The Heron's Nest

Editors' Choices

The Heron's Nest Award

The beauty of Ravi's haiku lies in the multiplicity of its layered emotional connotations. The outer layer of Ravi's poem describes a moment in which the jingle of coins creates a certain rhythm during a long walk home. The sound of the jingling coins may keep him company, or create a tempo for a song he is humming, or it could remind him to buy a grocery item on his way home. Perhaps he is feeling satisfied with the order of the day. Does he have a particular feeling about the small amount of change in his pocket? There is notable strength in this ambiguity.

The facade of a building tells us some things about the inner spaces, but not everything. It is designed to invite one in. Have you ever walked inside a home and discovered it looked much smaller or larger inside than it did from the outside? Ravi's poem, when entered into more deeply, reveals a generous amount of room to wonder, imagine, and freely associate.

'What is home?' is the chandelier in the foyer, or the beautifully arranged ikebana welcoming guests. The centerpiece creates a statement. It compels us to ask ourselves what does home mean to us? Deftly, Ravi gives us this opportunity to explore. It could be our physical home which we leave and return to each day. But it could also be a symbol of something we are trying to attain: a good job, love, our true self, inner peace, nutrition, happiness, well being, financial stability, our family's safety, or even a home.

Ultimately, home could be the earth itself. In an interview with Bill Moyers in 1973, Maya Angelou said, 'You are only free when you realize you belong no place—you belong every place—no place at all. The price is high. The reward is great.' Have you ever felt you belonged no place and every place, and the long walk home is actually our walkabout through life? Perhaps, for you the seasonal changes are the post-and-beam framework around which you structure your life.

Ravi uses the phrase 'the rhythm of small change' handily when juxtaposed with 'long walk home.' A slight turning toward the good, like returning to an old, comfy couch, is sometimes all we need to find the reassurance or confidence to enact change. Indeed, slightly turning toward the good in our lives is goodness itself. An old, comfy couch can be perfect. The way we make a slight turn toward the good has a rhythm. We are here and then we are there. All movement has a meter, even internal movement. While we tend to remember big changes in our lives, it is the smaller changes that ultimately lead us to the larger ones, as steps on a porch lead us to the entrance.

From the cupola, Ravi's haiku has geopolitical meaning and sensitivity. The vast view from this vantage point, across lands and waters, reveals many places in the world where small change in one's pocket is anything but. The World Bank's calculations in 2018 documented over 1.9 billion people, or 26.2 percent of the world's population, were living on less than .20 per day in 2015. Close to 46 percent of the world's population was living on less than .50 a day. A haiku which subtly and skillfully brings attention to the welfare of others is something to behold.

Lastly, consider the word rhythm. It is the only two syllable word in this haiku. Placed in the middle of the poem, Ravi highlights both its importance and meaning. And for good reason. Rhythm is central to this sound oriented poem. 'Long way home' leaves us with a hopeful feeling that life is alright, or after a few small changes it soon will be.

Anne Burgevin
June 2024