re:Virals 464

Welcome to re:Virals, The Haiku Foundation’s weekly commentary feature on some of your favorites among the best contemporary haiku and senryu written in English. This week’s poem, chosen by Nairithi Konduru, was:

     
slowly gathering
the wheatfield
harvest moon
—Gavin Austin
Wales Haiku Journal, Summer 2024

Introducing this poem, Nairithi writes:

The moon seems to be gathering every one’s attention. As it slowly rises, its light shines on all and every one looks up to bask in the glory of the harvest moon. I can’t wait to see what everyone writes for this haiku.

Opening comment:

There are many verses in contemporary English Language haiku that use the word ‘gathering’ (to mean ‘bringing together,’ ‘collecting’ or harvesting), and many that set out to hint at a Dao-ish kind of unseen connection between some natural force —such as the moon— and another event or phenomenon that is happening at the same time. And the very name often given to the moon at the season of gathering crops is the harvest moon: so at first sight a reader might think simply that this is another iteration of things already well embedded in our culture.

There are, however, elements of craft and suggestion to consider which make this verb stand out from the crop. Albeit ‘slow’ is maybe over-used in contemporary verses (along with words like ‘soft’ and ‘gentle’), and adverbs are often frowned upon, here I think ‘slowly’ is worth its weight to represent the stately progress of the moon, with its light creeping over the field. Then we have the (continuous) present participle without a subject, a form often used to leave open the question of who or what is performing the action. Is it harvesters, human or mechanical, doing the gathering? Is it the moon itself, bringing the wheatfield into its light? Then we have the harmonious arrangement of the moon and the field, linked by the colour of ripened grain.

We’re all wheat in the wheatfield. We all feel the pull of the moon. We are all harvesters and harvested. All together, the elements create an elegant verse that reads as well out loud as it looks to the visual cortex, while it works on our mind and memory. My memory, for instance, summoned up the simple, but evocative:

“And the moon rose over an open field…” with Paul awake, his truelove asleep on the bus, and his prophetic “Kathy, I’m lost…I’m empty and aching and I don’t know why.”

Sandip Chauhan:

Gavin Austin’s haiku captures the essence of the harvest season through its concise and evocative imagery. Its simplicity and suggestiveness depict a moment that is both ordinary and profound focusing on objective experience rather than subjective interpretation. This balance between emotion and observation evokes feelings of fulfillment and tranquility while depicting a natural event.

The opening line, “slowly gathering,” introduces a deliberate, unhurried pace, evoking the patience and careful effort associated with harvesting. This sets the stage for a systematic process rather than a frantic rush. The second line, “the wheatfield,” grounds the haiku in a specific setting, connecting the reader to the promise of harvest and the annual agricultural cycle. The final line, ‘harvest moon,’ adds a celestial and symbolic dimension, traditionally marking the end of the harvest season and contributing to the overall feeling of completion and abundance.

Through the juxtaposition of gathering and the harvest moon, the haiku effectively embodies ‘ma,’ the interval of space and time, inviting readers to contemplate the moment. Its simplicity also encourages reflection on the passage of time and the cycles of nature, much like the timeless works of Japanese haiku masters.

Françoise Maurice:

Magnifique !
L’été s’étire lentement, paresseusement
Mais il est temps de faire la récolte pour l’hiver
Bel évocation du temps qui passe au rythme de la lune…
Merci Gavin !

Wonderful !
Summer stretches out slowly, lazily
But it’s time to harvest for winter
A beautiful evocation of time passing to the rhythm of the moon…
Thanks Gavin!

Dan Campbell:

I recently read an article stating that the ancient Egyptians used scarecrows in their wheat fields so this analysis is from the viewpoint of a scarecrow on guard duty night after night after night in a wheat field.

My existence as a scarecrow is a tale of stillness and solitude, a life defined by the endless watch over a wheatfield that breathes with the pulse of the seasons. Day and night, I stand vigilant, my gaze fixed on the undulating waves of golden grain that stretch out beneath the vast sky. The poem “slowly gathering, the wheatfield, harvest moon” is more than just words to me—it is the essence of my being.

“Slowly gathering” speaks to the relentless passage of time, to the quiet but unstoppable march of the seasons that I witness with each passing day. Every sunrise is a slow gathering of light, a silent accumulation of moments that build into the tapestry of a day.

As I stand rooted in the soil, I watch the wheat mature, moment by moment, a silent witness to the farmer’s toil and the earth’s silent bounty. This phrase also captures the subtle dread I feel as I watch the birds gather, knowing that soon I’ll be compelled to stretch out my arms in a desperate, silent plea to protect the grain I’ve guarded so long.

The wheatfield is my world, my everything. It is where my existence is anchored, where my purpose takes shape. The wheatfield is alive, a sea of gold that dances in the wind, each stalk a whisper, each rustle a conversation.

I stand among them, not as a mere figure, but as a sentinel, a guardian against the forces that would ravage this precious land. This field is more than just a place—it is my soul, the core of my being.

When the “harvest moon” rises, it is a moment of both culmination and melancholy. The moon, round and glowing, casts its light over the field, transforming the wheat into a shimmering expanse of silver and gold.

The harvest moon is a beacon, a signal that the cycle is coming to a close. As its soft light envelops me, I feel a sense of peace, knowing that my watch has not been in vain. But there is also a sorrow in the knowledge that soon, the field will be empty, the stalks cut down, and my purpose, for a time, will fade with the waning light.

This poem holds within it the cycle of life I know so well. I am the silent scarecrow, the guardian of this land, and in these words, I find a reflection of the quiet, unwavering devotion that defines my life.

Lakshman Bulusu:

This haiku subtly connects the season of harvest and the appearance of the full moon also called ‘ the harvest moon’.

It is the time when the wheat plants reach their final stage when it is dry enough without any green part and is ready to be harvested.

During this end of the harvest season, the farmers or wheat gatherers are engaged in gathering the crop followed by its storage for the coming winter. It is also a time to give thanks for the bounty and plenitude of the earth.

Similarly, the so-termed harvest moon appears in the sky as a full moon in its orange-red color . It evokes a mood of celebration of a fully grown harvest season as well as in the farmer’s hearts.

The haiku captures in vivid imagery the colors of the an awe-inspiring image of the moon in a reader’s mind. In some cultures, the farmers sing while reaping the harvest –

farmers singing
reaping the harvest
shehnai music*

* shehnai music is a type of music played in India when the harvest season is in its peak

It means happy farmers , happy lives. And in some regions of the world where securing food in biting cold can be a problem, availability of grains for the winter pre-stored.

In other terms, the connection between harvest moon and wheat harvest can mean more than a seasonal event. The moon appears in heaven and the harvest implies plentiful bounty And it means jubilation and a cyclic event..

Melissa Dennison:

This haiku intrigues me. What or who could be gathering? Well that was my initial thought, as I imagined a group of young people gathering there for a late summer party or an illicit rave, a last hurrah before they move on to pastures new.

These lines have a beauty to them, and, the more I engage with them the more these words affect me.

slowly gathering
the wheatfield
harvest moon

So, who is doing the gathering? Could this be the farmer diligently working late into the night to bring in the harvest? Or could it be the moon who is slowly and tenderly gathering the wheat field? I like to think the latter, but that could be the Romantic in me. I can picture a night scene, the moon above the wheatfield, gently embracing the field, perhaps offering reassurance and comfort.

Amoolya Kamalnath:

The adverb ‘slowly’ is put to good use here. ‘Slowly’ slows down the reader, along with the total of five syllables in L1.

The harvest moon is gradually lighting up the field filled with wheat crops, as the full moon rises up in the sky. In the same way, the agricultural field is rich with wheat and the farmer will have a bountiful harvest.

An implied metaphor here may be someone who slowly, meticulously, climbs the ladder of success overcoming all their fears and prejudices, just like the September full moon quells the darkness with its luminosity, ultimately bringing in abundance.

Shawn Blair—a graceful verse:

Given the volume of haiku overflowing our journals, it should come as no surprise that the depth of any particular haiku can tend to go unnoticed, especially if the author presents simple imagery without overt wordplay. Appreciative readers of haiku are not immune to the forces of modern society – the speed, the skimming of the surface of things, the addiction to “likes” on social media – and despite best intentions we can pass over high-quality verses without blinking an eye. One method for overcoming the tendency to go unnoticed can be to put up a roadblock of some sort – something more than just lineation to slow down the reader. If something doesn’t make immediate sense, the reader is likely to pause and take a closer look.

slowly gathering
the wheatfield
harvest moon
—Gavin Austin

What I find distinctive and admirable in this particular haiku is the gracefulness of the verse despite its subtle (or not-so-subtle for some) lack of rational sense. It is that lack of overt sense that makes the reader stop and try to figure out what’s going on. And the reader isn’t rewarded with a mere answer, but with a rich world filled with meaning and delight.

Without the “field” in “wheatfield”, the verse would present as relatively straightforward – slowly gathering / the wheat / harvest moon. The suggestion that it’s the moon that’s harvesting the wheat would presumably be read as a fanciful footnote to what I would otherwise take as an old-fashioned scene. But slowly gathering / the wheatfield seems an odd way to put it, almost as if there’s some confusion of scale. Can you really gather a wheatfield? When you’re done gathering all the wheat, have you then gathered a wheatfield? But perhaps the moon can gather a wheatfield. If so, in what way? How should such a phrase be understood? I see the wheatfield as a sea of sorts, and of course the moon has a profound influence on the seas. The moon influences our existence in so many ways, and no doubt it influences a wheatfield as well. Perhaps the full moon sways the stalks of wheat the way the sun sways light-seeking flowers. If so, the moon doesn’t go around swaying each stalk of wheat one by one, or in batches – it simply exists, and the wheat responds en masse. At least one scientist calls this phenomenon “leaftide”.

For further readings of the verse, it’s interesting to consider its past and future. If the moon is slowly gathering the wheatfield, what change is actually occurring? Is the moon’s light slowly spreading over the field (moonrise, or due to clouds), turning a narrower experience (of one corner of the field, say) into a vast visual experience of a moonlit wheatfield? Conversely, is a complex multi-sensory experience of the wheatfield (the wind rustling one corner of the field, the feeling of a wheat head in one’s hand…) obliterated by the overwhelming visual of an entire field awash in moonlight?

Perhaps the experience expressed is of a more spiritual nature – the poet, perhaps even the reader – begins to overcome distraction and settle into a unified experience of oneself and one’s relationship to the world with a sense of ease. Under the harvest moon, the mind slowly gathers the wheatfield.

Author Gavin Austin:

A huge thank you to Nairithi for choosing my haiku for this week’s discussion piece for re:Virals. And to those who have chosen to put forward their comments.

This poem is straightforward in approach and delivery as it purports to be a simple celebration of nature’s theatre. In Australia, the Harvest moon occurs in September, the beginning of our Spring. Wheat harvesting typically takes place during our Spring into Summer. Those who have watched the full moon ascend and gradually light up acres of rippling wheat, or other crops for that matter, will share the awe I felt in trying to capture that experience with words.

Thanks to all who sent commentaries. As the contributor of the commentary reckoned best this week, Shawn has chosen next week’s poem, which you’ll find below. We invite you to write a commentary to it. It may be as long or short, academic or spontaneous, serious or silly, public or personal as you like. All with respect for the poet. Out-takes from the best of these take their place in the THF Archives. Best of all, the chosen commentary’s author gets to pick the next poem.

Anyone can participate. Simply use the re:Virals commentary form below to enter your commentary on the new week’s poem (“Your text”) by the following Tuesday midnight, Eastern US Time Zone, and then press Submit to send your entry. The Submit button will not be available until Name, Email, and Place of Residence fields are filled in. We look forward to seeing your commentary and finding out about your favourite poems!

Poem for commentary:

     
midsummer—
the boat tips
toward the whale
—Johnette Downing
The Heron’s Nest Volume XXV, Number 3: September 2023

The Haiku Foundation reminds you that participation in our offerings assumes respectful and appropriate behavior from all parties. Please see our Code of Conduct policy.

Footnote:

Gavin Austin lives in Sydney, Australia, and writes short fiction, short plays and poetry. His work has appeared in Australian and international publications, has been produced for radio, and has been successful in numerous writing competitions. He has two published poetry collections: Shadow Play (Dragonwick, Aus.) and changing light (Alba Publishing, UK).
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