Azami

Haiku Magazine “Azami” (Distel) was een internationaal haikumagazine , uitgegeven in Japan door Ikkoku Santo, met Engelstalige haiku van schrijvers over de hele wereld.
Behalve de haiku zijn ook de begeleidende brieven van Gusta in Azami gepubliceerd.



No. 10, juli 1993:

It stole away
the shopping list
spring wind

1e prijs Azami’s Spring Haiku Contest.




No. 11, oktober 1993:

Summermoon,
when streets become empty
the brightness deepens.



No. 13, januari 1994:

New-Years’s eve;
the dark brown crack in
my favorite cup.

The last colour
dims in this year’s sky – lanterns
begin to glimmer.

New-Year’s eve –
a tin rattles out of
the empty street.

New-Year’s morning;
in frost-flowers on the window
blow a hole.

The antique doll’s
glass eyes begin to sparkle:
first sunrise.

First of January;
a new calendar is hung
at the old place.



No. 14, februari 1994:

The antique doll’s
glass eyes begin to sparkle:
first sunrise.

Eervolle vermelding 1993 Haiku in English Contest



No. 16, mei 1994:

How the springsun creeps
over the bench –
one warm cheek.

Eervolle vermelding 1994 Spring Haiku Contest


Springdusk –
only their perfume is there,
azaleas’s.

Of passing feet
soles stay behind –
springsnow.

From the branches
birds hop the last snow:
springcleaning time.



No. 17, juli 1994:

Summer river;
its journey becomes short,
ferryboat.

Rising sun;
the white peacock
unfolds its fan.

Summermoon –
the ripenig melons’
fragrance arising.



No.20, November 1994:

Summer passed by –
newspaper pages flapping
through an empty street.

Summer passed by:
newspaper pages flap
through the empty street.

Between tombstones
eagerly gathering
chestnuts.

Starry pond –
gliding along the landingstage
half a moon.

Starry pond -
along the landingstage glides
half a moon.

The crops gathered in –
with berries from my garden
birds’ bellies filled.

Grave visit;
a falling leaf ticks
at my forehead.



No. 21, December 1994.

Old-Year’s night –
wooden shoe sounds
empty echoes.

First taste;
the geisha on my teacup
gives a New-Year’s kiss.

First zazen;
the rasping of a broom
over the pavement.

First walk –
a frozen leaf melts
in my handpalm.



No. 22, januari 1995.

The emptied cup
still warms my hands –
midwinter night.

Winternight –
the puppetmaker moulds
a snowman.

Night of snow –
hoods growing heavy
on cabbage stalks.

Sutra chanting –
with coughing it ended;
winternight.



No. 27, augustus 1995.

Cloudless sky –
a bird fluff’s shadow glides
over the veranda.

Glancing from my book
suddenly I’m eye to eye
with a red red rose.

Trafficlight green;
getting on the bicycle:
coolness.

Change of clothes:
the poppy petals still
a bit creased.

Visiting
the cathedral –
tourists’huge yawns.



No. 29, November 1995:

From the market
the last melon sold – the moon
begins its round.

Silent moon –
the teddybear’s shadow,
the baby’s breath.

Hide-and-seek moon;
the willow winks with
an owl’s eye.

Over the hilltop
through the moon they run
joggers.

Moonless night;
the fridge’s lightspot,
a bowl of milk.



No. 30, December 1995:

Buzzing rockets –
old year’s moon becomes
new year’s moon.

Over the town
tumbling together: snowflakes
and New-Year’s chimes.

The fireworks ended –
a gooseflight glides along
the New-Year sky.

A pink mist grows
on the cherry’s bare branches –
New-Year sunrise.

The sun of New-Year –
looking in the mirror I meet
my mother’s eyes.

Under the Milky Way
songs that go from door to door –
Epiphany stars.



No. 31, januari 1996.

A pink mist grows
on the cherry’s bare branches –
new Year sunrise.



No. 32, maart 1996:

First springsun –
the reflection on
white winterfaces.

Narrowing eyes;
from the field-furrows
the spring-light.

First springsun –
out of scarves and collars
heads pop up.

Hyacinths,
awoken from dreams
into the springsun.

Blackbird’s song,
and it dawned –
springdream.

At the churchyard porch
a gravedigger in the springsun
whistling softly.

Flying leaves –
my new umbrella
joins them.

Eervolle vermelding: Hawaii Education Association 18th Annual International Haiku Contest.




July 1996, Special Spring-Summer Edition:

First spring sun –
out of scarves and collars
heads pop up.

2nd Place Haiku Contest.

Over the hilltop
through the moon they run
joggers.



Nr. 37: oktober 1996:

Indian summer;
the hot-air balloon
a long time to watch.

Lingering summer –
people walking slowly,
greeting each other.

Autumn is near;
In multi-coloured clothes
Jogging through the woods.

Gone for a stroll,
lost the way –
beckoning pampas.



June 1997, Special Spring-Summer Edition:

The last footsteps gone,
the first ones heard;
short night.

Second prize Spring Haiku Contest.



Buzzing rockets –
old year’s moon becomes
new-year’s moon.



No. 42, juli 1997:

Rosepetals falling –
the worn tablecloth decorated
with a new pattern.

The sheeps’ fleece
swept from the farmyard;
evening coolness.

Children gone home;
the tide comes up and licks
their sandtarts.

Bubbles and splashes
jump from the birds’ bath –
summer shower.

The cuckoo’s call,
from here…from there…not a leaf
that stirs.



No. 43, augustus 1997:

Time after time
the town’s neons fade out –
lightening flashes.

Coming home;
the moon that saw me off
awaiting me.

Today’s moon –
the oar breaks it
in sparkling fragments.

To the willow
he lends his eyes tonight –
church-owl.

Every morning
the warbler’s song heard –
today only autumnwind.



No. 44, oktober 1997.

First autumnwind;
in billowing clothes
people blow past.

Into the Milkyway
it goes and fades –
bicycle lantern.

The pub’s terrace;
Resting on the chairs
Only autumnleaves.

Autumnmoon –
the ripening melons’
fragrance arising.

Climbing moon;
the red ivy
turns colorless.



No. 45, november 1997:

Summer is past –
newspaper pages flapping
through an empty street.

My long shadow
between long shadows
of autumn trees.

Goose-formations –
over the ebbtide beach
the wind draws figures.

His only leg
was taken by the fog –
scarecrow.

From down the valley
the churchbell’s sound;
autumn is deep.



No. 46, januari 1998:

Crept
out of my quilt –
world under snow.

Those muddy shoes
stepping through the winterwood,
are mine.

The carillon falls silent;
the sky is taken over
by snowflakes.

Old-Year’s night;
a waxing moon leaves
the mountain’s summit.

Old-Year’s night;
the clogs at the kitchendoor
slowly fill with snow.



No. 47, maart 1998.

Winterfaces
just light up –
white magnolia.

Tentative feet,
their prints quickly drowning
in springsnow.

In the shoppingbasket
one or two brought home
magnolia petals.

Behind the hills,
the sun an escort,
kites gone in.

How farmhouses’ roofs
are floating away –
springdusk.



No. 48, april 1998:

The window ajar –
a mouthful of easter-bread,
a mouthful of spring.

Springrain –
the teakettle too
begins to sing.

To Buddha’s statuette
the wilting tulips in their vase
bow deeply.

Springrain –
overnight the woodpaths
narrowed.



May 1998, Special Spring-Summer Edition.

the cuckoo’s call
from here…from there…not a leaf
that stirs

How farmhouses’ roofs
are floating away
spring dusk



No. 51, September 1998:

How on the pond
a fountain squirts
in pouring rain.

After a night of rain
everything clean and shiny,
birds’ song too.

Sun of dawn –
the bellies of rising ducks carry
some of its red.

Evening sun –
dreaming sparrows in the hedge
disguised as robins.

Lined up on the quai
a row of ducks watches
the sight-seeing boats.



No. 52, November 1998.

August evening;
a first suspicion of autumn
quickly passes.

White peacock –
through his spreading tail
dawn’s first light.

Grave visit;
the path is bordered by nettles
and wild flowers.

Rising fog –
peak-hour noises too are
covered up.

Falling star –
a bicycle lamp goes up
the Milky Way.



No. 57, juli 1999:

spring squalls;
my neighbor’s maternity dress
bulges on the line

Eervolle vermelding Spring Haiku Contest 1999. Ter gelegenheid van het overlijden van “Ikkoku” (Yutaka Santo), de samensteller en maker van Azami, op 21 september 1999, is er een herdenkings-bundeltje uitgegeven in februari 2000. Hierin van Gusta: It stole away the shopping list, spring wind.