hosts: Firdaus Parvez, Kala Ramesh, Priti Aisola & Suraja Menon Roychowdhury
Introducing a new perspective to our Wednesday Feature!
It is our pleasure to feature well known haijin and poet Sonam Chokki this month. Welcome Sonam! Thank you for taking the time to answer our questions! We hope you will visit us and share your comments and insights on the poems that will be posted.
3. TTH: How do you develop a tanka? Please guide us through the stages of a poem.
SC: It’s only fair to say that what works for me might not for another poet.
It’s the image that comes first: icicles on a cotoneaster, a crow on the pole of a faded prayer flag, a room in an empty house. This triggers thoughts/feelings and the poem takes shape. On an annual visit to the family home, this poem emerged as I was cleaning the place:
shell of a gecko
in father’s prayer room . . .
all these months
I thought no one visited
the ancestral home
Chrysanthemum 19, April 2016
4.
TTH: Who are your favourite tanka poets? In addition to tanka what other genres of poetry do you write or read? Tell us about some of the books you've enjoyed.
SC: No discussion about tanka would be complete without the mention of Ono no Komachi (825 -900) and Izumi Shikibu (approximately 970 – 1033). These women poets wrote very much in the aesthetics of the Heian court where much of their lives were spent behind screens, both physical and cultural. However, their verses are heart-wrenchingly relatable and memorable.
Of course, later Japanese tanka poets, particularly Yosano Akiko (1878 - 1942) and Machi Tawara (1962 -) write more overtly using explicit imagery of their bodies and sexual longings and reservations.
Masaoka Shiki (1867-1902) is another “classical” tanka writer that I have re-read over the years.
We’re fortunate that there are many, inspirational contemporary tanka poets. One of my favourites is Gene Murtha (1955-2015), who was the first tanka editor at A Hundred Gourds launched in 2011and wrote with emotional depth and clarity of imagery:
I sold everything
except my Navajo cross
so precious
this god I hold dear
the same god I gave up
Ribbons 6:1
Other EL contemporary tanka poets whose work never fail to move and inspire are (in no particular order):
Amelia Fielden
Beverley George
Michael McClintock
Claire Everett
Susan Constable
Kathy Kituai
I have also tried my hand at haibun, haiku, haiga, tanbun, ryuka, sedoka, Burmese rhyming verse, the Korean sijo form and some free verse.
Here is a heartfelt tanka prose from Sonam's talented pen.
The Yoke of Love
I open the door of my daughter’s room with a laundry basket in hand. The bed is made as if she might rush up the stairs, fling herself and sink into it. In the “wealth corner” (feng shui is her latest passion) the money plant flutters in the breeze. “She has left the window open,” I note in surprise. All my pleadings to air out her room, which she seemed to shrug off, has not gone unheeded!
One of the earliest rhymes she learned in English:
Nobody likes me
Everybody hates me
I think l’ll eat some worms . . .
morphed as her anthem of protest. “I’m going to eat worms,” she would shout at any attempts to wash her hair or get her to sleep or stop her from beheading my summer blooms of nasturtium, calendula and scented lilies.
Her well-worn hoodie, t-shirt, track bottoms, underwear and socks are in a neat heap by the foot of bed. The mound of hair ties, brush, lip balm, canisters of deodorant, pens, coach/train dockets on the bedside table, are all gone. A barely-used tube of toothpaste lies on the floor. She mentioned convenience stores on the university campus close to the halls of residence. l tell myself that she will easily replenish her supplies.
In the study, her favourite cat mug is on the desk with a bunch of pencils and ballpoints. She has left a couple of books with a note:
“Please give these to cousin K. I forgot when l met him last week.”
how did you learn
to take leave with quiet ease
how will l learn
to accept this new reality
to let go a mother’s clasp
sunrise fog
a deer outside the window
so still and dark
like the unfinished shadow
of years we might still have
Drifting Sands Haibun, Issue 13, 2022
This week's challenge: Look around you. Find an object that has some meaning for you. Write a tanka or a tanka prose about it. Tanka off-prompt are welcome too.
An essay on how to write tanka: https://www.trivenihaikai.in/post/tanka-flights
PLEASE NOTE
1. Post only one poem at a time, only one per day.
2. Only 2 tanka and two tanka-prose per poet per prompt. Tanka art, too.
3. Share your best-polished pieces. 4. We are not looking at SEQUENCES NOW, of any length.
5. Please do not post something in a hurry or something you have just written. Let it simmer for a while.
6. Post your final edited version on top of your original verse.
7. Don't forget to give feedback on others' poems.
We are delighted to open the comment thread for you to share your unpublished tanka and tanka-prose (within 250 words) to be considered for inclusion in the haikuKATHA monthly magazine.
Tanka prose
Matriarchy
The old chair sits comfortably in our living room. Dad refuses to remove it. He says that it is a family heirloom. It looks out of place in the modern setting of the room, where it proudly announces its existence. Mom calls it the grand dame of our family.
colouring
my greys i leave behind
a streak of silver hair
a reminiscent
of the years gone by
Feedback appreciated:)
#3
20/6/23
yellow red
and green
hundreds
of colourful bells
no ring but a tang
~
Feedback Welcome
~
Tanka prose #2 20 June
'Félicité Perpétue'
What's in a name?
It's a secluded spot, near the flint church that dates back to the 1100s. The warmth of a mellow brick wall carries a fine passion-flower through our winters. Wrought iron gates are left open all the time, so of a weekend night merry youths hang out there, showing off to each other, pretending to be older, more wordly than their years. On Sunday, a few volunteer pensioners living nearby clean up the little cylinders of laughing gas, the cans of Red Bull. The rest of the week its calm can be enjoyed from the worn oak benches.
an old lady in black
plants a rose
with a label
in…
final version:
Privet
Snip snip in a cascade of clippings a hedge takes shape.…The gardener greets me but does not pause, nodding to a beat from the large black headphones over his baseball cap.
tiniest spider
who spent all night casting
a perfect orb
across the canopy
scuttles for cover
first version:
snip snip in a cascade of clippings a hedge takes shape...the gardener greets me but does not pause, nodding to the bass beat from large black headphones on his cap
tiniest spider
who spent all night casting
a perfect orb
across the canopy
scuttles for cover
Jun 19 Tanka Prose #1 Feedback welcome 🙂
𝗨𝗻𝗱𝗲𝗿 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝗠𝗶𝗱𝗻𝗶𝗴𝗵𝘁 𝗦𝘂𝗻
One day you’re wallowing in the winter doldrums. It seems that spring will never come. Never mind spring, in a blink of the eye, it’s summer! The woods green up overnight and the garden celebrates by busting out all over.
casting a shadow
in the garden
lovage
as tall as my youngest
growing like a weed