Haiku

FOUR SEASONS OF POEMS

TRANSLATED

LAWRENCE

BY

SCHIMEL

For Albera, who is learning to read —J.N.S. For the little red riding hoods of the L’Espolsada bookshop —L.L.

Josep has lived in Banyoles, Spain, for most of his life. He has been a Catalan teacher in various schools, and has written novels, travel books, and poetry. He likes many things from Japanese culture, such as the haiku, which is a brief form of poetry: Every haiku has only three lines. Josep likes to write, travel, ride his bicycle, cook, play with his granddaughter, and a thousand other things.

Luciano lives between Barcelona and Benalmádena, Spain.

He has been an illustrator for over fifteen years. Before that he studied tourism and worked in travel agencies, airports, and on trains. He has studied in Japan twice. The first time was an adventure in Tokyo after finishing his first year studying illustration in London. Lucian Lozano felt connected to the Japanese aesthetic, an aesthetic which is reflected in his illustration work.

Time for Haiku: Four Seasons of Poems Text copyright © 2022 J.N. Santaeulàlia; Illustration copyright © 2022 Luciano Lozano Translated by Lawrence Schimel; English text copyright © 2026 Lawrence Schimel Originally published as Temps de haikus in 2022 by AKIARA books, SLU, Spain. Published in agreement with AIKIRA Books, SLU through the VeroK Agency, Barcelona, Spain. This English edition copyright © 2026 Red Comet Press, LLC, Brooklyn, NY The publication of this work has been supported by a grant from the Institut Ramon Llull.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

Library of Congress Control Number: 2025935202 ISBN (HB): 978-1-63655-173-9 ISBN (EBOOK): 978-1-63655-175-3 25 26 27 28 29 30 TLF 10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1 First Edition Manufactured in China Red Comet Press is distributed by ABRAMS, New York

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FOUR SEASONS OF POEMS

TRANSLATED

FROM

LAWRENCE

CATALAN

BY

SCHIMEL

R E D C O M E T P R E S S • B R O O K LY N

autumn

Even before they fall, already the leaves wear colors of the ground.

In the autumn winds, dried leaves jostle together along the sidewalks.

Plowing up the fields, the tractor’s sharp blades unearth October’s gold light.

The light, in torrents, filters through the foliage now white from the fog.

I open, unsure, the drawer that’s full of socks.

End of September.

Oh, how marvelous!

The sky illuminated upon the dark ground.

A crowded subway, and yet the peoples’ glances all refuse to meet!

Riding on my bike I crunch my way through dry leaves upon the sidewalks.

After the rainstorm, the snail writes upon the wall long scribbles of light.

Up from the bushes as if frightened, the full moon rushes to the sky.

With these autumn winds it’s time for firewood and the feather blanket.

winter

Hey, Mr. Snowman!

How come there are no footprints stretching behind you?

Where the path turns back, the wind and the pines are filled with one another.

February sun.

Without ever catching it, I chase my shadow.

The tall mountains rise, white with snowcapped peaks, above the snowy landscape.

Motionless, a cat rests beneath a still-warm car.

It snows in silence.

With my umbrella, from puddle to puddle I step from cloud to cloud.

All bundled up in hats, gloves, scarves . . . We’ve red noses, yet we speak white words.

The mountain wind blows across the star-studded sky, igniting the dawn.

It doesn’t feel cold even though we stop and wait: Sun sends light and warmth.

A winter morning.

The frost retreats all the way to the front doorway.

It’s even sweeter when we do it together: shared celebration.

Spring

That bird in flight paused, just as if it were a kite whose strings I tugged at.

Tall green stalks of wheat gently swaying in the breeze beneath the white clouds.

Poppies reflecting upon the fast-running stream stain the waters red.

In the rivulet, in the shadow of the bridge, water lilies bloom.

Now the only thing still missing is for the clouds to bloom. Fields of May.

Now white with pollen after crossing the boardwalk, the breeze emerges.

All afternoon long, the sky, above the lake, tries wearing different clouds.

At the break of dawn, golden fields of wheat and gorse and a blackbird’s beak.

Toward the poplars, a worm dangling from its beak, the magpie now flies.

After the rainfall, the spiderweb’s filaments grab the passing light.

A cloud in the mud.

I am a puddle trembling under the raindrops.

A gentle murmur: the fingers of rain drumming upon the rooftop.

Oh, what a downpour!

Where are you off to, Magpie, with no umbrella?

summer

Completely empty, the seashell is still filled with the sound of the waves.

By returning to the sea, the waves manage to pick up momentum.

In its monologue upon the sandy seashore, the sea is snoring.

Down to the beachfront the full moon slowly descends, riding on the waves.

The sea is so still.

With every wave, it seems to make a gentle sigh.

As if they had all fallen asleep in the sky: clouds and a seagull.

One by one, the sea wipes away all my footprints from the sandy shore.

Around the island the ocean unfurls its skirts of blossoming waves.

The sun’s reflections against each new wave conducts a sparkle concert!

A night without moon.

With a flashlight I become a lighthouse for bugs.

No matter how hard I try, all those many stars can’t fit in my eyes.

Underneath the moon, all wrapped up snug in its waves, the beach slumbers on.

A fish leaps, the round shadow of the moon trembles upon the water.

The shadows of clouds advance upon the forest.

The September light.

The thunder rumbles.

As if in answer, the earth echoes with poems.

Discovering Haiku What is a Haiku?

A haiku (once called haikai before the nineteenth century) is a very short poem made up of just three lines. It originates from Japan, where it has been beloved since the seventeenth century. Japanese literature is rich with magnificent haiku poets, but four names stand above the rest: Bashō (1644–1694), Buson (1716– 1784), Issa (1763–1828), and Shiki (1867–1902).

The traditional structure of a haiku follows this pattern: • Five syllables in the first line • Seven syllables in the second line • Five syllables in the third line Here is an example from the book: In the autumn winds, dried leaves jostle together along the sidewalks.

Practice reading it aloud and counting the syllables.

The Essence of Haiku A haiku is more than a rigid arrangement of syllables. At its heart, a haiku captures a fleeting moment—the perception of a small but significant detail.

Classical Japanese haiku include a kigo, a seasonal word that hints at the time of year. For example: fallen leaves (autumn), snow (winter), cherry blossoms (spring), or short nights (summer). In this spirit, the haiku in this book are grouped into four sections: autumn, winter, spring, and summer.

Bare Poetry: Stripped of Obstacles The style of haiku is marked by expressive simplicity. Within the strict limits of three short lines, long words, rhetorical flourishes, and abstractions are unnecessary—even thoughts and feelings are mostly suggested, not explained.

Often, a haiku reads like a brief description of something glimpsed in the natural world. In this sense, haiku are like photographs made of words: poems that capture a single, vivid moment.

Poetry of the Senses Good haiku, like those of Bashō, can move us even when they seem to say very little. Two sensations—two elements—come into contact, creating a spark, like a short circuit: This flash is the essence of haiku.

Haiku draw nourishment from the senses—from what we can touch, see, smell, hear, and taste. It is a “pure” poetry, free from the overt presence of an author or narrator who might otherwise color it with personal sentiment.

Haiku and Painting Haiku and painting go hand in hand. In this book, the magnificent illustrations

by Luciano Lozano beautifully echo the spirit of the poems.

The first haijin (haiku writers) often paired their verses with drawings or paintings, a practice known as haiga. Some poets, like Buson, were also celebrated painters. In Japan, calligraphy itself carries undeniable visual power.

The art of haiga shares the fundamental traits of haiku: simplicity, immediacy, and expressive economy. It avoids rhetorical excess and embraces the style of sumi-e, or black-ink painting on delicate washi paper.

Shall We Play at Haiku?

Let’s begin with a simple exercise: Write three lines with five, seven, and five syllables. The topic doesn’t matter. The words don’t need to sound “poetic.”

For example: The woolen blue socks sleep soundly in the top drawer until September.

Repeat the exercise to become familiar with the rhythm.

Now, let’s try to capture a moment—combine two sensations. Imagine: It’s pouring rain, and suddenly you see a lightning bolt and hear the crack of thunder.

Come on—let’s write a haiku!

We can also add a simple drawing. Even with just black and gray, a stroke of yellow or red for the lightning bolt will bring it to life.

Haiku can celebrate the most ordinary details of everyday life: opening a drawer, looking in the mirror, noticing the smell of a favorite food, giving Grandma a kiss, stretching out on the sand, fogging up your glasses when you board a bus, discovering a new flower in a pot, hearing the first swallows chirp . . . The world is full of haiku, waiting to be found.

The perfect introduction to poetry.

With a child’s sense of wonder, journey through the seasons— immersing yourself in the magic of words and the natural world.

$19.99 US I $23.99 CN I £13.99 UK ISBN 978-1-63655-173-9

51999

9 781636 551739 Cover illustrations © Luciano Lozano • Printed in China

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