2026 Winners

2026 Sanford Goldstein International Tanka Contest Winners

Jackie Chou and David C. Rice, Judges

In 2026, we had 244 poets who submitted 731 tanka from 34 countries—Algeria, Australia, Belgium, Bulgaria, Canada, Croatia, England, France, Germany, Hungary, India, Indonesia, Iran, Israel, Italy, Japan, Kenya, Mexico, the Netherlands, New Zealand, Nigeria, Pakistan, Poland, Portugal, Romania, Serbia, South Africa, Switzerland, Turkey, Vietnam, United Arab Emirates, the United Kingdom, and the United States. Thank you to judges David Rice and Jackie Chou for their time and consideration in making this year’s selections.

—Roy Kindelberger, TSA Contest Coordinator

First Place ($100)

a panel of speakers

on climate concerns . . .

the swirling waves

that pattern the carpet

threaten to sweep me away

Elaine Riddell

Hamilton, New Zealand

This tanka starts out with climate concerns, which made it stand out among all the other submitted poems in its originality. Then, in the third line, it takes an unexpected turn from the planetary to the personal, with the image of the patterned carpet, which is both unique and relatable. How many of us can envision ourselves staring at the floor during a meeting of some sort? Finally, the poem ends with a powerful punch, as effective poems do, of the speaker’s psychological state. The idea of being swept away by the carpet can be surreal to the reader, but real to the speaker in that particular moment. What an exceptional tanka this is!

Second Place ($50)

outside

swallows somewhere

in the fog

migrating now to

her kidneys and liver

Alan Peat

Biddulph, United Kingdom

This tanka opens with the familiar image of swallows in the fog, then takes an unanticipated turn in the fourth line, which is where the shift in the poem takes place, making it grander than the size of the poem itself. The swallows, which symbolize hope and renewal, become cancer, which is surprising and poignant. This is a very powerful tanka.

Third Place ($25)

budding branches

tapping the window

I think of how

we missed out

on having a child

Cezar Ciobica, Sr.

Botosani, Romania

The first two lines are an invitation to celebrate—it's spring!—but the last three lines shift the mood from delight to regret. The partners in this poem don't have a child to show how budding branches become leaves and flowers. They'll never be able to watch their child grow. The fourth line, “we missed out,” suggests that this wasn't a conscious decision; not having a child just happened to them. This emotionally charged link-and-shift gives the poem a lot of dreaming room. We all have regrets. This tanka lets the reader feel those regrets.

Honorable Mentions (not ranked)

floating inside

my mother's womb

for nine months—

how little she

understood me

Pamela A. Babusci

Rochester, New York

This tanka grabbed our attention with its strong opening lines. After reading many entries that began with overused images such as flowers, the moon, and stars, the fetus inside a mother’s womb stood out to us. Then the poem shifts into its mysterious ending. Why does the speaker feel that her mother didn’t understand her even though she was inside her body? Has she always been an enigmatic child? These questions took us beyond the short five lines of the poem.

parking the car

for an unexpected kiss . . .

the thrum of rain

on the roof,

the perfect playlist

Baisali Chatterjee Dutt

Kolkata, India

This tanka is a sweet love poem. What made it stand out  during the selection process is the specificity of the speaker’s action and the setting in which the poem takes place. The juxtaposition of the sound of rain, a nature image, and a modern playlist, is unique. It’s a seemingly simple poem without the clichés of romance.

floating in the lake

my body remembers

something older

than every year I spent

trying to be useful

Amy Tucker

Oliver, British Columbia

If you’ve ever floated in a lake, let your mind wander away from your quotidian concerns and felt the water support you, then you are with the poet in the meditative space of the first three lines. Then the shift. Instead of remembering what that “something older” might be, the poet shows us how not to remember: try too hard to be useful. We make the connection. To feel part of “something older,” float more.