Passing Cloud

                passing cloud—

                the bush wren tips

                to water in a hoof print

In this haiku we have a tiny event that speaks to us of transition. Clearly the passing cloud and the bush wren tell us that the time is that of spring rains. The ground is soft enough for “hoof prints.” As observers we are making our own marks in the earth, we cannot avoid it. Then, a “passing cloud,” and we watch a “bush wren” “tip” to the “water in the hoof print.” The author of this verse seems to me to have a very good eye. I wonder if I would have seen this tiny event that tells me I must “get on with life.” I’m happy this event was seen and recorded.

—Jerry Ball

The integration and complexity of nature are hinted at here. The cycle of water in all its phases and the dependence of all of us—large animal, small bird, human observer—on it is in this sketch. Jerry believes that he can see that it is spring in this haiku. If this is so, the indications are a bit too subtle for me. I think the haiku could benefit from use of a specific kigo. By mentioning one season, the poet brings in the suggestion of the cycle of seasons. And by avoiding the specific mention of a season, the seasonal aspect of this complex world is lost. How do you think the poem would work if the passing cloud were a spring cloud (light and fluffy with an air of changeableness)? A summer or billowing cloud (large towering cumulus)? An autumn cloud (heavy, gray rain cloud)? A sardine cloud (an autumn cloud formation made of small, cirrus-like clouds arranged like fish scales; it is considered to be a harbinger of rain)? Or a winter cloud (swiftly moving clouds presaging a snowstorm or blizzard)? My personal favorites are “spring cloud” and “sardine cloud” for this haiku; I would have to spend more time reflecting on them to determine which would be my final choice.

—Patricia Machmiller

My Response

My workshops frequently emphasize what I call “haiku targets.” For haiku, I like to think in terms of targets (opportunities) rather than rules (obligations). One of those reliable possible targets, as Patricia emphasizes with her comments, is seasonal reference. Could any haiku be improved by adding a seasonal context? Is that an opportunity to improve the poem? Sometimes yes, although not always. But perhaps it’s true in this case. My original intent, as best as I can remember, was to suggest that the passing cloud was the source of puddle’s rainwater. The passing of the cloud was meant to invoke ephemerality and change, yet with everything in its place. The smallness of the bird contrasts with the bigness of the animal, probably a cow, that left the hoofprint. That cow is surely indifferent to the wren, but its hoofprint has turned out to be benevolent, giving the wren a depression in the mud where rain has been able to collect, and where it can take a drink. And the cloud, though passing, has also helped that tiny bird. The up-and-downness of the cloud and puddle is also important to me. So there’s much contrast here. Would this be helped by a more overt seasonal reference such as “spring cloud”? Sometimes naming the season is the “cheapest” sort of season word, but of any season spring or summer strikes me as most fitting for this particular poem, and for me the poem feels like a spring poem (as Jerry Ball noted). The idea that it’s spring is just a feeling, though, not an overt seasonal reference. In contrast, however, I would not want a sardine or cirrus cloud because I want to suggest that the rain has just fallen (hence the puddle). Consequently, a cloud that’s a harbinger of rain to come doesn’t fit my intent. But what about “spring cloud”? That’s not a dramatic improvement to me, but perhaps small one, especially because the mention of one season suggests the cycle of seasons, as Patricia notes. But perhaps that’s something that all season words do, and isn’t something that every haiku needs. What is lost by saying “spring cloud” is the passingness of this particular cloud, which seems more active and maybe slightly more particular (and thus more “intimate”) than a general spring cloud. Okay, so it’s a cloud in spring, but what is it doing? It’s passing, and that’s important to the poem, but lost in saying “spring cloud.” Jerry had no problem in immediately thinking of spring, so no, springness obviously isn’t completely “lost” by avoiding an overt season word. That’s why I think, ultimately, that I’ll stick with “passing cloud” for this poem instead of “spring cloud” or some other seasonal alternative.

—19 June 2025