Hosts: Shalini Pattabiraman and Reid Hepworth
20th October 2022
Today we bring to you the third haibun in the series featuring Keith Polette.
Keith Polette
Looking for Marfa Lights
It is best to approach from the west on Hwy 90 with a full tank of gas and a slice of tres leches cake from L & J’s in El Paso, which you’ve kept in the cooler (in case you need a ready sacrifice). Lose your expectations and approach on a night when the stars have pulled up stakes. Keep track of the floaters in your eyes. Remember to speak softly to whatever is rumbling behind your strongest persona. This is how you can invite the light. Clean the windshield of its Pollack-painting of bugs and give away any loose change in your pockets.
night drive
when the only detour
is the moon
Avoid other light-lookers. They have gathered to see a spectacle, a Godot, or something like it. Remember, though, that the night sky is shaped like a bowler hat and that your shadow will lead you deeper into the desert of yourself. Light can only be found in the darkest place. Do not be troubled by the fact that some trees never spout leaves.
solo hitchhiking . . .
the long dark stretches
between friends
Recall your latest dream. Resist the temptation to shoehorn it into your daylight understanding. Don’t put your trust in easy repetitions. Rely on your fingertips; they can nose out the spirit in the dry earth. They can open your eyes.
oneiric adventure
a cathedral erupting
into night birds
Drive steadily, as if your car were in a trance. Play no music. Even if a wave of grief overcomes you, be steadfast, do not let up on the gas. When you’ve driven far enough, pull onto the shoulder of the road. Get out. Let the night settle around you like a dog circling before lying down. Stand with open arms. Let the light come like a love you lost long ago or a bone you are about to break.
in the distance
the coal-fire of a coyote’s eyes
burning through you
What can I say about this stunning haibun. A study of self, but using the second person narrative, I found the voice intriguing. I was absolutely moved by the use of space (pauses) between the sections and the way the piece unfolded to speak about darkness within us and how light is always the entrance to a better self.
Keith shares, 'I find it interesting and engaging when the “voice” in my writing shifts from first, to third, to second. The use of the second person voice often takes the form of an invitation or even a directive (which always reminds me of Robert Frost’s great poem “Directive”). And the spaces between the sections may be the manifestations of the idea of “ma” (in Japanese, “silence”), so that a kind of caesura links the prose sections, one that invites reflection and mediation.'
Prompt: On the occasion of Deepawali, I invite you to delve into the darkness that we inhabit and think about how light can be brought back into our lives. I want us to think about the relationship between darkness and light and consider why duality is synonymous with evil and goodness. What if how we read this duality in nature is misunderstood by all of us.
As always, a good haibun will find its way into the next issue of our fabulous journal. Reid and I are eagerly looking forward to reading your haibun.
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. 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.
Revision:
Kala, I have changed the title. Militance. Does this look better? Sounds telly to me. Maybe 'Ruin'? Back to 'Ashes'? 'Resistance'?(shalini) or Futilities? )
Futilities
A candle does not blaze into a fire unless the seeker loses his way in spite of the light and tosses his frustrations into the flame shelled shrine to dust the dust
*******************
Ashes A candle does not blaze into a fire unless the seeker loses his way in spite of the light and tosses his frustrations into the flame shelled shrine to dust the dust
Revised ...
Shalini, thanks.
The Waves
The raga plays repeatedly in your ears like the Omkara ringing in the cosmos, soft but clear. You pause and listen. Somewhere closer to you a puppy is yelping. You look around and see deep yearning staring you in the face. You get some dog food from the cupboard.
sunset quiet
trees absorb
all birdsong
You go back to listening to the raga being played on the bansuri by Pandit Pannalal Ghosh. How many years back this must have been recorded, yet still the notes are smooth and clear like morning rain on banana leaves. The steady pitter-patter turns into an inescapable rhythm that aids the music. When the music ends, your attention wavers…
Following the Scent ( a rewritten version of an earlier post )
A few assorted candles in different shapes and sizes. A small brass snuffer. A black velvet evening bag lined with satin and edged with a marcasite trim. All at the back of the drawer where her great great grandma left them. As winter looms she contemplates the prospect of many nights of power cuts, unclasps the bag, wondering how many secrets it holds within.
dust motes
a lit wick
flickers
I again read the haibun - pausing at every opportunity the writing gives. This is a stunning haibun, Shalini, as you have rightly pointed out.
I love your thoughts on it and love what Keith has shared about this haibun. Thank you for making THE HAIBUN GALLERY so rich.
Pictures at an Exhibition ( revised )
Filtering through the stained glass saints of the old school chapel, it illuminates the surfaces of portland stone, moves across gouache snow of winter scenes, slants through skies caught by the brush when dawn came late and dusk too soon.
silence
a myriad glints
of sparrow song
Pictures at an Exhibition
Filtering through the stained glass saints of the old school chapel, it illuminates the surfaces of portland stone, moves across gouache snow of winter scenes, slants through skies caught by the brush when light was low.
silence
a myriad glints
of sparrow song