HAIKU DIALOGUE – Energy of Motion – Stillness in Movement – commentary

Energy of Motion with Guest Editor Vidya Shankar

Photography is poetry in a different dimension. Just as a poet captures emotional vibration in time and space within the framework of words, so does a photographer through the frame of their lens, thereby freezing it for eternity. There is a certain meditative aspect to this capturing. It exudes the energy of stillness, but also of motion. Photographs, like poems, or any other art forms, move through time and space, through the years because of this stillness. Thereby lies the paradox that we can explore through our poems.

Below is Vidya’s commentary for Stillness in Movement:

answered prayers
tap water pooling
in open palms

Sangita Kalarickal
USA

Sangita’s poem, besides being skilfully crafted with consonance, is a stark reminder of the inequality that exists over something very essential: water. We all know about water wars and water scarcity, and how there are several villages, towns, and even cities where its people have to go to great lengths to fetch and store water for their basic, daily use. Yet, how many of us even give a thought about this inequality whenever we turn a tap and enjoy the privilege? This poem appeals to me on a personal level, too, because I know the joy of such an answered prayer. I live in Chennai (previously, Madras), a metropolitan city, where we have had a long history of water shortage. It was many years before I knew the convenience of using water from a tap as and when our household required rather than fetching and storing sufficient water that would last us for two or even three days.

after pirouettes
at full shutter speed
a long, low bow from the danseur

Ann Rawson
Scotland UK

When a photographer works with a dancer, it is not about just capturing a moment but translating movement on to a visual framework. The photograph is a slice of time in which the dancer is suspended in a pose. But it is only a pause, not the end. In this relationship between the dancer and the photographer, movement and speed is a study in contrast. While the dancer moves in abandon, lost in rapture, the photographer is more meditative, completely focussed on the dance and the dancer, alert, almost predicting the dancer’s next move. There is fluidity in the dancer’s movement, speed defying stillness. Whereas the photographer moves with precision and purpose, often embracing stillness. For the photographer, speed is all about control, controlling shutter speed for definiteness. And when the performance is over, the two of them concede their art to the other with a ‘long, low bow’. The photographer has frozen the dancer’s final obeisance to the audience in a timeless shot while the dancer acknowledges the photographer’s skill with a smile of gratitude.

orange sunset
a ragpicker bends
to sort his treasures

Padma Rajeswari
Mumbai, India

An orange-hued sun minutes before it sets shimmers like molten gold. A show-stopper. Whenever possible, I go up to my terrace to watch this celestial show. It doesn’t last long but for as long as it does, I don’t take my eyes off the orange ball so I can treasure the memory. A ragpicker, however, does not have the privileges I have. For them, sunset means the onset of darkness when it would become difficult for them to pick things discarded by people like us. Or, if done with the collection, perhaps sort through their day’s findings to see if they have something worthy of the price of a meal or two. The ephemeral beauty of the setting sun is no attraction against what would briefly alleviate their poverty. While each one their ‘treasures’, shouldn’t we pause to consider what real, everlasting treasure is?

first snowfall
one final swing
on the rope

Roberta Beach Jacobson
Indianola, IA, USA

This ku is so visual, I kept going back to it as one would to a favourite movie or scene. This child swinging on a rope in the front / back yard of their house, a light snow begins to fall, a concerned adult asking them to get indoors. But the child doesn’t leave immediately. They sneak in one more swing before they go inside. As a teacher, I have often noticed students do this. One last run at Tag, one last throw or kick of the ball before they have to run back to their classrooms after playtime. Their ‘one final’ also sometimes extends to getting in a couple of words or a sentence on an answer script before they have to hand in an exam paper to an invigilator. Roberta’s poem and my own experiences make me wonder, is this something only children do? Or, could it be that I haven’t really noticed it with adults?

last stub of wax
but still the flame
slow sax

John S Green
Bellingham, Washington

A beautiful poem not just because of its assonance but also because of the vivid image it portrays. It reminds me of my growing up years, before the days of home inverters, when power cut meant lighting candles. When the candle is tall and strong, we would play board games, doodle, read, sing songs, share stories, eat. But as the candle almost burnt itself out with most of the wax melted, a hush would descend upon the room. The songs would stop, the books closed, there would be no more stories to tell. We would watch the last stub to see how much longer the flame could hold on before we had to light a fresh candle. I would sit still, watching the last vestiges of the flame and when it would eventually die, I used to be aware of the flame in my eyes. I would then close my eyes until the impression of the flame dissipated within me. I did not know about trataka then, but I remember experiencing something very tranquil, something that seemed to touch the core of my being. Like soft, soulful music that transports one to a mystic realm.

(trataka: a yogic meditation that involves steady gazing at a point, preferably a candle flame.)

surrendering to the boulders brook

Tejendra Sherchan
Nepal

At first, a brook is just a brook, starting off small. As it keeps moving forward and onward, it begins to grow, becoming something fuller and bigger. It is now no longer a brook but a stream and, later, a river until it finally merges with the ocean. With this union comes the understanding that whatever its name or form was, it always was water. This realisation does not come easy. In the beginning, the brook has to fight its way through pebbles and stones. But as it gets fuller and swollen with water, rushing towards its reality, it finds that there are not pebbles but boulders along its path. The brook is bigger and stronger now, yet it does not fight. Not because it is futile but because it knows. The purpose of a brook is not to flow but to become the awareness that it is one with the ocean. Boulders are but distractions and hurdles. The best way to get going on the quest is to accept that the path is laid with them and that it is easier to flow around them in realisation rather than slash against them in retaliation.

Join us next week for our next prompt…

Bios:

Guest Editor Vidya Shankar, Associate Editor for haikuKATHA journal, and author of two poetry books, is a writing coach, freelance copy editor, and an English Language teacher from Chennai, India. A widely published poet, her work has appeared in prestigious collections such as the Yearbook of Indian Poetry in English and the Poetry Marathon anthologies, and her haiku longlisted for the Touchstone 2024 awards. Featured in a unique coffee table book on 50 inspiring women of Chennai, Vidya loves singing, dancing, and making art. She finds meaning to her life through yoga.

Facebook: Vidya Shankar
Instagram: @vidya.shankar.author

Assistant Editor Lafcadio, a former teacher, now works from home writing, editing and proofreading study guides for nursing textbooks. She lives in Tennessee. She has written poetry for a long time but a couple of years ago fell in love with Japanese micropoetry and hasn’t looked back. Lafcadio has been published in a number of journals and anthologies. She writes under the nom de plume of Lafcadio because nom de plume is so fun to say. You can read her poems on Twitter (X) @lafcadiopoetry or BlueSky @lafcadiobsky.

Assistant Editor Vandana Parashar is an associate editor of haikuKATHA and one of the editors of Poetry Pea and #FemkuMag. Her debut e-chapbook, I Am, was published by Title IX Press (now Moth Orchid Press) in 2019 and her second chapbook Alone, I Am Not, was published by Velvet Dusk Publishing in April 2022.

Lori Zajkowski is the Post Manager for Haiku Dialogue. She lives in New York City and enjoys reading and writing haiku.

Managing Editor Katherine Munro lives in Whitehorse, Yukon Territory, and publishes under the name kjmunro. She served as Membership Secretary for Haiku Canada for ten years, and her debut poetry collection is contractions (Red Moon Press, 2019). Find her at: kjmunro1560.wordpress.com.

Portrait by Laurel Parry

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Banner Photo & Prompt Photo credit:  Shankar Ramakrishnan

Haiku Dialogue offers a triweekly prompt for practicing your haiku. Posts appear each Wednesday with a prompt or a selection of poems from a previous week.