New Year's Eve we ate this last year
w. f. owen
Tuesday, December 30, 2008
Monday, December 29, 2008
Thursday, December 25, 2008
Tuesday, December 23, 2008
Monday, December 22, 2008
Friday, December 19, 2008
Wednesday, December 17, 2008
Monday, December 15, 2008
Sunday, December 14, 2008
Sunday, December 7, 2008
Saturday, December 6, 2008
Friday, December 5, 2008
Tuesday, December 2, 2008
Sunday, November 30, 2008
Saturday, November 29, 2008
Wednesday, November 26, 2008
Tuesday, November 25, 2008
Sunday, November 23, 2008
Thursday, November 20, 2008
Sunday, November 16, 2008
Saturday, November 15, 2008
Friday, November 14, 2008
Tuesday, November 11, 2008
Sunday, November 9, 2008
Saturday, November 8, 2008
Friday, November 7, 2008
Tuesday, November 4, 2008
Sunday, November 2, 2008
Saturday, November 1, 2008
Friday, October 31, 2008
Tuesday, October 28, 2008
Sunday, October 26, 2008
A haibun published in Frogpond, vol. 31 (No. 3), 2008, p. 61:
It seems strange
to be buried in spring with the blossoms popping insects crawling flies buzzing but here I lie in deep dirt like a bulb planted the coolness the voices of passing walkers laughing sometimes scolding an errant child lovers walking hand in hand creating their own light no light here comfort snugness is snugness a real word are we there yet is it time for bed momma . . . awake the time it takes to realize it was a dream.
sunset the long thread to the hanging caterpillar
w. f. owen
It seems strange
to be buried in spring with the blossoms popping insects crawling flies buzzing but here I lie in deep dirt like a bulb planted the coolness the voices of passing walkers laughing sometimes scolding an errant child lovers walking hand in hand creating their own light no light here comfort snugness is snugness a real word are we there yet is it time for bed momma . . . awake the time it takes to realize it was a dream.
sunset the long thread to the hanging caterpillar
w. f. owen
Friday, October 24, 2008
Thursday, October 23, 2008
Wednesday, October 22, 2008
Tuesday, October 21, 2008
Sunday, October 19, 2008
Saturday, October 18, 2008
Friday, October 17, 2008
Thursday, October 16, 2008
Tuesday, October 14, 2008
Sunday, October 12, 2008
Saturday, October 11, 2008
Friday, October 10, 2008
Thursday, October 9, 2008
Sunday, October 5, 2008
Saturday, October 4, 2008
Friday, October 3, 2008
Thursday, October 2, 2008
Tuesday, September 30, 2008
Sunday, September 28, 2008
Saturday, September 27, 2008
Friday, September 26, 2008
Thursday, September 25, 2008
Tuesday, September 23, 2008
Monday, September 22, 2008
Sunday, September 21, 2008
Saturday, September 20, 2008
Friday, September 19, 2008
Thursday, September 18, 2008
Tuesday, September 16, 2008
Friday, September 12, 2008
Thursday, September 11, 2008
Tuesday, September 9, 2008
Sunday, September 7, 2008
Saturday, September 6, 2008
Friday, September 5, 2008
Thursday, September 4, 2008
Tuesday, September 2, 2008
Monday, September 1, 2008
Sunday, August 31, 2008
Saturday, August 30, 2008
Friday, August 29, 2008
Thursday, August 28, 2008
Wednesday, August 27, 2008
Tuesday, August 26, 2008
Monday, August 25, 2008
Saturday, August 23, 2008
Friday, August 22, 2008
Thursday, August 21, 2008
Wednesday, August 20, 2008
Tuesday, August 19, 2008
Monday, August 18, 2008
Sunday, August 17, 2008
Saturday, August 16, 2008
Friday, August 15, 2008
Thursday, August 14, 2008
Wednesday, August 13, 2008
Tuesday, August 12, 2008
Monday, August 11, 2008
Sunday, August 10, 2008
Saturday, August 9, 2008
Friday, August 8, 2008
Thursday, August 7, 2008
Wednesday, August 6, 2008
Tuesday, August 5, 2008
Monday, August 4, 2008
Sunday, August 3, 2008
Saturday, August 2, 2008
Friday, August 1, 2008
Thursday, July 31, 2008
Wednesday, July 30, 2008
Tuesday, July 29, 2008
Monday, July 28, 2008
Sunday, July 27, 2008
Friday, July 25, 2008
Thursday, July 24, 2008
Wednesday, July 23, 2008
haibun by ed markowski
repast
the eatery was located in the mansion of a
lumber baron who built his palace from
pink jasper in 1874 with the labor of
men whose presence he'd have
never tolerated at his back
door let alone his dinner
table.
every restaurant reviewer in the city
afforded treasure's wine list,
cuisine, ambiance &
service five stars.
her lobster stuffed salmon was charred
& dry, my venison medallions with
juniper sauce bled across the
bone china plate despite
my perfectly clear request
of medium well.
anniversary day
scrubbing the dirt
from last year's potatoes
~ ed markowski
the eatery was located in the mansion of a
lumber baron who built his palace from
pink jasper in 1874 with the labor of
men whose presence he'd have
never tolerated at his back
door let alone his dinner
table.
every restaurant reviewer in the city
afforded treasure's wine list,
cuisine, ambiance &
service five stars.
her lobster stuffed salmon was charred
& dry, my venison medallions with
juniper sauce bled across the
bone china plate despite
my perfectly clear request
of medium well.
anniversary day
scrubbing the dirt
from last year's potatoes
~ ed markowski
Tuesday, July 22, 2008
Monday, July 21, 2008
Sunday, July 20, 2008
Saturday, July 19, 2008
Friday, July 18, 2008
Thursday, July 17, 2008
Wednesday, July 16, 2008
Tuesday, July 15, 2008
Monday, July 14, 2008
Sunday, July 13, 2008
Saturday, July 12, 2008
Friday, July 11, 2008
Thursday, July 10, 2008
Wednesday, July 9, 2008
Tuesday, July 8, 2008
Monday, July 7, 2008
Sunday, July 6, 2008
Saturday, July 5, 2008
Friday, July 4, 2008
Independence Day poems by ed markowski
fireworks uncle mack mutters tet
july 4th every flag sewn in china
flyball
flashing white to blue to red
the northern lights
independence day
the sound of flags fluttering
at Arlington
bottle rockets
memories arise
in technicolor
independence day
the dulled point of father's
foxhole shovel
ed markowski
july 4th every flag sewn in china
flyball
flashing white to blue to red
the northern lights
independence day
the sound of flags fluttering
at Arlington
bottle rockets
memories arise
in technicolor
independence day
the dulled point of father's
foxhole shovel
ed markowski
Thursday, July 3, 2008
Wednesday, July 2, 2008
Monday, June 30, 2008
Sunday, June 29, 2008
Friday, June 27, 2008
Thursday, June 26, 2008
Wednesday, June 25, 2008
Tuesday, June 24, 2008
Monday, June 23, 2008
Sunday, June 22, 2008
Saturday, June 21, 2008
Friday, June 20, 2008
Thursday, June 19, 2008
Wednesday, June 18, 2008
Tuesday, June 17, 2008
Monday, June 16, 2008
Sunday, June 15, 2008
Saturday, June 14, 2008
Thursday, June 12, 2008
Wednesday, June 11, 2008
Tuesday, June 10, 2008
Monday, June 9, 2008
Sunday, June 8, 2008
Saturday, June 7, 2008
Friday, June 6, 2008
Thursday, June 5, 2008
Wednesday, June 4, 2008
Tuesday, June 3, 2008
Monday, June 2, 2008
Sunday, June 1, 2008
Saturday, May 31, 2008
Friday, May 30, 2008
seeds
building clouds
the pregnant mail carrier
delivers my seeds
spring thunder
slight cracks in the
swollen tree buds
planting seeds
my finger
just deep enough
classic rock radio:
"sowing the seeds
of love"
college newspaper
an ad for
ovum donors
lingering light
pulling flesh
from a cling peach
w. f. owen
(Modern Haiku, Autumn 2005, p. 82)
the pregnant mail carrier
delivers my seeds
spring thunder
slight cracks in the
swollen tree buds
planting seeds
my finger
just deep enough
classic rock radio:
"sowing the seeds
of love"
college newspaper
an ad for
ovum donors
lingering light
pulling flesh
from a cling peach
w. f. owen
(Modern Haiku, Autumn 2005, p. 82)
Thursday, May 29, 2008
Wednesday, May 28, 2008
Tuesday, May 27, 2008
Sunday, May 25, 2008
ring
WALKING GUARD DUTY around a Quonset hut of ammunition on the Marine Corps Air Station, Oahu, my high school ring tapping the barrel of a loaded M-14 rifle. Possible racial and anti-war riots threaten the base. Tropical stars trigger memories. The major in boot camp warned me that this ring would snag and pull my finger off when jumping from a helicopter in Nam. Instead of going to West Pac, I got stuck driving a "six-by" truck in California until boredom spurred a transfer request, which could have led to the Tet Offensive, not here to paradise. First week on the Rock, the sunburn from bodysurfing, tasting poi (the glue-like brown paste made from taro), hearing stories on the base from Marines, and on liberty in Waikiki from soldiers and sailors on R & R, about rumors of Russian tanks crossing the DMZ, moments of unspeakable terror beside hours of boredom. Alcohol-induced loose tongues, like the kid in the bar so juiced he removed the prosthetic mask covering what was left of his face from falling on a grenade. He stuck the plastic façade on someone's arm and watched him flick it off like some dead alien in a sci-fi film. A faint steel guitar playing Hawaiian music wafts through swaying palms just ahead of the approaching change of guard. “Halt, who goes there?”
About a year later, while SCUBA diving off the base near an old firing range, I lose my senior ring.
combing
the military beach
a crab with one claw
w. f. owen
(small events: haibun by w. f. owen,
Red Moon Press, 2007, p. 20)
WALKING GUARD DUTY around a Quonset hut of ammunition on the Marine Corps Air Station, Oahu, my high school ring tapping the barrel of a loaded M-14 rifle. Possible racial and anti-war riots threaten the base. Tropical stars trigger memories. The major in boot camp warned me that this ring would snag and pull my finger off when jumping from a helicopter in Nam. Instead of going to West Pac, I got stuck driving a "six-by" truck in California until boredom spurred a transfer request, which could have led to the Tet Offensive, not here to paradise. First week on the Rock, the sunburn from bodysurfing, tasting poi (the glue-like brown paste made from taro), hearing stories on the base from Marines, and on liberty in Waikiki from soldiers and sailors on R & R, about rumors of Russian tanks crossing the DMZ, moments of unspeakable terror beside hours of boredom. Alcohol-induced loose tongues, like the kid in the bar so juiced he removed the prosthetic mask covering what was left of his face from falling on a grenade. He stuck the plastic façade on someone's arm and watched him flick it off like some dead alien in a sci-fi film. A faint steel guitar playing Hawaiian music wafts through swaying palms just ahead of the approaching change of guard. “Halt, who goes there?”
About a year later, while SCUBA diving off the base near an old firing range, I lose my senior ring.
combing
the military beach
a crab with one claw
w. f. owen
(small events: haibun by w. f. owen,
Red Moon Press, 2007, p. 20)
Saturday, May 24, 2008
dog tags
A FRIEND TELLS ME that his brother’s dog tags were among hundreds found on a recent trip to Vietnam by two Florida businessmen. His brother was listed MIA after his helicopter was shot down during the 1968 Tet Offensive. Stamped into the metal tags are his name, serial number and blood type. The businessmen bought over 600 of the tags in the back alley shops of Ho Chi Minh City. Some cost just a few pennies.
his brother’s dog tags
found after thirty years
washing off foreign soil
w. f. owen
(small events: haibun by w. f. owen,
Red Moon Press, 2007, p. 39)
A FRIEND TELLS ME that his brother’s dog tags were among hundreds found on a recent trip to Vietnam by two Florida businessmen. His brother was listed MIA after his helicopter was shot down during the 1968 Tet Offensive. Stamped into the metal tags are his name, serial number and blood type. The businessmen bought over 600 of the tags in the back alley shops of Ho Chi Minh City. Some cost just a few pennies.
his brother’s dog tags
found after thirty years
washing off foreign soil
w. f. owen
(small events: haibun by w. f. owen,
Red Moon Press, 2007, p. 39)
Friday, May 23, 2008
Thursday, May 22, 2008
Wednesday, May 21, 2008
Tuesday, May 20, 2008
Monday, May 19, 2008
Sunday, May 18, 2008
Saturday, May 17, 2008
Friday, May 16, 2008
Thursday, May 15, 2008
Wednesday, May 14, 2008
Tuesday, May 13, 2008
Monday, May 12, 2008
the taste of blood
The last dog we had growing up, a boxer named Bullet,
developed the habit of jumping up and laying his paws
on the chest of anyone who approached. Licking and
slobbering, he only wanted to play, but would knock over
small children, so we were forced to take him to live in the
rural town of my grandparents. There was plenty of open space.
Rabbits and possums to hunt. When he needed to be chained,
he had the shade of the plum trees. On our visits we would throw
the green canning plums for him to chase. He liked to chase. He
also went after the neighbor’s chickens sometimes and killed a few.
“Once they get the taste of blood, you might as well shoot ’em,”
the man explained.
And one day, that’s just what he did.
first fist fight
the taste of blood
in my mouth
(p. 5, small events: haibun by w. f. owen,
Red Moon Press, 2007)
This is one of fifty haibun from my book.
Haibun are prose elements combined with haiku.
There is an interplay of the two in which a surplus
of meaning occurs. It offers an expansion of creativity
in a sense. Some haiku have more of a "story" to them
than the brief lines allow. From time to time
I will place more haibun here.
The last dog we had growing up, a boxer named Bullet,
developed the habit of jumping up and laying his paws
on the chest of anyone who approached. Licking and
slobbering, he only wanted to play, but would knock over
small children, so we were forced to take him to live in the
rural town of my grandparents. There was plenty of open space.
Rabbits and possums to hunt. When he needed to be chained,
he had the shade of the plum trees. On our visits we would throw
the green canning plums for him to chase. He liked to chase. He
also went after the neighbor’s chickens sometimes and killed a few.
“Once they get the taste of blood, you might as well shoot ’em,”
the man explained.
And one day, that’s just what he did.
first fist fight
the taste of blood
in my mouth
(p. 5, small events: haibun by w. f. owen,
Red Moon Press, 2007)
This is one of fifty haibun from my book.
Haibun are prose elements combined with haiku.
There is an interplay of the two in which a surplus
of meaning occurs. It offers an expansion of creativity
in a sense. Some haiku have more of a "story" to them
than the brief lines allow. From time to time
I will place more haibun here.
Sunday, May 11, 2008
Saturday, May 10, 2008
Friday, May 9, 2008
Thursday, May 8, 2008
Wednesday, May 7, 2008
Tuesday, May 6, 2008
Monday, May 5, 2008
Sunday, May 4, 2008
Saturday, May 3, 2008
Friday, May 2, 2008
Thursday, May 1, 2008
Wednesday, April 30, 2008
Tuesday, April 29, 2008
Monday, April 28, 2008
Sunday, April 27, 2008
Saturday, April 26, 2008
Friday, April 25, 2008
Thursday, April 24, 2008
Wednesday, April 23, 2008
Tuesday, April 22, 2008
the simple life
Part of haiku sensibilities go beyond "nature
poems." Many haiku focus on human life
that, to be sure, are part of nature, but I
think of the simpler, everyday activities.
Because haiku highlight moments, typically,
the mundane objects of life are elevated.
Modern humanity all too often rushes past
noticeable, yet unnoticed, simplicity.
Part of what attracts me to haiku writing
and reading is that it suggests mindfulness
and grounding in everyday reality.
In the past some writers have taken this
attitude to extreme. For example, one could
become an "ascetic" like Hosai Ozaki (see
"Right under the big sky, I don't wear a hat,"
Stone Bridge Press, P.O. Box 8208, Berkeley,
CA, 1993). Some of his poems:
Having run here through the wind, in his palm, hot coins (p. 37)
I know the footsteps of the sparrow walking on the mat (p. 105)
See this site for more on his book:
http://www.codeschaos.0catch.com/melancholy.html
We need not give up all worldly possessions like
Ozaki, but rather "slow down" to notice life's
simplicity. So, occasionally, I return to Ozaki's
small book as a reminder to notice more around
me, as with this poem from observing
carpenters:
bent over the apprentice straightens a nail
w. f. owen
poems." Many haiku focus on human life
that, to be sure, are part of nature, but I
think of the simpler, everyday activities.
Because haiku highlight moments, typically,
the mundane objects of life are elevated.
Modern humanity all too often rushes past
noticeable, yet unnoticed, simplicity.
Part of what attracts me to haiku writing
and reading is that it suggests mindfulness
and grounding in everyday reality.
In the past some writers have taken this
attitude to extreme. For example, one could
become an "ascetic" like Hosai Ozaki (see
"Right under the big sky, I don't wear a hat,"
Stone Bridge Press, P.O. Box 8208, Berkeley,
CA, 1993). Some of his poems:
Having run here through the wind, in his palm, hot coins (p. 37)
I know the footsteps of the sparrow walking on the mat (p. 105)
See this site for more on his book:
http://www.codeschaos.0catch.com/melancholy.html
We need not give up all worldly possessions like
Ozaki, but rather "slow down" to notice life's
simplicity. So, occasionally, I return to Ozaki's
small book as a reminder to notice more around
me, as with this poem from observing
carpenters:
bent over the apprentice straightens a nail
w. f. owen
Monday, April 21, 2008
Sunday, April 20, 2008
Saturday, April 19, 2008
Friday, April 18, 2008
Thursday, April 17, 2008
Wednesday, April 16, 2008
Tuesday, April 15, 2008
Monday, April 14, 2008
Sunday, April 13, 2008
Saturday, April 12, 2008
Friday, April 11, 2008
Thursday, April 10, 2008
Wednesday, April 9, 2008
Tuesday, April 8, 2008
Monday, April 7, 2008
Sunday, April 6, 2008
Saturday, April 5, 2008
old carpenter (haibun)
Old Carpenter
blue sky
the carpenter makes
a perfect cut
My father always told me to “work with your head, not your hands” and sure enough I became an academic. He didn't mean to demean those who were earning honest livings by honing their skills. We both admired the carpenters, painters and general handymen I see working in the neighborhood during long spring walks.
old carpenter
a few teeth missing
from his saw
Recent high winds have blown down many fence sections so carpenters are everywhere, usually in beat-up, rusted pickup trucks stuffed seemingly with every possible tool and supply item. They are always old—well they look old anyway—but always managing, like that one with a spring in his step between limps.
lifting the hammer
the old carpenter’s hand
stops shaking
w. f. owen
blue sky
the carpenter makes
a perfect cut
My father always told me to “work with your head, not your hands” and sure enough I became an academic. He didn't mean to demean those who were earning honest livings by honing their skills. We both admired the carpenters, painters and general handymen I see working in the neighborhood during long spring walks.
old carpenter
a few teeth missing
from his saw
Recent high winds have blown down many fence sections so carpenters are everywhere, usually in beat-up, rusted pickup trucks stuffed seemingly with every possible tool and supply item. They are always old—well they look old anyway—but always managing, like that one with a spring in his step between limps.
lifting the hammer
the old carpenter’s hand
stops shaking
w. f. owen
Friday, April 4, 2008
Thursday, April 3, 2008
Wednesday, April 2, 2008
Tuesday, April 1, 2008
Monday, March 31, 2008
Sunday, March 30, 2008
Saturday, March 29, 2008
Friday, March 28, 2008
Thursday, March 27, 2008
Wednesday, March 26, 2008
Tuesday, March 25, 2008
Monday, March 24, 2008
Sunday, March 23, 2008
Saturday, March 22, 2008
Friday, March 21, 2008
Thursday, March 20, 2008
Wednesday, March 19, 2008
Tuesday, March 18, 2008
Monday, March 17, 2008
Sunday, March 16, 2008
Saturday, March 15, 2008
food fair
food fair
scraping something
from my shoe*
The food is as varied as the people attending. Attire in creative colors and fabrics, every ethnicity, smells of concoctions intermingling, wafting through the throng. Booths offering samples delivered with oversized plastic gloves and hairnets never quite covering. And yet, from the mimes, to free magnets, to cartoon characters, to that guy on stilts with the constant smile, everything fits.
puppet show
she guides him
into his seat*
w. f. owen
* haiku notebook (pp. 40 & 53)
scraping something
from my shoe*
The food is as varied as the people attending. Attire in creative colors and fabrics, every ethnicity, smells of concoctions intermingling, wafting through the throng. Booths offering samples delivered with oversized plastic gloves and hairnets never quite covering. And yet, from the mimes, to free magnets, to cartoon characters, to that guy on stilts with the constant smile, everything fits.
puppet show
she guides him
into his seat*
w. f. owen
* haiku notebook (pp. 40 & 53)
Friday, March 14, 2008
Thursday, March 13, 2008
fine spring rain
From haiku notebook (p. 51):
fine spring rain
into the feeder
the hummingbird's tongue
w. f. owen
fine spring rain
into the feeder
the hummingbird's tongue
w. f. owen
Wednesday, March 12, 2008
Tuesday, March 11, 2008
Monday, March 10, 2008
Sunday, March 9, 2008
Saturday, March 8, 2008
Friday, March 7, 2008
Thursday, March 6, 2008
Tuesday, March 4, 2008
Monday, March 3, 2008
Sunday, March 2, 2008
Saturday, March 1, 2008
Friday, February 29, 2008
Thursday, February 28, 2008
Tuesday, February 26, 2008
Monday, February 25, 2008
Sunday, February 24, 2008
Saturday, February 23, 2008
the frog's blink
Excerpt from haiku notebook (p. 17):
I'd rather be out playing with my teen
cousins, but papa wants me to read over
his ledger. In it is listed the yards he mowed
and edged along with the amounts he was paid.
He needs to not make too much. Something to
do with Social Security and what he gets from
his railroad retirement. He always picks me
to help him because he poked out one eye
long ago with a pocket knife and has trouble
reading. He can't claim too much or they'll
cut back on his retirement. Hard to believe.
Owning only a few shirts, wearing the off-white
thermal underwear that sticks out of the frayed
sleeves. I write the names and amounts large
so he can read them, then go out to play.
humid stillness
in the bush
the frog's blink
w. f. owen
I'd rather be out playing with my teen
cousins, but papa wants me to read over
his ledger. In it is listed the yards he mowed
and edged along with the amounts he was paid.
He needs to not make too much. Something to
do with Social Security and what he gets from
his railroad retirement. He always picks me
to help him because he poked out one eye
long ago with a pocket knife and has trouble
reading. He can't claim too much or they'll
cut back on his retirement. Hard to believe.
Owning only a few shirts, wearing the off-white
thermal underwear that sticks out of the frayed
sleeves. I write the names and amounts large
so he can read them, then go out to play.
humid stillness
in the bush
the frog's blink
w. f. owen
Friday, February 22, 2008
Thursday, February 21, 2008
Wednesday, February 20, 2008
Tuesday, February 19, 2008
Monday, February 18, 2008
Sunday, February 17, 2008
Saturday, February 16, 2008
Friday, February 15, 2008
one line haiku or three?
You have seen several haiku here in one line.
Most are in three lines. I wonder how much of
the practice of three-line haiku involves habit.
True, some poems have natural breaks in this
form. I worry, though, if we allow a practice
to become ingrained, the structure dictates the
content. I know that sometimes I write a one-line
haiku because it reinforces the meanings of the
words:
another argument unfolds the futon
There is a wonderful little book by Hosai Ozaki
titled: Right under the big sky, I don't wear a hat
(Berkeley, CA: Stone Bridge Press, 1993). All of
the poems are in one horizontal line. The translator,
Hiroaki Sato, discusses lineation in this book,
noting that breaking up original one-line poems
into two or three lines "may be not only unjustifiable
but also misleading" (p. 21). I am not sure of the
ultimate "correctness" of this issue. I do know that
where (if at all) a poem breaks (into lines) guides
its reading and, therefore, its interpretation.
Sometimes, I cannot find a "clean" break to
a new line:
early spring
the crossing guard's
smile
So, I think just write it as one line to avoid the
awkwardness of where to put the line break.
Also, since crossing the street is a horizontal
activity, one line evokes that feeling better:
early spring the crossing guard's smile
Incidentally, I struggled a bit on whether to
make it:
early spring the crossing guard smiles
Perhaps there is not much difference between
the two, but it shows the difficulty of writing
haiku even though, as some people tease me,
it's "only a few words."
Most are in three lines. I wonder how much of
the practice of three-line haiku involves habit.
True, some poems have natural breaks in this
form. I worry, though, if we allow a practice
to become ingrained, the structure dictates the
content. I know that sometimes I write a one-line
haiku because it reinforces the meanings of the
words:
another argument unfolds the futon
There is a wonderful little book by Hosai Ozaki
titled: Right under the big sky, I don't wear a hat
(Berkeley, CA: Stone Bridge Press, 1993). All of
the poems are in one horizontal line. The translator,
Hiroaki Sato, discusses lineation in this book,
noting that breaking up original one-line poems
into two or three lines "may be not only unjustifiable
but also misleading" (p. 21). I am not sure of the
ultimate "correctness" of this issue. I do know that
where (if at all) a poem breaks (into lines) guides
its reading and, therefore, its interpretation.
Sometimes, I cannot find a "clean" break to
a new line:
early spring
the crossing guard's
smile
So, I think just write it as one line to avoid the
awkwardness of where to put the line break.
Also, since crossing the street is a horizontal
activity, one line evokes that feeling better:
early spring the crossing guard's smile
Incidentally, I struggled a bit on whether to
make it:
early spring the crossing guard smiles
Perhaps there is not much difference between
the two, but it shows the difficulty of writing
haiku even though, as some people tease me,
it's "only a few words."
Graves . . .
waiting for visitors. Like sentries.
Erect, hard and tough. The new recruits
easy to spot. Sharp-cut letters and numbers.
A grit of stone to the touch. Clean, some shiny,
unworn, unweathered. Among them the old salts,
the short-timers, the lifers. They crumble, they lean.
fallen headstone the letters fill with rain
w. f. owen
(haiku notebook, p. 13)
This is an excerpt from my book that is a haibun--a piece of prose
along with at least one haiku. The meanings of each interplay and
enrich the overall effect readers get. The idea is to be an opening
of meaning potentials, rather than to give a story ending. I
suppose in this way haibun are different from the structure
of short stories. The latter seem to offer more
closure than haibun. So, if reading a haibun leaves
you wondering or thinking--perhaps even needing
to return to the written piece again and again--that
is an effective work.
Some writers, including myself, enjoy the larger canvas
provided by haibun. The prose or narrative allow more vivid
language and even metaphors, which generally are not
permitted among most modern haiku. (Of course, there
are exceptions to every rule. I am asserting a general norm
here). However, at least one haiku--a good haiku--is needed
to pull together an effective haibun. So, in my various editorial
roles, I recommend writers first "master" haiku. (Can you ever
truly "master" anything?).
Erect, hard and tough. The new recruits
easy to spot. Sharp-cut letters and numbers.
A grit of stone to the touch. Clean, some shiny,
unworn, unweathered. Among them the old salts,
the short-timers, the lifers. They crumble, they lean.
fallen headstone the letters fill with rain
w. f. owen
(haiku notebook, p. 13)
This is an excerpt from my book that is a haibun--a piece of prose
along with at least one haiku. The meanings of each interplay and
enrich the overall effect readers get. The idea is to be an opening
of meaning potentials, rather than to give a story ending. I
suppose in this way haibun are different from the structure
of short stories. The latter seem to offer more
closure than haibun. So, if reading a haibun leaves
you wondering or thinking--perhaps even needing
to return to the written piece again and again--that
is an effective work.
Some writers, including myself, enjoy the larger canvas
provided by haibun. The prose or narrative allow more vivid
language and even metaphors, which generally are not
permitted among most modern haiku. (Of course, there
are exceptions to every rule. I am asserting a general norm
here). However, at least one haiku--a good haiku--is needed
to pull together an effective haibun. So, in my various editorial
roles, I recommend writers first "master" haiku. (Can you ever
truly "master" anything?).
Simply Haiku Journal
A very useful web journal for haiku and related
forms is simply Haiku. Check out the latest issue:
http://www.poetrylives.com/SimplyHaiku/SHv6n1/index-issue.html
One of my poems republished there:
divorced
she cleans the ring
around the tub
w. f. owen
forms is simply Haiku. Check out the latest issue:
http://www.poetrylives.com/SimplyHaiku/SHv6n1/index-issue.html
One of my poems republished there:
divorced
she cleans the ring
around the tub
w. f. owen
Thursday, February 14, 2008
Wednesday, February 13, 2008
Tuesday, February 12, 2008
Monday, February 11, 2008
Sunday, February 10, 2008
Saturday, February 9, 2008
Friday, February 8, 2008
Thursday, February 7, 2008
Wednesday, February 6, 2008
Tuesday, February 5, 2008
Monday, February 4, 2008
Sunday, February 3, 2008
Saturday, February 2, 2008
Friday, February 1, 2008
Thursday, January 31, 2008
Wednesday, January 30, 2008
Tuesday, January 29, 2008
Monday, January 28, 2008
Sunday, January 27, 2008
Saturday, January 26, 2008
Friday, January 25, 2008
moon haiku
The moon, traditionally, has stimulated many diverse haiku.
I find it particularly compelling as "moon" cuts across many
seasons and, therefore, conjures many moods and feelings.
day moon
dipping a toe
in the river
crescent moon
hair pulled across
his bald spot
winter moon
she tests the milk
on her wrist
pale moon
the pulsing
heart monitor
moonless night
footfalls silenced
by snow
w. f. owen
I find it particularly compelling as "moon" cuts across many
seasons and, therefore, conjures many moods and feelings.
day moon
dipping a toe
in the river
crescent moon
hair pulled across
his bald spot
winter moon
she tests the milk
on her wrist
pale moon
the pulsing
heart monitor
moonless night
footfalls silenced
by snow
w. f. owen
Thursday, January 24, 2008
Monday, January 21, 2008
the form(s) of English-language haiku
Let me first say that the ideas here and in my books represent my opinion. It is my belief that haiku forms have a range of acceptability. It's pretty clear that, at least currently, haiku are not only the 5-7-5 syllable count in three lines (though some good ones are). Generally, a haiku represents the authors brief glimpse--one look, one moment, one sound captured in words. So, it is equivalent to one breath in length. It can be one, two or three lines. But the main thing, I believe, is that the poem takes readers into many possible meanings. Haiku get you thinking about nature and human nature. Here are some I wrote:
Father's Day
wearing his tie
again I don't measure up
another argument unfolds the futon
summer solstice
fireflies on both sides
of the jar
winter day the candle burned flat
Note how some of these give the context, which helps to understand the rest of the poems (Father's Day, winter day, summer solstice). The one-liners help enrich the words by accentuating "flatness."
So, please feel free to comment on these or, better yet, post your own poems.
Father's Day
wearing his tie
again I don't measure up
another argument unfolds the futon
summer solstice
fireflies on both sides
of the jar
winter day the candle burned flat
Note how some of these give the context, which helps to understand the rest of the poems (Father's Day, winter day, summer solstice). The one-liners help enrich the words by accentuating "flatness."
So, please feel free to comment on these or, better yet, post your own poems.
haiku notebook description
This notebook is a bridge between technical manuals on how to write haiku poetry and collections of haiku. There are two hundred haiku and senryu poems from w. f. owen’s last several years of writing. As a professor of interpersonal communication and an award-winning haiku writer, the author presents commentaries, perceptions, brief stories and haibun that are intended to help authors new to this art compose their poems. Included are first-place poems from the Harold Henderson Haiku Contest (2004) and the Gerald Brady Senryu Contests (2002, 2003) sponsored by the Haiku Society of America. (ISBN: 978-1-4303-0557-6 Publisher: Lulu.com)
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