The Breton Night (1994)

Loose Leaves – Looking Back

 

Tim Chamberlain - On the Steps of St. Martin-in-the-Fields, London (1995)

Some people say that nostalgia is a disease, but I disagree. I’m sure a lot of poets would feel the same. There is certainly a danger in falling prey to nostalgia, especially if one feels the past is preferable to the present. Personally, I don’t feel that way. There were undoubtedly discontents in the past, just the same as there are discontents now in the present – but we tend to forget this. As the poet, Thom Gunn, put it: “(Aware, gently, of what the past / becomes, golden in ruin.)”*, we tend to burnish our memories and our ‘what might have beens.’ – Suffice to say, the following poem was written a long time ago.

 

 

 

THE BRETON NIGHT (1994)

 

I walk these silent streets:

 

Still, the snow on the banks

of the rivers in Berlin remain.

 

The pages of poetry drift continually

beneath the surface.

Though you do not see.

 

You asked me to dance with you

beneath the bright light of the

midnight moon.

 

A dance before we said goodbye,

and then you turned away.

 

With every thought that follows now.

 

I clasp each memory I have of you,

and treasure it deep inside, as though it were

a last and final embrace.

 

And each time I turn, I see you.

 

You come to me, through this

your Breton Night.

 

Smiling – I see. Smiling – at me.

 

My heart meditates each moment,

unchanging.

 

My thoughts of only you, and the

cherished dream.

 

Letters are not enough, no stamps

to bear: Liberté. Egalité. Fraternité.

 

I look into my sky and see the same,

a silvered moon of memory,

set high in this – your Breton Night.

 

Counting the days, until you return.

 

 

1994.                  

 

 

Man Ray - 'Mother of Pearl Face and Ebony Mask', or 'Kiki with African Mask' (1926)

*from: “A Drive to Los Alamos.” (Thom Gunn, ‘The Passages of Joy’, 1982).

Leaf  297

Mountain Rain

Leaf 390 – Looking Back

 

Tokuriki Tomikichiro - Moon and Bamboo (1970)

I think this poem was originally written around 2003-2004, while I was walking the old Tōkaidō in Hakone (see, Leaf 62).

 

 

Rattling the bamboo –

a short drift of

mountain rain.

 

 

English Riviera

Leaf 389 – Reflections

 

Michael Praed - Traditional Fishing Craft in the Creek

This poem captures a view which I’ve often seen from the window of trains when travelling down to Penzance in Cornwall.

 

 

English Riviera –

tarped dinghies

and drizzle.

 

 

 

This haiku was originally written and posted on Bluesky in response to a #dailyhaikuprompt: 'drizzle.'

Kurashiki's Canal

Leaf 378 – Looking Back

 

Katsuyuki Nishijima - Breeze (c.1990)

Whenever we use these cups, we always remember warmly the family trip we made there during a chilly, wet February a few years ago.

 

 

Kurashiki’s canal –

memories burnished

into two bizen-ware cups.

 

 

 

 

This haiku was first published in The Haiku Foundation's "Haiku Dialogue" (4 June 2025)

Winter Moon

Leaf 370 – Reflections

 

Katja Lang - Road to E (2022)

No road is lonelier than the road through a deep winter night.

 

 

A puddle

fracturing underfoot

– winter moon.

 

  

This haiku was originally written and posted on Bluesky in response to a #dailyhaikuprompt: 'winter moon.'

First Frost

Leaf 353 – Reflections

 

Originally written in response to a #whistpr prompt to write a poem using the word ‘weave’ on Bluesky, I suppose this poem reflects my archaeologist’s inner eye.

 

 

Daub fallen from wattle,

withies begin to unweave

– first frost of winter.

 

Photograph Credit: Orhan Pergel/Pexels

Persimmons

Leaf 321 – Reflections

 

Katsuyuki Nishijima - Evening Sun (20th Century)

Having grown up in the UK, I can’t help finding it strange to see such large fruits growing on trees here in Japan during the winter.

 

 

Autumn into winter –

persimmons ripening

on black branches.

 

 

 

Sakai Hoitsu - Three Mejiro Birds on Persimmon Tree (19th Century)

Mist at Miyajima

Leaf 312 – Looking Back

 

Kawase Hasui - Night at Miyajima (1928)

Around this time of year, in 2024, I visited Miyajima for the first time. It was a very rainy day, but the rain was gentle. There wasn’t any wind as such, only the faintest of breezes carrying the light whiteness of the fog, hanging low over the water – making it a marvellously serene experience.

 

 

Following the mist

along the shore – 

Miyajima.

 

 

 

Kawase Hasui - Moonlight Night at Miyajima (1947)

A Lost Glove

Leaf 308 – Reflections

 

Patrick O'Brien - Night Steam at Bristol Temple Meads (1964)

When haiku meets film noir … Strangers passing in the night.

 

 

A lost glove

in a railway carriage –

scent of cinders and steam.

René Gruau - The Black Glove (c.1950)

 

Handy Pine

Leaf 282 – Garden Poems

 

Maruyama Ōkyo - Pine Trees in Snow, left folding screen (1786) Mitsui Memorial Museum

Similar to Leaf 281, this poem was written during my second trip to Japan back in 2003. I wrote it during a visit to Rikugien, one of Tokyo’s remaining Daimyō Gardens (see Leaf 108). The way pine trees are so carefully sculpted here in Japan, to my mind at least, means they sometimes seem to resemble hands or umbrellas even, which sometimes can be quite “handy” …

 

 

Feeling the cold –

I stand under a handy pine bough

and warm my head.

 

 

 

Kawase Hasui - Pine Trees in Clear Weather after Snow (1929)

Primping the Pooch

Leaf 281 – Looking Back

 

This is a poem written during my first or second trip to Japan back in 2003. I’m pretty sure it was something I saw whilst wandering around the Asakusa area of Tokyo. I took the accompanying photograph only a year or two ago in Yokohama.

 

 

Primping the pooch

in her handbag,

the lady stops

to adjust its little coat.

 

 

 

 

Photograph by Tim Chamberlain

Winter Midnight

Leaf 264 – Reflections

 

Kawase Hasui - Rainy Night at Maekawa (1932)

I’m not sure when I wrote this haiku, but it was probably sometime around twenty or more years ago.

 

 

Somewhere between

sleet and hail –

winter midnight.

 

 

 

 

Rotemburo

Leaf 260 – Looking Back / Looking Forward

 

New Year, for us at least, is also the time of year for visiting ‘onsen,’ or hot springs, here in Japan. A ‘rotemburo’ is an outdoor bath.

 

 

Watching steam rise

while snow falls –

rotemburo.

 

 

 

 Photograph credit: EPA/Everett Kennedy Brown

Following Clouds

Leaf 259 – Looking Back / Looking Forward

 

Kanamori Yoshio - Lake Mountain (1970)

New Year has always been the time of year for visiting family. And for me, often, also a time of flying back and forth between Britain and Japan. Hence …

 

 

Following clouds

into the New Year.

 

 

 

 

New Year

Leaf 258 – Looking Back / Looking Forward

 

S.R. Badmin - Evening Snow

When all things begin anew …

 

 

NEW YEAR

 

Scent of pine needles

brushed from

the carpet.

 

 

 

 

Tim Chamberlain - Oshogatsu no Okazari (Shimekazari)

Tom Bawcock's Eve

Leaf 248 – Looking Back

 

This poem is based upon a piece of Cornish folklore which was turned into a beautiful children’s story book by Antonia Barber and Nicola Bayley, The Mousehole Cat (1991).

 

 

TOM BAWCOCK’S EVE

 

As the storm abates,

all eyes turn to heaven –

eating our stargazy pie.

 

 

  

Photograph credits: Grasshopper Productions

Snow Overnight

Leaf 240 – Reflections

 

Kawase Hasui - Senzoku Pond, Tokyo (1928)

Again, as with yesterday’s haiku, I think this very simple poem speaks for itself …

 

 

Snow drifting

serenely through

night silence.

 

 

 

 This poem was originally written and posted on Bluesky in response to a #dailyhaikuprompt: 'snow drift'

Bus Shelter

Leaf 236 – Reflections

 

There’s nothing more miserable than waiting for a bus which never seems to arrive in inclement weather.

 

 

Bus shelter –

damp clothes

cling colder.

 

 

 

 

Photograph credit: Anna Kozlova (Pexels)

Together

Leaf 212 – Reflections

 

Dmitry Levin - Winter River (2015)

A series of linked verse, marking the slow passage of time.

 

 

TOGETHER

 

Autumn chill

slips quietly into

winter’s gloom.

 

Low hum –

electric heater,

slowly

turning and

returning.

 

The room

where we work

without words.

 

The gentle slap

of pages turned,

papers shuffled,

pens picked up

and put down.

 

All the hours

unspoken –

we spend together:

 

Winter’s gloom

looms long –

silvered and grey,

beyond the windows

the leafless trees.

 

The white glow

of sunless days –

warmed within.

 

 

Dmitry Levin - Snow Thaws (2010)

 

Silent Focus

Leaf 210 – Looking Back

 

This poem attempts to evoke all the many late nights during the long winter months over the years which I spent studying in libraries …

 

 

Silent focus,

peering into a pool of light

– ink-black windowpanes.

This haiku was originally written and posted on Bluesky in response to a haiku written by Thomas L. Vaultonburg.

Image credit: Seven (1995) IMDb