hosts: Firdaus Parvez & Kala Ramesh
poet of the month: Lew Watts
11th 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 to answer them. The second answer will wake you up! THG:
2. How do you translate experience into writing? I wrote and published free verse and formal poetry long before discovering Japanese forms in 2010. For my early haibun, I told stories about my Welsh past and my time living abroad in many countries. But there was always something lurking in the shadows. The first time it appeared was in a haiku that literally flew onto the page. It was so shocking (and true) that I wanted to take it back—too late! Since then, I have been able to surface many memories that had been buried—in that respect, haibun has been a savior for me. Nowadays, I write about experiences and wait . . . and wait . . . for insight or truth to emerge in one or more haiku.
Aberfan
1961 garbled words from space my father back from the pub
1962 click of a stopwatch again last under the desk
1963 nicking a Beano from the newsstand JFK dead
1964 Beatles land in New York creeping downstairs
1965 early hours a phantom punch in the first round
1966
Rumors throughout the school. Older boys picked up at the gates by fathers. Classes cancelled. Walking home through silent streets. Our front door ajar. A note from Dad that he’s gone to help, back in a couple of days. Grabbing an apple. Cycling past the biscuit factory, into Roath, then Llanishen, heading for Merthyr. A puncture in the dark. A chill in the air. A police car taking me home. The helplessness. The fear. The dark.
surfacing my body picked clean by crows
Presence, 72. 2022
Prompt:
Storytelling has various avatars. Have you ever tried to plug into a style that you have never tried before? Did you notice these short sentences? and still, the storyline is not lost. Give us a haibun which is full of punch, vigour and vitality!
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.
#1
(Boo)k Awards
How great that zero chapbooks won. And I just loved paying over $50 to print out & mail my ebook that should have been viewed online. And how awesome that a dead person got top prize.
homicidal moon
girl you know you better
watch out
comments welcome
#2
(appreciate feedback)
Wide Open
They:
Is that what you are wearing?
That dress makes you look
fat
short
slutty
fake
provoking
unstylish
old-fashioned
frumpish
Me:
I am wearing this dress
This dress makes me
happy
eastward bound…
the tailing shadows
i no longer notice
#2 May 15
(Critique most welcome)
Revision 1 (Thanks Kala)
Kaveri
Two sons fight over the mother. One dams her, leaving the thirsty other to seek water from a neighbour.
Caught in the conflict, I catch the last bus home, hoping it will not get stopped and torched on the way. Jam-packed shoulder-to-shoulder, we are from all sides of the border.
The mother prays for rain.
still lulled
by an old lullaby
long forgotten toys
Note: Kaveri is a river, also spelt as Cauvery
***********************
Kaveri
Two sons fighting over the mother. One damming her, leaving the other thirsty, and seeking water from a neighbour. Caught in the conflict, catching the last bus home, hoping it will not get torched. Jam…
Post #2
Minutes
12 a.m the bed looks inviting
12.30 a.m. should I read a book?
12.40 a.m. drowsy
1.45 a.m. suddenly awake
1.45 a.m. I have to check the locks
2 a.m. all is good
2.15 a.m. can’t sleep
2.30 a.m. I put on sleep music
3 a.m. still no sleep
3.10 a.m. sleepy
5.15 a.m. ah! slept for two hours
new dawn
the cobweb on my window
full of sun drops
Feedback appreciated:)
Camping
With a rod over your shoulder, you rock-hop around the point. I stand on dark bricks of basalt at the water’s edge, waving goodbye. A chill wind swirls a palette of grey cloud and rocks our small van near the river’s mouth. With my blank page, a pen, and a deck chair I find a warm place to write. The sea roars like an outboard motor. A strong tide aided by this gale funnels up the inlet to challenge the river head on. Stunted scrub clings to a thin humus ridge on top of the sand dunes where a wallaby shuffles deeper under a bush. In a haze of salt, Eddystone Lighthouse grips the granite ready to flash it…