re:Virals 471

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 Jonathan Epstein, was:

     
all our wars
lost
blossom wind
— Eva Limbach,
  Failed Haiku Vol 1, Issue 5
  May 1, 2016

Introducing this poem, Jonathan writes:

I am hoping and waiting for a Golden Age of Senryu. In the meantime, I skip happily with the discovery of senryu light and funny while on the lookout for those with universality and gravitas, something that stops me in my tracks. Eva Limbach here takes on the inexpressible, something long-form poetry does, yet here in a six-word “grain of sand,” she shows that a micro-poem can convey monumentality; even more, something as unspeakable as the legacy of endless wars.

Opening comment:

This is a good example, were one needed, of the power of haiku. Not that the insight offered is original; but here it is concisely expressed in stark, plain language, with a powerful image drawn from nature. Natural simplicity is a hallmark of haiku. There is no need for a longer poem to start a reader thinking and seeing.

Whereas Basho’s “summer grasses” dealt in a gentle way with the ultimate futility of war, this verse veers further towards its negative savagery. “Blossom wind” is a sparingly used kigo. The master used “blossom wind” in an early haiku, in a positive way: natsu chikashi / sono kuchi tabae / hana no kaze. Translating this as “summer’s near / cover the mouth of the wind sack / to save the blossoms”, Reichhold notes: “There was a legend that the God of Winds had a sack in which he carried the storm winds. ”

Fūjin is the Shinto god of wind storms. Usually, embodying the destructive forces of nature: “blossom wind” is well suited to juxtaposition with humankind as another destructive force of nature. “Our” wars in the verse embrace all wars as our collective responsibility.

While it is an assertive statement, “all our wars lost” is also a challenge for the reader to consider to what extent, and in what way, are wars lost (casualties and damage are inevitable); and if so, whether the loss is justified in terms of the gain. An end to Nazi Germany, for example? Or to discriminatory British taxes on tea?

As long as there are autocrats, vain leaders concerned with legacy; the dispossessed, the enslaved, those whose freedoms are threatened by violence, shortage of food, water, shelter and other inequities, and those who think their advantage is to be gained by force, there will be wars. Even, sometimes, espoused by poets: for poets too love the langage of combat. It is exciting to raise a flag. It is easy to rouse and inflame passions, easy to accuse. But is it wise? In the end, humankind as a whole is diminished if we have to revert to savagery from civilisation. Consensual law and diplomacy are preferable.

Eva’s poem dragged up from the subconscious two songs that shaped my generation: Pete Seeger’s “Where Have All the Flowers Gone? (When will they ever learn…)” and Bob Dylan’s “Blowin’ in the Wind”. “…how many times must the cannonballs fly before they’re forever banned?”

The answer, my friend, is blowing in the blossom wind.

Jo McInerney:

Eva Limbach’s haiku speaks of painful reality. The opening two lines are a terrible truism, and their simple diction increases their power.

‘All our wars’ – the open vowels of the first three words draw out the awfulness, with almost no closure supplied by the consonants. War goes on forever. So many holocausts, belonging to all of us. And their conclusions – a dreadful inevitability.

‘Lost’ alone on the second line, in the middle of the haiku, acknowledges what we all know. There are no winners. War and peace are as opposed as death and life, and each appears absolute.

I was struck by the gentleness of the closing line – ‘blossom wind’. I think I may have initially read it as ‘blossom rain’, a phrase that suggests tenderness and mourning.

Both ‘blossom rain’ and ‘blossom wind’ imply disruption, the petals dislodged from the flower, and so echo the loss of the opening lines. However, they are part of a natural cycle; there will be another phase. The small green fruit will grow and ripen, and life will continue.

‘Blossom wind’ is a more forceful phrase than ‘blossom rain’ – that first violent spring wind, apparently sweeping away the beauty that preceded it. Nevertheless, I think it also has a cleansing quality.

The haiku, for me, ends with the hope that our human addiction to war might end. Yet, like the final image, it is a fragile hope.

Joshua Gage:

This is an “image/reflection” or “image/emotion” haiku in reverse, which can be effective, especially considering Limbach’s use of a pivot. The first two lines, taken as a unit, implies that all the wars have already been lost. It’s not a profound statement, but it does put one in the mood and imply an image of someone who is a war survivor or someone who has seen too many wars in their lifetime.

Limbach then uses the kigo “blossom wind” or “hana no kaze” to imply both a chaos and impermanence. “hana no kaze” is a classic kigo, stretching back to Basho, which often implies something regrettable, for the wind has scattered something precious and beautiful, as well as something impermanent, as the impermanent cherry blossoms, already so temporary, have been hastened in their departure by the wind.

This kigo is further explored in earlier ELH poems, like

the rich getting rich
off the blood of the poor
plum blossom wind
–Dick Whyte, 2013

or even poems that came out after Limbach’s, like

blossom wind
my sick wife holds my hand
tighter
–Chen-ou Liu, 2020 Haiku Invitational

All of these poems tap into the vertical axis of the scattered blossoms as something regrettable and lost.

Limbach uses this vertical axis to make a poignant commentary about war and all that is regrettable and lost due to war. We have known, forever, that the game of war is pointless and fruitless. It’s a game nobody can win. No matter what resources, what land, what people, what territory we gain by war, the fact that we had to kill and destroy to gain those things means we lost. We have lost our children and fellow citizens as soldiers and casualties and we have lost our integrity and dignity as a people if we must resort to war. Our magnificent dreams will be no more than blossoms in the wind.

Sandip Chauhan:

What a striking haiku! In just six words, Eva Limbach captures the weight of human conflict and the fleeting beauty of nature. The structure is simple yet effective, grounding the reader in the heaviness of human experience while lifting the mood with the soft image of the blossom wind. The word “lost” serves as a pivotal connection between the heaviness of war and the lightness of the wind.

This progression from conflict to the delicate movement of petals invites multiple interpretations. One suggests the futility of war and nature’s indifference: all conflicts are eventually “lost,” scattered like petals in the wind, while nature continues its cycles. Another perspective sees the blossom wind as a symbol of healing, covering the scars of conflict with new life.

The haiku can also be viewed as a meditation on the cycle of conflict and peace. Wars have deep impacts on people and societies, but the blossom wind represents nature’s persistence and regenerative power. Even after “all our wars” are “lost,” life continues to renew itself. The blossoms carried on the wind symbolize hope, rebirth, and new beginnings after periods of strife, inviting us to reflect on how our actions connect to the natural world around us.

Lakshman Bulusu:

This haiku brings to light the melancholy of all our wars/ lost/blossom wind.. The destruction caused by wars has left only the blossom wind and even that is quiet for all.

Metaphorically, this means people who are successful and confident in life have lost these due to loss in wars. And blossom wind lightly blows to bring them back to a successful and confident lifestyle.

I like the way the haikuist puts the pivot line in L3. L2 portrays a huge loss and L1 is the reason for that.

Amoolya Kamalnath:

L1 has evocative long vowel sounds and then L2 and L3 short, crisp vowel sounds terminating hurriedly, abruptly just like a person’s life story during a war.

L2 is also just a one syllable word in past tense and nothing else, providing a sense of that foreboding. However, the word being in past tense definitely fits perfectly here. The present or continuous present tense would not work here to give that desired effect.

There’s so much meaning and depth in just these 6 words and 7 syllables.

Including each and every war, perhaps in all of the world or the poet’s own country, paints a really poignant picture, one of destruction, bloodshed and death, even of orphaned children. Who is lost? Who loses in a war? What and who do we lose in a war? On what all levels do we win and lose? Is it only the physical component or there is much more to lose? Lost is being used as the pivot word here. Losing wars or losing nature’s Bounty and beauty? A sweet fragrance from a blossom wafts from somewhere? Are we letting it in, are we even noticing it? Are we taking care of nature and her children?

The blossom wind is lost. Are we so occupied with our own wars that we fail to notice Spring in her beautiful blossoming form? Likewise, aren’t we losing our children to all these wars? Wasn’t Anne Frank’s diary enough to stop all the wars? Do we have a count of the young lives that have been lost?

The childhood of children living in war-torn countries – their turmoil – what happens to all their dreams and aspirations? What is won, ultimately, and who wins?

I got lost in my thoughts as I wrote my commentary. Having a young child of my own, I can’t even think of how it is for children and their parents in war-torn countries.

Dan Campbell:

I tried to imagine the thoughts and feelings a war weary soldier might have had when composing this poem. The poem’s structure, language, and imagery capture the emotional exhaustion and inner turmoil of a warrior who has experienced relentless conflict.

The poem’s sparse language strengthens its emotional impact. By stripping down language to its barest elements, the soldier communicates his or her’s emotional exhaustion. Words like “lost” suggest not just military defeat, but the personal losses the soldier has endured—the loss of comrades and hope. The brevity of such phrases points to the soldier’s inability to fully engage with the trauma, as if each word carries too much weight to be elaborated upon.

The image of “blossom wind” carries an element of irony. While blossoms are symbols of life and growth, the soldier only encounters them in passing, like a breeze that cannot be grasped. Blossom wind could symbolize the impermanence of peace in a world dominated by war, as well as the soldier’s inability to fully experience moments of beauty or peace without the shadow of death and destruction looming overhead.

The warrior poet uses sparse language, fragmented structure, and poignant imagery to convey the emotional exhaustion of a soldier who has seen too much war. The use of simple yet loaded phrases like “lost” and the symbolic image of “blossom wind” reflect the contrast between the brutality of war and the elusive, fleeting nature of peace. Ultimately, the poem reveals a soldier grappling with overwhelming inner conflict, unable to fully reconcile the experiences of beauty and loss, peace and war.

Melissa Dennison:

An interesting and somewhat timely poem here. In these volatile times it is easy to feel hopeless and powerless as the insanity of war spreads. Every day there are more and more images of bombed out streets and our fellow human beings suffering.

I think this poem articulates the futility of war, with our concepts of victory, heroism and glory. Nobody wins, in the end we all lose. If only we would learn.

I sense hope in this poem, after the war is lost there is the blossom wind, spring is coming. This is a time for new life and renewal. We can learn to act differently, to value difference, reach out to others, work for peace and understanding and build a more secure world.

Let’s hope in these dark times that this blossom wind enters our lives.

Sébastien Revon:

All our wars.
Which ones? The ones we were meant to win? The ones we were dragged into? Is there any worth the fight?  With the second line “lost”, we are leaning on the thought that all wars are due to be lost. There is no winner against the blossom wind.  There we have our juxtaposition of contrast.

But let’s look at the verse differently:
We could have as well a pivot if we would lay it out like this:

all our wars
lost blossom wind

Then the interpretation would be more complex. No judgment would be made on our wars but a juxtaposition of similitude would appear between our wars and the blossom wind that would lose something of itself, its innocence, its fruition maybe.

Anyways, Eva Linbach offers with that verse two clear opposite readings.  And maybe that is one of the feats of this poem above its symbolism, its depth.  We reflect on the aftermath of the wars, our personal wars and the others more common between enemies.  No doubt the blossom wind, a very successful poetical image, will prevail after the casualties are counted.

Nathan Sidney—Bellum omnium contra omnes:

The tree of life, all the blossoms lost as the gales of war tear through, a war machine confronting something very soft, something delicate. The futility of war, not just our political, religious, economic and tribal conflicts, but the war against nature, the war against god, the war against our selves. All our lost wars. Bellum omnium contra omnes. War as a forever losing prospect, the “victors” in turn doomed to split amongst themselves. Hatred that pours on into the future, blood unforgotten. The winds of time on which souls are scattered, lost souls. There couldn’t be a more jarring juxtaposition than that between war and blossom wind; the one the nightmare of all (most) parents, the other which is the essence of serenity, but also the essence of impermanence. War one of those mighty forces that keeps empires as evanescent, contrasted against the beauty of nature (itself “red in tooth and claw” but also equally built on co-operation, interdependence, connection). “The tree of liberty must be refreshed from time to time with the blood of patriots“, the patriots tumble away in the cool breeze that flows between the stars.

Author Eva Limbach:

I am currently in Spain and have hardly any internet connection there. But here is a short review by Nicholas Klacsanzky:

“Every word counts and is powerful in this haiku. The pacing is also effective. Having “lost” as the second line shocks us and makes us stop. The juxtaposition is also effective. Blossoms are beautiful, unlike wars, but both blossoms and wars get lost in the wind: blossoms in natural wind, and wars in the winds of hate, vanity, anger, and jealously.

The big difference is that blossoms are innocent, and though they are spread randomly and carried off, they give no harm. I believe this haiku is a call to be innocent and sweet like blossoms in the winds of life. It also has a distinct feeling, which is important, as haiku are about feeling, ultimately.

This haiku is a bit indescribable, as haiku should be.”

Thanks to all who sent commentaries. As the contributor of the commentary reckoned best this week, Nathan 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:

     
glass rain
the rush of blood
as you spit me out
—Jennifer Hambrick, 
 Heliosparrow, Sept 7th 2024

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:

Eva Limbach’s short bio and a few haiku may be read in THF’s Haiku Registry; and more at the Living Haiku Anthology. Her website is here.

Eva’s work also appeared in:

after all those wars
the fence
around the cemetery
—Eva Limbach Haiku Dialogue 28 June 2023

wasteland
the contentment
of the herd
—Eva Limbach re:Virals 374

moving boxes…
still leaning on the bare tree
our rotten ladder
— Eva Limbach re:Virals 383

—–

I was taken with Nathan’s invocations of Jefferson’s justification for bloodshed, and of Hobbes. The latter wrote: “during the time men live without a common Power to keep them all in awe, they are in that condition which is called War; and such a war as is of every man against every man.” The Second World War from Holocaust to Hiroshima was so appalling that world leaders of wholly different ideologies established such a common power, the United Nations, and a body of international law. For obvious reasons it was built on consensus; it mostly lacked the means of enforcement without the participation of individual states; it was weakened by the veto of permanent members of the security council; but nevertheless it has, until recently, played a significant role in ending or suppressing war and in providing relief for those afflicted by it. But as the generations that experienced WW2, and their immediate inheritors moulded by their views, have died out, so the international rule of law is crumbling on all sides, its moral force has been usurped, and it seems that we are reverting to narrow-minded nationalism that was the bane of preceding centuries.

The role of poets is perhaps to convey the truths of war at a personal level rather than to overtly extol or condemn it? Wilfred Owen does this well. And understatement can be more effective than advocacy. One such is Henry Reed’s Naming of Parts, a favourite of mine (I was sent on the Army Methods of Instruction Course once, shortform “the AMIC”), and way above the other poems of his:

Today we have naming of parts. Yesterday,
We had daily cleaning. And tomorrow morning,
We shall have what to do after firing. But to-day,
Today we have naming of parts. Japonica
Glistens like coral in all of the neighbouring gardens,
And today we have naming of parts.

This is the lower sling swivel. And this
Is the upper sling swivel, whose use you will see,
When you are given your slings. And this is the piling swivel,
Which in your case you have not got. The branches
Hold in the gardens their silent, eloquent gestures,
Which in our case we have not got.

This is the safety-catch, which is always released
With an easy flick of the thumb. And please do not let me
See anyone using his finger. You can do it quite easy
If you have any strength in your thumb. The blossoms
Are fragile and motionless, never letting anyone see
Any of them using their finger.

And this you can see is the bolt. The purpose of this
Is to open the breech, as you see. We can slide it
Rapidly backwards and forwards: we call this
Easing the spring. And rapidly backwards and forwards
The early bees are assaulting and fumbling the flowers:
They call it easing the Spring.

They call it easing the Spring: it is perfectly easy
If you have any strength in your thumb: like the bolt,
And the breech, and the cocking-piece, and the point of balance,
Which in our case we have not got; and the almond-blossom
Silent in all of the gardens and the bees going backwards and forwards,
For today we have naming of parts.

—–

….and, if you are in the mood, The Fureys’ Green Fields of France: “…the countless white crosses stand mute in the sand… Well the sorrow, the suffering, the glory, the pain, the killing, the dying, were all done in vain, for, young Willy MacBride, it all happened again, and again and again and again and again.” (Eric Bogle, songwriter).
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