THE HAIBUN GALLERY : 26 May — a Thursday feature
- Kala Ramesh
- May 26, 2022
- 2 min read
Updated: May 27, 2022
hosts: Shobhana Kumar and Kala Ramesh
26th May
This month we'll be showcasing haibun written by Harriot West
Here is our third offering from Harriot West’s vast repertoire.
Things I’ll Never Tell You
1. Albertsons carries your favorite almond biscotti so you don’t have to drive across town to Trader Joe’s.
2. Grilled fennel is back on the menu at Gianni’s.
3. Our favorite waiter asked where you were and looked surprised when I said I didn’t know.
4. Gianni asked how you were doing and looked surprised when I said I didn’t know and didn’t care.
5. The trillium on the Ridgeline Trail have lost their petals.
6. I don’t know how I’ll bear it when the wild iris bloom.
7. Before I changed the sheets, I slept on your side of the bed for a week.
8. Sometimes I cradle your pillow.
9. Sometimes I wish I hated you.
sleepless night
I google the stages
of grief
Don’t you love the way this haibuneer has pushed the boundaries with this work? A traditional list-poem, this stunning piece of work sits so beautifully as a haibun.
So, this week, we invite you to push the envelope. Get creative and see how far you can gently push the form and stay true to it.
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We are delighted to open the comment thread for you to share your unpublished haibun (within 300 words) to be considered for inclusion in the haikuKATHA monthly journal.
Oyster Diving
In the morning, after I don the mask and fins to go oyster diving, I drop into blue where I search the seabed like I’m looking for lost keys. With the air tank on my back, feeling like an underwater Quasimodo, I move slowly in submerged silence — the closest bells are banging on wave-bucked buoys — the way one moves after waking from a long sleep, keen to be alert for the sharp edges of shells protruding from the ocean floor. As I pluck one and hold it in my hand, it is like a stone perfect for skipping or a flying saucer ready to take flight. I admire how tight oysters are, precisions of compression, l…
Feedback welcome 🙏🏻
Facade
“Keep that switch on, you imbecile,” Mr. Lele barks at the building’s security guard. “If the lights are not on how would the CCTV capture intruders in this dark? Forget about intruders. There are thieves and thugs in our own building. How would we catch the person who put those ugly scratches on my car?”
the keyboard matches tune
with telephone ring …
afternoon raga
“Old buildings are good for exercise, no elevators here,” Mr Lele mutters, balancing the vegetable bag. Beans, beet roots and tomatoes create a colourful trail towards the third storey.
an ant crawls
on the chequered floor …
queen’s gambit
This is beautifully poignant. The L3 of the haiku open up a completely different dimension of the separation.
Revised Version
Thanks Vidya and Kala. Feedback still welcome.
Vidya, I have made small changes to the prose to improve the clarity but I have retained the disjointed, vague structure as it is closer to reality)
Season’s Turn
Monday: Eighteen pills. Ria would insist on handing me my pills one by one when she was little. Not so many then.
Tuesday: Dropped one. Will my body miss it when I wake up tomorrow?
Wednesday: I wish these did not need so much water to swallow. The hand rail on the bathroom wall is shaky...
Thursday: Two new pills. I wonder what they are for. Venu's father once drove me to school on his apple-green Lambretta when I had a fracture…
Thank you for this deeply moving prompt, Shobhana and Kala. The form continues to surprise. I am at a loss for words for Harriot West's skill with this list poem.