2019 Results

PARTICIPANTS

At the Eighth Edition of The Haiku Contest SHARPENING THE GREEN PENCIL 2019 organized by Romanian Kukai Group have participated 224 participants from 6 continents and 41 countries as follows: AFRICA 1 Kenya 1 2 Nigeria 1 3 South Africa 1 ASIA 1 India 20 2 Indonesia 4 3 Japan 1 4 Malaysia 3 5 Nepal 1 6 Philippines 4 7 Thailand 1 8 Vietnam 1 AUSTRALIA 1 Australia 9 2 New Zealand 6 EUROPA 1 Belgium 3 2 Bosnia and Herzegovina 2 3 Bulgaria 9 4 Croatia 34 5 Cyprus 1 6 France 5 7 Germany 7 8 Ireland 1 9 Italy 8 10 Lithuania 8 11 Macedonia 4 12 Montenegro 1 13 Poland 7 14 Portugal 1 15 Romania 13 16 Russia 5 17 Serbia 3 18 Slovenia 2 19 Spain 3 20 Switzerland 2 21 Ukraine 1 22 United Kingdom 5 NORTH AMERICA 1 Canada 9 2 United States of America 33 SOUTH AMERICA 1 Argentina 1 2 Brazil 1 3 Trinidad 1 The organizers would like to express their gratitude to the participants for such a large interest and invite everyone to participate in the seventh edition, which will start in February 2020. Jim Kacian, President of the Jury Cezar Florin CIOBÎCĂ, Member of the Jury Dan DOMAN, Member of the Jury Lavana KRAY, Member of the Jury Corneliu Traian Atanasiu, Secretary, Congratulations to the winners and commended haiku poets.

WINNERS

FIRST PRIZE sea breeze... I breathe in your accent Martha Magenta Bristol, UNITED KINGDOM Everything about this poem is charming: who does not welcome a sea breeze? And what is so winsome as a foreign accent (at least when we deem it so)? And what astute reader does not appreciate that slight slip from “breeze” to “breathe” that is at the heart of this poem? So many elements have been piled up to beguile us. But the poem is not about charm, but foreignness: what can it mean to “breathe in” an accent? We might convince ourselves we know what the poet intends, but in fact it’s impossible to be certain. Doesn't the poem, then, enact itself? This seamless and streamlined packet of words slips by us before we hardly have time to think. We rely upon its charm — trust it, even — to steer us through that which cannot be fully comprehended, to bring us face to face with what we might not be willing to face if we were to think it through. Breathe in an accent? Charming... and then what? So much implicit in a little dalliance beside the sea... comment by Jim Kacian translation by Ana Drobot

SECOND PRIZE evening chill . . . a paper plane stuck on barbed wire Kanchan Chatterjee Jamshedpur, INDIA I can’t be sure, but I expect the poet intends us to read “barbed wire” as an accoutrement of war, though it could be more normal — more mercantile — as simply a measure to keep the cattle penned in. In any case, these flights of childhood are no match to the stern realities of the adult world, and the telling image is an overt lesson to those who come upon it. If not for the slightly “telling” first line, this poem probably would have ranked higher for me. [Note: I have edited this slightly, removing an article from the third line which a native English speaker would recognize as unnecessary.] comment by Jim Kacian translation by Ana Drobot

THIRD PRIZE white butterflies thinking about everything I lost Eufemia Griffo Settimo Milanese, ITALIA While recognizing the quality of this poem, I admit to uncertainty as to where it should rank. There are two primary reasons for this: 1) the butterfly as a symbol of impermanence is hardly a new idea, especially in haiku; and 2) the self-reference in this poem is primarily about the persona of the poem (arguably the poet). Taking up this latter point first, it is perfectly acceptable to include personal pronouns in haiku, but their reach is magnified when they are used to indicate a more communal aspect — not the “I” of the poet, but the “I” of the species. While it is possible to extrapolate such a position from this poem, it doesn’t seem its primary focus. On the first point, there are so many lepidoptera in the literature that it’s unnecessary to mention any single example. However, the whiteness of these particular insects, specified, gives the poem something more. It is as though they are the blank slate to which the poet has been reduced, all color, all promise, stripped away. So, even though the poem is a bit self-indulgent, it contains enough for the rest of us to be noted here. comment by Jim Kacian translation by Ana Drobot

HONORABLE MENTION (NO ORDER)

war anniversary her daughter knows each star by name Pragya Vishnoi Kanpur, INDIA I wish I knew better how to read this poem. It’s possible that the daughter’s knowledge of the stars is a direct consequence of the war, and that she has memorized them from some personal need: did she search the skies looking for a returning plane? Did she wish upon the stars for a better future? And possibly the poet’s intended readers know exactly what is meant here. But I find that I did not, and that as a result I had to engage in quite a lot of speculation as to how to make the two pieces of the poem line up. It is a testament to the poetic materials assembled that even with my limited access to understanding it, the poem compelled my attention, and haunts me for not knowing more. comment by Jim Kacian translation by Ana Drobot

planetarium . . . one by one his teeth shine Aparna Pathak Gurugram, INDIA This one requires little beyond itself to be appreciated: a classic and clever misdirection haiku, and one that cannot help but make us, like the viewer, smile. By way of historical appreciation, perhaps unintended by the poet, the only other haiku reference of which I am aware of “shining teeth” is by Michael McClintock in a very very different context. comment by Jim Kacian translation by Ana Drobot

morning light dripping from the wet leaves a cuckoo's call Zoran Doderović Novi Sad, SERBIA This traditional haiku uses a neat pivoting middle line for its effect, so making the morning light and the cuckoo’s call seem fashioned from the same material. The physical dimension of the poem — the drip and the slip — make the sliding of the one into the other all the more seamless and enjoyable. comment by Jim Kacian translation by Ana Drobot

COMMENDED

(NO ORDER)

last chemo session- the snow-snakes pouring tears from magnolia tree Miljenko Šimunović Ivanić-Grad, CROATIA
	First snow of the year The telephone starts to shrill Deborah Karl-Brandt Bonn, GERMANY
family reunion - we spit out seeds like before … Chirag Tulsiani Kolkata, INDIA
	waning moon — the cicadas' sudden silence Wilfredo R. Bongcaron Manila, PHILIPPINES
receding shore - the refugee’s doll trailing kelp Cynthia Rowe Sydney, AUSTRALIA