Perhaps this is also true of lineation in most English haiku?
.  I’ve just finished reading R.P.’s magnificent English translation of the 5th Century Tamil epic, the Cilappatikaram. On the first day of this year, out on the Coromandel Coast near the mouth of the Kaveri River at Poombukar, I had stumbled on a tiny local museum commemorating this gem of world literature. Thus was my interest in the epic awakened.
.  Epics could not be farther away from haiku in their length and form, and yet, strolling along the seashore afterwards amidst the holiday throng, I found a simple haiku to take away from my encounter with the mythic/erotic/heroic story of Kannaki and Kovalam I’d had that day …

Lithe black limbs flailing
As they dash into the sea …
Waves crash back.

from the Icebox inbox – 31

Posted in Autumn, New Year, Submissions, Winter on January 30, 2014 by Gerald

floating down the dark river
in my tiny boat—
who is that, singing?                                   C M Wilson

leaping salmon
sunlight falls to the rocks                            Martin

autumn wind
a swimming pool’s worth
of bare trees

New Year’s wind
blowing blowing
blown                                                           Michael Henry Lee

winter fog—
stretching a lane
the bald trees                                              Neelam Dadhwal

Interesting articles on haibun

Posted in Haibun, New Year, News with tags on January 7, 2014 by Tito

Happy New Year to all our readers!
An interesting two-part article by Joan Zimmerman has appeared at Contemporary Haibun Online. The first one is published at http://contemporaryhaibunonline.com/pages93/aaZimmerman_Article.html
and entitled “What Haibun Poets Can Learn From Non-haikai Western Poetry Practices”.
The second is at http://contemporaryhaibunonline.com/pages94/Article_Zimmerman.html and is entitled “”What English-Language Haibun Poets Can Learn From Japanese Practices”.

At the end of the year

Posted in Haipho, New Year, Winter with tags on December 31, 2013 by Mayumi Kawaharada

A bridge over the city2013.12.10Rainbow

Connecting one and all—

Winter rainbow

2011 in review (report from WordPress)

Posted in New Year, News on January 1, 2012 by Tito

WordPress.com prepared a 2011 annual report for this blog. Here’s an excerpt:

The concert hall at the Sydney Opera House holds 2,700 people. This blog was viewed about 18,000 times in 2011. If it were a concert at Sydney Opera House, it would take about 7 sold-out performances for that many people to see it.

Click here to see the complete report.

Requiescat

Posted in Haipho, New Year on January 1, 2011 by Tito

 

 

last twilight of the year

its waters, already black –

a tear to ice

 

(for Anyan, requiescat in pace)