For the next five weeks, we will focus on haikai selected from the anthology Naad Anunaad: an anthology of contemporary world haiku. (Kala Ramesh, Sanjuktaa Asopa, Shloka Shankar, eds. Pune, IN: Vishwakarma Publications, 2016, ISBN# 978-93-85665-33-2), which our Triveni editor-in-chief, Kala Ramesh has graciously invited me to discuss.
Part 1: Thresholds of Stillness
In haikai, presence is not performance. It is not the doing but the "being with"—a quality of attention that listens rather than declares. The Japanese aesthetic of ma is often described as “the space between,” but it is more than pause—it is a living silence, a vital stillness where meaning breathes.
In this first part of our series, we explore haikai that draw us to such thresholds. Here, the world is neither static nor hurried. Instead, it unfolds layer by layer, petal by petal, breath by breath.
mountain behind mountain behind mountain—petals of a rose—Aditya Bahlthe cricket cage doorleft open starry night—Alan Pizzarelli
Both poems gesture toward the infinite by way of the intimate. Bahl’s haikai moves from the immense to the intricate, echoing Bashō’s layers of depth, where landscape and blossom become one continuous revelation. Pizzarelli offers a small, almost imperceptible action—a cage door left ajar—that opens to a cosmos shimmering with possibility. In both these poems, ma is not merely a break in sound or a pause in thought—it is the very medium through which presence arrives.
PROMPT: Where do you find stillness today? What threshold beckons your attention,
provokes you to linger? Write a haikai that explores one quiet moment of undistracted
presence. Invite us to enter that space with you.
The mundane is not the opposite of the sacred—it is often its quietest doorway. In haiku, even the smallest gestures can resound with emotional and sensory depth. The act of cooking, the hush of evening light—these become resonant because of the attention they are given, not because they are grand.
lullaby of rain
another pinch of saffron
in the pumpkin soup
—Alan Summers
stringing beans …a scrap of twilit skythrough the window
—Anitha Varma
Summers’ poem moves through layered sound and scent—the lull of rain, the golden hue of spice, the warmth of soup. All sensory, all immediate. And yet, the implied repetition in “another pinch” suggests something ongoing, a rhythm of care and noticing. In Varma’s haiku, the domestic act of preparing food is quietly framed by the world beyond—a glimpse of twilight through a window, a reminder that time and place are always entangled. Both haiku model an attention that does not seek to elevate the moment, but to enter it. That entrance—deliberate, unadorned, and receptive—is the hallmark of presence.
PROMPT: What moment of quiet rhythm stayed with you today? What small gesture widened your awareness? Write a haikai that captures the enduring beauty and comfort of a small ritual, the mundane redefined by your presence.
KIGO REFERENCES
A Dictionary of Haiku Classified by Season Words with Traditional and Modern Methods, by Jane Reichhold.
Indian subcontinent SAIJIKI, Triveni Haikai, India.
The World Kigo Database, curated by Dr. Gabi Greve.
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