re:Virals 497
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, hosted by Keith Evetts (managing editor) and Melissa Dennison. In the seat today is Melissa. This week’s poem, chosen by Jonathan Epstein was:
patiently waiting for sunlight on its flanks undersea mountain —Rob Barkan Haiku Dialogue, March 12, 2025
Introducing this poem, Jonathan writes:
Haiku proliferates with images of some of nature’s most ephemeral creations (mayflies, tadpoles, falling stars, cherry blossoms), so it is refreshing to ponder an entity that lives for eons; in this case, a mountain whose evolution may lift it to new heights, literally and metaphorically. I look forward to reading what others discover in this stimulating verse.
Opening comment (Melissa):
I enjoyed reading this haiku as it is unusual. I don’t think I have read another that mentions an undersea mountain. It is imaginative, and I like that. When we think of mountains we automatically think of those on land, the Matterhorn, Mount Everest etc. How often do we stop to consider what lies beneath the seas and oceans of our blue planet? I ask this question, as our planet is predominantly water, the land is just a tiny sliver of our beautiful Earth. Yet we are creatures of the land and this skews our perspective. There is so much in the deep that still remains a mystery to us, this is a realm yet to be explored. And this haiku indicates an air of mystery, where somewhere down in the inky depths a mountain is waiting…waiting for sunlight to grace its flanks. This feels like a metaphor for what is below the surface – our hidden depths which are waiting to emerge finally into the light. Perhaps this refers to a bleak period in life, to loss or grief, maybe depression. Or perhaps it expresses a desire to be seen, to be understood. In this way this haiku has a psychological element. However, as this haiku is using personification this can be a little controversial, as there are those who believe that this is an absolute no-no. To be honest, I am a bit of a rule-breaker, and if using personification enables the poet to express their meaning, then why not? We are the ones who create the rules, after all. I anticipate lively debate after this. For further information, please refer to the footnotes below.
Sitarama Seshu Maringanti:
The Haiku by Rob Barkan is as enigmatic as it is poetic. An undersea mountain waiting patiently for sunlight to fall on its flanks looks like a contradiction in terms. Unless the poet himself is waiting patiently to witness the sun’s rays falling on the sides of an undersea mountain. In either case, only a diffuse sunlight may penetrate the mass of water to reach the surface of the underwater mountain. And, what impact does the poet expect the sunlight to have on the flanks of the mountain? Is it on the immense biodiversity existing around the mountain? That is the point that awaits an answer.
Lakshman Bulusu:
This haiku is a revelation of nature. The reflection of a mountain in the sea is clearly visible. The mountain itself is waiting for the sun to drench its flanks with gold, and, so does the reflection of it undersea. This makes the mountain “an object of its own creation undersea”, a seamless one. The reflecting sunlight on its flanks would create ripples of gold when the sun comes up radiating gold. It’s like a miracle with no other bars, no other barriers, and nothing that comes in between the sunlight and the undersea mountain; except patience which is the key. Yet, to strike gold, being patient for any amount of time is worthy. The poet has captured the moments in three beautiful lines.
Sudha Devi Nayak:
The under sea mountain which is actually a landmass hidden from view waits ever so patiently for its turn, its place in the sun. While mountains are known metaphorically for their monumental patience this haiku creates for the reader the ethereal beauty of the sea, the sunlight, and an air of pensive patience of the under sea mountain. Standing on the edge of the sea I can imagine the meditative calm of the submarine mountain with its prayer to be granted the solace of the sunlight. The patient anticipation of the benediction is a worshipful duty – a service to an unseen divinity. Milton’s iconic line comes to my mind: “They also serve who stand and wait.”
Lakshmi Iyer:
The very first line hit me sharp as if my poem got rejected, as I wait for months through the selection process and finally the editor says:
‘Mr. X liked it, but the others didn’t.’
In the way an undersea mountain waits patiently for the sunlight to hit its flanks, so to me patiently waiting could mean:
patiently waiting for sunlight..
patiently waiting for the green spring to touch our kingdom…
patiently waiting for lives to understand each other…
patiently waiting for love to blossom without any ego, anger, jealousy and hatred…
patiently waiting for them to respect my work as I do to theirs..
patiently waiting to resolve and respond…
patiently waiting for sound global harmony and peace…
patiently waiting to move towards the end of my journey on this planet!!!!
Quite tough to explain and explore the reasons for the slow speed of sunlight to reach the mountain. But, a very positive approach to wait and wait. I can go on and on with the geography and history but life is not all about analysing ourselves, it is to find a way and reach our goals.
Thank you Rob! Thank you Jonathan!
Vidya Premkumar—hidden depths:
This haiku feels quiet yet powerful. On the surface, it paints a simple image: an underwater mountain, still in darkness, waiting for light. But when I sit with it, the layers start to unfold. From a personal lens, it immediately brings to mind the parts of ourselves we keep buried, deep within, hoping for light to eventually reach them.
From a psychoanalytic perspective, this “undersea mountain” could easily be a metaphor for the unconscious. It’s massive, hidden, shaped over time by unseen pressures, tectonic shifts of memory and emotion. It waits—patiently—for insight, symbolized here by sunlight. The patience of the mountain is striking; it doesn’t seek, it doesn’t cry out. It just waits. There’s something deeply human in that—how often do we lie in wait, hoping that someone, or even we ourselves, will illuminate our hidden depths?
From an eco-critical point of view, I also find myself reflecting on the deep ocean as a living entity that doesn’t clamour for attention like forests or mountains we can see. It’s an unseen world, rich and teeming, but often overlooked. This haiku gives that world dignity—personifying the undersea mountain as something with presence and quiet anticipation. In an age where we’re waking up to the damage we’ve done to unseen ecosystems, this tiny poem reads like a subtle plea for attentiveness to the submerged and forgotten.
Then there’s the feminist lens, which may seem surprising here—but the association with patience and invisibility speaks volumes. So many women and marginalized folks live like that undersea mountain—massive in strength and experience, yet unacknowledged, out of sight. Their power, their stories, wait for light to fall upon them. It makes me think of my own silenced parts, moments when I felt unseen, yet remained quietly whole and hopeful.
Reading this haiku, I feel a kind of reverence. The poem doesn’t demand attention—it simply holds space. And in doing that, it allows me to sit with my own unlit places, knowing they too are waiting, still and steady, for a glimmer of light.
Thanks to all who sent commentaries. As the contributor of the commentary reckoned best this week, Vidya Premkumar 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, criticism, 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:
old book smell i catch the rye — Kimberly A. Horning, USA Prune Juice, Issue 45
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:
Rob Barkan is a writer, screenwriter and songwriter. He is also a haiku poet and regular contributor to The Haiku Foundation, having participated in haiku dialogue and the renku sessions.
Personification means the attribution of human characteristics to inorganic matter or anything that isn’t human, in this case the undersea mountain is patiently waiting. Do you think that this is problematic? Would you have written this differently? Or like me do you think that the haiku would lose its meaning and vitality without this?
Comments (17)
Comments are closed.
in the fantasy and sci-fi worlds i inhabit in my imagination and often write about, inanimate objects embody living spirits that turn the object into a living entity, and sometimes the object is a living being all on its own. it was compassion that motivated me to introduce a very lonely undersea mountain yearning for the eventual global cataclysm that would thrust the ocean bottom up into open air. perhaps this mountain in the far distant past stood high and mighty in the sun, caressed by caring clouds, before yet another eon passed and submerged it once again.
i recall the 1995 film waterworld in which the peak of mount everest is now an island. and hp lovecraft’s the call of cthulthu, wherein the dreaded sunken city of r’lyeh emerges from the depths of the sea. in my work i always strive to convey a fresh perspective—something different, something new.
allow me to present a haiku i submitted to lakshmi’s inspiring mountain prompt:
the glisten
of her snow-powdered peak
shasta’s love
describing not so much the spiritual mount shasta of california, but the tremendous emanations of love shining from her peak. if ancient cultures named and worshipped their mountains as powerful beings, why not i?
now to everyone’s rich and enlightening comments.
jonathan: as you aptly point out, haiku famously describes the natural world in so many ways, mountains (and rivers) included. “an entity that lives for eons” well captures the character of my undersea mountain and how it must feel, especially if it once towered above land and enjoyed the feel of sunlight and clouds. this is personification to the max. i’m pleased you found this refreshing—my goal to all readers.
melissa: you are the first to introduce the psychological aspect of an undersea mountain. what mysteries and frights lay below our conscious minds? i was so intrigued with this new perspective, even though i never intended it; perhaps it was my own subconscious mind at work.
and thank you for appreciating my lean toward the unconventional. ordinary does not exist in my writing choices.
sitarama: and you are the first to introduce the interesting perspective of the reader patiently waiting for sunlight on submerged stone flanks, which renders the undersea mountain merely an inanimate object observed by a human. not my intent but a fascinating facet of my haiku.
lakshman: another fascinating perspective! to me, the image of the sun reflected in the water, drenched in dappled sunlight, invokes so many wonderful haiku through the centuries describing an object reflected in the water’s surface, so often a japanese frog pond, and how the water affects the visual appearance of the reflection, transforming it. such as the reflected night moon becoming a rippling lily pad on the surface of a lake.
i loved your observation.
sudha: a wonderful tribute to the personification of the undersea mountain and the respect it deserves by light of its stony patience. thank you, and the mountain thanks you as well.
lakshmi: it is a treat to have you comment on the poem you yourself selected! wow, what an interesting take—of people waiting patiently for that something that may never touch their lives, but yet they yearn because that is all they have. the undersea mountain experiences nothing but patience and the occasional deep sea creatures that sidle past its bulk. so you reversed the personification back to the human condition—so fresh an observation. another aspect of my haiku i never realized. nice touch.
vidya: i’m in awe of your interpretation, so rich with so many meanings and symbolisms. my jaw dropped reading how many angles of an undersea mountain you discovered. i especially liked the aspect of the underappreciated humans for are always there yet never or seldom see an appreciative ray of sunlight grace their efforts.
melissa (in the comments): i’m pleased you can separate your scientific mind from your artistic observations. science has its vital purpose in the world but it is not the entire world by any means. an entirely scientific human race would be so dull and colorless. it is art and poetry and prose that does make us human—science is a very useful tool for study and survival, and i see the world today starting to turn away from science in favor of ignorance, superstition, and just plain stupidity for short term gain. balance is the goal.
keith (in the comments): it’s fascinating how your observations about personification begin with a stern approach, and wonderful ends with such a generous description of japanese deities i never knew existed until you thoroughly educated me. you actually ended up supporting personification in a spectacular way. brings to mind the 1959 record album 50,000,000 elvis fans can’t be wrong. to shinto believers, aren’t those deities real? and you wonderfully described these gods of nature, especially the dragon watatsumi, so akin to a submerged landform patiently waiting for its time to emerge from the depths of the sea of japan. Perhaps watatsumi, i’m realizing for the first time as I write this, was the subconscious inspiration for the 1954 toho film gojira, later godzilla, and not so much about the dangers of nuclear radiation that deeply affected the film’s creators.
nancy (in the comments): i was inspired to submit to lakshmi’s mountain and river prompts not only because personification was described and encouraged but because i felt so comfortably right at home in a world i love. so that is what inspired me to compose such creative haiku. i thank lakshmi again for the opportunity to expand on that patience.
and in closing, keith so aptly observes that “after all, the dish ran away with the spoon…”
a remarkably fitting coda to my thoughts here. fantasy keeps us all alive. remember those fairy tales, keith, and how wonderful they were to read and cherish…
thank you all very much for the opportunity to share my thoughts and feelings with you.
rob barkan
Thanks Rob for your comments. Those too are ‘in-depth’. 😊
I would imagine that as a fan of sci fi you will appreciate science. Science fiction is the ideal space for art and science to meet. Take the film Waterworld, that takes place I think after climate change. What both science and art have in common is imagination, they just go about things differently, but both are a search for truth and understanding.
They are both, like you seeking to offer different or fresh perspectives. Without which life would be pretty dull like you suggest.
I guess when it comes to personification, anthropomorphism and animism, it depends on which conventions you adhere to, which school of thought about haiku.
Its very interesting what you say about the inspiration for this haiku. It certainly is novel. And yes, I wouldn’t have got this from reading, so thankyou for sharing. There’s plenty of food for thought there!
Magnificent, Rob!
thank you for that keith. many of my words
were inspired by your words.
patiently waiting
for sunlight on its flanks
undersea mountain
—Rob Barkan
Warning: criticism. So, this is Rob Barkan’s haiku and he has every right, of course, to picture an undersea mountain waiting for sunlight. To make it work at all, I go to the idea, spoken of in the comments, that he has the equivalent of an undersea mountain in his own psyche, revealed maybe in a dream, and I can appreciate that such a mountain longs for the light. It’s his mountain. It’s him. All right.
But I wish there was something to tip the haiku in that direction. Because as it is, the way it comes across to me,
something very mysterious and little frightening is reduced to a Disneyesque cartoon.
Is “undersea mountain” an example of “tontoism”? Maybe because I am already seeing this as a haiku in progress,, I tend to think it is.
This from the computer:
“In haiku, “Tontoism” refers to the tendency of some poets to omit articles (such as “the,” “a,” or “an”) and other sentence elements that are typically present in standard English usage. This stylistic choice often results in a stilted or fragmented diction, which can make the haiku sound unnatural or overly terse, resembling the speech patterns of Tonto, the fictional Native American character from The Lone Ranger series. The term was coined by poet Paul O. Williams in 1975 to critique this practice in English-language haiku.”
Anyway, I hope Rob Barkan will continue to go deep and come up with the undersea mountain haiku I imagine is somewhere inside.
Megan, you bring up an interesting point about communication. The usual view (as you know) is that in haiku it is for the reader to ‘complete the poem.’ Some have completed this one by taking it as a metaphor for something else, not mentioned in the images provided by the poet. Yet you would like to see ‘something to tip the haiku in that direction.’ If that was what the poet intended, and it might not have been — we await his views — what would you suggest might provide a further clue, without straying over into ‘telling?’
We recently took an interesting verse from Peter Yovu that was open to various readings: “alone / a meadow / makes me its weed.” Do you think there was sufficient communication in that verse? Or was the poetic effect, breaking the bounds of rational thought, enough?
As to telegraphese: sometimes articles are necessary, and without them a verse is clunky in English; sometimes not. Usage plays a part. In the current conventional formulae for haiku and senryu, ‘undersea mountain’ as a generic notion seems fairly unexceptionable. I am not sure that ‘an undersea mountain’ or ‘the undersea mountain’ would improve a verse that in essence doesn’t read like a real and present observation (unless scuba diving). And the extra syllable clearly doesn’t matter as we are not counting them. How would you assess Paul O. Williams’ haiku:
from mud to sky the heron's feetDo you think he should have used ‘the’ mud and ‘the’ sky?
Your further discussion of these points would be most welcome.
Keith, thank you.
One wishes to be kind. I am hesitant to say much, partly because the changes I believe would help would make a very different
haiku, and I don’t believe Rob Barkan wants that. Nor should he. The image of the undersea mountain is a striking one, but all its terrifying majesty is lost here. The lack of an article is the least of the concerns, imo.
It will not convince, but I would say two things about the Peter Yovu poem. One, when I read it, it feels true. That puts any sense of
anthropomorphism in the background for me. I can see that someone who is irritated by any hint of anthropomorphism might think differently. Fair enough. Two, the sound structure makes it feel whole.
Ah, Megan, you misread me. As said in my commentary on it, I think Peter Yovu’s poem hits the sweet spot. And I don’t see in it any strained anthropomorphism. “Makes” is a verb of fairly universal application, and surely does not try to attribute an emotion to an inanimate object. The mountain ‘makes’ me look small… The meadow (with all its natural beauty) ‘makes’ the poet a weed. The confluence of several streams ‘makes’ a river…..
Oh, I just wanted to say how I saw that haiku. By “convince”, I meant someone who tends to dismiss any whiff of anthropomorphism. I do recall you saying something about a sweet spot. And if I may be so bold as to speak on behalf of the world– the world could use a little sweetness now.
Ps to clarify, I should say there are no rules per se, only conventions, techniques and devices. However, one or two of these seem more controversial than others! I find that intriguing.
my deepest gratitude jonathan for choosing
my haiku for review in the re:virals. also thank
you keith and melissa for hosting this session
that i am honored to be the focus of.
what amazes me are the many facets of my poem
i never knew lay submerged in its depths, revealed
by thoughtful and generous reviewers. i will be
commenting on all of these insights in a few days.
rob barkan
Hi Rob
It’s great to hear from you as the author. I sent an email but it probably went to spam. I was wondering if you could elaborate a little – what inspired you to write this poem? It is such an unusual and novel approach. I found myself quite engrossed. It would be great to hear more.
Yes, I agree it is always amazing to me reading the many layers of interpretation. It’s quite something that just a few words can elicit these.
Keith,
While I would agree that personification of inanimate objects is generally frowned upon in haiku, the guest editor, Lakshmi Iyer, of Haiku Dialogue has chosen Mountain and River as the topic/theme. Introducing them in the opening sentence, it states: “Mountain is benchmark for patience, resilience, and tolerance.” The introduction goes on, of course, and is worth reading for the full explanation.
Rob may have taken the prompt at its word, and thus, his haiku makes sense as it follows Lakshmi’s description.
Just a thought….
Thank you for the comment, Nancy. I think it’s a question of personal taste and beliefs, and that having considered the reasoning —and the precedents— it’s for each to decide. There’s no absolute.
Further thought: in last week’s footnote I touched on symbolism, and the associations that images/words accumulate (and which contribute significantly to the power of this tiny poetic form). That ‘mountain’ may come to symbolise or suggest various animate qualities in our minds through association, is a different thing from it actually posessing those qualities. The moon has come to symbolise, or be associated with, love, but itself is incapable of emotion…
There is also (at least for poets steeped in English language poetics) an argument that poetry goes beyond the real into the imaginary, and therefore anything goes. The mountain cave laughs back at me… what a sense of humour it has!
I might buy that one :-)
After all, the dish ran away with the spoon…
As Melissa points out, the attribution of patience to inanimate rock does put the verse in a personified, anthropomorphic, or zoomorphic, mode. This can be problematic. There are classic haiku precedents. Our English language, particularly romantic poetry, is riddled with personifications and their congeners. Many have become so familiar in usage that we pay them no special attention (and therefore, they do not conspicuously strain a verse). The Footnote to re:Virals 434 of 19 January 2024 went into this subject.
It’s a question of degree. Also of personal taste. As a scientist, the notion that inanimate objects think or have emotions leaves me rather doubtful and inclined to downrate a verse. A cat can be patient in front of a mousehole, but ascribing patience to a mountain is, I think, unreasonably anthropomorphic, while simply ‘waiting’ without the adverb could be more acceptable. At a stretch, the drafting could be taken to mean that it is the scuba-diving poet, not the mountain, who is waiting. The present participle is often used in anglophone haiku as a device to skirt the issue by allowing ambiguity.
However, applied to mountain, sea and sun we could, if so inclined, view the verse within the animist traditions of Shinto, and the gods and goddesses (kami) believed by its followers to inhabit all natural things.
In Shinto belief, the kami of the sun is Amaterasu Ōmikami, said to be born from the left eye of Izanagi, the god of creation. The shrine of Ise is dedicated to Amaterasu. Greatly revered in the Land of the Rising Sun, uniting the spiritual with the imperial family.
Among the kami of the sea the primary spirit is the dragon Watatsumi. In some regional lore, Watatsumi may be linked to submerged landforms, rocks and reefs.
Above the various spirits of individual mountains, Ōyamatsumi governs all mountains: the brother of Amaterasu and of the storm god Susanō, all born from Izanagi.
It may be that in this verse, Ōyamatsumi is patiently waiting for his big sister…
I’d give this week’s verse points for a fresh topic, undersea mountains; and for stirring meditation. First, on the changing filtered light of the sun playing on the undersea slopes just as it would on a mountain above the surface. And then, if we contemplate a mountain in the ocean depths, what circumstances might bring such a mountain into the sunlight. A volcanic eruption? The oceans drying as Earth warms?
Yes, from a scientific perspective granting other beings or inorganic matter with human qualities is problematic. I come from a science background too, and learning to write creatively (ok some people argue any writing is such), has meant I have had to unlearn a great deal, or at least learn to be bilingual.
Art explores human experience, it is written by humans and I think, and this is just my opinion, that it is ok to use personification if it helps enrich your poetry, if it conveys the meaning more effectively than not doing so.
At the end of the day we are the ones who set the rules, and like everything else haiku evolves. Nothing is fixed.