Cracks in the Pavement

by Sandra Simpson

They realised, you see, that I’m a noticing kind of person – Miss Jane Marple

How many are we, do you think? The sort of people who notice particular moments as they tick by in a day – the sound of rain under tyres, the feel of sun-warmed brick under your hand, the taste of canteen tea, the colour of a stranger’s eyes as you pass in the street, the smell from a doorway…

Newcomers to haiku may think they’re up against it if they live in an urban environment, that their country cousins somehow have a greater advantage when it comes to inspirational moments. However, moments are here, there and everywhere in the canyons of the city – if we can develop our talent for noticing them.

The exemplar haiku included here have all been published in the 21st century and are implicitly about man-made environments. In my reading to select poems, it was obvious that many haiku have ‘indeterminate’ settings. That is, the moment could be taking place in a rural or urban context. I have not, however, included haiku about the environmental and human degradations of a city as my hope was to focus on the small, everyday interests of urban life.

taxi horn
a cat-shadow leaps
into its echo

D W Brydon1

summer rain
I bring some
into the bank

paul m2

the wrong way
up the one-way street

sunrise

John Rowlands3

The impact of Covid-19 and its consequent restrictions on human movement was a personal challenge when it came to writing haiku, as I’m sure it has been for many others in countries with greater restrictions than New Zealand has so far experienced. Instead of the many peaceful hours I thought I would have for my artform during the first lockdown in 2020, I instead found myself at a computer for most of each day, creating and facilitating (unexpected) content for my primary employer, and replying to the many emails that started to arrive, both work and personal.

Some days during that lockdown (March-mid-May 2020) I could feel my thoughts ping-ponging off the walls of my home, as well as around the inside of my head. As the route of my daily walk became commonplace I could feel my mind, and all of my senses, beginning to slide over the scenery. Sometimes on my return, I wondered what I had seen besides the cracks in the pavement.

a crack
in the pavement
yellow freesias

Owen Bullock4

My haiku practice has always included delving into memory to find topics and content for poems, and fortunately I have been a ‘noticing’ sort of child/adult so this was one way of kick-starting some writing during 2020. Mentally tucking away sensations and moments over the years has been as natural to me as breathing, long before I had ever heard the word ‘haiku’.

Sometimes past and present collide in surprising ways as when I discovered the ‘Santa’s Cave’ of my childhood (and my father’s childhood) had been resurrected in a museum. Heading in roughly that direction for a family event at the end of 2020, we made, okay, a rather large detour to visit the exhibit which comes out for Christmas, resulting in a lot of delight and memory surges for me, and amused bemusement for my husband. The Cave, which features several mechanical toys, started enthralling children more than 100 years ago and the young attendant said many people had memories triggered by their visit and she loved hearing about them.

santa cave
the mechanical monkey band
of my childhood

Sandra Simpson5

As a child growing up on a farm, the visit to Santa’s Cave was made all the more memorable because it involved going to town, a place that seemed to my young self to be somewhere special – so many goods on display in so many shops, so many vehicles in the street, so many people … The fact that my parents dressed themselves and us up for these forays underlined that ‘town’ was very definitely different.

Since going to boarding school at the age of 13 – apart from one brief interlude – all of the rest of my life so far has been lived in towns and cities, both in New Zealand and overseas. And the magic of discovering a new town or city has never worn off.

each streetlight
with its own rain –
click of mah-jong tiles

Sandra Simpson6

city sunset
darkness rising
brick by brick

Quendryth Young7

a smell of hops
along the south quays –
last bus home

Maeve O’Sullivan8

But a city isn’t just a central business district, hotels, museums, theatres, etc. Neighbourhoods, the more chic-sounding quartier in French, radiate out from and encircle this hub. These suburbs and districts often operate as a series of villages within the larger whole, complete with their own markets and shopping centres, schools, churches, residential areas, etc.

afternoon nap…
a lawnmower

cuts it short

Dave Read9

a jumble of books
outside the old police station
the odd summer cloud

John Barlow10

rubbish collector
his plaited red beard
tied off with twine

Ron C Moss11

Cities are sometimes themselves overtaken by growth and absorbed into a megalopolis, for example, the San Francisco Bay area (8 million people), Cairo (16 million), Tokyo (37 million), or Mumbai (80 million). Almost all our 21st-century cities have evolved over time and through stages from hamlets. This evolution has, however, been bypassed in the ultra-modern cities of the Gulf States – particularly Doha, Dubai and Abu Dhabi – which as recently as the mid-20th century were still small towns with few modern features.

Hiroshima Day
10,000 unblinking eyes
at the fish market

Earl R. Keener12

early morning
an archaeological dig
under the skyscraper

Megumi Shibuya13

in the shadow
of a street sign . . .
summer heat

Gregory Piko14

Haiku must engage the senses and while the ‘softer’ environs of the countryside may be thought to offer more opportunities, an urban environment can hold rich pickings if we open ourselves to the experience. Some of the topics are the same as non-urban settings – for example, weather, people, vehicles, trees, birds; and some are unique – for example, retail (shops, cafes), pavements, high-rise buildings, traffic lights, mass transit.

city street
    the briefest touch
        of a stranger’s hand

Vanessa Proctor15

subway car
the baby’s toes jiggle
all the way home

Frank Hooven16

Christmas streets
slowing down near
the chestnut vendor

Lucy Whitehead17

loosing her hair
in the middle of the office –
night falls early

Sandra Simpson18

Cities offer a chance to travel not only along the horizontal plane, but also – thrillingly –   vertically through space, even giving us the chance to experience a bird’s eye view of the man-made maze beneath.

crowded elevator
going up
we all look down

Andy McLellan19

5th floor
how vibrant the city looks
from oncology

André Surridge20

Cities are built within and around many different landscapes – rivers, lakes and harbours, on the coast and at altitude. These landscapes allow for something beyond tarmacadam, bus lanes and urban sprawl and are where interesting collisions can take place.

bushfire smoke
parrots crowd
the suburbs

Owen Bullock21

autumn —
a sheet of paper
drops between buildings


Dr Grant Caldwell22

rush hour –
the honking of geese
on the move

Sandra Simpson23

What interests me most about urban haiku occurs in the space where man-made surroundings and activities intersect with nature’s presence, whether ‘curated’ by way of parks and gardens or by having simply crept in and be doing its own, anarchist thing.

steeping tea
the time it takes
to lose a street to snow

Ben Moeller-Gaa24

balcony planters
a yellow butterfly rises
floor by floor

Anne Burgevin25

a thousand starlings
shape-shift above the high street
wet dusk headlamps

Stuart Handysides26

Long may it continue.

References:
1: First place, British Haiku Society Haiku Award, 2019.
2: Another Trip Round the Sun: 365 Days of Haiku for Children Young and Old, ed. Jessica Malone Latham (Brooks Books, 2019).
3: Wales Haiku Journal, 2018.
4: From the sequence ‘Canberra haiku’, published in These Strange Outcrops: Writing and art from Canberra (Cicerone, 2020).
5: Echidna Tracks 6, 2020.
6: The Heron’s Nest XIII:1, 2011.
7: The Heron’s Nest XX:4, 2018.
8: Prune Juice 29, 2019.
9: The Heron’s Nest XXII:4, 2020.
10: Presence 67, 2020.
11: Kokako 33, 2020.
12: Kloštar Ivanić Haiku Contest, 2012.
13: A Sense of Place, The Haiku Foundation, 2018.
14: Cattails, April 2018.
15: The Dreaming Collection, 2011.
16: Kaji Aso Haiku Contest 2020.
17: A Sense of Place, The Haiku Foundation, 2018.
18: Presence 51, 2014.
19: Haiku in the Workplace, The Haiku Foundation, 2017.
20: Pulse, Jan 5 2018.
21: Presence 67, 2020.
22: Creatrix 50, 2020.
23: breath (Piwakawaka Press, 2011).
24: The Heron’s Nest XV:2, 2013.
25: Golden Triangle Haiku Contest, 2019.
26: Presence 62, 2018.

This piece first appeared in seashores 6, April 2021, but without the illustrations.

Recent publications

This year is all about co-ordinating and completing a large family history, as well as undertaking any paid work that comes my way over and above the ‘regulars’, so haiku is having to take a bit of a back seat, sadly. Some days I feel like I’ve puffed my way through a marathon, only to look at my to-do list and see I’m not really much further ahead. However, there are a few haiku-related things to report …

Delighted to hear that I’d won Second in the Sharpening the Green Pencil Haiku Contest with:

longest night –
the clay bowl’s
whorls and ridges

Sandra Simpson

Judge Julie Warther said: “Working a tactile sensation into haiku can be a difficult task, but here we can almost feel a lump of clay spinning on a wheel, taking shape in the potter’s hands. It is a slow process and one that requires patience. “Whorls and ridges” could describe the design of the bowl itself or contours of the artist’s fingertips. When fingerprints are found in a finished piece, there is no mistaking its individual nature and the care with which it was created. This alone is a striking image, but a resonance emerges when this image is paired with ‘longest night’ – a time when the seasons themselves turn, taking on more and more light – in the unique nature of time itself.” Click on the link above to see all the winning haiku.

The latest issue of Kokako (34) has arrived featuring an eclectic mix of poets and their work, including three pages of pandemic-theme haiku. The link takes you to submission / subscription details.

Photo: Sandra Simpson

eucalypt breeze
the rattle
of a cicada’s husk

Gavin Austin

eddies of dust
the rooster’s comb blends
into sunrise

Debbie Strange

winter sun –
a pair of waxeyes
chest to chest in mid air

Sandra Simpson

haunted house
the carnie flicks his butt
and waves us in

Greg Schwartz

Gilles Fabre, the editor of seashores journal, sent me a copy of the latest issue (6) as thanks for my essay ‘Cracks in the Pavement’ about urban haiku that appears in the volume. I’ll post the piece here towards the end of the year.

hill walking
whether to get a dog
at our age

John Hawkhead

learning
to accept my baldness
dandelion flight

Adej Agyei-Baah

the silence
of the blinking cursor
winter stars

Jackie Chou

Earlier this year I judged the British Haiku Society’s David Cobb Haiku Award, renamed this year to honour one of the BHS founders (1926-2020). The award has two judges, my colleague being Charles Trumbull in Sante Fe, New Mexico, and we were under strict instructions (which we followed!) not to talk to one another until given the go-ahead by the contest secretary (ie, when she’d received both of our reports).

We did correspond by email once allowed and were delighted to find that we’d each chosen different haiku, although our short lists were pretty near identical. Subjective, much! Read all the winning haiku and our judge’s comments. A useful byproduct of the work was thinking about what I seek in a poem, which also informed my writing for seashores as the two were almost concurrent.

bluebells
carrying the drift
of rain into dusk

Joanna Ashwell (Sandra’s choice for First)

wind in the tamaracks
the sound of a screen door
sixty years past

Earl R Keener (Charlie’s choice for First)

Finally, a delve into the latest copy of the always-readable Presence journal (issue 69).

ebb tide
a limpet returned
to its home scar

Thomas Powell

dry leaves
scattering across the path
quail chicks

Margaret Beverland

woodsmoke –
I am that child
kicking leaves

Susan King

westering sun
a skein of geese banks
into a glide path

Sandra Simpson