Tribute to Jane Reichhold 1937 - 2016
Poet/Artist/Editor of lynx


it was far away
it was a long time ago
my heart remembers

ayaz daryl nielsen
where did the cicada go?
the ceaseless sound
of August rain
emptiness left
from cover to cover
her haiku leaflet

Lech Szeglowski

poem by poem
the poet’s life

Michelle L. Harvey

end of summer
another sad poem
no one wants

Perry L. Powell
last train station-
breaking in the rain
cherry blossoms

Steliana Cristina Voicu

sky blue-
the last flower atop
the chicory spire

Sara Winteridge

Jane Reichold
a bouquet of verses
for eternity

Goran Radičević
tako tiho je…
samo zvezde na nebu
postajajo svetlejše

all is so quiet...
only the stars in the sky
spark more brightly

Dimitrij Škrk
Tr. by D.V.Rozic

passing the light
a setting sun comes to shore
wave by wave

B. Steiner

nightingale song
cashmere clouds cover
the valley of roses

Guliz Mutlu
every day again
flowers open up to the sun
she closed her eyes

Kristjaan Panneman

morning sun--
clouds across
its brightness

Edward J. Rielly

close to the edge
the bold blue of
a butterfly

Eva Limbach
a sea breeze
carries a celestial song from seashore
to sunset
a brilliant glow

Mary Davila

rippled weeping willow
her absence again
after leaving us

Justice Joseph Prah

deep in the green
a thrush's song

robert Witmer
stormy silence-
a feather pen dwindling
to the sky

Lavana kray

crystal pond
my reflection shattered by
the whiskers of a koi

Cherese R. Cobb

On the tree-lined boulevard in Moscow, at the start of the millennium, the Museum of Eastern Cultures used to sell the bookmarks with haiku and pictures, kind of the miniature haiga. They were unbeievably cheap and not copyrighted. On a rainy day I crossed the traffic lanes on my way to Arbat.

The huge bookstore was shining in the apartment building for the privileged Soviet movers and shakers.
In the poetry section—miracle!—the book by Jane Reichhold sent a laser barcode ray into my eye. It was in Russian and I wondered who on this one seventh part of the dry world decided to translate and publish the book on haiku poetry. The country was in the turmoil of transition from its degenerated socialism back to rampant capitalism, the civil wars, big and small, were raging and here the book by a Western author was put on sale. The much coveted Amerussian convergence was in its full display. I let now Ms. Reichhold about her book “Пишите хайку!” in the heart of Russia. She was pleased and wished me well.

Two years ago I raced along the same stretch of the Garden Ring and found that the fashion clothes outlet replaced the Reichhold's bookstore. Yet, some copies of her book could be found on the Runet (Russian Internet).

July morning
the still sleeping homeless guy,
his sunlit soles

Zinovy Vayman