For Paol Soren, who asked, and for anyone else who wants to know.
This is an explanation of Haibun.
This is someone else’s explanation of a Haibun.
And this is an example.
Pigs and cornflowers
The Thoughtful Pig
When I tell the pig that my latest scan is clear, it grunts and stretches out a bit more neck
for me to scratch.My wife, when I gave her the same news, said: “What does that mean?”
How do I know? I’m not medically qualified. I assume it means they can’t find anything of
concern, and apart from regular monitoring, don’t intend doing anything else. When I point
this out, she tells me that being sarcastic, alongside being passive-aggressive, is one of my
major faults. When I point out that this is two faults, she adds pedantry to the list.It isn’t difficult to kill someone, particularly when you have access to the internet, though
the advice you get is often qualified with reference to the trickiness of modern forensics,
and they all agree that a major difficulty is disposing of the body. Fortunately, I have pigs
and they will eat almost anything.“One day,” I say, scratching dried flakes of mud from behind the listening ear, “one day . . .”
cornflower
blowing in the breeze
clouds gather overhead
That one was published in drifting sands last month.
This one is a tanka prose. It doesn’t have a Japanese name. It’s a tanka (five line poem) added to a prose section instead of a haiku. This one was published in Contemporary Haibun Online earlier in the year.
Angel with Spear, 1860s. By N H J Westlake or J M Allen. St Michael’s and All Angels, Derby
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
St Joseph and the Angel c 1920 by Wilhelmina Geddes.
