re:Virals 572

“More difficult than making your own verses interesting is understanding those of others…” ―Shinkei (1406 –1475). Citing this, Onitsura (1661 – 1738) wrote: “…this should be a way in which a person is completely given over to training.“

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 Keith Evetts. This week’s poem, chosen by Kavita Ratna is:

   
end of summer - the sound of the waves in my conch
—Geethanjali Rajan, Icebox, August 2022
Also published in 'longing for sun longing for rain, a collection of haiku, senryu, haifun and tanka prose by the author, Red River, 2023

Introducing this poem, Kavita writes:

I chose this haiku because it invokes strong visual as well as emotional connections. It refers to the passing of seasons and how memory reverberates in our own ‘conch’ – akin to our blood that flows within. The sounds captured in the ku also harmonise and the sound of the waves merge with that of the echo.

Host comment (Keith):

The kigo “summer’s end” typically comes in two related forms: natsu no hate (夏の果)—the fruit or culmination of summer; and yuku natsu (行く夏)—departing summer. Its poetic essence has been developed to convey:

—summer personified as a traveller departing

—regret at a departure that you can’t prevent

— the power of the sun, having peaked, beginning to  fade. A sense of growing emptiness after fullness; of what remains, what lingers.

— the universal truth of impermanence—that good times  are temporary.  Mono no aware — usually translated as the pathos of things.

Lately we’ve had:

end of summer
only a few chips of polish
left on her toenails
—Abigail Friedman
re:Virals 463

And, without a season word but unmistakeable:

sandy swimsuits
damp towels
the long ride home
—Greer Woodward
Deftly conveying a final swim before the silent disconsolate journey home, after the summer holidays end. A fine three-part haiku, commented here:
Haiku Of The Day May 7, 2026

Geethanjali’s verse this week, in one line when published and three where repeated elsewhere, was the end of a sequence.  It can stand on its own and is taken as such. Her brief poem picks up the sense of growing distance and removal from a time pleasurably spent, and the wistfulness of a memory, but without harping unduly on melancholy. Instead, we have a connection preserved, an experience to relive through a memento, the shell brought home from the seaside and the sound of the ocean when the ear is put to it. A memory to be kept alive and cherished.

The shell of the conch (with its ancient use as a natural trumpet in long range communication and in  ceremony) also represents the shell of the poet enclosing her private memories and emotions, to which we are not privy.  Yet  listening to what seems to be the sound of the sea in a shell is not an original observation peculiar to the poet. It is fairly universal, from the first time it is shown to us in childhood. Picture the look of wonder on your child’s face, that first time. Beyond that, in our subconscious there are engaging primaeval  associations in a shell no longer inhabited by its animal, and in the ocean from which we came.

All this is charged and invoked in a haiku that comes across, without artifice, as completely natural.  And also relatable.  Here, use of the first person in “my”, while reserving that particular summer and that particular experience to the poet, invites the reader to contemplate  their own summers, their own memories.

Alan Summers:

As we are nearing the end of Summer, as per new climate damage rules, this feels timely. A conch, allegedly pronounced “conk” although pronouncing it as ‘conch’ makes me think of “conscience” which definitely gives a new angle to this haiku.

Many of us have collected a conch in the past, unfortunately, and the sound when put to the ear, if there’s no inhabitant, feels like we back at some real or imagined and fabulous beach!

Veering from the ‘correct’ interpretation:

end of summer—
the sound of the waves
in my conscience

With ‘conch’ pronounced as in “conscience” this could become unsettling rather than celebratory. But then, why not celebrate what we had, in a different way. All those climate damaging air flights to holiday destinations, in our young innocence, we can now commit as acts of reminiscence.

This time, conch, and ‘conch’ in hand we can both celebrate, and vow to honour by sprinkling a little sand around our toes, with a cardboard cup of cockles in hand, plus splash of gluten-free malt vinegar, plus pink pepper, gripping an alcohol-free recycled wooden cocktail stick. What’s not to like, and we reduce our impact on brother-sister-father-mother Nature too!

Summer never needs to end!

Urszula Marciniak:

We clutch the shell tightly to capture summer memories. They echo. They don’t disappear entirely. Like music, they remind us of pleasant details. Meanwhile, new waves keep appearing, mingling with the sound of old waves. As long as the new waves bring something good, we don’t pay much attention to the old ones. But sometimes there comes a moment when it seems all we have are the sounds in the shell. Will we then hear new ones?

Sudha Devi Nayak:

Summer has drawn to a close and the idyllic beach holiday with loads of fun,sunshine, sea and golden miles of sand and most of all the rise and fall of waves in eternal motion. As the poet returns she carries the scent of the summer and the sea in her heart, the resonance of the waves on quiet mornings and dark evenings. The activity on the beach does not deter the waves, they rise and fall in rhythm,overwhelming those who venture out with a generous splash of water and gently lapping your feet when you sit close to the waters, to dream ,to reflect.
All this comes back in a rush in the conch shell that carries the cosmic memory of the sea. We hear the resonance of the waves afresh, a divine sound of purity.
In some religions like Hinduism the conch shell spells an awakening, the blast of the conch shell is the primordial sound of creation symbolising life and power. In ancient times it was also the battle cry of kings and warriors declaring a war. In Buddhism the white conch shell indicates a wakening of people from the darkness of ignorance into light.

The Persian poet and Sufi mystic contemplating on the ocean says” You are so weak/ Give up your grace/ The ocean takes care of each wave/ you need more help than you know”.

The French composer Claude Debussy portrays in his” La Mer” the shifting colours of the waves and winds and the movements of the ocean.

Yes, we are humbled by the spectacle of the sea,its rage and calm, its passion and divinity is the manifestation of an eternal presence. The sea is all things and the conch shell is a throwback, a nostalgic reminder of the sound of the waves, the sea’s eternal whisperings.

Lakshmi Iyer:

End of summer – the very first line concludes the journey of the giver and the receiver. What is so special is that it isn’t a shortcut to all that we go through and bear; it is a huge compliment to how we put ourselves in our own shoes. Isn’t it strange that what we once claim to be ours takes a shift towards the cosmic inference and settles. Here, the sound of waves settles in the poet’s conch to give solace that nothing is lost and there’s yet more to experience and express.  So, in a way, it isn’t the end of everything. It is just the beginning!

The sound of waves denotes infinite time.
The conch represents the birth of all beings.

The poet in a very subtle tone resends the statement of the kalachakra.

I always wonder why haiku states seasons with the beginning and the end or being in the middle…  The conch is an alarm – it magnifies the event as well as departs; it is the cause as well as the effect; it is the urgency as well as the slow response.  So, there is nothing as the end or the beginning; everything is one and the same.

Time is the main factor here. Where we think that we can finish the given task; there is also the challenge that time and tide wait for no one!

Ashoka Weerakkody:

An all too familiar behavioural trait in one penstroke, albeit with a break for dipping in inkpot, makes this an alluring statement. When it comes to haikuing by one lined presentation both poet and fan come to terms so easily if both souls do co-exist side by side through mutual agreement inborn in both. So it happens when a branded poet, Geethanjali Rajan, comes out with this versification connecting “the waves” and “my conch”, we simply ‘jump’ into the sea that readily appears before us. The mighty Ocean in blue, reflecting the blue of the skies above, provides more than ample space for free roaming. And our freedom-seeking mind wanting to take that freedom home, the freedom enjoyed during that stay once upon a (summer) time in a holiday resort by the Ocean enjoying the sea breeze and bright sunshine on golden sands while the passing of time was just punctuated by the “sound of the waves” that always left more time still to come than the time already spent, giving one the ‘assuarance’ of long life!

Hence the verse here captures the human longing for long lasting happiness bereft of burdening worries of life on earth, only sometimes, soothed by the bright days of a summer holiday spent under the marine-blue sky and by the sky l-blue waters. (Reflection intended!). The holiday has clinically ended but the holiday feeling in the mind refuses to leave.

The “conch” —that clean white formidable shell—brought home from the souvenir stall by the beach – now represents everything the poet became so familiar with during that summer vacation, unforgettable (as it feels) for ever. The resonating “sound of the waves” which kept her life in rhythmic interaction with the boundless free space above and below her human frame is now a household asset with the reassuring presence of the conch that came home to stay with her.

It happens we all know, by intimate personal experience, it’s only too human and the story written in one line is so easy to share wholeheartedly, being fellow human.

Radhamani Sarma—a melody of the sweet past:

A very powerful haiku by Geethanjali Rajan, where season and serendipity impact human lives day in and day out. it gives a chance to probe into deeper insight into oceanography, cycles that affect human lives and earth’s rhythm . The prime four seasons play a crucial role in human lives, changing habits, habitats and life style.  Who will not like summer and spring? But here Geethanjali Rajan begins this haiku with the ” end of summer”– more speculation for readers to elongate , elaborate, and conclude . Her creative writing hints the end of season coupled with a New Beginning, in her conch the perfect medium, the platform which reflects her internalized feelings, a missing of something, seasonal depth slowly receding;

Life itself is contrasts, affluent and poor, sad and merry, wealth and paucity and in a similar way, nature’s vagaries have their tidal implications. Each season impacting ocean – and ocean influencing our lives, sailors and marine engineers and marine animals etc. — a  theme of haiku writers.

The significance of “end of summer” —warm days coming to an end, cool air slowly paving a way for autumnal chill, waves reflecting a sound, a special melody through her conch, a thing of the past coming to end, warm days of happy outings, sun bathing and visits to beach resorts, happy get togethers, and a cooling breeze betokening the beginning of autumnal chills. As I lie down, ruminating upon the summer slowly receding, the dried clothes on clothes lines, warmth of days soon to be shorter, occasional summer showers for a change, frequent unhindered marketing and shopping, it is saddening to anticipate cool autumnal breeze, cold etc….

The concluding lines foray a sense of melody through summer waves in her conch, a musical instrument. Here “the sound of the waves” a therapy for her despair perhaps, all converting into a musical sonata in her conch.  In her conch is her longing for the healing past, a warm environment, the moments spent, the sad irony of her recapitulated sweet past delved into the receding present now. But not a whole—hearted adieu to summer;

“…If it could only be like this always – always summer, always alone, the fruit always ripe.”
– Evelyn Waugh

“Summer is leaving silently. Much like a traveler approaching the end of an amazing journey.”
– Darnell Lamont Walker

author Geethanjali Rajan:

I live in a metropolis by the Bay of Bengal in South India. This haiku was only an idea while on my return from a historical sea-town (Mamallapuram), not too far from where I live. We had had a good couple of days there and I had picked a little conch to bring back. Much later, when I found the shell again, my circumstances had changed and that holiday turned out to be much more precious than I had thought earlier. There was no going back to that Summer. Hence, I found the first line quite organically. The rest of the poem is about the memory of that time and a longing for that Summer.

Honestly, I struggled with the second line as I found it heavy with the use of ‘the’ twice. I wanted to say – ‘sound of waves’ or ‘sound of the waves’ in line 2. But that didn’t seem to capture what I wanted to express and what was important to me – the sound of those waves – that one memory the conch took me to. However, using the word ‘those’ would make the experience too narrow for the reader. To me, the overall nod to the memory seemed more important than making it less clunky. I decided to leave it as ‘the sound of the waves’ and remember specifically, the waves in Mamallapuram and their music. My gratitude to Tito (Stephen Gill) of Icebox, as this was the last verse in a rensaku on Summer titled Mangoes and Sea Breeze, and it tied together all the verses before it.

Thanks to all who sent commentaries. As the contributor of the commentary reckoned best this week, Radhamani has chosen next week’s poem, which you’ll find below. We invite you to write a commentary to it. It may be short, to a maximum of 500 words (succinctness will be valued);  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. Please note that commentaries must be your own personal work.

Poem for commentary:

     
quiet as the grave
the overwhelming silence
of days gone by
--Mike Jones
 LEAF (Journal of The Daily Haiku) Issue Nine, April 2026

Footnote:

Short bio:
Geethanjali Rajan teaches Japanese and English in Chennai, India. Her journey into haiku and other Japanese poetry forms started around the year 2003. Her poems have appeared in international journals and anthologies. She also conducts workshops in India to help spread the awareness about haiku and allied poetry forms. Her interests include music, books, Japanese calligraphy. She currently serves as the editor of haiku at cattails.

Awards, honors, publications and some sample poems in her Poet Profile. Further verses at The Living Haiku Anthology.

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

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