Tag Archives: #haibun

Never say ‘Haibun’ on a boat

Never say ‘Haibun’

when at sea, upon a boat;

your dog, might not float.

It is said, by some, that you should never say ‘Rabbit’ in a boat. The reason being, that your dog, if there is one present, might leap up, in search of said ‘Rabbit’ and go overboard in its efforts to chase it.

This has probably happened in the distant, and dim, past, and may even have some grounding in a far removed event. Dogs do love to chase things; some dogs are trained to chase rabbits. It might even be a built in memory of previous dog generations where an ancestral mutt ploughed headlong into a field after its prey.

A point, at this point, I don’t know whether the above applies to hares or not – that information I haven’t got. They are virtually the same, apart from: the name, the mad March thing, the longer ears, and not much else – to suggest that there is any real difference would only be splitting ha—

Anyway, never should you say, ‘Rabbit’, ‘habit’, ‘jab it!’, ‘dab it!’ or the like, when you are all at sea, in a sea-worthy, sea-going craft.

I laughed, when I first heard of this, and thought it no more than a silly myth.

Heading to see soon after, with Minster the Dachshund in tow, I happened to call across to the master of the vessel, ‘I’m sorry we delayed your departure time, the train was cancelled, we got to the station much later than anticipated, and in order to get here roughly on time, we had to cab it!’

Poor, Minster. It took her hours to swim back to port.

#3 Tanka (Haibun) for LPG (Liskeard Poetry Group)

Tomorrow is here;

well, yesterday’s tomorrow,

Which is now today.

Shall this be the day I write

my definitive Tanka?

Well, obviously not. I would think (well, I would, wouldn’t I) that I shall procrastinate over the writing of a proper Tanka for Liskeard Poetry Group’s next meeting for a good while yet.

And, mixing things up, I am doing a Tanka / Haibun today.

A Haibun? Not an elevated bread stuff; no that it is not.

A Haibun is a Haiku followed by prose. The two can be related (as mine are today) or they can be totally separate in their themes.

I have slightly adjusted things by using the first three lines golf my Tanka as the Haiku for the Haibun – needs must.

This is day three (3) of my quest to write lots of Tanka (Tankas?) before the meeting next month (September the somethingth).

I know that a true Tanka writer would sweat and anguish over just one Tanka in that time; but I have never been that sort of poet. Write ’em quick and on with the next!

This may not mean that I write throwaway words – but, it may look like that for most of the time.

But, every so often I do manage something of worth – honest!

Anyways, as I write under the dreary angst-ridden skies of Cornwall, I thought that these words would clarify what has gone before and what is yet to…

G:)

The Golden Compass (Haibun)

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The Golden Compass –
Watching the film this minute;
Should have read the book.

That is to say that I have got the book; haven’t read it and am having to work out what exactly is happening. Lyra (Lycra?!) and the Golden Compass are travelling North – some good concepts – I shall really have to get down to some catchy-uppy with my reading. G:)

Haibun, Haibun! (What is one?)

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Haibun, Haibun.

“What is a ‘Haibun?’ ”
“What do you mean? Don’t you know?”
“No! I’m no poet!”
“It’s a poem, from Japan;
With the same form as this one.

Then the poem part is followed by s prose story that accompanies (theme wise) the poetry part, or gives expansion of the ideas. A ‘Haibun’ is a mixture of poetry and story with the possibility of a picture to add further depth. The best Haibun are highly polished and show the writer’s art off to a tee.

“Haibunny, I’m Home!”

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‘What is a Haibun ?’

Or, ‘What is a Haibun, not?’

I haven’t a clue!

“Haibunny, I’m home!” I shouted, as I entered; “Get the kettle on!”

There was no sound from the house; the ubiquitous radio was mute; the various electrical items (vacuum cleaner, washing machine, tumble dryer and such) they all seemed as if under a vow of silence – and the kettle was definitely not chugging its way to boiling point. I hung up my coat – out of habit – before ploughing in to see what was wrong; for, surely, something was. I searched the house from top to bottom and then from bottom to top (this being one of those strange places where you enter at the second floor and all is below; which meant that we had great views across the valley, not so great views into the cliff face). Anyway, I digressed there; as, to be truthful, there was nothing (and no-one) to find or see. I stood on the veranda, a thousand foot or so drop just a few steps away. The mountain ranges where magnificent come the sunset; and I stood and watched the colours of the world etch themselves across the vast and unfathomable surfaces.

I brought myself out of this reverie and stepped back into my reality. I was alone in this vastness of a house; perching, as it did, on the side of a mountain. There was no cause for alarm… now. I went through this same ritual every night.

Ever since…