hosts: Shalini Pattabiraman & Vidya Shankar
mentor: Lorraine Haig
A Thursday Feature
17th October 2024
This month we have the pleasure of celebrating the work of Billie Dee.
Billie Dee is the former Poet Laureate of the U.S. National Library Service. A retired health care worker, she earned her doctorate at U.C. Irvine, completed post-graduate training at U.C. San Diego. Although she writes in a variety of genres, her primary focus is Japaniform poetry. A native Californian, she now lives in the Chihuahuan Desert with her family and a betta fish named Ramon. Billie publishes both online and off.
You can access Billie’s blog in the link attached below.
Website: www.billie-dee-haiku.blogspot.com
Billie Dee
Proper Living
Grandpa won’t oil the squeaky windmill, says he likes it that way—tells him
where he’s at in a dust storm. A man of strict habits, he’s extra gentle
with horses and kids.
double yolked egg
the rooster-spur scar
on Mama's shin
Up before dawn, he shaves without a mirror, chooses a blue plaid shirt
with mother-of-pearl snaps at the cuff, which he keeps neatly tucked
into dark trousers. He won’t wear jeans like Daddy, “cause no gentleman
rides out looking like that.” Come sunset he smells like a hot branding iron.
shelling peas
into the enameled pan
plink-plink-plink
After dressing the tack with neatsfoot oil and brushing his Stetson, Grandpa
strips to the waist in the cow shed. A red-handled pump squeals till primed,
then gushes into the wash trough. Fresh-laundered coveralls keep the man tidy
while he milks the three golden guernseys.
sink high
a line of damp
marks Granny's apron
Source: Contemporary Haibun Online, 19:3, Dec 2023
SP: How do you view the relationship between title, prose and haiku?
BD: I see each element as part of a three-legged stool. Careful attention to each is necessary to balance a well-written haibun. Traditionally, the prose—whether narrative, lyrical, speculative, or otherwise—should be concise and clearly written. Likewise, the title and haikai ought to be fresh and inviting. Ideally, all three are disjunctive but clearly (or intuitively) linked.
SP: Do you believe haibun has any specific boundaries that one must follow?
BD: Yes. Each element of the poem (title, narrative, and verse) should be balanced and engaging. To honor the tradition of classical haibun writing, the prose is usually concise, even compressed. On the other hand, some of my favorite poets use inventive ruminations, run-on diction, even wildly divergent passages. The key point is to stimulate reader anticipation and (most importantly) imaginative participation.
I also think the haikai should be able to stand alone as an independent poem. I realize, not everyone agrees with this—but for me as a writer and editor, it’s a core requirement.
Prompt:
On your page, list a name, a place, an animal and a thing. Now write a haiku/haibun using this list but set it in your grandparents time. Create another list and write a different haiku/haibun and set it in an imagined future. Next connect these two pieces together to make one. You might need some tinkering but try not to change heavily.
PLEASE NOTE:
1. Only two haibun per poet per prompt.
2. Share your best-polished pieces.
3. Please do not post something in a hurry or something you have just written.
Let it simmer for a while.
4. Post your final edited version on top of your original verse.
5. Don't forget to give feedback on others' poems.
We are delighted to open the comment thread for you to share your unpublished haibun (within 300 words) to be considered for inclusion in haikuKATHA monthly journal.
Important: Since we're swamped with submissions, and our editors are only human, mistakes can happen. Please, please, remember to put your name, followed by your country, below each poem, even after revisions. It helps our editors; they won't have to type it in, saving them from potential typos. Thanks a ton!
#2 From Past to Pixels
jack-o'-lantern
ancestors and children
share the night
The neighborhood awakens, a gallery of carved grins inviting spirits to linger. Witches and ghouls hang from doorways, hollow eyes following trick-or-treaters as laughter mingles with fright. Children appear as pirates with eye patches, fairies with sparkling wings, superheroes in capes, zombies in tattered clothes, roaring dinosaurs, and astronauts ready to explore the stars. Their laughter fills the night, turning the streets into a magical place. Doorbells ring out in a cheerful chorus of "trick or treat," echoing the festive call.
harvest moon
a scarecrow's shadow
bows to the wind
Back home, such openness to spirits was unthinkable. Superstition wove its way into hushed conversations. We drove unwelcome entities…
Edited (Thanks to invaluable guidance by Vidya and Kala) :
everything makes sense in hindsight
as his hand slips
on my waist
another fish
takes the bait
Vandana Parashar
Original:
everything makes sense in hindsight
his hand on my waist
another fish takes
the bait
Vandana Parashar
P.S. I don't write much Haibun and have never written a gembun. This is my first attempt. Any feedback is most welcome. 🙏
Revised. Thanks, Lorraine.
gembun:
village granaries bursting with gunny sacks of rice
her baby's first cry
unlocks
the milk flow
Kala Ramesh
<> <>
Original:
the village granaries bursting with gunny sacks of collected rice grains
her baby's first cry
unlocks
the milk flow
labour room
Kala Ramesh #1
Feedback most welcome.
Post #2
22.10.24
…and so on…
1961, Hyderabad
Just born
the baby’s eyes same as grandpa pink moon
Naina is their second born. The parents lovingly look at their bundle of joy. She grows up to be a chubby , fair and pretty girl. Her hair is streaked with gold and the cheeks are ruddy. With her infectious laughter she is a favourite of all.
first rose buds
mother’s kitchen
full of sunshine
2040, Delhi
Eighty years old
Looking out of her bedroom door she admires the flowers in her garden. Butterflies of all colours flit from zinnias to petunias. Naina shuts her eyes for a few seconds. Yes, she has seen it all, losing her father and husband at…
#1 Golden Lineage
One thread
Two hands
Four seasons
Eight festivals
Sixteen years of weaving
Thirty-two flowers blooming
Sixty-four stories told
One hundred twenty-eight dreams stitched
Two hundred fifty-six moments captured
Five hundred twelve heartbeats echoed
One thousand twenty-four ancestors remembered
Two thousand forty-eight stitches connecting past to future
heirloom sky . . .
moonlight threads
forgotten dreams
I lift the old trunk and the red phulkari spills its colors. Grandmother wove, mother continued, and now I preserve this legacy. Soon, my daughter's hands will grasp it too.
time unravels . . .
a tortoise ambles
from ancient roots Sandip Chauhan, USA feedback welcome