re:Virals 513

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. In the host chair today is Melissa. This week’s poem, chosen by Radhika De Silva was:

through the fog
footsteps and cane
footsteps and cane
Richard Tice
Kō, Autumn-Winter 1996

Introducing this poem, Radhika writes:

This is a poignant haiku that evokes deep emotions, creating a strong sensory experience through its powerful imagery. The imagery and the atmosphere used paint a lucid scene, leaving room for the reader’s imagination. The word ‘fog’ indicates an opaque situation where there is some degree of uncertainty about the path/journey. Repetition of the line ‘footsteps and cane’ creates a rhythm in the reader’s mind. It could be a visually impaired or an elderly person trotting with difficulty, and the sound of both footsteps and the cane echoes in the reader’s mind. It could be the uncertainty of life’s journey expressed in a few words.

Opening comment (Melissa):

When I first read this poem by Richard Tice my imagination ran away with me. I saw images from the too many murder mysteries and thrillers I have watched in my lifetime. I could imagine being in an old alleyway somewhere as the fog swirled and I struggled to make out what was in front of me. Then the footsteps come closer and closer. The tension and the drama in this moment cannot be underrated, and it sends a chill down my spine. However, pulling myself back to reality…Living in the 21st Century, like most other people I have grown up with cinema and television. These influences seep into my consciousness and shape it in ways that I probably aren’t aware of. This got me thinking about the relationship between cinema and haiku. Both are imagistic. They also present images in an objective fashion. In particular the use of montage where film makers cut from one shot to the next. Examples of haiku that also do this include:

Lean-to of tin;
a pintail on the river
in the pelting rain

Robert Speiss, The Turtle’s ears, 1971

and

boulders
just beneath the boat
it’s dawn

John Wills, Reed Shadows, 1987

For further information there is an interesting essay by Allan Burns from Frogpond 30.3 called Haiku and Cinematic Technique, please see the footnotes below.

This verse is a multisensory haiku as we have sight and sound, sight as we see the fog and we hear the sounds made by the footsteps and cane. There is also kinaesthesia, ie an awareness of the position and movement in space of the person with the cane as they are feeling their way. In addition as we read this haiku we are trying to make sense of and interpret our experience in order to create new understandings. We do not know whose footsteps these are, nor if they are a blind person. They could simply be the footsteps of someone carrying a cane or walking stick.

It is also possible that the individual with the cane is visualising the world around them in their mind’s eye and seeking to make sense in the same way as we have been doing here when reading these words.

The repetition in this haiku of the line footsteps and cane suggests that whoever they are they are making steady progress, which is an upbeat message. And repetition is a key feature of this poem, it is a shasei-type verse, ie a sketch from life, however it differs in that these events occur over a period of time rather than in a single moment. Repetition is just one of many tools that a haiku poet can use, and one that is highly effective. Many Japanese and English haiku use repetition to describe phenomena in the natural world.

For instance Bashō uses repetition in the haiku below as he goes for a walk in the countryside:

counting as I go
villa by villa
plum and willows

And how could we forget this famous poem by Issa?

Climb Mount Fuji,
O Snail,
but slowly, slowly.

Issa uses repetition effectively to emphasize the plodding speed of the snail. If he hadn’t chosen this approach would this haiku work so well or resonate with the reader?

Finally with respect to repetition, below is an example from contemporary English language haiku:

lily:
out of the water . . .
out of itself
Nicholas Virgilio

Brad Bennett, Frogpond 46:1 Essays Repetition in Haiku is a great resource to learn more and I have placed a link in the footnotes.

Therefore in haiku we can repeat a single word, words, a fragment, or even a whole line as Richard Tice has done in lines 2 and 3. Some might argue that repetition is a no-no but ask yourself would this haiku work without it? If you are interested in reading more about this interesting topic then please see the footnotes below.

One question for you as the reader is to consider whether this haiku would still work as effectively without articles for footstep and cane? Would dropping ‘the’ before fog be successful? What do you think? I would value your comments!

A few of the commentators this week have suggested that fog can symbolize uncertainty, and the feeling of being lost. Could this be what Richard is articulating in this poem? Fog obscures the world, making it hard to know what to do, which direction to take, and also creates an air of mystery. That is what struck me initially as my words in the opening paragraph indicate. Perhaps this haiku could be a metaphor for the mystery of life, and how we struggle to make sense of this?

Richard’s haiku is also reminiscent of A paper lantern coming from the opposite direction; night fog by Ozaki Hōsai. What do you think about these poems? Might you have a preference? See footnotes.

Vivimarie Vanderpoorten:

This poem’s power lies in the fact that it works at both literal and metaphorical levels. In this fog we can hear the rhythm of footsteps and cane but cannot see its source. This poem is a commentary on ageing, the ‘fog’ connotes the fog of time, the fog of inevitable disability and slowing down that descends upon us as we grow old, seemingly sudden, like the fog that instantly covers a mountain range. However the repetition of the line’s ‘footsteps and cane’ also, while imitating the rhythm of walking with a cane, also speaks of persistence and movement despite the fog of memory, the passage of time, and the inability to see what lies in the future. It is powerful in its seeming simplicity not least because it is our common destiny.

Sudha Devi Nayak:

There is an air of mystery, an air of breathless anticipation about this haiku. I am sitting on a boulder in a forest glade listening in to the quiet of the dawn. In the foggy environs nothing stirs, the trees stand sentinel and it is an opiate to the senses. I don’t expect anything to happen except that the fog will clear to let in the sun. But what is this? Through the fog I hear the footsteps approaching, a staccato step and the tapping of a cane at rhythmic intervals.  The repetitive sounds are like a refrain in a chant not taking away but enhancing the stillness all around, and, I am left wondering what would follow.

A tall lean figure zooms into view through the fog, in a loin cloth and a bare torso, with heavy footwear and a long staff to keep him in balance. He walks past with measured steps looking neither left nor right – his eyes centred on a spot in the distance. He is unwavering, unmindful of everything, even of his own being. He is a forest dweller, a mendicant, a “sadhu” who lives in meditation and peace.
His thoughts are not of this world and its countless preoccupations: “far from the madding crowd’s ignoble strife”. In fractured war weary times he represents the detachment of the ancient “rishis”, a blessedness, his footprints leading him to unknown destinations.
I wanted to talk to him but my words froze. There is something ethereal about this haiku beyond words and action. The last two lines reverberate as the footsteps and the cane recede – before I know he is gone. The fog has lifted and the sun is through.

Sitarama Seshu Maringanti:

This haiku of Richard Tice presents an interesting scenario of fog and (possibly) an old or disabled person. Hailing from South India, I had relatively fewer experiences of walking through mist or fog. During the height of winter, Delhi and the other northern Indian cities experience fog affecting visibility on the roads and incoming flights. But the fog in Delhi is not thick enough to slow down individuals taking a walk through it in the parks or on sidewalks.

There was, however, one lived experience for me when I was in upstate New York (Catskill mountains). There was heavy rain overnight and the next morning a screen of thick misty fog descended. I took a few steps out of my house for my morning walk. But couldn’t proceed far due to poor visibility. I had to take a cane/ walking stick for assistance to feel my way on the ground through the thick fog. For a few moments, I felt like a blind person. Richard Tice’s haiku brought the lived experience of that day to my mind. Haikus too reflect upon real life experiences.

Refika Dedić:

Fog symbolizes the ambiguity in which anything can happen. In the fog, orientation is lost, we find ourselves in a state of confusion, hopelessness, and a feeling of fear of the inevitable appears. As soon as footsteps are heard, hope arises in a person, and the stick is there as security.  Regardless of the ambiguity and obstacles (fog), the steps continue.

Dan Campbell on keeping on keeping on :

Yes old man, I can see you
moving through the morning fog —
slow, steady.

Footsteps and cane.
Footsteps and cane.
Same pace.
Same rhythm.
Like you were telling time
your own way.

My favorite uncle moved like that.
After the strokes.
After the war.
After the world lost its patience
for people who couldn’t move fast.

He never asked for pity.
He just kept walking.

And that’s what you did too—
walking like it meant something.
Like each step
was proof
you were still here.

Through the fog,
you disappeared,
slowly, like a memory .

Footsteps and cane
Footsteps and cane
That’s how I’ll remember you.
Not your face.
Not your name.
Just the sound
that you’re not giving up.

Richard Tice:

I can count on one hand the number of haiku I’ve written that repeat phrases. There’s simply not enough space to do that effectively. Nevertheless, I gambled repeating the entire line in this poem, and judging from the number of positive responses I’ve received over the years, I think it was an effective choice.

Thick fog covered my neighborhood that day, and visibility was only a few feet. I couldn’t see the street in front of my house, but I could hear the tap tap … tap of someone walking on the sidewalk. Two light sounds of footsteps, a slight pause, and a sharper click of a cane as the walker brought his or her cane forward. The phrase “footsteps and cane” seemed to capture the sound and rhythm, and the line break created the brief cut of silence between each set of three sounds. Although I knew my neighbors well, I did not know anyone who used a cane. I still don’t know who the unseen person was.

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

     
nightfall
slipping into the pond
without a splash
— Simon Hanson
  The Heron’s Nest, June 2025 

Footnote:

Richard Tice started writing haiku and essays on the form in the 1970s while teaching English in Japan. Fluent in Japanese, he also has translated more than three hundred hokku and haiku. His poems have appeared in several dozen periodicals and anthologies. He assumed editorship of Dragonfly: East/West Haiku Quarterly in 1985 and published sixteen issues before the journal was suspended. A collection of his haiku Station Stop, a collection of haiku and linked verse Familiar and Foreign (which contains the above haiku), a book of poetry Degrees of Light, and a young adult novel The Inside Track have been published. Familiar and Foreign and Degrees of Light are available on Amazon from Waking Lion Press; the other two titles are out of print.

For more information please follow the link below:

https://thehaikufoundation.org/staff-member/richard-tice/

For further reading around haiku and fog:

https://thehaikufoundation.org/second-life-japanese-haiku-in-translation-night-fog/

For a deeper dive into the relationship between cinema and haiku:

https://thehaikufoundation.org/omeka/files/original/dcdc6d36befc7ee10317b7315313c426.pdf

And if you are interested in learning more about the use of repetition in haiku then the essay Repetition in Haiku by Brad Bennett from Frogpond 46.1, Winter 2023 is a great place to begin.

https://www.hsa-haiku.org/frogpond/2023-issue46-1/Bennett-Repetition-Frogpond-46-1-2023.pdf

re:Virals is co-hosted by Shawn Blair, Melissa Dennison, Susan Yavaniski, and Keith Evetts (managing editor).

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