1)
***
frosty night,
echo of a bell
opens the sky
(Andrea Cecon)

One can share the perception of the surrounding world by creating sounds, smells, mixing colors. In this haiku the mediator is the sound, which switches on the reader's imagination. Try to imagine the depth of the sound of the bell, which can be heard from far away in the clear, frosty evening air. Where from? - there is always our own Ueno or Asakusa around, one just needs to tune in.

This sound is very soft; it does not cut the sky open, does not burst it like a gun shot, but makes the void almost visible to the eye through the slow resonating waves in the dark blue substance of the twilight...
This haiku is not about one unique moment (like a splash of water or a strike of lightning). This haiku is about the growing sensation of depth and density of the infinite. The echo of the bell toll interlaces with the ordinary sounds of nature Ч crackle of the tree bark in the winter frost, squeak of the snow under feet. The use of the word "echo" is not accidental here. It's the rolling sounds of the bell toll, which come in waves, repeatedly increasing and fading, that fill the poem with a special meaning. And at some point, or maybe gradually, the faint sounds of the far-off ceremony, distorted by the distance, by the space itself, awake, open this vision of the sky. Then goes a metaphor, which everyone would probably interpret differently. This sky opening has the moment of self-understanding and the sacred essence of the Creation.
This haiku contains the spirit of yugen ("hidden revelation", "concealed essence", "latent simplicity" are just a few translations of this broad term from the Japanese). Describing the style of the yugen-poem, Mibu Tadamine, poet and theorist of the early X century , suggested to use simple, even banal words and expressions, but to put them together in a peculiar, full of mystery, way. Something similar I see here.
"The cosmic space decreases to the size of the country, emperor's palace, one's own home and one's own body. This space is limited to the immediate proximity of the person, who does not try to look far away. Instead, the person develops an ability to see things surrounding him or her in much more detail, notice all the minor changes in it..." - writes A.N. Mesheryakov about the Japanese poetry of the X century. I think that that this can be said not only about Japan and not only about the X century.
This haiku attracted me because it let me feel something different from the usual sensations created by "zoom effect" haiku, which have become already traditional for us.
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2)
***
Bluish liquor
from the bottle into the clear decanter
I poured before the bed-time -
falling asleep I admire
the play of the moon glare...

***
wild irises
in a white porcelain
fading;
bluish veins on your hand -
how beautifully you are ageing!

***
How beautiful and clear
this dark-green and cool emerald
on the hand
Just stroke it gently -
And the waves of sorrow will sweep over...

I've put these three waka next to each other on purpose. They have a lot in common: dominance of the color, sense of time, and lyricism, restrained but apparent. The first and the third poems belong to the poet of the Silver Age (Meiji era) Kihatara Hakushu, the second one has been written recently by the young poet Valeria Simonova. Valeria wrote her poem in the traditions of the Silver Age tanka. Its spirit, in my opinion, is similar to the poetry of that period in general, not only the Japanese.
It is a very colorful waka, filled with delicate meaning, phonetic alliterations and emotional plays. This waka leaves the reader with a strong "aftertaste" of color, though the author mentions it only once - blue vein. The ENTIRE waka, however, is subconsciously perceived in blue and violet tones. The flowers cast bluish shadows on the porcelain vase, next to which woman's hands lie resting. The skin, which once used to be brilliant white, and the exquisite grace of these hands can only be compared to a precious china, to... a porcelain vase from a distant foreign country. The time, however, slowly but surely changes the looks, revealing the essence of things. It makes the delicate iris petals wrinkle. In the forthcoming evening twilight, the veins of the petals become more distinct and apparent. The period of withering follows the period of blossoming. These two witherings - of a flower and of a woman - are juxtaposed here on a very high note.
Despite the softness of the pivot, created by the unity of colors and texture, and therefore the softness of the caesura, the reader can fully appreciate the expressiveness of the last two lines.

The Japanese poets of the Silver Age, (and Ito Satio in particular) defined tanka as "vibration of emotions". The vibrations created by this tanka are multi-dimensional (color, time, rhythm of the poem). Emotions evoked by this tanka have a large amplitude: ranging from understanding of "the essential oneness of the nature and one's ego" (co-called shasei in the Japanese tanka poetry), to sensuality and erotism, from sensuality to worshiping and devout contemplation. And from contemplation - to sorrow. To sorrow of violet color.

With a light-pink tongue
cat touching my hand -
and in this touch
the charm of the life's sadness
reveals for the first time to me...
(Saito Mokiti)

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3)
***
early evening
the street photographer
changes perspective
(L. Popov)

When I read this haiku, I thought that there are so many ways, either in rhymes or in prose, one can describe the sunset, reflected in the windows and the domes of the churches, the sunset that quaintly colors the architectural monuments and the sculptures. There are also so many ways to depict the person with a photo camera overwhelmed by this view and trying to capture this ever-changing play of light and shadow (the Japanese call this type of change a "ryuko"). The haiku genre, however, demands semantic laconism, which gives the reader the opportunity to complete the picture.
In this haiku the author creates the image using the "irregular", i.e. slightly different words, so that at first we feel the urge to decipher the rebus, and than to look at the image.
The fact that the reader needs to take a moment to "translate" and "unzip" this haiku into a regular sentence about
- a photographer
- making a picture
- of the square architecture
- nicely colored by
- the setting sun
creates the excitement of a puzzle solving
The way the author is able to say EVERYTHING by actually saying nothing is truly amazing. The author involves the reader, who has to mentally look into the viewfinder together with the photographer. Now I need to move the camera, as the next church dome has been lit by the sunset, now I have to capture an interesting shadow play on that sculpture...

This haiku appeals to me also because everyone can see his or her own favorite square in the viewfinder: the Red square, Grand Place, San-Marco in Venice or a square in the home town with pigeons and an indispensable stone monument of somebody in the middle. One can change the perspective in accordance with various memories, make a panoramic view. Why not? It's worth trying...
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= Translated by the ULITKA =