re:Virals 479

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 Lakshmi Iyer, was:

krill migration
humpback whales
scoop up the stars
—Debbie Strange
 The Heron's Nest, Volume 24, Number 4, December 2022

Introducing this poem, Lakshmi writes:

Here Debbie has strongly identified the migration of sea animals and their urgency to live wherever the season takes them. I loved the juxtaposition of ‘scooping up the stars’ with that of the whales’ food, the ‘krill’.  It was very fascinating to contemplate the survival of the humpback whale and the beautiful hump that gave it its name, and equally that of the migrating krill.

For years we have continued to write about the theory  and the aesthetics of the haiku.  Though they do find an important place in the structure of a poem, there are so many other factors that slip off from our minds. The Vedic scriptures say that there are nine hundred thousand existing aquatic species; the struggle of a species’ survival shapes the other species around, which then helps the vegetation and the environment.

I’m always in awe of Debbie’s poems and this is very special. We need to save the endangered species and remember the extinct.

Opening comment:

There’s such a long history of haiku where the insight offered is based on the reflection of some celestial or other object on water, that it is not easy to find an iteration that has novelty in it.  Even from the perspective of aquatic denizens viewing the heavens from below the surface, there is Nick Virgilio’s oft-quoted and anthologised haiku about bass picking bugs off the moon, followed by others.

Yet here we have one that stands out. Debbie’s approach successfully adds other dimensions.  First, sheer magnificence: the masses of krill, the countless stars that the poet sees reflected on the (calm) ocean, and which the whales may see from below; and the great whales themselves that have become the object of our deep affection and admiration.  Then, we have the added comparison of myriad pinpoint stars with myriad tiny  bioluminescent krill (See the image).  Krill, itself a lovely word of Norwegian derivation, sounds thrillingly alien to the anglophone.  It is this comparison which, for me, elevates the poem.   As with last week’s hill cattle breathing in cold moonlight, now with humpback whales scooping up luminous krill along with reflected stars, we are again in the natural universe where all is connected, and in the presence of the Creative.

My own whale-watching was done in daylight in clement conditions off Provincetown.  I can only imagine how awesome it must be to see a pod of humpbacks in icy seas on a starlit night, exploding upwards through a mass of twinkling krill.  But imagination will suffice.

Melissa Dennison:

I love this poem. I can see the hump back whales feeding as I read. And the idea of scooping up stars is wonderful.

There is a nice juxtaposition between the big and the very small, different time scales, life spans and life on earth with the stars.

Krill are microscopic organisms that look a lot like shrimps, and are the main source of food for a creature as large as a whale. That in itself is surprising. Imagine how many krill a whale needs to consume every day.  The life span of krill is short, much shorter than a whale, whose life span is nothing compared with that of the stars which can be measured in billions of years.   So we have the finite and the infinite, the heavens and the earth, biological processes and quantum physics. This haiku reveals how everything is deeply interwoven and part of a bigger picture.

However, that may be over-analysing a poem the elegance of which lies in its brevity and simplicity. These 8 words convey a moment in time, a moment of magic and beauty where humpback whales are seen rising up from below and scooping up stars.

It is imaginative in the way it is written and unusual in the way it describes a cetacean eating its dinner.

Joshua Gage:

I don’t know enough about krill to know when they migrate. A quick Google search tells readers that they spawn during January through March, so we imagine that this haiku is set during that time period. The whales, following the krill, clearly eat mouthfuls of these tiny creatures–billions of krill are eaten yearly by whales–and that seems to be what’s pictured in L2-3.

I think we are meant to imagine the moonlight or similar reflecting off the krill so that, when the whales feed, it looks like their mouths are filling not with water and krill, but with actual moving, wriggling stars. Alternately, if the whales are feeding at night, the krill themselves might not be visible in the water, and only the stars’ reflections are visible.

What stands out the most about this poem, to me, is its humility. I urge folks to watch YouTube videos of whales eating krill to understand the majesty of this spectacle, the size of the animals involved here. None of that is present in Strange’s haiku, and the emphasis isn’t on the whale or the krill at all, but on the stars themselves.

It almost is like Strange is taking a cosmic point of view, one where the human observer, the krill, and whales are so small and insignificant against the great cosmos. I think we, as readers, aren’t meant to be disheartened, but to take comfort in that knowledge and in the knowledge that these lifecycles will continue to unfold. There is a peace that occurs at the end of this poem, after the turbulence of the whales breaching to feed and the water settles, readers are left with a lone, arctic horizon, the sea and the stars, and a knowledge of their tiny place in the great universe.

Dan Campbell:

In the cradle of the midnight sea, where silence hums with the weight of eternity, the humpback whales rise. Their bodies, vast and silvered with moonlight, breach the surface as though pulled by an ancient longing. They reach not for air but for something greater, something infinite—a communion with the heavens themselves. With sweeping tails, they stir the constellations, and the stars tumble willingly, falling like scattered jewels into the ocean’s ink-black depths.

What must it feel like, to hold starlight in the cavern of your throat? To draw in the essence of the cosmos and exhale it as a song, a melody that travels beyond the bounds of water and time? Their voices ripple through the ocean, haunting and unbroken, an untranslatable hymn to something we cannot see but can only feel.

In the hush of the night, the ocean becomes their stage, a canvas for the dance of leviathans. Their movements carve crescents in the waves, each breach a stanza, each dive a pause—a poem written in the language of water and light. Moonbeams cling to their backs as they arc through the air, transforming them into celestial beings, somewhere between earth and sky.

We watch, small and silent, from the edge of the world. The whales remind us of what we’ve forgotten—that there is a rhythm to life beyond the reach of reason. In their haunting songs and sweeping dives, they carry the cosmos with them, as if to show us that even in the deepest waters, there is light.

Vidya Premkumar — a celebration of abundance:

Debbie Strange’s haiku immediately evokes a sense of wonder and interconnectedness between the natural world and the cosmos. From a personal standpoint, I find this poem profoundly meditative. It reminds me of the vastness of the ocean and the universe, and how seemingly small and distant phenomena can mirror each other in beauty and rhythm. The act of “scooping up the stars” by humpback whales feels like a celebration of abundance and grace at a micro level. At another level, the image transforms an everyday ecological process into a celestial event of a massive scale like a black hole sucking in stars. It elicits a sense of awe at the way nature operates on both micro and macro levels, creating an experience that feels both intimate and infinite.

This haiku resonates with my own reflections on the unseen connections between life forms. The opening line, ‘ krill migration’ introduces a specific natural phenomenon. Krill, tiny but vital creatures, symbolize the foundational elements of the food chain. Their migration signifies movement, rhythm, and the cyclical nature of life.

The second line introduces the predator, tying the small (krill) to the large (whales). Humpback whales are not just physical giants but also symbolic of majesty and grace in the marine world.

The third line metaphorically transforms the act of feeding into a celestial event. The krills become “stars” in the whales’ mouths. This metaphor elevates the mundane act of eating into something sublime.

The idea of krill migration feeding the whales mirrors the way small efforts or seemingly insignificant actions in life often contribute to something far greater. It’s humbling and poetic, reminding me of how interconnected and interdependent our ecosystems are. The pace of the haiku is so serene that it leaves me with a sense of humility and reverence for the natural world.

Author Debbie Strange:

Thank you to Lakshmi for selecting this poem! When we lived on the British Columbia coast, the humpback whale migration was always an exciting and fascinating time. Researchers on Vancouver Island have discovered that some humpbacks prefer to feed on krill at night, when the crustaceans are closer to the surface. They have several different feeding strategies, using techniques such as bubble netting and lunging, in which their gigantic mouths work much like scoops. Whales are featured in the folklore of cultures all around the world, and The Cetus Constellation is also known as “The Whale”. In this haiku, I used concrete imagery to connect the mythical with the celestial. The whales might literally be swallowing the reflections of stars along with the krill, or, they might metaphorically be breaching high enough out of the water to reach the heavens.

Thanks to all who sent commentaries. As the contributor of the commentary reckoned best this week, Vidya has chosen next week’s poem, which you’ll find below.  We invite you to write a commentary to it. It may be short, or of moderate length, academic, your personal response, spontaneous, or idiosyncratic.  As long as it focuses on the verse presented, and with respect for the poet, all genuine reader reaction and pertinent discussion is of value.   Out-takes are kept 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:

a junction without signboards my palm
—Chidambar Navalgund
 the sound of healing, ed. Shloka Shankar, Yavanika Press, 2023

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Footnote:

Krill bring to mind the Krell, the superior race of beings that once inhabited The Forbidden Planet, Altair IV.

I admire Debbie’s work: it is often striking.

Short bio:
Debbie Strange (Canada) is a chronically ill poet, artist, and photographer whose creative passions connect her more closely to the world, to others, and to herself. Please visit Debbie’s blog to access a publication archive (listed below), and follow her on Twitter/X (at)Debbie_Strange and Instagram (at)debbiemstrange for examples of her work.

Debbie’s website is here.

Debbie Strange

Haiku for Parkinson’s: Haiga for Healing—Debbie Strange

New to Haiku: Advice for Beginners – Debbie Strange