Shirokuma Cup Haiku Division - Judge's Award: "Daiki Shioda Award"
Hello. My name is Daiki Shioda. I am someone who has been posting poems and other works on NOTE since around the end of January last year. This time, through a mysterious turn of events (or perhaps a slight misunderstanding), I have been asked to serve as a judge for the Shirokuma Cup's haiku division.
I don't think I have the qualifications to be a judge, but this competition seems to be a 'anything goes' kind of event. Personally, I have been familiar with haiku and have read and written them for some time, so I thought I might be forgiven for expressing my own worldview under the guise of judging, and I ended up accepting.
Once I was entrusted with the role, I read through all the haiku to the best of my ability and enjoyed them thoroughly. On the other hand, when so many haiku of various types are gathered, my own perspective on haiku begins to waver. This is not in a bad sense; I can say that being involved as a judge for the Shirokuma Cup has broadened my own way of looking at things. I am very grateful for that.
There are no clear criteria for selection, but as I read the works, I tried to focus on those where the imagery vividly came to mind, those that offered fresh surprises, those that synchronized with my emotions and senses, those with energy, or those that made me feel the potential of haiku. My mood fluctuates daily, so if I had chosen on a different day, the selection might have been different. I worry that there are many masterpieces I may have overlooked, but since the number of selections is limited, it cannot be helped. I am humbled, but I hope you will view it as just that kind of thing.
Now, I will announce the six grand prize-winning haiku for the 'Daiki Shioda Award.' Following the Olympic tradition, I would like to designate the 1st to 3rd places as Gold, Silver, and Bronze prizes. Without further ado, I will announce them in order starting from the Gold Prize.
<Six Grand Prize Haiku>
☆Gold Prize☆
Playing A minor, the icebreaker heads north
Yukinko-san
It is extraordinary to suddenly bring up a term like 'A minor,' which doesn't seem like haiku, and connect it to an icebreaker. I think the greatest impact of this haiku lies in the discovery of sound. I have never actually heard an icebreaker crushing ice, so I don't know if it sounds like A minor, but that doesn't matter. After reading this haiku, I will likely be unable to help but associate every sound in this world with a chord name. Various noises will surely start to sound like music. I believe that excellent works of art go beyond the dimension of receiving an impression from the work and actually change the way one sees the world.
Therefore, I have arbitrarily certified this as a masterpiece that will remain in history, and I award it the Gold Prize.
☆Silver Prize☆
Mushy daikon radish, ozone layer depletion
Chuda-san
I was immediately drawn in by the novel sensibility. Words and images that should have nothing to do with each other collide to create a surreal and poetic image. By seeing the daikon radish that has become mushy from overcooking overlapping with the tattered atmosphere, it drifts with humor while also feeling somewhat terrifying. A sense of crisis lingers, wondering if the Earth will be okay at this rate. By reading this haiku, I think the reader is forced to face global environmental issues.
I felt the power of haiku reaching out to society, using the shocking imagery as energy, so I awarded it the Silver Prize.
☆Bronze Prize☆
Thick-armed grandmother makes all things oden
Haneno Aki-san
This is a truly magnificent haiku. The entire poem is overflowing with a sense of celebration and dynamism, and I was drawn in. 'Makes all things oden' might seem like a forced expression, but I think this unreserved boldness is the charm of this poem.
Indeed, oden seems like a chaotic universe where anything can be thrown in and boiled. I am overwhelmed by the toughness and strength of the grandmother who is its creator. The 'thick-armed grandmother' who turns all things into oden feels like a mother-earth goddess who brings fertility and abundance, and I even felt a kind of mythological expansion.
I thought it was a haiku filled with power unlike any other, so I awarded it the Bronze Prize.
☆4th Place☆
Snowscape that crushed 'being alive'
Sekizo-san
When snow exceeds a certain amount, one begins to feel a somewhat tremendous sense of pressure. I have experience living in snow country for a time, so I understand that feeling well. The use of the slightly insufficient verb 'being alive' instead of a noun is very effective. I thought it depicted a realistic snowscape that crushes all living things with powerful expression, rather than the sightseeing-like snowscape imagined by those who don't know much about snow. Nature is not that kind.
☆5th Place☆
The signal to end the game of kick-the-can, a winter crow
Tsukiyo Kashiwagi-san
It evoked nostalgic memories. I have the impression that kick-the-can is a game that never ends. It reminded me of the loneliness and anxiety I felt when I was the 'it' and was left behind. I also thought the seasonal word 'winter crow' was very effective. Recently, children seem constrained and bound by time. I wonder if they are unable to have the experience of continuing to play in a world where time seems to have disappeared. It was a very impressive haiku that reminded me of a world of play and a sense of time that should have been familiar to us once.
☆6th Place☆
Without a sound, the New Year is already there
Ma-kun-san
Even if the clock strikes midnight and the calendar changes, nothing particularly special happens, does it? Everything around me is quiet, and when I look at the clock, the year has changed without me noticing. The feeling that a new year has arrived comes quietly. I thought this haiku expressed that feeling perfectly by personifying the 'New Year.' As an aside, when I read this haiku, I was reminded of the avant-garde haiku poet Hakusen Watanabe's poem, 'War was standing at the end of the hallway.' Of course, the subject and theme are completely different, so it's strange to talk about them together, but the way 'New Year' and 'war' are personified, making them feel as if they are there like 'things' or 'living creatures,' is similar. For that reason, when I read this haiku, I also felt a slightly scary sensation, as if the 'New Year' were a specter.
These are the 6 prize-winning haiku for the Shioda Award. Every haiku is wonderful, and it is presumptuous of me to rank them. I apologize that I cannot provide any prizes. I hope that one day I will be able to frame them and display them.
By the way, since 6 haiku were not enough to choose from, I will take the liberty of announcing 6 'Honorable Mentions' (in no particular order). In truth, these are haiku I wanted to make prize-winners.
＜6 Honorable Mentions＞
What is the antonym of wild, winter strawberries
Noncha-san
I thought this was a clever haiku. At first glance, it may seem a bit pedantic, but I think it can also be read as a haiku that realistically captures the multifaceted appearance of strawberries. The strawberries on a cake look like domesticated, elegant (the antonym of wild?) fruits, but I think the winter strawberries in the field are full of wildness. Neither wild nor not wild, the winter strawberries in this haiku sway between such contradictory images, conveying the complex flavor of the strawberry.
Bouncing a handball, tap-tap, hitting the ground, strike the future
Temari-san
It has a sense of rhythm, good tone, and a sense of cadence. The use of characters ('tsuku' written with different kanji) is also ingenious, and it visually conveys the feeling of bouncing a handball. Starting with 'heaven' and 'earth,' the flow that breaks through at the end with 'strike the future' is very good. It is a haiku that makes you feel as if you can hear a new, modern handball song.
Deeply, deeply, snow, snow, only six-petaled flowers
Izayoi-san
It is impressive that seven out of the nine characters are kanji, the sounds of 'shin-shin' (deeply) and 'setsu-setsu' (snow) resonate with each other, and the beauty of the word 'mutsu-no-hana' (six-petaled flower/snowflake) combines to create a strong effect. It is a haiku that feels as if you are feeling the snow piling up quietly deep in your heart rather than just watching it with your eyes.
Oh, empty wind, things never go well, no matter when
Ricotto-san
I am not entirely sure what is not going well, but the feeling of spinning one's wheels without success, leading to a sense of irritation and frustration, is condensed into the seasonal word 'karakaze' (empty wind).
Lost, I stand, as the snow falls endlessly
Chiyo Ohashi-san
The words 'lost' and 'snow falling endlessly' resonate with each other, layering the mental landscape over the visual one. The expression 'konkon to' (endlessly/heavily) is also exquisite. The psychological state of 'I' who has become lost is conveyed realistically.
The farmer at the night kagura has become a god
Ayuta-san
This is a work that feels as if the world of folklore and mythology has become a haiku. It captures the sacred moment when a farmer transforms into a god. It is as if the 'ancient times' are being revived before our eyes.
With that, I have presumptuously announced the 'Daiki Shioda Award.' These critiques are merely an introduction to how I read and felt these poems. Haiku have very few syllables, limiting the content that can be expressed, so an overwhelming portion is left to the reader's imagination. They are like a collaborative work between the author and the reader. If there are 100 readers, there are 100 ways to read a poem, and I believe that by finding good readers, a work can truly shine.
I can only hope that I have been one such good reader.