Category Archives: haibun

A Film Show a Surprise and a Superstition

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Robin

I went to the funeral of one of my aunts yesterday. I used to be well-supplied with aunts – thirteen that I had met and there were several I never met, so haven’t counted.  They have now dwindled to two. Several of them were actually great aunts (and several were great-great aunts) and two were actually second cousins who were approximately aunt age. One is still alive and another, in South Africa, hasn’t answered a letter for a year or two, so it’s a Schrödinger’s Cat situation, where she is still alive until we get a letter to tell us differently.

I have been very bad at keeping in touch. As such, I have spent most of the night awake, contemplating ways I could have done better and thinking about family history.

There was a screen in the crematorium chapel, displaying my aunt’s photograph and (mis-spelt name). At her mother’s funeral the vicar used the wrong name all the way through – using her official first name when she was always known by her second name. Her father, in turn, was sent medals by a grateful nation in 1919, where his name was spelt wrongly on them and when the King sent his widow a memorial scroll, they spelt her name wrong too.

Some people are destined to achieve greatness, some are mere footnotes in history and, dragging along at the rear comes my family, with its name spelt wrong.

In a way, it was good to see the extension of family history into modern times – a century of misspelt names.

It was, as funerals go, well organised and upbeat and, as a final touch, a robin came out after the rain and sang us on our way. Of course, it’s only a superstition about robins, but, as they say, other superstitions are available.

Robin - singing

Robin – singing

Part of the slide show featured my aunt’s wedding photo in 1961. It was wet and blustery day. I was given some confetti to throw, which I did. Nobody had told me I had to wait for the bride and groom and it fell in a lump into a puddle. On being told of my error I tried to retrieve it for re-use, but was told to leave it and try again with a new, dry batch. What struck me as I looked at the picture, was that I think there are only three of us left who were there that day. Possibly two (see note about Schrödinger’s Cat). My sister had been left with a babysitter as she was considered too small for the weather. She still nurses a grudge about that.

It’s a surprise to look round and realise that you are the oldest in the room. It’s time for a poem, I think. First published in Contemporary Haibun Online 20.1 Spring 2024.

The Next Funeral

Amazon reviews indicate I am not the only person to have searched for a black tie with next day delivery. I could have sworn it was in the car’s glove compartment, neatly folded from the last time I wore it. My one white shirt hangs, ghostlike, from the bedroom picture rail and my timeless drab tweed jacket hangs next to it. The tie, I suddenly remember, is in my jacket pocket.

Tomorrow, as I nod to cousins, we will remark that we really must try to meet without someone dying. My uncle, who has just turned ninety, tells his brother in law to wrap up warm or he’ll be next. One day, I suppose, I will realise there is no obvious candidate to be next . . .

in church the sun
shines through an angel’s robe
bubbles trapped in blue glass
I wonder whose breath is
captured forever


					

		
		
	


	

				

			
						

				Following Up and Bits & Pieces
			

										

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I was recently asked for a description of various forms of Japanese poetry. I think you should find all you need here.  There are links in that one, which is about tanka and tanka prose, which will take you to haiku and haibun. One of the tanka links no longer works. If I remove it I them have to change the text, so am leaving it as I am short of time and am not a perfectionist.


The real way to write poetry of any type, as I have said before, is to pick up a pen and start writing. Eventually it will need typing but you’re a blogger, so you can already do that. Then email some off to editors.


If they are accepted, you are a genius. Well done, come back and tell me how you did it. Then tell everyone you learnt it all from me.


If your initial poems are rejected, join the club. Write some better ones and send them off. Each rejection hardens you up to cope with rejection, so failure is useful.


This year I have made 44 submissions and have had 18 acceptances, 17 rejections and have 9 answers pending. It’s not such a good rate as last year, but I’m writing to more places rather than just the ones that suit me. The point is to do something new rather than rack up an impressive ratio of accepted poetry.


Orange Parker Pen


I am, as i have said, looking at changing things round a bit. It may not see me improving or becoming more successful but it will get me out of a rut and make me use my brain differently.


Meanwhile, Sunday brought two emails, one accepting a haibun and one accepting a haiku. The ones that weren’t used (six haiku and two haibun) can go into the submissions for the coming month.


I need one lot of 10-15 and one lot of four for the 15th of the month. I now have enough. It’s a help and takes some of the pressure off.


Having said that, I just went to look at what I need to do. Even with this progress I still have quite a lot of work ahead of me. OK, I have three weeks to do it in,  but I am at a funeral in Norwich later today and on Thursday I will be messing about delivering the car for repair.


My Orange Parker Pen. I just wrote a poem about it, as all my hints to parker have come to nothing. It was rejected. So I sent it to somebody else.


 

					

		
		
	


	

				

			
						

				The Best Words in the Best Order
			

										

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‘I wish our clever young poets would remember my homely definitions of prose and poetry; that is prose; words in their best order; – poetry; the best words in the best order.’


S. T. Coleridge


Yesterday I read the words of an editor on the front page of their website. It seems that running a magazine is hard work and takes a lot of time. I had never imagined otherwise. I base this on the fact that I spent yesterday pushing words round paper. By the time I had finished I had taken three unpublishable poems and turned them into one possibly publishable poem and two that were better than when I started on them.


 


Poetry takes time. Lots of time.




I read some background, cogitated, deleted a few words, added a few words, deleted them, went back to the first version, and, in a flash of inspiration, deleted the first verse and the last verse and carried on messing with words.


Then I moved on to the next one . . .


The tricky thing I find, is that it’s surprisingly easy to alter something and make the poem worse.


Sometimes, when I’m in full flow, I can write a whole poem and it doesn’t need altering. I wrote one like that once and it was highly commended in a competition. I need to practice more and try to get back to that.




One of my free verse poems, when edited, turned into a haibun. Not quite sure how it happened, but it just seemed to fall into shape as I edited. It might be similar to what sports coaches call “muscle memory” – I’ve written so many haibun that I can’t write anything else. That’s unfortunate, because, as a previous editor pointed out recently, I can’t write haibun. 🙂


I’ve used pictures of Julia’s woodturning, because it’s very much like poetry. You start off with hope and a battery of skills and, if you are lucky, you end up finding something that is better than you hoped.



					

		
		
	


	

				

			
						

				Writing and Watching the Time Pass
			

										

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Despite being very erratic over the last week or two I have mainly kept to the plan, though a post a day has actually meant “averaging” a post a day. Or nothing some days and two or three on others, if I’m honest. I’m currently on 117 posts in 117 days. It is good, but I need this one to keep up.


Stones at Carsington Water


That’s how people do the Buson 100. That’s ten haiku a day for 100 days. I’ve tried three times, completed it twice, failed once. That’s life. However, I’m driven by the hope of improvement rather than the fear of failure so, though I’m not happy to have failed, I’m not going to let it ruin my life. I achieved some improvement in my haiku, then I let it fall away again. I’m not, in truth, greatly enthused by haiku and write them bacause they are necessary if you want to write haibun. The article I first read about it indicated that you could catch up if you got behind, as long as you ended up with 1,000 haiku at the end of it. The link in the post that I have just linked to is no longer available, but this one is very good too.


Stone head – Rufford Abbey


Yosa Buson, an eighteenth century poet and artist, after whom the Buson 100 is named, tried to write ten haiku a day for a hundred days twice and as I recall he didn’t finish either one. He did, however have a lot of other things to do, and he did die in the middle of the second one. He was 68, which will be my age soon – probably an indicator that I should look after myself better and write faster.


It is tempting to set myself a poetry target, but I don’t think it would help. Keeping up with the current regime of one blog post a day and one numismatic article a week are hard enough as it is.


Detail from gravestone – Crowland

					

		
		
	


	

				

			
						

				Some Thoughts on Poetry and Particularly Tanka
			

										

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Julia’s latest vase (she gave the last one away as a present) with silk fritilleries.


I’ve just been replying to two emails from editors. One was comparatively simple, a quick note of thanks for an acceptance. I had an automatic reply by return, telling me that they weren’t taking submissions at the moment – an impersonal response to my attempt at being polite. To be honest, I wasn’t surprised – some magazines are like that.


The other was more complicated. It was a rejection with some suggested links to articles which would help me improve. It’s the sort of response that always invites being categorised as condescending.




I read the first one and it told me that most western definitions of haiku were too restrictive. This explains why editors annoy me by publishing haiku that fall outside the published definitions. Maybe they should take down the definitions hey often display, or display a current one. Same goes for the people who are often quoted on the subject – if your definition is outdated, have the courtesy to indicate this or update it.


As for the haibun article, it quoted a number of haibun. One of the haiku wasn’t a haiku by any definition and the rest all reiterated the subject material, which you aren’t supposed to do. I can’t help feeling that if I’d have submitted any of them, they would have been turned down, not used as examples. I just wrote and thanked them for the feedback and said they provided food for thought.


Email is not the forum to exchange views over something like that, as it could be construed as argumentative and although I have issues with things, I don’t want to start an argument with someone who is trying to help.


This is the one she gave away as a present.


That’s the nice thing about tanka – fewer rules, more freedom, and fewer people writing about them.


 

					

		
		
	


	

				

			
						

				How to Write a Tanka Prose
			

										

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Buzzard pursued by crow


This an answer to a query raised in the comments, but it’s something for everyone to read. Have a go, you might like it.


First, read this. Then abandon thoughts of haiku and haibun for a moment.


If I were starting again I would start with tanka prose. These are like haibun in that they contain prose and a poem, but they are more relaxed.


The trouble lies with the poem. A tanka is a small poem (5-7-5-7-7) according to general wisdom. This isn’t true. That syllable count should be the maximum. You can write fewer syllables.


Some editors like to preserve the short-long-short-long-long layout, others don’t mind as long as it has five lines. It’s just a poem and can include poetic effects, though probably not rhyme. As such, it is free from all the baggage that comes with haiku, and all the conflicting views of editors.


Little Egret at Aldeburgh


You can find tanka and tanka prose in Contemporary Haibun Online, Quail Eggs and Cattails. These are all available online. They are also easy to submit to if you want to have a go at being published.


Rather than listen to me, just read tanka and then practice. If I write ten tanka (which can take between twenty minutes and a week) you can be sure that at least one will tail off without being finished, and a couple will clearly be rubbish that can’t be helped by editing. Even after editing it’s likely that only two or three will be good enough to retain. That’s normal. Just keep writing and eventually you will get there. Don’t take notice of your internal editor until you have written a batch, or you will never actually finish a poem.


Eventually you will have enough to send off. Do it. You won’t be published unless you make submissions.


I send out a batch, one is probably accepted, the rest come back. I add another and send them out again. Usually one of the rejects will be picked at this point. I sometimes send things out three four times before I get fed up with them. By that time I usually have replacements written.


Little Egret – Blacktoft Sands


Next – tanka prose. They are like a haibun but with a tanka rather than a haiku. There is some discussion whether a haibun should be in haiku-like language (ie terse and often slightly stilted). You don’t have that with tanka prose, just write what you like. If you can write a blog post you can write a prose section for a tanka prose.


Then write the tanka to go with it. Some people claim to write the haiku/tanka first then write the prose section. I can’t do that. I write the prose and then write a suitable tanka.


Here are some comments I had recently.


“I think the haiku are not nearly as successful as the prose in your haibun.”


“After a careful review of your poem, I regret that I have had to pass it on.”


“Unfortunately, your work did not quite fit the shape that the issue ended up taking.”


“I’m afraid I don’t get this piece. Is it me or is its meaning or intention too obscure?”


The lesson from those comments is that not every submission ends in success and it’s all par of the process.


Heron


So, to summarise – read, write, submit, expect rejection, read, write, submit . . .


Eventually it will work out, but expect some rejections to begin with. At the start the rejections can seem depressing, overpowering and inevitable. Eventually you will get an acceptance, then another, and it will gradually build up . . .


There’s a lot of other stuff tha goes into writing a good tanka prose, and eventually I might learn some of it, but for the moment I find that the best way to work is to write plenty, submit a lot, shrug off rejection and recycle the rejects.


The recycling is key to my writing – it saves effort, and when a reject is accepted it proves that editing is a matter of opinions and rejected work is not always bad work. And above all, it’s about hard work and  persistence rather than that ephemeral thing we call talent


Good luck.


Cormorant, Lowestoft, Suffolk

					

		
		
	


	

				

			
						

				More Poetry
			

										

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My Orange Parker Pen


This is a tanka prose that was first published in Blithe Spirit 36.1, the journal of the British Haiku Society, in February this year. It is different from the original version, which was about eggs and lockdown and parents. This is about writing a poem and cooking eggs. It deviates slightly from reality as I mention coffee, where we always have tea for breakfast. Tea doesn’t really smell so I took the lazy way out and said we had coffee so I could add an extra sense to the poem.


But first, a tanka, from the same issue. It is based on the annual culling of the Christmas card list as my circle of cousins decreases.


old Christmas card

displayed again

fading slightly

sent by a man

who will not send another


I thought that’s what it was about, anyway. Julia reads it as a story about the Christmas card I have been sending her since 1988. It’s a good one and the message is still relevant. Why waste money, I ask, on another?


 


Life, seen in a Frying Pan


In lockdown, I decided to make better scrambled eggs and wrote a poem in my head as I stirred and learned. It spilled onto paper, took shape and, like the eggs, looked good. On the first rejection I checked all the words and moved them into better order. On the second I added an anecdote, on the third an allegory. At the fourth attempt I slimmed it down. 


After five attempts I wondered if it might be bad, or if editors might dislike poems about scrambled eggs. When you think about it, it isn’t a subject you ever see. Eventually it faded from my mind, as poems like it often do. Recently, stirring eggs and making breakfast for my wife, I breathed in the toast and coffee smells and remembered the first line.


five eggs

two broken yolks

a speck of shell

things which are not perfect

still turn out well




The pen that Julia made at the wood turning group

					

		
		
	


	

				

			
						

				A Haibun from the Past
			

										

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Julia on the patio during lockdown


Here’s a haibun from 2021. It had its origins during lockdown as we used to sit outside the back door and dream of freedom.


Across the Valley

From the garden we look down onto a jumble of red tiled roofs and trees and for a moment, I can imagine that we are in the Mediterranean, and not Nottingham. We eat cheese and biscuits, and warm figs, picked straight from the container-grown trees in the front garden. The back garden faces north, which will not do for figs. If I had known we would stay here long enough to become gardeners, I would have bought a different house.




crumbs

on a cracked plate

once I had dreams


First published in Blithe Spirit 31.2 April 2021


Once we were quite good gardeners

					

		
		
	


	

				

			
						

				The Glittering Prize
			

										

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The world continues to offer glittering prizes to those who have stout hearts and sharp swords

F E Smith, Lord Birkenhead


I thought I’d quote Smith for the title, but make it plain I had done so. I didn’t want you to think I’d just nicked the title off the telly, though this is probably unlikely as I just looked it up and find it aired in 1976. hardly a current reference.


I needed a title with “prize” in it as I just won a poetry prize. It’s a poem of the issue award from Eucalypt, a tanka magazine. Every issue, they have two, chosen by the winners of the previous issue’s awards. I now have a commentary on my work and my subscription has been extended by an issue. More worryingly for a man with a very lacklustre education, I have select a winner from the next issue and supply a commentary for it. The one supplied for mine was insightful. The one supplied for the other winner was decidedly erudite. The one about mine used the word trochee. It’s something like 53 years since I last used the word trochee. I’m pretty sure I only used it once then.


As I grow in confidence as a poet I no longer worry about imposter syndrome and am sure I will mange to write an acceptable commentary. I can blog, I can write poetry and I can write about coins, how difficult can it be? I’ll need a few quotes to fill up the space but as long as I get down to it promptly I should be OK.


In the meantime, I should get on with my medallion presentation and making lunch ready for Julia’s return. The poem was a about the stripy shed on the MENCAP Gardens – that’s the pictures today.


I now, of course, regret not taking a photo of the whole shed instead of being arty.

					

		
		
	


	

				

			
						

				One Door Closes and Another Door Opens
			

										

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More of a wish list than an actual “How to” selection of gardening books


Last night I slept fitfully and slept in late. Julia went to Stamford with my sister this afternoon and I went back to bed again, waking some time after they got home. Julia claims I spoke to her when she stuck her head round the bedroom drawer but I did not remember.


After the quizzes on TV I started typing and reading and generally frittering my remaining hours away. I have just looked up to check how long I have to do this post before midnight and found that three quarters of an hour have dissolved as I answered comments and checked some photos. It is actually 18 minutes past midnight so I have failed to post on Monday despite all my talk of good intentions.


The editor I was emailing last night has decided not to use the poem, which is fair enough. It’s my job to write things that are publishable and she has plenty to do without me taking her time up. I did suggest an edit that involved removing the first six lines and going with the rest, but this didn’t appear to be acceptable. It’s a shame, as i like being published, but I’m not going to lose sleep over it. As I said in my cheery note thanking her for her decision – after a quick edit it will be part of my February submissions. One door closes etc . . .


Books, books, books . . .


Eight minutes gone, 233 words written. It’s funny how I can write faster when I’m relaxed. Given the time pressure of a deadline I start to choke. This is probably a lesson I could apply to poetry. It always used to seem easier in the early days, when my target was to submit on the first day of the submission window rather than the last.


At the moment, I have enough returned poems to make up two submissions for February already. The target is nine for this month. I have  a few others in mind but they are for a magazine that has never yet taken one of my pieces. Sometimes, particularly when I am listing possible  targets, I list magazines that I regard as “hostile” to make sure I keep testing myself. Other times, particularly when I am feeling lazy, or am at the end of the month, I drop them from the list.


It’s a bit like the verse forms that I don’t do. A number of journals take what they call linked forms, which are haiku or tanka, or both, made into a longer poem. Often they are done by people writing in partnership, though it’s possible for them to be done by a single writer. I keep thinking of expanding my range, but it all takes time and effort and enthusiasm, and I’m not feeling that I have much to spare.


Books by Paul Hollywood


I have 88 submission targets for this year., ten more than last year, but I have to be as good this year as i was last year.  And that’s where the pressure starts . . .


Humans are strange creatures. Even when things are going along nicely I have to add extra layers to the general worries. Quite apart from the normal am I good enough? and when will the bubble burst? worries, I have to add to them by setting targets.


Finally, talking of pressure and deadlines, do you remember me joking about how much time I had before my presentation at the Numismatic Society – 12 months, 11 months, plenty of time to start in the New Year . . .


Well it’s 2 months and 10 days away and I still only have a few vague ideas about what I’m doing. I was planning on writing a rough script today but seem to have slept through it instead. Time, I think, for a sense of urgency to appear, ready for next month’s panic.


Yes, I read a lot of low-brow books…