hosts: Firdaus Parvez & Kala Ramesh
poet of the month: Lew Watts
18th May 2023
Happy to present Lew Watts, and there's a lot waiting for you this month!
Who is this haibuneer, who won the Touchstone Award for his haibun, Spacial Concept: Waiting
Lew Watts is the author of Tick-Tock, a haibun collection that received an Honorable Mention in the Haiku Society of America’s 2020 Merit Book Awards, and Eira (in press), a collection of haiku and haibun (both from Snapshot Press). Lew is also the co-author, with Roberta Beary and Rich Youmans, of Haibun: A Writer's Guide (Ad Hoc Fiction, forthcoming). He is the haibun co-editor of Frogpond and was awarded an honorary doctorate from Bristol University in 2016. Born and raised in Wales, he now lives in Chicago with his wife, Roxanne Decyk. His other passions are fly fishing and gin martinis.
We asked Lew some questions and he has been kind in answering them. Read on! THG:
3. What is your writing process?
I keep an active file of “haibun ideas” or things that interest me. Originally, these were personal memories, but over time, and as others have observed, they have become increasingly fictional. Weeks may go by when I write nothing. And then, usually in an afternoon, I will sit down and write the prose for several of these “ideas.” I let each prose piece ferment for a while before starting to edit. I search for something at the core of each, asking “what’s this really about?” Once I find it, I cut everything around that core and then re-build my prose to illuminate that core. Other times, an “idea” may call out for the use of form (a concrete poem; a sonnet if the argument shifts, as in a volta; a villanelle for a voice that echoes) or rhythm (my haibun, “Mwg Hallt,” is written in trochaic meter to mimic plodding drudgery). As for the haiku— how many and where—I have no idea how they come. But I can wait days, weeks, even months, and when the right haiku surfaces it’s like a huge release.
THG:
4. Would you share some tips on editing?
I’m not sure what we’re talking of here. If it is editing my own work, all I’ll say is that I am relentless and ruthless. But if it’s about editing at a journal, perhaps a few comments. The first is that I “love” every haibun that I read. I may not like it, but I love and respect that it has emerged. If I can’t give birth to it as a haibun at Frogpond, I wish it well (I’m more than willing to give feedback to any poet). It's rare that a submitted haibun is perfect (mine aren’t!), and so I will offer feedback and suggestions. These may involve some honing of the prose, or a re-think of the title. But invariably, the problem rests with the haiku. Pitfalls are weak haiku that are unable to stand alone, that are mere repetitions of the prose, or haiku that leap so far from the prose that the reader is lost. In other words, there is no spark.
Forty Years . . . Same Gray Doors
Don’t let the voices come to me at night
he pleads with the wall over and over each day.
Or, Keep ‘em silent ‘til the dog’s first bite,
which makes no sense unless he means that shite
of a nurse, the one who scoffs each time he says
Don’t let the voices come to me at night,
as if he can control his words. Despite
the meds, he says he’s tried so hard to pray
to keep ‘em silent ‘til the dog’s first bite,
but nothing works, nothing works. A slight
pause, then a cough, and off he goes again . . .
Don’t let the voices come to me at night.
As I leave, I tell him it will be all right
if he can see the breath of stars—but will they
keep ‘em silent ‘til the dog’s first bite?
They won’t. I’m home, the curtains closed. The lights
are on. They’re always on. Please, stay away . . .
Don’t let the voices come for me tonight.
Keep them silent ‘til the gin’s first bite.
almost dark ...
Mother calling us
from the woods
Contemporary Haibun Online, 19.1, 2023
Let me add one more example of what I mean by conversational haibun-in-verse. Give us a story:
Kulfiwala
On Saturday nights we wait
for that man on his old bicycle
his voice most peculiar
unmistakable even in my dreams
hearing him again tonight
my mouth begins to water —
breathing in, the scent runs a marathon
coming out through my skin
he opens a terracotta pot
from which he digs out
a small cylindrical aluminium cone
as each clamour to be the first
he gives that all-knowing smile
as he hands me, the youngest of us all,
the first plate
made from areca leaves
with neatly sliced ice cream on it
I hold it precariously
not wanting to drop any of it
nor want to be the first to begin
for then I’ll be the first to finish
and I will have to see my siblings
eat, lick, and eat, and ...
my eyes would refuse to look away
“Kulfiwala!” mother calls out
to give him the money
for our once-a-week sin
— an almond, cashew
and cardamom mix
of home-made ice cream
the bestest in the world
the joy in her voice
I remember as a child
Mother’s Day
bronze temple bell
the mingling undertones
of myriad thoughts
Kala Ramesh
taken from the book - beyond the horizon beyond
Prompt:
I first read haibun in verse in 2007! Yes, as early as that and it was probably written much before I chanced upon it! It was Michael McClintock's haibun in verse. I loved it.
So you know what the prompt is going to be - a haibun in verse. Cap it with an effective haiku. Think of different emotions. Have you ever tried to bring texture into your haibun? We can easily get texture in one's voice when singing. An artist can show texture in her brushstrokes. In acting, one can show texture in one's body movements and in the tonal quality of the voice.
Have you ever tried to bring texture into your haibun?
1. First give us your answer on how you can bring texture into your writing. It's something I've been searching for and have not found a satisfactory answer yet.
1. First give us your answer on how you can bring texture into your writing.
2. Then give us your haibun!
And, of course, haibun outside this prompt can also be posted!
PLEASE NOTE:
1. Only two haibun per poet per prompt. Please put your name and country of residence under your poem, it makes the editors' work easier. Thanks.
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. When poets give suggestions and if you agree to them - post your final edited version on top of your original version.
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 the haikuKATHA monthly journal.
Adding texture to my writing? As I think of texture, right now, today, I'm thinking rough or bumpy. Something a little bit uncomfortable, like a niggling thought in the back of my brain. A physical feeling that I try to convey with language.
#1, revised, changed a bit. Thanks Diana. Feedback please. 24-5-2023, thanks all.
*
**
The Truth
Just a small hamlet, not a big town yet i find comfort in the heart of the Western Ghats where a continuous shift of conversations between all ages
transcends the ancestral connection I try to find my entity neither here nor there, as mother says 'you don't know many people, you're in trishanku' and my remarks, 'i can still thrive' leaves her with just a blank stare mood swings a total failure of summer rain
***
Original
.
Hamlet
Not a big town nor a big village,
yet i find comfort in the heart of
the Western Ghats
where a continuous shift of
conversations between all ages transcen…
Just trying:
Not a great haibunist to comment on 'texture on haibun writing', but i can say that
The soul of the texture lies in the heart of the poet. Its like the river's flow and the movement of wind that directs the story to proceed from one bank to another. It should never stay or else it gets stagnant and then maybe it cannot flourish. Layers of perspectives one after other can demarcate the storyline but the breath of the story can never be restricted. It should have the freedom to stand on its own and also allow the readers to dive and search for the hidden surprise.
I would rather define texture as like the icecream that stands…
Play-off
babies are cute
so long as they are
babies
but once they grow
from a quadruped to biped —
devils in disguise
one moment Baby is chuckling
talking in baby tongue
and you are smiling, talking gibberish
because you don’t know baby tongue
you squat because you want to get
down to its level
and Mother, trusting you
allows herself to be distracted by
something that needs her attention
when it happens. In a flash!
Baby is sprawled on the ground
on its stomach
its baby talk replaced
with a screeching that brings
Mother and other mothers too
running to pick up the wailing brat
directing angry glances at you
in good measure
and you stand rooted
alone, confused
seeker
many times she has had this same dream why is it always so difficult to reach this unknown place she needs to climb bend low and creep through the doorway to enter, here she always wakes with a start she’s yet to see the interior is it an ashram? a hole or …
storm-tossed
the search within
for a mooring
feedback.