re:Virals 516

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 Susan Yavaniski. This week’s poem, chosen by Harrison Lightwater was:

the garden snail
on our driveway
Ukraine talks
—Archie G. Carlos
tsuri-dōrō Issue #27 – May/June 2025

Introducing this poem, Harrison writes:

I think this is an excellent haiku (haiku because the snail is a formal kigo for summer, and it is not at all intended to prompt a smile). The fragile snail and its prospect of being crushed, likely without our paying much attention even if we notice, is an inspired parallel with the plight of Ukraine. Its existence depends on other much bigger entities pursuing their interests without giving it much say. Great use of the core techniques of cut, juxtaposition, and internal comparison to say in eight uncomplicated words what would take a New York Times opinion piece hundreds of weighty ones. Up to date. Relevant. Resonant. Effective.

The AI tells me that snails are associated with persistence and longevity. Recalling Issa’s “little snail slow-slow climb Mount Fuji,” I hope the parallel holds.

Opening comment (Susan Yavaniski):

This week’s verse tautly contrasts a concrete image from nature with the abstraction of the Ukrainian cease-fire talks. As the winning commentator points out, the images suggest themselves metaphorically—the vulnerable, displaced garden snail an apt correlative for ongoing events in the beleaguered nation.

The cut most readily comes after “driveway,” but could presumably be read after “snail:” the garden snail/ on our driveway Ukraine talks, conceivably a headline in a newspaper tossed on the pavement. More likely though, the author has deployed Ukraine as his fragment because it is readily accessible in the psyche of the poet—and equally in that of most readers—by virtue of the twenty-four-hour news circulating on our multiple screens. As this week’s commentaries attest, Ukraine’s very name effectively carries a range of emotions and associations. Some might even say that it is a place that has become, in the eleven years since it was invaded, an internationally-recognized utamakura.

Wherever the cut, it’s the driveway— our driveway — where the haiku hinges. We are coming or we are going, we are in between places, we are preoccupied with events beyond our control. The contrast with a fragile yet self-sufficient creature which carries home on its back and slowly goes about life possibly unaware of the many threats to its existence, is dramatic.  On first reading, the poem spoke to me of the modern malaise of psychic homelessness in a time when we are constantly on the move, physically, but even more so, mentally and emotionally, as we cycle through a barrage of news and information.

In this haiku, then, perhaps more than others,  the interruption between the images that allows space for reflection and emotion seems analogous to that moment of attention in which the poet apprehends, in the speed of coming and going, something as simple as a garden snail, yet because it is something tangible and immediate, it can beget a sense of appreciation more intimate than, and so in contrast to, the usual rush of life and ennui of impersonal events. The poem points to the power of haiku to enable both the creator and re-creating reader to literally take time— to step out of time’s flow, to pause its rush— by coming back to immediate perception; by returning, however briefly, to one’s senses.

         “Today you have probably encountered more news of the world outside your immediate experience than most humans did in an entire lifetime. Did you feel much? Probably not…      Beyond the Churn, Sarah Smarsh

    “We have today so many superficial things… but the essential thing is to be touched.”                                                                                                                                                                                      Catalan Viol Master, Joel Savall, Interview
 

           touch of dawn
           a snail retracts
its horns
—John Wills

Dan Campbell:
As a retired U.S. State Department employee, this poem really hit home. In this particular haiku, we’ve got a garden snail, which is just about the anti-logo of triumph or resolution. You don’t “spot” a snail moving so much as you infer it—like you can tell your fingernails have grown, but only because you remember them being shorter. And yet: there it is, the snail, performing the smallest measurable act of forward-ness. Set this next to the current headlines from Ukraine—those push notifications that seem to arrive in your phone with a kind of moral tinnitus—and the snail starts to look less like a mollusk and more like the physical embodiment of diplomacy. Not diplomacy as in shaking hands and signing things with gold pens for photographers, but diplomacy as in: some kid somewhere gets one more night’s sleep without mortar fire; an aid truck squeaks through a checkpoint because a sergeant decides not to check too hard; the front line doesn’t move today. All of which is to say: the slow, boring work that keeps the worst thing from happening. The driveway in the poem is bad terrain—flat, hard, friction-friendly, comfort-free. This is where the snail crawls. And the poem knows enough to not pretend that peace is ever a mossy glide. You keep moving, or you don’t. And if you don’t, the thing stops being peace pretty fast. By picking the snail instead of the dove-and-olive-branch cliché package, the poem swaps Hallmark hope for something closer to field-tested. This is hope without the lens flare—a hope that’s basically a shadow on concrete, the kind you could miss if you don’t look long enough. And maybe that’s the moral here: the courage isn’t in the cinematic arrival; it’s in the slow refusal to quit, even when the ground under you stays cold.

Peter C. Forster:

What great timing this is. The Presidents of Russia and the USA prepare to settle the future of Ukraine, likely to crush the rights, the hopes and the defences of the Ukrainians and their chosen leader. If there were more smart, relevant, incisive ku like this, and if only they were read outside this closed community, what an impact they could have! The poet does not give in to advocacy or argument. That makes it much more potent and striking. There’s not a word wasted in this image. It speaks for itself.

Sudha Devi Nayak:
This haiku is a challenge for the intellect, intriguing with more than one strain of thought seeming to run through its lines. The images of the driveway, the garden snail and war torn Ukraine come together to make a powerful reflection. A mundane commercial fact comes to mind, as snails are a popular export from Ukraine to European countries where they are relished as a delicacy.

A snail from the garden has wandered into the driveway, perhaps after the rains, unaware of its vulnerability, but with faith in its own patience and perseverance. The snail is symbolic of slow steady progress and is a potent reminder to humankind to pursue their goals and ambitions with resilience: Small measured steps can demolish distances and lead to significant achievements. The shell is a natural defence for self-preservation, enabling a snail to weather challenges. The snail is a spiritual message to be always present and embrace the journey rather than hurry through and fret over results. The sacred text Bhagavadgita tells us we are only responsible for our efforts and have little control over the outcome. The image of the Ukraine in the throes of a conflict with a much larger country, is one of resilience and determination, its defense of its territorial integrity and sovereignty steady and unwavering. Peace has been called for, and negotiations- now off, now on- proceed at snails pace. There is the fervent hope that the two warring countries will soon reach a workable resolution. My reading of the haiku is a conglomeration of experiences, and symbolic of a small but great country fighting off its much larger foes in its search for peace with “dignity.” Imbued with a sense of humour and on a contemporary topic, this haiku rouses the reader’s interest and thought.

Biswajit Mishra- running out of patience:

The third line of the poem makes an unexpected jump, yet it doesn’t seem like a labored poem. We don’t know exactly what was going on in the poet’s mind or his immediate surroundings, except that a snail was on his driveway. The sluggish movement, or lack of movement, or a pause during movement, is more acutely reflected in the third line. The beauty of the poem is that line three heightens the effect of the experience in the first two lines, and the first two lines metaphorize the situation expressed in line three. The transition is abrupt yet somewhat smooth between the phrase and the fragment. Possibly the poet is driving into his driveway after work or from somewhere and wants to get in quickly, but is stranded by the pace of the snail, or is it that he is on his way out? In any case, it seems he might be running out of patience waiting; should he bypass, if there is such a chance, or drive over, if he is in a rush? The most noticeable emotion we see in the poem is impatience, like fatigue, as if the Ukraine war and the talks about ending the conflict have been going on forever; there is unfortunately a kind of fatigue among people with the whole issue getting dragged on. This simple poem hits a chord deep down at many levels: is it the sluggishness (which is no fault of the poor snail), the impatience and helplessness, or the anger?

Author Archie Carlos:

I was late going out to run a few errands one morning. A snail was on the driveway. I noted where it was to avoid running over it. (Yes, I could have just moved the snail over to a nearby pile of leaves.)

An hour or so after, I was turning onto our driveway, and the snail did not seem to have moved much. A closer look confirmed it had retracted into its shell. Stalled, like a car.

Many thanks to Keith and his re:Virals co-hosts at The Haiku Foundation. And huge thanks to Harrison Lightwater for submitting “the garden snail” for consideration. I am honored.

Peace

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

welcome death mat
—Jerome Berglund, dadakuku, August 21
 and Haiku 2025 Anthology, Modern Haiku

Footnote:
Archie G. Carlos is a retired HR Management professional and an amateur sociologist. Beginning 2009 he occasionally submitted haiku under a pen name to Asahi Haikuist Network and The Mainichi Haiku in English. In 2022 he decided to practice haiku more regularly, start using his given name, and submit to a few more journals.

His verses have appeared in the Asahi Haikuist Network, The Mainichi Haiku in English, Haikuniverse, Haiku Dialogue, Wales Haiku Journal, Presence, Under the Basho, LEAF, tsuri-doro, August Moon Haiku Journal, cattails journal, Espacio Luna Alfanje, and folk ku journal.

Recent awards: Third Place, 12th Golden Haiku Competition (2025); Sakura Award, Vancouver Cherry Blossom Festival Haiku Invitational (2024).

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

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