December 2013
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Editor's Comments
Titles in a haibun can add so much to the richness of the piece in question. In this fine example the title takes a song from the Beatles White Album and sets the tone for the entire piece. The first line of the chorus of the song in question is: “Ob-la-di, ob-la-da life goes on brah”. That song was written by Paul McCartney, and the other Beatles hated it, and John Lennon despised it. Now comes this young man of eighteen, who sees himself as Lennon, who takes his own life, valuing it less than his ‘brah’ did. Wow, that just sent me into a tailspin. So many implications here if you have the time, or take the time. As a reader you have your work cut out for you!
Then we reach a haiku that caps the entire effort. The advent is that time of anticipation of the birth of a savior, yet prior to the birth that holds the keys to the resurrection, a rope swings and creates the moving shadows that mirror the chiaroscuro images of the artist, who has taken his own life. Indeed, this story creaks, like the beam used to end his life, through the reader as well, twisting and turning you as you connect with the story being told. If you have ever lost someone to suicide you can’t help but be taken by the skillful detail in this fine and deeply sensitive haibun.
—UHTS Haibun Editor Mike Rehling, USA
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enso gap . . .
a spark leaps out of
the unseen
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mating dance —
birds of paradise
square off
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spider thread . . .
the shrinking tightrope
from i to thou
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unrequited love —
the triangulations
of the possible
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rumbling wind —
a didgeridoo wakens
to my spirit
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first light —
heaven opens to me
hue by hue
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night sky —
Lucy glows in the soles
of her shoes
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winter gloom . . .
a bird folds into
its shadows
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humid night —
an ordinary life
deeply livid
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logic gate —
a cat smiles hellbent
with the moon
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dawn parade —
a combed poet crows
his glory
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in memory of Madiba
amandla!
what wind passes through
river reeds?
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doctored
the alley cat eyeing
who's on first
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private concerns -
I yield to general
disaster
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setting sun . . .
the lengths my shadow
will grow to
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in the folds
of a road map . . .
coupling flies
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laid bare
a chthonic god
wastes away
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a god jumps into its conclusion
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slimy pool
the reflection of me
in its source