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The twelfth volume in the Red Moon Anthology series, Dust of Summers, is now in print. From 2500 nominated works by 1800 authors, the final product emerged with 154 poems (haiku and senryu), 25 linked pieces (haibun and renga), and six essays—all of which make good reading while presumably presenting a brief overview of the English-language haiku scene.
The key to the selection process for all works nominated by the editorial staff was that they should be considered to be "of exceptional skill." Those making the final cut had to receive approval of the editor-in-chief, as well as votes from five of the ten staff editors (50%). My PhD dissertation didn't receive this much scrutiny.
In form, the poems range from seven syllables (1 poem) to seventeen (2 poems):
twilight . . .
his voice
deep purple Ludmila Babanova, Bulgaria (p. 10)
Oystercatchers huddle
at the river mouth;
the rumble of thunder Brian White, United Kingdom (p. 78).
Only two linear forms appear—one line (3 poems), and three lines (153).
While the majority of the poets presented live in the United States, the United Kingdom (England, Ireland, Wales), Canada, Australia, and New Zealand are also among the English-speaking countries represented. Poets living in Bulgaria, Romania, Sweden, Poland, Greece, Japan, and Taiwan, for some of whom English is a second language, also appear.
The book is attractive to look at, and pleasing to the touch, as are all the Red Moon Press books I have seen. The cover features a painting by Edward Hopper, Railroad Sunset (1929), courtesy of the Whitney Museum of American Art in New York.
A few examples of the poems, from around the world:
alone
with the diagnosis
I hold my own hand hortensia anderson, United States (p. 10).
Though the arrangement of poems is alphabetical by poet, this is a fortuitous beginning. Who hasn't sensed the aloneness of a medical diagnosis, even if it is not one's own.
In a different vein, here is one by Anatoly Kudryavitsky, from Ireland (p. 46):
hazel catkins
in the mizzling rain . . .
a long, long dream
I love the word "mizzling." Can't recall that I've ever heard it, though according to my dictionary, it is used in the South Midland and Southern US in this context. In British usage, however, it is slang with an altogether different meaning.
For variation on a theme, here is one from Sosuke Kanda, Japan (p. 44):
winter evening
spreading out my dreams
on a world map
A third variation, by Caroline Gourlay, Wales (p. 36) is:
insomnia—
through the door in my head
another door
Another pair of thematic variations:
budding crocus—
the closed door
of my daughter's bedroom Paul Hodder, Australia (p. 40)
and
new moon—
my daughter won't look me
in the eye Paul David Mena, United States (p. 56).
Speaking of the moon, here's the way it looks to a poet in Australia
gibbous moon
he lies
about his past Carla Sari (p. 69),
and to another in Canada
Lunar eclipse—
a black cat disappears
into its fur Edward Zuk (p. 82).
When I first read the poems in Dust of Summers, I didn't notice the stories they were telling. Now, on the fourth or fifth reading, I find stories everywhere. I think perhaps the essay on "Haiku and Cinematic Technique" (pp. 119-128), by Allan Burns, has given me a useful new way of looking at haiku—not just from the writer's position, but also from the reader's. In similar fashion, when I heard David Lanoue read his paper "The Poetic 'Ah!'—Haiku and the Right Brain" (pp. 147-154) at the South Region Haiku Society of America Conference in 2006, I felt I understood the famous frog / pond poem of Bashô in terms that, for the first time, were meaningful in my own culture.
I found everything in this volume interesting and well crafted. The Red Moon Editorial Staff deserves appreciation for all the work, thought, and skill they put into the project.
In closing, I would like to give one more example—a haibun this time, by Laurie Stoelting, United States:
Mating Season
I have a good looking husband who is a nice person and, at the moment, financially secure. I have a condition that will ultimately shorten my life or certainly my functioning life. It never occurred to me that other women would begin to look at him . . . or at least not so soon.
mating season
dragonflies
in midair . . . (p. 106)
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