NEW HOPE INTERNATIONAL REVIEW

Gusts: Contemporary Tanka is a biannual publication of Tanka Canada. There is, understandably enough, something of a missionary zeal on the part of the two editors, Kozue Uzawa and Angela Leuck, to spread the influence and popularity of tanka. There are about 150 of them here, grouped under various thematic headings such as of love, birds, trees, flowers and so on. Here is a fairly standard yet nicely-done piece from Thelma Mariano:

	in tonight's sky
	your memory still lingers
	a thin moon
	growing fainter with each step
	I take towards home

	When I see you walk
	or stand looking at shop goods,
	I know to stand back
	to keep others from seeing
	me look at your reflection.

	with her arthritic fingers
	the Eucharistic Minister
	places the bread
	in my open hand
	her smile too

	this walk peels back
	layers from the rain
	that follows me
	I have taken this path before
	between willows in the rain

the universally acknowledged father of English-language tanka

This is a biannual publication of Tanka Canada. It has an A4 format. The cover design, by Daniel Hayashizaki, is extremely pleasing. There is a committee approach to the selection of tanka, and there is a page of 'Best tanka'. I give below two examples from this page:

	Maybe tomorrow
	what I really want
	will reveal itself —
	the first crocus bud has
	a hint of purple

	George Swede

		waking up alone
		to a morning chill —
		I wonder
		if it was you or the moon
		who left here first?
		
		Stanford M Forrester

	on a lamp post
	two seagulls
	bob and scream
	final papers
	in the mailbox

This is a biannual publication from Tanka Canada and as such is filled with tanka, with a few reviews of tanka publications and a couple of essays on tanka. The magazine is A4 with a card cover showing a beautiful photo of a lake. The tanka are well laid out and organised into several categories. This issue starts with a series of BEST TANKA. Three of these particularly stand out for me. From Pamela Cooper:

	an arduous trek
	through ancient Roman ruins
	these weary bones
	I gaze longingly upon
	a stone ossuary.

	all night long
	loons across the lake
	sing of things 
	we will never know
	about the world.

	brown speckled toad
	in the water basin —
	might this be a sign
	of a prince 
	soon to appear.

	how to navigate
	this rough patch in my life?
	at the river
	the murmur of water
	as it ripples over rocks.

	after Halloween
	the Jack O'Lantern on the porch
	dries out
	the two of us
	drift further apart.

	briskly
	my angry steps on the hardened snow
	in the cold air
	this bright and silver moon
	in perfect roundness.

	with no word spoken
	between us,
	sitting together under the autumn sky
	a cat and I.

	that dark man
	running fiercely 
	toward me
	I too am fearless 
	on my treadmill.

	like a child
	making fresh, crispy sounds
	you crunch on celery sticks
	I don't need a reason
	to adore you.