André Duhaime was born in Montreal (Canada) in 1948. He has lived near
Ottawa since 1971. He is a teacher of French. Since the beginning of the
'80s, his literary activities have been centered on Japanese poetical
forms, haiku, tanka and renku. His main publications are: Haïkus d'ici,
haiku (Asticou, 1981); Haïku: anthologie canadienne/Canadian Anthology,
with the collaboration of Dorothy Howard (Asticou, 1985); Pelures
d'oranges/Orange Peels, haiku, translation by Dorothy Howard (Asticou,
1987); Au jour le jour, haiku (Noroît, 1988); Voyage parallèle/Parallel
Journey, renku, in collaboration with LeRoy Gorman (Asticou, 1989); Traces
d'hier, tanka (Noroît, 1990); D'une saison à l'autre, renku, in
collaboration with Lisa Carducci (Loup de Gouttière, 1993); Cet autre
rendez-vous, selected haiku (David, 1996). He has also published two books
of haiku for children, with drawings by Francine Couture: Le Soleil
curieux du printemps et Châteaux d'été (Asticou, 1990). fog
only time enough to follow
the road's yellow line
grandpa telling a story
my eldest
watches the clock
in her drawer
the doll I've thrown out
three times already
Christmas eve
in my jacket
last year's cigar
Christmas holidays
the foreign smell
of our new clothes
last day of March
pine needles
under the carpet
that friend
I wait for him to first
speak of his deceased son
orange peels
the kids have come
and gone
grey afternoon
the children talking
as if it were already evening
seven years old
so many more candles
in the windows
that child
ah her boots
on the wrong feet
grandfather and a post
hold the rope
the girls skip
my daughters asleep
tucked in with the shells
collected early this morning
spring morning
tick-tack-toe
on my dirty car
my eldest
locked in her bedroom
with my old Beatles
silence
winter tires
on newly fallen snow
icy sidewalk
step by step
in another's footstep
in his loose black suit
the old man
in front of the building named after him
snow falling on the roof
of a burnt house
black hole
a sparrow lands
scattering
some dead leaves
spring cleaning
under some forgotten socks
my old wedding band
shivers
what's your nail writing
on my sunburnt back
sun
in the antique glass flowers
the dealer snoozes
against the window
I read her letter
through the envelope
everywhere
dandelions
a bouquet on my table
sunny March afternoon
hellohellohellohellohellohellohello
from three youngsters on the street
for hours
the puzzle bridge
projecting into nothingness