Posts Tagged ‘ haibun ’

Persimmons – Part 1 | Icebox

Persimmons – part 1

I have a persimmon tree in front of my room. It has produced a rich harvest this year. In fact, like many other fruit trees, it bears a lot of fruit every other year. However, the persimmons this tree produces are very small, less than the size of ping-pong balls. I believe this tree was here long before the garden was made, and that it belongs to the species called Yamagaki (Mountain Persimmon). Its fruits are probably very sour and nobody cares for them, but as autumn deepens, their colour also deepens, till birds come and peck at them. This is the tree’s only use, but when I see it growing in the shadow of a big cherry, doing its best to survive, I cannot help cheering it on.
………………  Time for persimmons
………………  To mature and redden —
………………  The sky is so blue.
I have been close to persimmons since my childhood. We had a persimmon tree in our garden when I was at primary school. My father fastened sturdy ropes around one of its branches and made a swing for me. I was very proud of it and happily swung back and forth on it, but one day the branch broke off without warning and threw both the swing and me to the ground. Fortunately, I landed on a soft lawn, so I escaped with only scratches to my knees. This experience taught me, though, that persimmon trees were easily broken, and since then I have made it a rule not to climb them.

During our wartime evacuation, I enjoyed sweet persimmons. The earliest kind we had was called Bongineri (Bon-Festival Sweet Persimmon). Its fruits were small and had lots of seeds, but their flesh, strewn with black flecks resembling sesame seeds, was delicious. Later in autumn I would enjoy large persimmons that had been sweetened in rice chests — so big and sweet that I found them satisfying in every sense. Occasionally I enjoyed the special variety called Saijogaki (Saijo Persimmons), which I thought to be a real treasure.
………………  The sweet persimmons
………………  With dots like sesame seeds —
………………  Everyone eats laughing.

………………  Sweetened persimmons
………………  Melt on our tongues, so slow to
………………  Reach our stomachs.

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Finally, a Joseph Beuys Documentary & man on a plane by Donna Fleischer

 

Joseph Beuys | Documentary | Hyperallergic

beuys-documentary-poster-720x1067

Poster for Beuys (2017) (courtesy Kino Lorber)

 

man on a plane

By hearing him speak with a flight attendant, I learn that he is from Hungary, the man in the dark brown suit and brown shoes who reminds me of the German Conceptual artist, Joseph Beuys, dressed in his overlarge felt pants and suit jacket.

During the arduous flight from Amsterdam to New York, he shifts seats from time to time: sometimes in the aisle seat, other times the window seat, and once, all three, for a nap. How is it that on this crowded plane the other two seats of his row remain empty?

 the blackbirds swirl

high above snowy fields

their shadow

An attendant instructs him to keep the window shuttered during this daytime flight, for better movie viewing, even though he doesn’t watch. The ocean crossing is long and dull and people need movies to pass the time. I’m like a zealous soccer fan when he glides back over to the window and cracks open the shutter a few inches, slumped as low as he can to gaze into the sky and the sunlight for long bits of time, or draw a book close to his chest to read by that light.

Scrunched up in his wrinkled brown suit like a man in solitary confinement, the rest of us sitting somewhere between sleep and wakefulness in our poured plastic cocoons, breathing recirculated air and trying to stay occupied since leaving our bodies on the tarmac before takeoff. I wonder what will emerge when this plane touches down

 

sings

                             flies

a bird                                        and

 

 

 

 

 

Donna Fleischer

bottle rockets vol 11 no 2 (#22) 2009

The House On The Hill by Alan Summers – the other bunny

 

The House on the Hill

Alan Summers- house on the hill

Alan Summers

Ekphrastic haibun inspired by:
‘House on the Hill’ by Helen Garrett
Oil on board (80cm x 70cm)
Victoria Art Gallery exhibition: Towards the Unknown
(24 November – 13 January 2008)

 

Source: The House On The Hill – the other bunny

Balloon at Cape Irago | Icebox

鷹一つ見つけてうれし伊良湖岬 (芭蕉)

To find a hawk
flying at Cape Irago —
my pleasure, deep ………………

– Basho

Source: Balloon at Cape Irago | Icebox

Plum Blossoms I | Icebox

Plum Blossoms I

The following is the first part of a recent haibun by Nobuyuki Yuasa (Sosui).

The fragrance of plums —

Suddenly the sun comes up

On the mountain path.                 Basho

Plum blossoms are beautiful, especially in the morning when their colours are highlighted; yet plums appeal not only to the eye but also to the nose. In fact, the scent of their blossoms is their greatest charm. When their aroma is carried on a gentle spring breeze, I am captivated by its nobility and find nothing else capable of rivalling it. In the garden I can see from my windows, white plums are just now coming out — one or two already fully out, but the rest still pinkish-white balls, some swollen and others small. It is plum blossoms at this stage that I love best, for they give us hope and trust in the future. A week from now, they will be in full bloom. Then I can enjoy their fragrance. On warm days, I shall open my windows wide to enjoy it, far superior to any artificial perfume.

I know there are plums

In the recess of darkness —

Deeply scented winds.                  Sosui

 

Source: Plum Blossoms I | Icebox

The Snow Quest | Icebox

Bright snowy mountains came into my eyes – silent morning ……………………. Mayumi K. Prior to Sunday February 12th, Kyoto had seen intermittent snow …

Source: The Snow Quest | Icebox

“Orpheus at the Movies” by Donna Fleischer

Orpheus at the Movies

Too late to be seated so we stand at a door that just closed off the dark. Turning back,

toward this other side of the film — you and me, Swiss chocolate labels, imported beer

bottles — all staring into space. And suddenly, air. It rolls by; from a door that hurls a

funnel of light across a threshold, for a moment, and closes again. Almost imperceptibly,

someone else’s shadow materializes across the emulsion of the lobby. We watch,

indifferently, David, race from seat to men’s room and back again as the movie

relentlessly pursues some predetermined end without him. Doors open and close. He

reappears, sees us for an embrace, and crosses over. You and I blend into the strange

night air

a flower —

the time it took, to open

you were gone

 

– Donna Fleischer
from indra’s net