NeverEnding Story

26 December 2024

Christmas season—

a year later

in the glove compartment

a tissue packet

from the funeral home

                  Eye to Eye (Tanka Society of America anthology), 2023

                  聖誕季節—

                  一年之久

                  在汽車手套箱裡

                  來自殯儀館

                  的一包紙巾

                                    圣诞季节—

                                    一年之久

                                    在汽车手套箱里

                                    来自殡仪馆

                                    的一包纸巾

Unexpected yet visually and emotionally poignant Line five challenges the festive nature of line one, raising an important issue about how to cope with grief at Christmas while remembering loved ones.

29 November 2024

morning sun

warming our sheets . . .

for a moment

as you slide your body down,

your nipple in my navel

                  Footsteps in the Fog, 1994

                  早晨的陽光

                  暖和我們的床單 . . .

                  持續了一會兒

                  當你的身體向下滑動時

                  你的乳頭卡在我的肚臍裡

                                    早晨的阳光

                                    暖和我们的床单 . . .

                                    持续了一会儿

                                    当你的身体向下滑动时

                                    你的乳头卡在我的肚脐里

Michael’s tanka effectively builds, line/poetic phrase by line/poetic phrase, to an unexpected yet visually and emotionally evocative ending that reveals the theme of spousal sensuality.

5 June 2023

ink stain

on the pillow slip—

what else but write

can I do

while you’re gone

                  Tangled Hair, 2, 2000

                  墨漬

                  在枕套上—

                  當你不在的時候

                  除了寫作之外

                  還有什麼事我可以做

                                    墨渍

                                    在枕套上—

                                    当你不在的时候

                                    除了写作之外

                                    还有什么事我可以做

Michael’s tanka effectively builds, poetic phrase/line by poetic phrase/line, to a thematically significant and emotionally powerful ending that reveals the theme of writing as a way of easing the pain of loneliness (as indicated in lines 3 through 5, the last of which has the most weight). And the following tanka could be read as a sequel:

                waking half way

                through the day

                half the sunshine

                half the pain

                —still time for a poem

                             Helen Buckingham, Little Purple Universes, 2011

1 November 2022

foreclosure—

the skull of something

in the crawlspace

                  The Heron’s Nest 18:2, June 2016       +

                  房屋止贖通知 . . .

                  某種東西的頭骨

                  在房屋底層的爬行空間

                                    房屋止赎通知 . . .

                                    某种东西的头骨

                                    在房屋底层的爬行空间

This fresh, ghostly, and effective juxtaposition makes the foreclosed house in line one function thematically and visually like an abandoned house haunted by a ghost, one that can be inferred from lines two and three. This is a fine “haiku noir,” different from another of Michael’s foreclosure haiku below, one that could be read as a prequel:

foreclosure notice—

an ice cream truck

comes and goes

                  Frogpond 36:3, Autumn 2013 (this poem is also translated below, for 7 October 2014)

13 August 2022

dew on the morning paper—

grass blades

                       unbending

                  The Heron’s Nest 4:2, February 2002

                  早報上的露水—

                  青草葉

                              並未彎曲

                                    早报上的露水—

                                    青草叶

                                               并未弯曲

The juxtaposition of dew (forming early in the morning) on the morning paper (on one’s front lawn in a suburban neighborhood) and unbending grass blades (which means not a damp morning) is visually and emotionally evocative. This is a fine imagistic sketch from suburban life in the early morning with no human intrusion. Michael’s shasei [sketch from life] haiku works well as a mood poem.

[What’s not stated in the commentary is that the grass blades are unbending from a previously bent position because I’ve just picked up the newspaper from that grass, which is damp, and that there is human “intrusion” because I mean to imply that I’ve just picked up the newspaper. The commentary seems to have missed my primary implication, but of course implication in haiku always risks the possibility that readers might not pick up on the intended suggestion.]

3 July 2021

funeral’s end—

a whisper passed

from ear to ear

                  Bundled Wild Flowers, 2020 [Haiku Society of America anthology]       +

                  葬禮結束—

                  流言

                  傳來傳去

                                    葬礼结束—

                                    流言

                                    传来传去

Line one sets the theme and mood while lines two and three reveal something “unpleasant” about the deceased person or his/her family members or the relationships among them, or the relationships among the deceased person, his/her family and friends, and relatives . . . or “just something about Human Nature.” This guessing game or this reader’s interpretations function like a chain of gossip/whispers.

3 April 2021

late show on TV—

I finish cleaning up

for the cleaning lady

                  Tinywords 16:1, 1 April 2016

                  深夜電視節目—

                  我做完清理

                  清潔女工的工作

                                    深夜电视节目—

                                    我做完清理

                                    清洁女工的工作

Michael’s shasei haiku [I would call it a senryu] is tightly structured with an emotional undercurrent, and the use of repetition, “cleaning,” is thematically significant and emotionally effective: the first one says something about the speaker’s personality/character trait while the second one reveals the cleaning lady’s work ethic.

4 January 2021

night jog—

sparks from a train

rounding a turn

                  Tinywords 11:1, 6 April 2011

                  夜間慢跑—

                  火車在轉彎之處

                  散發出火花

                                    夜间慢跑—

                                    火车在转弯局部

                                    散发出火花

An “ordinary sparkling moment” is keenly captured in this shasei / sketching-from-life, imagistic haiku. And it might be interesting to do a comparative reading of my jogging haiku from NeverEnding Story, 4 March 2019:

a lone runner

silhouetted against the sky

dawn chorus

2 October 2020

crackling beach fire—

we hum in place of words

we can’t recall

                  The Heron’s Nest 6:11, December 2004

                  啪啪作響的海灘營火—

                  在所忘事物之處

                  我們哼哼低唱

                                    啪啪作响的海滩营火—

                                    在所忘事物之处

                                    我们哼哼低唱

The contrasting auditory images of crackling beach fire and humming is effective, and the humming (in place of words forgotten, not instead of not speaking) enhances the emotional appeal to the reader.

27 July 2020

the leaf gone

but the imprint remains—

my heart as hard

as this concrete

after your suicide

                  Red Lights 3:1, 2007

                  葉子飄落不見

                  但是它的痕跡依然存在—

                  在你自殺之後

                  我的心就像是混凝土

                  一樣地堅硬

                  叶子飘落不见

                                    但是它的痕迹依然存在—

                                    在你自杀之后

                                    我的心就像是混凝土

                                    一样地坚硬

The contrasts (leaf gone vs. life lost, imprint vs. concrete) between the two parts of the tanka are visually and emotionally poignant, reminding me of the following thought-provoking remark made by my late friend, Brian Zimmer, who died in 2014: “The leaf does not grasp or grieve its last day” (from Spring’s First Caress: Tanka, 2015).

27 June 2020

spring lightning—

a flower’s shadow

against the fortress wall

                  The Heron’s Nest 19:3, September 2017

                  The Sleepless Planet, Tokyo: Shichigatsu-do, 2018

                  春天的閃電—

                  堡壘牆上一朵花

                  的陰影

                                    春天的闪电—

                                    堡垒墙上一朵花

                                    的阴影

Enhanced by the cinematic zoom-in technique, a moment of fragile beauty is keenly captured in this imagistic haiku.

17 June 2020

warm summer night—

our first kiss

lingers long enough

for the lighthouse beam

to flash again

                  Red Lights 3:1, 2007

                  溫暖的夏天夜晚—

                  我們的初吻

                  持續足夠久的時間

                  燈塔的光束

                  再一次閃爍

                                    温暖的夏天夜晚—

                                    我们的初吻

                                    持续足够久的时间

                                    灯塔的光束

                                    再一次闪烁

Line one sets the scene and mood while the symbolically rich and visually evocative image of flashing beams of light in lines four and five enhances the emotionally suggestive power of the “first kiss” in line two. A fresh and passionate “first kiss” tanka.

5 November 2019

a week after

my coworker’s suicide

the sculpture on her desk

collapses—magnetic paper clips

that held nothing together

                  Honorable Mention, 2008 Tanka Society of America International Tanka Contest

                  我的同事自殺

                  一個星期之後

                  她桌子上的雕塑

                  崩塌—一堆磁性文件夾

                  無法固定任何的東西

                                    我的同事自杀

                                    一个星期之后

                                    她桌子上的雕塑

                                    崩塌—一堆磁性文件夹

                                    无法固定任何的东西

“Michael Dylan Welch’s sculpture of paper clips—something we have all seen, and may even have on our own desk tops—is turned into a powerful metaphor about the fragility of life, and of individual purpose, in our time . . .” —excerpted from the judges’ commentary       +

The following suicide tanka by Michael Dylan Welch could be read as a sequel to his poignant tanka above (also published on 24 March 2017 with Chinese translations—see below):

                shiny pens and a stapler—

                no one tells

                the new hire

                his desk is where

                the suicide sat

                                Gusts #17, Spring/Summer 2013

23 August 2019

bills due—

in my dream

the endless stairs

                  Tinywords 18:2, 26 November 2018

                  賬單到期—

                  在我的夢中

                  無盡長的樓梯

                                    账单到期—

                                    在我的梦中

                                    无尽长的楼梯

The visually and emotionally poignant juxtaposition of “bills due” and the “endless stairs” suggests feelings of frustration and even hopelessness.

26 June 2019

all my books collect dust

except the one of love poems

you gave me that day

when the spring rains

kept us indoors

                  Winner, 1992 Tanka Splendor Contest

                  除了愛情詩集

                  我所有的書都在堆積灰塵

                  你給我的那一天

                  正在下春雨

                  我們留在室內躲雨

                                    除了爱情诗集

                                    我所有的书都在堆积灰尘

                                    你给我的那一天

                                    正在下春雨

                                    我们留在室内躲雨

This middle-of-the-story tanka is tightly structured with an emotional undercurrent. The only book, a book of love poems, that doesn’t gather dust is the one given by the speaker’s loved one years ago when they were kept indoors due to spring rains. But what has happened between this couple? We don’t know about it. All that we know is this book of love poems constantly read by the speaker.

13 June 2019

fox on the trail—

your hand held up

to my chest

                  Tinywords 15:1, 7 May 2015

                  狐狸在小徑上—

                  你的手

                  緊靠在我的胸口

                                    狐狸在小径上—

                                    你的手

                                    紧靠在我的胸口

A moment of silence and tenderness is well captured in this haiku that is tightly structured with an emotional undercurrent. What’s left unsaid is at least as potent as what’s said.

12 November 2018

a wisp of snow

curls in from the door—

the bookstore cat

settles at last

in the poetry section

                  Mariposa #36, Spring/Summer 2017

                  一縷雪

                  從門口飄進來—

                  書店的貓

                  終於在詩集部門之處

                  安定下來了

                                    一缕雪

                                    从门口飘进来—

                                    书店的猫

                                    终于在诗集部门之处

                                    安定下来了 

The upper verse sets the scene and seasonal context while the unexpected yet thematically significant last line shows the comforting power of poetry. And “at last” in line four adds emotional strength to this heartwarming tanka.

пласт снега

свернулся у дверей

кот из книжного магазина

наконец-то устраивается

в отделе поэзии

                  (Russian translation by Nikolay Grankin, posted to Facebook)

29 May 2018

for your eyes only,

she says with a shy nod—

I think about this

then raise a hand to caress

her remaining breast

                  Gusts #26, Fall/Winter 2017

                   她害羞地點頭說，

                  只是給你的眼睛看—

                  我想了一下

                  然後舉起手來撫摸

                  她所剩下的乳房

                                    她害羞地点头说，

                                    只是给你的眼睛看— 

                                    我想了一下

                                    然后举起手来抚摸

                                    她所剩下的乳房

Michael’s tanka builds, line by line, to an unexpected yet visually and emotionally powerful last line that has the most weight, effectively conveying a sense of “tenderness” (which is found “in the tendency to make one’s own the feelings and mental states of another person”).

26 May 2017

only so far

onto the beach

tracks of a wheelchair

                  Tinywords 15:1, 6 March 2015       +

                  只有到達這麼遠

                  海灘上一張輪椅

                  的胎痕

                                    只有到达这么远

                                    海滩上一张轮椅

                                    的胎痕

24 March 2017

shiny pens and a stapler—

no one tells

the new hire

his desk is where

the suicide sat

                  Gusts #17, Spring/Summer 2013

                  閃亮的鋼筆和訂書機—

                  沒有人告訴

                  新員工

                  他的辦公桌

                  是自殺前僱員的

                                    闪亮的钢笔和订书机—

                                    没有人告诉

                                    新员工

                                    他的办公桌

                                    是自杀前僱员的

In such a short space of five lines and eighteen words, Michael effectively creates atmosphere (lines one and three) and suspense (line two) in this powerful and disturbing middle-of-the-story of tempestuous office relationships.

20 November 2016       +

train depot—

a wet leaf clings

to the stroller wheel

                  火車站—

                  一片濕的葉子緊貼

                  在嬰兒車輪上

                                    火车站—

                                    一片湿的叶子紧贴

                                    在婴儿车轮上

unused symphony ticket—

the price

when she was a girl

                  未用過的交響音樂票—

                  她是小女孩時

                  的票價

                                    未用过的交响音乐票—

                                    她是小女孩时

                                    的票价

sapwood—

I learn something new

about my mother

                  邊材—

                  關於母親我有更深一層

                  的了解

                                    边材—

                                    关於母亲我有更深一层

                                    的了解

21 April 2016

the doctor tells us

of the baby’s heart murmur—

outside the hospital window

snow halfway

down the distant mountain

                  Honorable Mention, 2006 Tanka Society of America International Tanka Contest

                  醫生告訴我們

                  寶寶的心臟有雜音—

                  在醫院窗外

                  雪花飄落到遠山

                  的半山腰之處

                                    医生告诉我们

                                    宝宝的心脏有杂音—

                                    在医院窗外

                                    雪花飘落到远山

                                    的半山腰之处

14 March 2016

a firefly’s glow

against her palm

passed to mine

                  Tinywords 11:1, 12 April 2011

                  螢火蟲的光芒

                  對照著她的手掌

                  再傳到我的手掌

                                    萤火虫的光芒

                                    对照着她的手掌

                                    再传到我的手掌

24 December 2015

jingle of the dog’s collar

out in the hall—

we pause

in our lovemaking,

Christmas Eve

                  American Tanka #11, 2007

                  狗頸圈的鈴鐺聲

                  迴盪在大廳裡—

                  我們暫停

                  做愛，

                  平安夜來臨了

                                    狗颈圈的铃铛声

                                    迴盪在大厅里—

                                    我们暂停

                                    做爱，

                                    平安夜来临了

Michael’s sensual tanka effectively builds, phrase/line by phrase/line, to an unexpected yet emotionally powerful ending—Christmas Eve. And the opening and closing lines resonate and extend each other’s meanings. A sensually fresh take on Christmas tanka.

14 January 2015

children’s

book

sh

elves

Best of Showcase, Under the Bashō, 2013 (also published previously)

兒 童

書

加

木

儿 童

书

加

木

This minimalist visual haiku is made up of two words: children’s bookshelves, and Michael’s thematically and emotionally effective typographical arrangement of bookshelves—book, sh (an exclamation to request silence or quiet), elves (plural form of elf)—not only holds the surprise and excitement of the poem, but also adds mythological depth to the poem. Below is excerpted from the Wikipedia entry on “elf”:

An elf (plural: elves) is a type of supernatural being in Germanic mythology and folklore. Reconstructing the early concept of an elf depends almost entirely on texts in Old English or relating to Norse mythology. Later evidence for elves appears in diverse sources such as medical texts, prayers, ballads, and folktales. . . . The “Christmas elves” of contemporary popular culture are of relatively recent tradition, popularized during the late nineteenth-century in the United States. Elves entered the twentieth-century high fantasy genre in the wake of works published by authors such as J. R. R. Tolkien.

27 October 2014

another feeding—

again we count

his fingers and toes

and they’re all

still there

                  Rivet #13, June 2005

                  再一次餵食—

                  我們再度數算

                  他的手指和腳趾

                  它們都安然

                  健在

                                    再一次餵食—

                                    我们再度数算

                                    他的手指和脚趾

                                    它们都安然

                                    健在

The collocation of “another feeding” and “again we count/ his fingers and toes” is emotionally effective, showing readers the meaning of parenthood.

7 October 2014

by Ki no Tomonori (translated by Emiko Miyashita and Michael Dylan Welch)

ひさかたのひかりのどけき春の日にしづ心なく花の散るらん 紀友則

hisakata no hikari nodokeki harunohi ni shizugokoro naku hana no chiruran Ki no Tomonori

the light filling the air

is so mild this spring day

only the cherry blossoms

keep falling in haste—

why is that so?

                  Back Cover Tanka, Ribbons, 8:1, Spring/Summer 2012

                  Also published in 100 Poets: Passions of the Imperial Court (see poem 33), and printed on the back of 150,000,000 U.S. postage stamps in 2012

                  陽光瀰漫

                  這個春天如此地溫和

                  只有櫻花

                  不斷匆忙地飄落—

                  為什麼會這樣呢 ?

                                    阳光瀰漫

                                    这个春天如此地温和

                                    只有樱花

                                    不断匆忙地飘落—

                                    为什麽会这样呢 ?

Lines one to four are a simple statement of the narrator’s observation while line five, the rhetorical question, lifts the poem a notch, sparking the reader’s reflection on the ephemerality of beauty.

7 October 2014

foreclosure notice—

an ice cream truck

comes and goes

                  Frogpond 36:3, Autumn 2013

                  房屋止贖通知—

                  流動冰淇淋車

                  來了又走了

                                    房屋止赎通知—

                                    流动冰淇淋车

                                    来了又走了

I think there’s a deeper sadness to the contrast between the necessity of housing and the treat of ice cream. And perhaps, too, the foreclosure will come and go like the ice cream truck, and maybe things will be better down the road. Maybe someone would argue that there is a cause-and-effect reason why the ice cream truck comes and goes: it’s because no one in the foreclosed/empty house comes out to buy ice cream). I don’t think so. It’s mainly because the ice cream truck owner doesn’t just come to one house—he drives his ice cream truck through neighborhoods for potential buyers.

31 July 2014

ink-stained hands

my pen leaks

a haiku

                  ant ant ant ant ant #2, Summer 1995

                  墨染的手

                  我鋼筆流漏出

                  一首俳句詩

                                    墨染的手

                                    我钢笔流漏出

                                    一首俳句诗

Juxtaposed with the image of messy hands, Michael’s well-chosen verb makes this meta-poem about writing effective as a haiku with an aesthetic focus on the “hai.”

7 March 2014

spring breeze—

the pull of her hand

as we near the pet store

                  Into the Open: Poems from Poets of the Sixth Skagit River Poetry Festival, 2010 (also published previously)

                  春風起—

                  當我們走近寵物店

                  她輕拉我的手

                                    春风起—

                                    当我们走近宠物店

                                    她轻拉我的手

27 June 2013

a table for one—

leaves rustle

in the inner courtyard

                  Into the Open: Poems from Poets of the Sixth Skagit River Poetry Festival, 2010 (also published previously)

                  一人用餐—

                  在庭院內

                  樹葉的沙沙聲

                                    一人用餐—

                                    在庭院内

                                    树叶的沙沙声

A sense of loneliness (or aloneness) conveyed in the context-setting first line is enhanced by the seasonal connotation of the aural image portrayed in lines two and three, which work effectively on at least two levels, literal and metaphoric. The place metaphor (“inner courtyard”) is well chosen.

1 February 2013

first star—

a seashell held

to my baby’s ear

                  Into the Open: Poems from Poets of the Sixth Skagit River Poetry Festival, 2010 (also published previously)

                  第一顆星—

                  將一個海貝貼近

                  我嬰兒 的耳朵

                                    第一颗星—

                                    将一个海贝贴近

                                    我婴儿 的耳朵

The perceptual shift foregrounds the contrasts between the two parts of the poem. And the speaker shows his/her tender care in an effort to help the baby form an intimate relationship with nature.

8 January 2013

spring breeze—

the pull of her hand

as we near the pet store

                  Into the Open: Poems from Poets of the Sixth Skagit River Poetry Festival, 2010 (also published previously)

                  春風起—

                  當我們走近寵物店

                  她輕拉我的手

                                    春风起—

                                    当我们走近宠物店

                                    她轻拉我的手

Line one successfully sets the scenic context for the poem while lines two and three reveal an emotional undercurrent.