Haibun
Who are the ones who awake without hearing the sound of the sun-filled clouds dancing upon the edges of an outstretched wing? And who am I? To stand alone like a swordsman without his sword, a mere figure in the unresolved distance like a brushstroke awaiting a scroll— an empty bowl ungrateful for the pleasure of its emptiness
—from Rattle #47, Spring 2015 Tribute to Japanese Forms 2016 Neil Postman Award Winner
Jack Vian: “For the incarcerated poet, a poem is more than just a literary construct, it is an ideal given flesh. It’s the difference in wishing that a passing plane will notice the ship-wrecked castaways, and taking the time to carve an SOS in the beach or put a message in a bottle. So I’m always thankful when readers find something worthwhile in my experience. The only Japanese form that I use regularly is the haiku, and my practice of that had fallen into arrears. But I wrote this highly versified almost-haibun while reading a biography of Miyamoto Musashi.”