HAIKU results – NZPS International Poetry Competition 2024

HAIKU JUDGE’S REPORT – HAZEL HALL

I want to thank the New Zealand Poetry Society for inviting me to judge this important contest, and all contestants for placing their trust in me.  In particular, I am grateful to Kim Martins for all the technical support I’ve received and for assisting me in the downloading and counting of submissions.

It is necessary to point out that these placings are only based on the insights of one particular reader. Another judge could come up with entirely different observations. So, for those who may be feeling disappointed, please do not give up. Put your work away to send to a good journal later on.

I hoped to read some themes specific to New Zealand in this competition and was rewarded with some quality haiku. The tūī was a favourite. More widely, a few perennial favourites were also present among submissions: the night sky, birth, ageing, relationships, hospital wards, grief, and the wider environment.

What do judges look for? I was seeking tight, polished poems with strong metaphors, new ideas and/or new approaches to old themes, with room for the reader to think and dream. A haiku needs to be intriguing. Some poets submitted single haiku, while others sent large, multiple entries. So, several of my choices came from haiku sequences or strings, so that some striking haiku strings have lost their ‘hearts’ on receiving an award that will involve publication.

Since only five haiku can receive prizes, I’d like to mention those that did not. Ten haiku were highly commended and fourteen received commendations. Sadly, I had to overlook some good poems. There were others where a little more thought for grammar or placement on the page might have earned a commendation or more. Some haiku tended to ‘describe’ not ‘suggest,’ depriving readers of ‘dreaming room’—the opportunity to ‘sit in the poem’ and muse on what the haiku might be suggesting. Learning to ‘show, not tell’ can be difficult, so please continue to read the work of other talented poets and read my comments on individual haiku below.

Registrations for Haiku Down Under are still open. This wonderful haiku workshop is coming soon with outstanding presenters and it’s free!

Hazel Hall

you in my bones the infinite passage of stars

If ever the slogan ‘more is less’ were exemplified, it’s found in this stunning one-liner exploring the beginning and end of human life. In nine words, the poet shows us our place in the world and universe: how we come from the stuff of stars. Moving in a beautiful anapaestic flow emphasising key words, the haiku begins with the word ‘you.’ This could refer to the reader, a group of friends, a community, a culture, or all humanity. We might pause here to reflect on this ‘one as all’ image.  Different emphases are placed on carefully chosen words. If a pause is placed after the very first word so that the poem reads: ‘you / in my bones the infinite passage of stars, the image of a lover addressing a loved one might come to mind. But if we pause after ‘bones’ (‘you in my bones / the infinite passage of stars’), the haiku focuses on our biological beginnings. Science has shown us that the stars contain all essential elements of life on Earth. Read straight through, the poem might refer to all human existence. In other words, we are all related.  If this is so, why is the world in such turmoil? Is it not time to stop and reconsider the foolishness of greed that leads to power struggles and, ultimately, war? In summing up, when we look at the keywords that make up this haiku: ‘you-bones-infinite-passage-stars’ the poem’s message becomes clear. It has moved from the finite to the eternal, suggesting that for all our grapples and grand plans, human life is brief. We are stardust—and nothing in the vast cosmos if we do not consider the health of this planet and the life on Earth that will come after us.

SECOND PRIZE:  Farah Ali, Brighton, England

braiding grass 

the tales I weave 

my daughter

This beautiful, sparsely written haiku leaves plenty of room for the reader’s imagination. Not a word is wasted; in fact, some expected words are missing. A mother is braiding grass. What is she making? Perhaps it’s a cradle or a basket to carry a newborn child on the mother’s back. As she works, she shares (‘weaves’) tales. Are these tales embedded in woven symbols, carefully hidden in her handiwork? Notice how the word ‘for’ is missing from line three, as if the mother is ‘weaving’ her daughter into her art: passing on age-old knowledge in a mystic ritual. Readers do not know if the daughter is present or still in the mother’s womb as she sits weaving. It’s up to us to decide. We will all weave our own scenarios, but many readers will visualise an indigenous mother sharing ancient skills and stories with her daughter.

THIRD PRIZE:  Joseph Howse, Terence Bay, Nova Scotia, Canada

apricot blossoms 

waiting 

for your C-section

This delightful haiku investigates our connection with the natural world. The mother is about to have a Caesarean section and, perhaps, anxious about the outcome.  It is likely that the poet is either the mother’s partner or a close member of the family—someone who is filled with anticipation at the child’s impending birth. Blossoms have often been used as a metaphor for infants—the sweet, newborn scent and the first, joyous sight of tiny pink fingers and toes. The poet’s choice of blossoms is perfect: assonance connecting ‘apricot’ and ‘blossoms,’ reminiscent of the infant’s flesh. Further use of alliteration in ‘C-section’ heightens the sense of mingled emotions. This is another poem where the second line consists of only one word, acting as a pivot between the apricot blossoms and the C- C-section so that both images are clearly defined.

FOURTH PRIZE: Patsy Turner, Akaroa, New Zealand

eye contact 

in the cancer ward 

our unspoken words

The senses are powerful languages that can be used when words are inappropriate. Many of us have experienced situations where eye contact is exchanged. This is often the knowledge that death is imminent and can happen in many ways. Perhaps between patient and loved one over a diagnosis, or a furtive sign between two family members. Where necessary, nurses and doctors also communicate by eye contact. This powerful haiku leaves all possibilities open, allowing readers to draw from their own experiences. In careful crafting by the poet, all words are emphasised except the article in line two. These words hit out, showing readers that the ‘unspoken’ message is indeed unpleasant and perhaps not unexpected. 

FIFTH PRIZE: Srinivasa Rao Sambangi, India

azan call  

the stretch of a street dog 

to chase the sun

Many of us have been spellbound by the Call to Prayer echoing from afar, especially at sunrise or sunset when the air is still. This stunning poem uses the ‘stretch of a street dog’ as its metaphor, with alliterated sibilants echoing the sense of stretching. The first question that might enter this reader’s mind is why the poet has made such a comparison. The key lies in what follows: ‘to chase the sun.’ Perhaps the ‘sun’ has a much higher meaning. Or it might suggest that all are welcome to pray if they come with open hearts. The ‘sun’ might also signify yearning for a better life. This haiku also refers obliquely to the Urdu poet Faiz Ahmad Faiz (1911-1984) and his subtle poem ‘Kuttay’ (Dogs), where he expresses the plight of the untouchables in India. Much pain and devastation is happening in the world, and I feel for all people of all faiths who are suffering at present.

HIGHLY COMMENDED IN NO PARTICULAR ORDER

Marion Moxham, Te Papa-i-Oea Palmerston North, New Zealand

albatross chick /alone / the fluffy sound of sea  

 This intriguing haiku pivots on the word ‘alone.’ The first half concerns the lone chick. The second half concerns the ‘fluffy’ sound of sea. Since the albatross only lays one egg per year, what has happened to the parents? Are they out fishing? Have they met with an unpleasant end? All that is left is the sound of the sea. The poet has used sibilants (‘albatross,’ ‘fluffy,’ ‘sound,’ ‘sea’) to suggest the softness of the little bird. A beautiful haiku.

Katherine Raine, Cromwell, Central Otago, New Zealand

warm flesh / of windfall pears – / love-letters with my ex

In a poem exploring loss and rebirth, the poet suggests that divorce might not end a relationship that was once close. Or one partner might begin to regret behaviours and choices made during that relationship.  Sometimes, a different kind of love is born where previous partners have learned to appreciate the contribution of each to the marriage. Now and then, especially where children are involved, couples regret their decision and remarry. We do not know the circumstances, only that, in this second time around, there is a sensuous warmth between the two protagonists, even if they do need to ‘pick themselves up again.’ This warmth is emphasised by assonance: ‘flesh / ‘pears’ / ‘letters’. A well-crafted haiku.

Bronwyn Bryant, Red Beach, Hibiscus Coast, New Zealand 

a heron leaves / still / the water 

This lovely haiku could well have been a one-liner. It swings on ‘still,’ which has two grammatical meanings: as an adjective or adverb. The first suggests that the water is motionless. Any slight turbulence made by the heron leaving has gone. The second meaning suggests that although the heron has left, the water is still present in all its beauty. Is the poet finding peace in the stillness or wishing the heron would return?  Is this poem a subtle reminder that our water birds are dwindling due to environmental changes? Which is most important to the poet: the heron or the water?

Owen Bullock, Canberra, Australia

one tram stop / after another / the folding clouds

 Cloud lovers will appreciate the poet’s use of the adjective ‘folding.’ As the tram moves from stop to stop, the poet gazes at the clouds, increasing and diminishing one after another as the view moves on. At a broader level, readers might see, in each tram stop, our missed carpe diems as we move from one stage to another in life’s journey. A fascinating, contemplative poem on brevity in all its mystery.

Peter Free, Lower Hutt, New Zealand

budding again / a broken stick / how some things start 

 A beautifully crafted poem with Buddhist reference to the eternity of life and environment. The poet shows us how even damaged things can surprise us. Often, almost lifeless animals, birds and plants can be saved with care and dedication. Some people who have suffered horrific injuries return to shine brightly. Those who are spiritually ‘broken’ often find peace after discovering their origins. These discoveries can lead to great works of poetry and art. This poem also has a cultural reference in which the spirit continues to exist after ‘death’; for example, the Māori belief that the deceased will always be a part of the marae (traditional meeting place). The poem is carefully crafted with the ‘broken’ stick placed on the second line of the haiku and alliterated with ‘budding’ on the first line. In line three, the poem swings optimistically towards new beginnings.

Sandra Simpson, Tauranga, New Zealand 

 a cut that won’t heal — / sleeping vagrant / in the church doorway

 What sets this poignant haiku apart from other poems exploring homelessness is the strength of the first and last lines. The word ‘vagrant’ implies an unpleasant person. Homelessness is a problem in most countries of the world. Politicians promise answers in election speeches but never find solutions. In this haiku, the vagrant is asleep outside a church, hoping to be taken in. Either the priest has not yet noticed, or the homeless person is being ignored. The ‘cut’ concerns division between street sleepers and those with homes; a cut that stings the values of the ‘haves’ and the lives of the ‘have nots.’

Caroline Masters, Laingholm, Tāmaki Makaurau

 dark mountains / moving shoreward / under each white wave

 This haiku shows us the relentless rhythms of high tide in a play on dark and light. They look like mountains, but perhaps they are slowly swallowing the life of a small island. Every line is expertly crafted to suggest the looming threat.

 Alicia France, Prebbleton, Canterbury

moonrise— / Iftar’s naan emerges from the oven

Iftar is the meal after sunset, to break daytime fast during Ramadan. The poet shows us freshly baked naan bread, served with the evening meal after fasting.  Naan is at its most delicious when served straight away, while slightly risen, like the rising moon, an image expressing the feeling of anticipation and sensory pleasure as a family prepares to break bread together, symbolic of a greater unity of faith.

Sue Courtney, Orewa, New Zealand

thunderclap! / a godwit tucks its beak / back into its back

 Normally, such blatant rhyming or repetition in short poems is frowned upon, but in this haiku, the technique works splendidly to imagine the echoes of thunder. The reader can almost hear the sudden noise. Native to New Zealand, the godwit is a migratory water bird used to all kinds of weather. This is an arresting poem of perseverance under adversity with implications for both creatures and human beings.

Edward Cody Huddleston, Georgia, USA

 her new name / the crack in the chrysalis / widens

 All kinds of possibilities widen in this poignant haiku of a butterfly struggling from the chrysalis. We can visualise the new insect resting to dry its wings before flying off, a hint at the way we write haiku ourselves. A rejected haiku might need only a word removed or a shuffle of lines before it is accepted. In the same way, we can change our names and lives, a practice common in many communities. Many indigenous people and cultures can now reclaim their traditional names and the Christian faith mentions that each believer will receive a white stone with a new name on it after death (Rev 2:17).