Sometimes a book doesn’t ask to be read all at once. It asks to be visited. To be held open on a desk beside your morning coffee. To be tucked into a travel bag. To be reopened on a quiet afternoon as the sun shifts and time feels still. Bridges of Words is that kind of book.
Written by Esperanza Pretila, this global haiku collection is not grand in volume but expansive in spirit. Fifty-seven countries. Dozens of cultures. Countless lived realities—all captured through haikus, a form that doesn’t rush to explain but invites you to witness. The result is less a poetry collection and more a carefully stitched patchwork of cultural impressions.
Each set of haikus reflects a nation—not as a flag, a statistic, or a political entity, but as a living place full of sound, texture, and memory. The Philippines glimmers as “Pearl of the Orient,” not through pageantry, but in the quiet resilience of coconut palms and market songs. The United Kingdom’s literary pulse echoes not just in Shakespeare but in the “bridges of verse” crossing centuries of language. These aren’t national anthems. They’re street corners, sunrises, folk dances, and silences. Tiny windows.
You may be tempted to flip quickly through, collecting impressions like stamps. But that would be missing the point. The form itself resists speed. A haiku is not a headline. It doesn’t announce; it observes. Its three-line frame insists on restraint—and that’s where its power lies. It distills experience without stripping it of meaning.
And there’s something oddly comforting in that. In a world saturated with noise, summaries, and commentary, it’s rare to find a book that simply lets things be. These haikus do not editorialize or explain. They do not flatten culture into slogans or slogans into verses. Instead, they honor presence. The feeling of standing beneath alpine peaks. The hush of desert wind. The pulse of samba in a crowded street. These moments don’t require footnotes. They require attention.
Pretila’s decision to write, not merely compile, these haikus herself also deepens the book’s cohesion. The tone is remarkably consistent—not robotic, but reverent. She writes like someone who has listened well, walked widely, and knows when to step back. Her opening remarks and dedication frame the project with gratitude, not ego. The book is clearly shaped by lived relationships—with mentors, family, heritage, and poetry itself. But it doesn’t depend on those backstories to resonate. It stands on its own.
Of course, not every reader will connect equally with every haiku. Some moments will linger; others may pass unnoticed. But that’s how it should be. Like walking through a global museum with 57 doors, each room lit in its own way. What matters is not that every visitor stands before every painting—but that the door remains open.
There are books written to dazzle, to disrupt, to provoke. This one does none of those things. It chooses stillness. It honors brevity. And in doing so, it creates space—not just between syllables, but between people.If literature can be a kind of bridge, then Bridges of Words offers one that is light to carry, humble in design, and enduring in intent. The kind of bridge you don’t rush across, but walk slowly—watching the world unfold, one poem, one place, one breath at a time.
Julius’s the resident literary connoisseur. He dissects classics and uncovers hidden gems. Expect his insights to enrich your reading journey, one page at a time.
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