re:Virals 544

“More difficult than making your own verses interesting is understanding those of others…” ―Shinkei (1406 –1475). Citing this, Onitsura (1661 – 1738) wrote: “…this should be a way in which a person is completely given over to training.”

Welcome to re:Virals, The Haiku Foundation’s weekly commentary feature on some of your favorites among the best contemporary haiku and senryu written in English. In the host chair today is Keith. This week’s poem, chosen by co-host Shawn Blair in lieu of last week’s winner, was:

   
speechless this evening I'm a lamp
—Ella Aboutboul
  Modern Haiku, Volume 57.1, Winter-Spring 2026

Introducing this poem, Shawn writes:

For a moment, no clear image forms—my rational mind is surprised into passivity. At the same time, there is something in these words that inspires me and moves me to consider them more closely. Soon enough the charming picture forms of a young child whose role in a school play is to be a lamp—to express lamp-ness. But I think the verse is more complex than that in terms of possible contexts (especially when an adult lamp is assumed) and the meaningfulness of the verse continues to deepen upon contemplation. There are reasons to be rendered speechless, ways to understand the words I’m a lamp, and connotations as to the darkening part of today called this evening. Ultimately, the verse suggests to me a state of wholeness and ease. That sense of wholeness might seem odd given the subtraction of speech from the triad of body, speech and mind—but I suspect anyone who has ever taken a purposeful break from social media can probably relate. I look forward to reading the reactions and insights of others.

Host comment (Keith):

This monoku rolls off the tongue sweetly. Its first word catches the reader’s attention and immediately raises a question: is this shock, or loneliness in the absence of an interlocutor, or being without words? There are precedents for the latter in verses by Ozaki Hōsai and Santōka Taneda commencing with “ichinichi mono awaze”—”all day without a word,” generally followed by something in Nature going about its business without words needed. This follows in the path of Daoism, where the Dao, the creative force, transcends words: “Those who know do not speak; those who speak do not know” in Laozi’s Tao Te Ching (Ch. 56). The notion is carried through to Zen: words are no substitute for true enlightenment. Indeed, they can get in the way of it. Enlightenment (satori) is a direct and personal experience of reality. The same thinking is embodied in Bashō’s advice to get to know the pine by becoming one with it.

Which leads us to “I’m a lamp.” Direct metaphors such as this are uncommon in the genre, but not unknown in gendai haiku. For example Kaneko Tohta’s “after a heated argument / I go out to the street / and become a motorcycle” (tr. Ueda). In the context of wordless enlightenment, the lamp is an obvious symbol.

However, there are other connotations and other readings, as the various commentaries this week illuminate. Is it a disappointed child literally given the role of a lamp in a school play, as Shawn engagingly suggests? Is it Aladdin’s genie imprisoned? Is it a shock followed by rage, an incandescent bulb? Is it love, a warm glow for which no words are adequate? Is its warmth and light symbolic of simply being alive? Plenty on which to ruminate.

Urszula Marciniak:

How many words does it take to respond to a haiku written in a few words and encompassing “speechless”? One hundred? Five hundred? A thousand? Perhaps it’s simply better to remain silent and let the lamp illuminate everything. A lamp lit by someone else, or by ourselves, can accomplish much. Although sight and hearing are two different senses, we see more in silence. We see an inner light. In light, we hear our inner voice better, we hear our thoughts. We also hear what our partner has to say to us without words.

And again, too many words. I sink into a luminous silence.

Dan Campbell:

An Essay by Larry the Lamp Collector

I have been collecting lamps for a long, long time. When I read this poem, I could not help but interpret it as a collector. “speechless,” it begins, and I think of the moment just before a lamp is turned on, silent but not lifeless. Lamps are not chatty objects. They don’t tick like clocks or hum like refrigerators. Silence is a lamp’s strength. A good lamp changes the room quietly.

“this evening” is prime time for collectors. Daylight makes lamps look flat, evening is when lamps truly shine. I have always thought that a lamp’s real character shows at dusk, when the surrounding light fades and the bulb decides what kind of glow to give—warm amber, sharp white, or soft gold.

Then comes the line that makes me read it over and over: “I’m a lamp.” To most people, that might sound like a downgrade—turning into an object, fixed in one spot. But to a collector, a lamp is personality shaped into purpose. Saying “I’m a lamp” means: I’m not arguing tonight; I’m shedding light.

There is something really human in that choice. Lamps don’t compete with furniture; they enhance the room. Lamps reveal truths. A well-placed lamp softens harsh edges, makes most faces look kinder, and allows conversation to flow without glare. If the speaker has become speechless, it may be because words would only disrupt.

Lamp collectors learn to respect wattage. If it’s too bright, the room feels uncomfortable. If it’s too dim, it turns gloomy. The poem’s conciseness feels just right—no extra voltage, no flashy embellishments. Just enough words to light up the room.

Identifying as a lamp means accepting a certain vulnerability. You rely on current. You stay where you are placed. You can be switched off. But you also endure. I have lamps older than me and that still shine after decades.

What I appreciate in the poem is its calm observation. There is no self-pity in the statement. It feels like someone standing in a quiet room at dusk, recognizing their role for the night. Not a chandelier demanding attention. Not a spotlight seeking focus.

Just a lamp—dependable and on duty. In my experience, the best lamps aren’t the center of attention; they create conditions for others to be seen. Perhaps that is the poem’s insight: tonight, the self doesn’t need to be heard; it needs to create light for the room. And as any lamp collector would say, that is not a lesser role. It’s why we turn on the switch.

Ricky Lee:

This poem is not easy for me to understand at first. In my opinion, it suggests that being quiet does not mean we are not surviving. As human beings, we sometimes need time to recover, take a break, and listen to ourselves. Silence can be a way of healing.

Although we are quiet sometimes, we still hope that someone can accompany us. Deep inside, we may be waiting for someone who understands us without too many words. Being silent does not mean we do not have feelings; it only means we choose not to express them at that moment.

This poem reminds me that in the evening, we do not always have to explain ourselves or express everything we feel. Sometimes, it is enough to sit quietly, like a lamp, gently shining in the darkness. Even without speaking, we still exist, and we still give light in our own way.

Adam Graham:

There is a meditative terror in this poem, expressed with a trace of cartoonish humor, subtly poking at the worn-out commentary regarding the absence of ego and the whole “get-the-writer-out-of-the-poem” hand-wringing prudishness in English-language haiku.

Something momentous and tragic has occurred. The connotation of the term “speechless” hints at what, the revelation of infidelity? The news of the death of a loved one? A personal financial disaster? A ruinous political movement gaining power? The darkness is fresh, in the present; it is yet “evening,” a bleaker midnight is still to come. For now, there is a numbness. The moment smacks the Speaker, and in response the ego dissipates, the self transforms into the object of a lamp. The self, shoved to its limits, escapes itself. A psychological maneuver blunting the impact of the moment (which adds a bit of irony, earlier dubbed “poking,” to a literary form many define as intensifying, and reveling in the impact of a moment)

At the literal level perhaps the Speaker, in the aftermath of terrible news, stares transfixed into the light of the lamp. In the face of the unspeakable, the Speaker gazes into the light, unconsciously meditating on the symbolic force of that which conquers darkness. The Speaker becomes the light, desperate to annihilate both the moment and the self. Yet, the lamp is a false sun outflanked by the dying light of day.

An additional refuge from the terror of the moment is the humor in the poem, the cartoon hocus-pocus of the Speaker becoming a lamp. The kindergarten simplicity by which the magic is declared: I’m a lamp; the phrase has the silly humor of a child stating the obvious, yet impossible, to an uncomprehending adult. I’m a lamp. The spell is cast. I am safe inside the thing I am not.

Radhamani Sarma:

This week’s one line haiku by Ella Aboutboul captures the painter, story teller in her own way leaving ample configurations for readers to choose, where you become dumbfounded, when your light within glows.

Beginning with “speechless” we wonder why the person is unable to speak.  Emotional stress, shock, or introspection of past misery?  Immersed in the gloom of evening, every moment is a passing shadow.  She survives this testing time with a transformation: the aura of a lamp.  A simple write replete with many insightful forays.

Sitarama Seshu Maringanti:

This haiku of Ella Aboutboul offers an interesting prospect for interpretation. In one sense, there is a personification of the lamp. In another, it serves as the object of a statement by the poet who for reasons not stated is speechless on an evening when the lamps in every home or street are about to be lit. Lamps are considered in every culture as the source of enlightenment. Hindu scriptures pray for enlightenment from an era of ignorance or darkness. Tamaso maa jyotirgamaya is the relevant verse in Sanskrit. The Buddha’s enlightenment under the Bodhi tree is represented by a glow of the light. Many a leader of the world is described as a torch-bearer for his chosen cause. In other words, the (confused, if I may say so with apologies to her) speechless and silent poet seems to seek light from the glow of the evening lamp.

Sudha Devi Nayak:

The lamp is inanimate,voiceless yet disseminating a light that spells an emergence from darkness. In the literal sense we see things as they are and in a metaphorical sense obscurity and ignorance are shattered in the brightness of it,s glow and we enter arenas of light that grant us wisdom and realisation. A liberation,a release from preconceived notions and rigid postures,a spiritual awakening that led prophets through the ages to comprehend the mysteries of the universe and the working of the world and finally the path to peace. The incendiary spark from the lamp has ignited souls giving birth to movements and revolutions and change in human life.
The humble lamp has lighted the way for the lonely traveller befuddled and misguided to his destination- “Lead kindly light lead thou me on, for the night is dark and I am far from home”. The inner light in a man’s soul is akin to the light of the lamp that suddenly breaks through his consciousness and his apathy and in that epiphanic moment he becomes aware of the eternal verities of life.

Gautama Buddha shielded from uncomfortable truths confronts age, disease and death that teach him through a lifelong quest that they are the inevitabilities of all life, and wisdom lies in gracious acceptance. The utterance of God in the Bible “Let there be Light” signifies His authority that establishes order and life on Earth through light, overcoming all darkness. The light emanating from the stars and the moon at night or the light of the sun breaking through the dawn,or “the spark that ignites the clod” one fine day is the beginning of wisdom hope and renewal.

Sean Murphy:

My first thought upon reading this poem was of the Sexy Lamp Test, a feminist media critique alleging that, too often, female characters are so objectified and thought so little of that they could be replaced with a prop, without changing anything of substance about the story. In this light, the poem is an expression of frustration at being similarly reduced to an accessory, disallowed from speaking — or from speaking honestly — by patriarchal social pressure.

On the other hand, this poem can be read with a much lighter tone, especially if we interpret it irresponsibly literally: The author has actually, bodily, become a lamp, and is rendered speechless out of surprise and confusion, or possibly because lamps can’t talk. Who knows? We’re already in Wonderland, after all; perhaps it’s stranger that the lamp isn’t talking.

Ultimately, I’m inclined to read it as somewhere between those tonal extremes. While “speechless” can convey surprise, “this evening” stretches out the time frame such that it more likely describes a sustained inability to speak, which in most contexts would be a frustrating experience. Balancing that out, “I’m a lamp”, whatever it literally means, is a whimsical turn of phrase that gives the poem a sense of play; it brings to mind a children’s make-believe game or an improv session. The tension between these emotions, along with the lack of an obvious (non-silly) literal interpretation, makes this a poem that largely gives back what you put into it. Is this a moment of imaginative play? Crushing oppression? A magical transformation? A quiet panic attack? Peace? Brewing conflict? All of the above? None? In the end, it’s up to you.

David Cox—the genie is out of the bottle: enlightenment!:

This straightforward monoku immediately evokes one particular image and idea for me: firstly, the glowing lamp from the Arabian Nights, touched and glowing, ready to do its magic; and the idea of enlightenment. If we are in the darkest of days – not just with the recent cycle of current affairs but also in terms of the season – the maxim ‘the darkest hour is just before the dawn’ comes to mind. The speaker in the poem is not personifying an object, but objectifying themself in their declarative “I’m a lamp”. Many events of the past twelve months have been enough to strike us speechless. Often, pundits have speculated on the idea that we are slowly becoming immunised to shock and, therefore, surprise, as a genuine emotion, is becoming a rarity.

This sudden transformation brings about as much surprise as it might have done for the reader or protagonist in Kafka’s Metamorphosis. The transformation, of course, like many motifs in Kafka’s work, is figurative. The extended metaphors often point to something ghastly. Yet, the speaker in this poem does not indicate whether the transformation from human to lamp brings about shock or awe, or both; she is simply “speechless”.

However, it does seem that as night approaches, it is the speaker who may be providing the light and even the warmth that wards off the darkness, possibly in the absence of other reliable sources. This comes with great responsibility. To cast light on things does not just imply better understanding but getting to the truth in a time when sunlight has been described as the best disinfectant. To be the bringer of warmth and light in darkness is also the very essence of creation. Is it a super-power like Prometheus’? Does it hold the capacity to be used for both good and evil? Perhaps, once the genie is out of the bottle, the wisher is past the point of return.

Author Ella Aboutboul:

I wrote the piece on a dark November afternoon. It was day 54 out of my ‘100 days Buson haiku challenge’ during which I was committed to writing 10 haiku/senryu a day. I decided early on that I would allow myself to write ‘rubbish poems,’ which liberated me to write whatever without obsessing about making it better. It was with this state of mind that I wrote ‘speechless’. Sitting and gazing at a tall velvet lamp with a cup of tea, I longed to clear my head from noise. The lamp appeared serene and relaxed just standing there and distributing light and shadow. I had been feeling overwhelmed by events in my personal life and in the world, and this quality of muted chiaroscuro felt attractive. I wrote the line and something clicked. I liked the comic simplicity and the strange truth in it.

Keith invited me to share my thoughts on monoku in general. I tend to favor the classic three line haiku for its pleasing cascading structure, and the anticipation in between lines. What attracts me about monoku is the potential of a short long ride in one line. A good monoku for me as a reader will include a soft glitch in the flow like a train suddenly stopping, jerking its passengers and regrouping as if nothing happened, but with a changed landscape.

Thanks to all who sent commentaries. As the contributor of the commentary reckoned best this week, David has chosen next week’s poem, which you’ll find below. We invite you to write a commentary to it. It may be short, to a maximum of about 500 words (succinctness will be valued); academic, your personal response, spontaneous, or idiosyncratic.  As long as it focuses on the verse presented, and with respect for the poet, all genuine reader reaction, criticism, and pertinent discussion is of value.   Out-takes are kept in the THF Archives.  Best of all, the chosen commentary’s author gets to pick the next poem.

Anyone can participate. Simply use the re:Virals commentary form below to enter your commentary on the new week’s poem (“Your text”) by the following Tuesday midnight, Eastern US Time Zone, and then press Submit to send your entry. The Submit button will not be available until Name, Email, and Place of Residence fields are filled in. We look forward to seeing your commentary and finding out about your favourite poems.

Poem for commentary:

     
memorial bench. . .
she shares her chit-chat
with the pigeons
— Annie Wilson
  Blithe Spirit Vol. 34, No. 4, November 2024

Footnote:

Bio
Ella started learning and writing haiku in 2020, many years after poetry jotting in childhood and young adulthood. Her work has appeared in various publications including: Haiku Dialogue, Hedgerow, Whiptail, The Pan Haiku review, Prune Juice, Modern Haiku and The Heron’s Nest. Presently a fine art student, she lives in West Sussex UK with her husband.

Comment:

As to enlightenment not arising through studying the literature, even re:Virals, I’m minded of a verse last year in Presence 81:

reading lamp
the surrounding
darkness
— Govind Joshi

Would you rather spend a night reading, than standing in a cold dark forest with your arms around a pine?

re:Virals is co-hosted by Shawn Blair, Melissa Dennison, Susan Yavaniski, and Keith Evetts (managing editor).

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