HAIKU DIALOGUE – Literary Devices – the flashback
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Literary Devices with Guest Editor Alex Fyffe
For this series, I’d like to focus on the use of various literary devices in haiku. We tend to think of these techniques as applicable to longer lyric poetry – haiku is often taught to be a form without literary trappings, a simple breath of a poem, honest and straightforward, without ornament. Of course, this is a misconception, as the best haiku tend to be very carefully crafted, with one good poem often going through several revisions. And just like their longer cousins, haiku are capable of tackling metaphor, simile (despite what you might have heard), personification, symbolism, allusion, and any number of other techniques. Each week, we will take an in-depth look at a different technique and apply it to our haiku.
next week’s theme: synecdoche and metonymy
Synecdoche and metonymy are two similar literary devices that are often confused for one another (at least, I know that I always have to refresh my understanding of them every year when covering poetic techniques in class). Both terms describe techniques of naming something indirectly, using a part of a thing to refer to the whole thing (synecdoche), or using an associated term to refer to something (metonymy).
A famous example of synecdoche is in Dylan Thomas’s “The Hand That Signed the Paper,” in which the titular “hand” stands in for the leader who signed the paper – the hand here represents the whole person. Similar examples include “mouths to feed,” “my new wheels,” “the talking heads on TV,” etc.
Metonymy can be found in the popular Lytton quote, “The pen is mightier than the sword,” in which the pen signifies the written word and the sword signifies aggression. Shakespeare’s “lend me your ears” is often cited as metonymy, as well, since the “ears” in this example represent the people’s attention, not the people themselves. One of the most common examples is referring to a king or queen as “the crown.” Another one: “The White House released a statement today” (in which White House refers to the president/government).
So to simplify: synecdoche = referring to something by naming a part of it, and metonymy = referring to something by naming a closely related word. You may have noticed that synecdoche has the same prefix as synonym, and metonymy shares its prefix with metaphor. This is another way to help keep the two straight, as “syn” can mean “together” (in synecdoche, the part and the whole are connected together) and “meta” can mean “beyond” (in metonymy, you use something beyond the thing itself to refer to it).
These devices, I believe, lend themselves very well to the haiku and senryu forms. You can probably think of examples already that you have read or written yourself that contain one or the other. For this prompt, I am looking for haiku that make good use of either synecdoche or metonymy (or both!). I look forward to reading your submissions.
The deadline is midnight Central Daylight Time, Saturday July 16, 2022.
Please use the Haiku Dialogue submission form below to enter one or two original unpublished haiku inspired by the week’s theme, and then press Submit to send your entry. (The Submit button will not be available until the Name, Email, and Place of Residence fields are filled in.) With your poem, please include any special formatting requirements & your name & residence as you would like it to appear in the column. A few haiku will be selected for commentary each week. Please note that by submitting, you agree that your work may appear in the column – neither acknowledgment nor acceptance emails will be sent. All communication about the poems that are posted in the column will be added as blog comments.
below is Alex’s commentary for the flashback:
There were so many wonderful responses to the flashback prompt, it was difficult to turn some of them down; even a number of the rejected poems were excellent.
One of the most common themes was revisiting home. We may not be able to go home again, but we can trace its influence throughout our lives, such as in these poems:
old house . . .
my childhood
in each roomRosa Maria Di Salvatore
Catania, Italy
homecoming
birds are still singing songs
from childhoodStoianka Boianova
Bulgaria
ancestral home
the acorn I buried
now on a branchRavi Kiran
India
I especially appreciated the magical feeling of Kiran’s poem, in which the acorn from the ground is now hanging overhead; we know these to be different acorns, of course, but one led to the other, and they are essentially connected as one through birth and rebirth.
Scent is supposed to be most connected to memory, so it makes sense to see a wealth of entries focused on smells eliciting the past:
Chanel No. 5
Mother’s scent still strong
from an empty bottleIngrid Baluchi
North Macedonia
past the shop window
lavender scent of mom’s
crepe paper rosesKath Abela Wilson
Pasadena, California
Calvin Klein ad
the scent of cologne
on his coatJackie Chou
USA
lost breeze
I recognize the scent
of black locustNazarena Rampini
Italy
old scent—
back to one name
on the return addressP. H. Fischer
Vancouver, Canada
Fischer’s poem excels at giving us background information through suggestion. By telling us what we’re back to, we know where we’ve been.
Along with scent, food is another staple of bringing the past into our present lives. Comfort foods, childhood favorites, the meals our parents relied on or made for special occasions – these foods shape our identities and regularly send us back to younger years:
bubbling
fresh coriander soup
mama’s apronBidyut Prabha
Bhubaneswar, India
homeplace visit
grandma’s mapo tofu
hot in the mindJohn Zheng
Mississippi, USA
light drizzle
the sizzle of hot pakoras
back homeVandana Parashar
India
Parashar’s poem cleverly uses sound, the internal rhyme of drizzle and sizzle, to emphasize how the sound of the rain reminds the speaker of the food they associate with home. The closing, “back home,” also gives the poem a sense of longing for the past.
For a number of poets, present sights take them back to something less fortunate, a time of loss and grief:
hospitals…
the day we returned home
motherlessHla Yin Mon
Yangon, Myanmar
carbon monoxide –
the notes left for others
but none for meSusan Burch
Hagerstown, Maryland
half-closed pink rose …
the clenched fist
of my lost babyAnnie Wilson
Shropshire, UK
I still live
with the pinecone owl
that I made for herAndrew Diamond
Missouri, USA
I think Diamond’s poem is a good example of the single-phrase haiku thanks to an effective use of line breaks. Although the details are left unclear, the first line – “I still live” – suggests that the “her” of the poem has perhaps passed on. The connection between the two is clarified by the sweet toy that the speaker made for her, and the desire to hold on to this is heartbreakingly understandable.
Marriages, weddings, and proposals came up frequently in the selections, too, sometimes in a positive light, sometimes not:
silk dress…
my niece’s
hapless marriageLuciana Moretto
Treviso, Italy
snowy morning
stirring wedding memories
in your coffee cupMeera Rehm
UK
wedding invite . . .
my gold kanjivaram sari
I could never tie(The kanjivaram sari is made from a type of silk woven in the Kanchipuram region of S. India. The exquisite work on this sari makes it a must in an Indian bridal trousseau and these saris are often passed down.)
Rupa Anand
New Delhi, India
wedding photo
the stars in those eyes
onceArvinder Kaur
Chandigarh, India
night picnic
the stars
spelt out your proposalBaisali Chatterjee Dutt
Kolkata, India
his third wife
that childhood swear
not to have a girlfriendSamo Kreutz
Ljubljana, Slovenia
cemetery —
my father and mother
still togetherMark Meyer
Mercer Island, Washington
But the most common theme I received was about school. We’ve all been through those school days, for better and worse, so it makes sense to see the topic pop up so often:
school pickup
my grandson
wearing my son’s smileMargaret Mahony
Australia
Daughter’s graduation –
all the reasons I missed
my ownVivienne Tregenza
Penzance, UK
my first day
at school—
the wind at my backTony Williams
Scotland, UK
the straight
lines of sunlight
geometry classSrinivas S
Rishi Valley, India
farewell day—
a ruined photograph
in my school albumDaipayan Nair
India
year book
oh how the dreams
clashed with realitywanda amos
Old Bar, Australia
duck-and-cover drills
early education
in big liesCaroline Giles Banks
Minneapolis, Minnesota
50 ways
to blow my cover–
class reunionCynthia Anderson
Yucca Valley, California
Finally, I’d like to make special mention of some poems that I think stand out, whether for their imagery, creative turns of phrase, or structure:
black berry vines
the shadows in me
that can’t get outStephen A. Peters
Bellingham, Washington
the deer in the trees,
each nerve and hair electric-your face in the crowd
Sarah Davies
Bedford, UK
first anniversary–
we’re held together
only by paperRuth Holzer
Herndon, Virginia
a butterfly
caught in a bottle
trapping meAmrutha Prabhu
Bengaluru, India
Cundy Harbor
trawlers I had forgotten
haul sundownron scully
Burien, Washington
ice floes
that breakup
at the sea’s edgeMarianne Sahlin
Sweden
twilight –
my daughter’s braided hair…Jorge Alberto Giallorenzi
Chivilcoy, Buenos Aires, Argentina
boat rope
the noose around
that winterC.X. Turner
UK
even now
her accusation . . .
icicles on the paneSonam Chhoki
Bhutan
bagpipe concert
the folksong
grandpa used to beMaya Daneva
The Netherlands
& here are the rest of the selections:
this envelope
storing last summer’s seed
our love in a mistJ E Jeanie Armstrong
Canterbury, UK
spin the bottle
a maple key
catching the windmarilyn ashbaugh
Edwardsburg, Michigan
pale moon
on bare branches…
his last letterDeborah Karl-Brandt
Bonn, Germany
floating
in cashmere
deep REMRoberta Beach Jacobson
Indianola, Iowa
migraine
the split thunder jerks
of the borewell drillingLakshmi Iyer
India
lilac –
a widow reflects
on short-lived lovePaul Callus
Malta
childhood home ..
the cutting of a rose
it still smellsAngiola Inglese
Italy
wasp in a jam jar —
satisfied now with the breeze
in tall grassAlan Peat
Biddulph, UK
sleepless night
a childhood hymn
evokes tearsChrista Pandey
Austin, Texas
chemos later…
she gazes at the many
tones of sunsetNeera Kashyap
Delhi, India
thunderbolt
held my breath at father’s arm
river crossingChittaluri Satyanarayana
Hyderabad, India
pressed flower
her wrinkled face
still beautifulVishnu Kapoor
Chennai, India
red postbox
circling it three times
with the letterKeith Evetts
Thames Ditton, UK
Childhood innocence
grass stains on a
Whitsuntide dressCaroline Ridley-Duff
Yorkshire, England
ocean sunset
the long path of lifemartin gottlieb cohen
Egg Harbor, New Jersey
first breakup—
the unknown numbers
in my call logDaipayan Nair
India
drowning
my sister’s incessant
phone callsMike Fainzilber
Rehovot, Israel
mother’s will
she smothers me
in calamine lotionTracy Davidson
Warwickshire, UK
rocky shoreline
I let it all
slip awayBryan Rickert
Belleville, Illinois
war stories
grandfather’s pipe
on the shelfSlobodan Pupovac
Zagreb, Croatia
leaving home . . .
a calf emerges from
a broken barnCarole MacRury
Point Roberts, Washington
a lost crown…
the king of the castle
smaller than meMarilyn Ward
Lincolnshire, UK
trapped mosquito
when the wings wouldn’t go
back onto the flyHerb Tate
UK
that face
in the crowd…is it
my old boyfriendPeggy Hale Bilbro
Alabama, USA
grandma’s advice
the noise of pebbles
in the backwashconsigli di nonna
il rumore dei ciottoli
nella risaccaDaniela Misso
Italy
old school –
the window from which
I’ve looked at the cloudsDaniela Lăcrămioara Capotă
Romania
anticipation
the first time he kisses
the back of my neckSue Courtney
Orewa, New Zealand
yearning–
the caterpillar
calls my nameLafcadio
USA
school group photo —
her smile still so fresh
in my old albumMilan Rajkumar
Imphal, India
grandpa’s gramophone
wiping the dust
of our childish gigglesMinal Sarosh
Ahmedabad, India
a falling star…
the days
we were togetherRam Chandran
India
firecrackers
school kids scrambling
for coverJeff Leong
Kuala Lumpur, Malaysia
piggybank
fat with memories
of my childhoodZelyko Funda
Hrvatska
old postcard
in the ancestral wardrobe
moon dustMinko Tanev
Bulgaria
that impish smile/
my daughter/
in my footsteps.Amoolya Kamalnath
India
operation theatre…
the pinned frog jumps
off the trayNeena Singh
Chandigarh, India
the bullet still cold
from my father’s old rifle
night’s meeknessMircea Moldovan
România
half moon cookies
my first taste
of yin/yangLaurie Greer
Washington, DC
travelling abroad
the willowherbs…
his green bibleLuciana Moretto
Treviso, Italy
conversation
his gesture suspended
I see my father againClaude Lagadec
France
the crack of a bat
hazy summer afternoons
safe, at homeDanita Brandt
Michigan, USA
lost
in the Perseid rain
memoriesTsanka Shishkova
Bulgaria
dad’s sad look
when asked about the war …
monuments pulled downNatalia Kuznetsova
Russia
the radio on –
a choir of cicadas in grandfather’s courtyardla radio accesa –
un coro di cicale nel cortile di nonnoMaria Teresa Piras
Sardinia, Italy
Sunday drive
a roll of film
in the BrownieBarrie Levine
Massachusetts, USA
family reunion –
the crowd
of flashbacksVijay Prasad
Patna, India
wavelets
over the lake 寒気 yesterday
a drowningsimonj
UK
other seasons –
where your chair was
flowers are bornaltre stagioni –
dov’era la tua sedia
nascono fioriMaria Cezza
Salento, Italy
hospital isolation
those butterfly wings
stuck in a jarPadmini Krishnan
United Arab Emirates
attic boxes –
finding our son’s toy elephant
for his sonBruce H. Feingold
Berkeley, California
my chipped front tooth the spare ribs special
Bona M. Santos
Los Angeles, California
summer moon –
my first attempts
at astronomyAna Drobot
Romania
where there were cedar waxwings magnolia buds
Allyson Whipple
St. Louis, Missouri
summer rains
as the corn leaves uncurled
his smile returnedSusan Farner
USA
empty nester
unable to train
the flying squirrelMargaret Tau
New Bern, North Carolina
every hospital becomes the one you died in that cold autumn
Marcia Burton
Salt Spring Island, Canada
jumping off swings
from their highest point
knee replacementRehn Kovacic
Mesa, Arizona
the aftershock
of trying to save a life –
avalancheColette Kern
USA
out of the fog
a memory
of youJohn S Green
Bellingham, Washington
boom-flash
the dog snores
last yearMariel Herbert
California, USA
rolling thunder
my first rocket attack
Da NangHerbert Shippey
Tifton, Georgia
babysitting…
the kids
I never wantPeg Cherrin-Myers
Franklin, Michigan
seasons passing by my birth month
Richa Sharma
India
full moon
the deep blue
of a second chanceLori Kiefer
London, UK
the opening riff
of the power of love
your hand in mineLouise Hopewell
Australia
old temple
my memories go back
to great-grandmaLjiljana Dobra
Croatia
lost innocence…
her holiday photos
of my hometownMadhuri Pillai
Australia
the tune
he used to listen
dayliliesEva Limbach
Germany
seedling in deluge
rice farmers weep over
the lost old seasonsA.J. Anwar
Jakarta, Indonesia
distant summer days
the glow of buttercups
under my chin…Adele Evershed
Wilton, Connecticut
Spanish shawl –
the cante jondo
tapping …tapping…tappingChal español –
el cante jondo
sonando…sonando…sonandoJulia Guzmán
Córdoba, Argentina
new boots
no wind or noise
in the snow fortTim Cremin
Massachusetts, USA
lockdown .. in my yard
from childhood books
bold hoopoesLuisa Santoro
Rome, Italy
a walk inside
a different silence
grandma’s roomJames Gaskin
Fukushima, Japan
summer moon–
the way you caress
my scarsMona Bedi
Delhi, India
tattered photograph
my mother’s praise
for my cousinValentina Ranaldi-Adams
Fairlawn, Ohio
skipping stones…
my childhood’s dream
falling elsewhereAnna Yin
Ontario, Canada
breakup…
that hibiscus falls
foreverDevoshruti Mandal
India
filling the birdbath. . .
a summer afternoon’s
bellyflopRichard Straw
Cary, North Carolina
resin perfume …
among the young leaves
my school on the mountainGiuliana Ravaglia
Bologna, Italy
screeching tires
Muff bleeding
on a sunday streetPris Campbell
USA
polaroid sunset
the pastel pink taste
of a first kissAna Growl
Surrey, UK
Alcatraz gift shop:
the metallic taste of water
from my father’s cupMarcie Wessels
San Diego, California
uncorking an old bottle
a sudden whiff
of grampa’s homemade wineCristina Povero
Italy
playground swing stars within reach
Victor Ortiz
Bellingham, Washington
only
when we were sick
the bear shaped mugJames Lindley
USA
under moonlit cherry blossoms
our shadows entwined
in memoryJonathan English
Washington, DC
up to his old tricks
dad finding quarters
in my kids’ earsSharon Martina
Warrenville, Illinois
the green wall
of my childhood–
the door that still won’t closePippa Phillips
Kansas City, Missouri
Poppy Day…
red-handed with stabbing
my neighbor’s melonsFlorin C. Ciobica
Romania
Independence Day
after each explosion
the hurt in your eyesSusan Rogers
Los Angeles, California
Guest Editor Alex Fyffe teaches high school English in the Houston area. Although he has been writing haiku off and on for a decade, he only started submitting his work during the Global Event known as 2020. Since then his haiku and senryu have been published in various journals, including Frogpond, Modern Haiku, Failed Haiku, Akitsu Quarterly, and the Asahi Haikuist Network. Alex’s first glimpse of haiku was in a collection of writings by Jack Kerouac, and he found the work of Issa while studying abroad in Japan, but he didn’t fall in love with the haiku until he discovered the free-form work of Santoka Taneda. Currently, Alex uses haiku in the classroom to ease students into poetry and build their confidence as readers and writers. Alex also posts haiku on Twitter @AsurasHaiku.
Lori Zajkowski is the Post Manager for Haiku Dialogue. A novice haiku poet, she lives in New York City.
Managing Editor Katherine Munro lives in Whitehorse, Yukon Territory, and publishes under the name kjmunro. She is Membership Secretary for Haiku Canada, and her debut poetry collection is contractions (Red Moon Press, 2019). Find her at: kjmunro1560.wordpress.com.
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This Post Has 20 Comments
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Thank you, Alex, for including my haiku in this beautiful collection. Reading the comments is an enrichment.
Hi Alex and Haiku Foundation Team,
Thank you for selecting mine with these fine poems. I will have another virtual haiku walking tour and haiku workshop and would like to showcase some haiku here, just like July 9’e workshop. I always encourage others to take these weekly challenges here. I learn from all of you! thanks.
https://www.eventbrite.ca/e/haiku-walking-tour-two-here-and-now-art-gallery-change-to-online-tickets-362599052527
Cheers.
I was happy to include it. It’s good to hear that the work of the poets here will continue to inspire more poetry at your workshop. I hope it goes well.
Thank you, Alex, and welcome back. This is going to be yet another fascinating series to add to our enjoyment of haiku/senryu, and it felt good to have one of my poems picked out from such a bumper crop this week…all of them worthy. Much appreciated.
Glad to be back! I’m looking forward to seeing how everyone responds to this series. I think there will be a lot of interesting poems from week to week.
So many evocative haiku – an anthology worth printing!
Welcome back, Alex! I like the grouping by themes/memes.
Not sure that my Latin (or Greek) is good enough, but let’s have a go….
There’s always Google! Forget about knowing what synecdoche means…I had to learn how to pronounce it first.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=v-n1vGeVIXo
I love English!
It’s just 6 seconds long. I don’t know how to erase the stuff that comes after.
These poems evoked such a range of emotions!
Vishnu Kapoor’s (mentioned above) brought tears to my eyes, as did this one, but for very different reasons:
firecrackers
school kids scrambling
for cover
Jeff Leong, Kuala Lumpur, Malaysia
These two made me laugh out loud (I hope they were meant to!):
operation theatre…
the pinned frog jumps off the tray
Neena Singh, Chandigarh, India
and
jumping off swings
from their highest point
knee replacement
Rehn Kovacic, Mesa, Arizona
others came right out of my own childhood experiences (even though I not from Massachusetts!):
new boots
no wind or noise
in the snowfort
Tim Cremin, Massachusetts, USA
Sunday drive
a roll of film
in the Brownie
Barrie Levine, Massachusetts, USA
I’m intrigued by the relationships/stories behind these poems:
red postbox
circling it three times
with the letter
Keith Evans, Thames Ditton, UK
and
rocky shoreline
I let it all
slip away
Bryan Rickert, Belleville, IL
Thank you, Danita. The red postbox: I’d always wanted to be a research scientist, until I was one. This was the pivotal moment when I took the decision to turn down the offer of a fellowship. I didn’t know what I wanted to do…. Every time I see a red postbox (in UK) I think how my life changed.
Thank you for sharing the story behind the poem.
That was such a brave decision! I advise undergraduate students who struggle with decisions about applying to grad schools or finding a job–all those huge, potentially paralyzing choices–I tell them (maybe rightly or wrongly) that there is not a “right” and “wrong” decision, there are only different paths. I hope your path has been a blessing to you!
Danita,
Thank you much for mentioning my poem. It comes directly from life.
Rehn, I hope your new knee(s) have restored spring to your step!
Thank you Alex for including my haiku. They were all such a pleasure to read.
Hello and welcome Alex.
I’ve enjoyed reading the verses you have chosen, and your comments.
this one-
pressed flower
her wrinkled face
still beautiful
-Vishnu Kapoor
Chennai, India
Just like her face, simply beautiful, in more ways than one.
Alex Fyffe, it’s great to have you back again. I find it so much fun to write in a new way and explore the poetic devices without compromising Haiku. Thank you so much for selecting my poem, too. Love the way how you categorised the poems.
Congrats to all the selected poets. Many thanks to Cathy and Lori.
Thank you, Meera. I’m happy to hear that you’re enjoying the prompts and the commentary so far. It is awesome seeing the different approaches everyone takes–there are always so many excellent and unexpected responses!
Welcome back Alex. Thank-you for publishing my haiku. Thank-you Kathy and Lori. Congrats to all the poets.