酷我-北美枫

[ericcoliu]

Reading, Writing, and Life on the Page

Turning Gray like Van Winkle (Contemporary Haibun, Japanese Prose Poem)

I used to be the black cloud; now, I'm turning grey. Days go by, hair whitens, hands age, veins appear, and sad wrinkles set in around the mouth. The back begins to ache; teeth become loose. The voice acquires a hoarseness that some find charming. The body grows dry and brittle, like a bare tree in winter, and one day it will no longer respond. I am dreading that day.

Sunsets and sunrises --
Out of sight
My bird of youth flew.

Everything seems to have passed me by; I yearn for unseized moments. I find myself thinking more about what has passed than what will be. The high expectations of youth have given way to the sad acceptance that my life has been and will be uneventful: just a series of life events. Sometimes a sense of sadness creeps into my chest, like a needle probing my ribs. I'm not happy; yet I'm not looking for happiness.

With the passing of time,
The joints of my memory
Start aging and aching.

Today at dusk I sat in front of my Dell computer scanning one by one the bright, promising smiles of my childhood, youth, and early thirties. The setting sun sank slowly on my glasses and in the deep of the computer screen a gloomy and bemused face was mirrored. I could use Photoshop to erase the wrinkles on my face, but I couldn’t obliterate the blotches of my life.

Looking in the mirror,
A few lines on my forehead,
Are there any wrinkles on my soul?

I have passed the day making meals, eating, cleaning, doing grocery shopping, reading, watching TV programs, and writing of this moment of my lifespan. Another day of my life will pass by. I'll be one day older than I was yesterday, and one day closer to the end of my life. As the sun sets behind the mountains, so do the minutes of my life hasten to their end.

I turn gray like Van Winkle
Not just under a shady tree
But here closed inside me.
_________________
Time is nothing but a disquiet of the soul

[[ericcoliu]]

Reading, Writing, and Life on the Page

Turning Gray like Van Winkle (Contemporary Haibun, Japanese Prose Poem)

I used to be the black cloud; now, I'm turning grey. Days go by, hair whitens, hands age, veins appear, and sad wrinkles set in around the mouth. The back begins to ache; teeth become loose. The voice acquires a hoarseness that some find charming. The body grows dry and brittle, like a bare tree in winter, and one day it will no longer respond. I am dreading that day.

Sunsets and sunrises --
Out of sight
My bird of youth flew.

Everything seems to have passed me by; I yearn for unseized moments. I find myself thinking more about what has passed than what will be. The high expectations of youth have given way to the sad acceptance that my life has been and will be uneventful: just a series of life events. Sometimes a sense of sadness creeps into my chest, like a needle probing my ribs. I'm not happy; yet I'm not looking for happiness.

With the passing of time,
The joints of my memory
Start aging and aching.

Today at dusk I sat in front of my Dell computer scanning one by one the bright, promising smiles of my childhood, youth, and early thirties. The setting sun sank slowly on my glasses and in the deep of the computer screen a gloomy and bemused face was mirrored. I could use Photoshop to erase the wrinkles on my face, but I couldn’t obliterate the blotches of my life.

Looking in the mirror,
A few lines on my forehead,
Are there any wrinkles on my soul?

I have passed the day making meals, eating, cleaning, doing grocery shopping, reading, watching TV programs, and writing of this moment of my lifespan. Another day of my life will pass by. I'll be one day older than I was yesterday, and one day closer to the end of my life. As the sun sets behind the mountains, so do the minutes of my life hasten to their end.

I turn gray like Van Winkle
Not just under a shady tree
But here closed inside me.
_________________
Time is nothing but a disquiet of the soul

[ericcoliu]

Haibun is a combination of brief prose and haiku poetry, the Japanese name for 17th Centurey poet-monk Basho Matsuo's poetic-prose travel journals which were studded with haiku. The contemporary practice of English haibun is evolving rapidly (see Haibun Defined: Anthology of Haibun Definitions posted at http://haibuntoday.blogspot.com/2007/12/haibun-defined-anthology-of-haibun.html ).

Generally speaking, contemporary haibun consists of one or more paragraphs punctuated by haiku, either at the end or throughout. The prose generally comes first and is usually concise and leans toward the poetic. The prose resonates with the poetic but does not repeat it or explain it.

As Beth Vieira emphasizes in Haibun: Haikai Prose:

"Like haiku, haibun begins in the everyday events of the author's life. These events occur as minute particulars of object, person, place, action. The author recognizes that these events connect with others in the fabric of time and literature, and weaves a pattern demonstrating this connection. And if this writing is to be truly haibun, the author does this with a striking economy of language, without any unnecessary grammar, so that each word carries rich layers of meaning."
_________________
Time is nothing but a disquiet of the soul

[[ericcoliu]]

Haibun is a combination of brief prose and haiku poetry, the Japanese name for 17th Centurey poet-monk Basho Matsuo's poetic-prose travel journals which were studded with haiku. The contemporary practice of English haibun is evolving rapidly (see Haibun Defined: Anthology of Haibun Definitions posted at http://haibuntoday.blogspot.com/2007/12/haibun-defined-anthology-of-haibun.html ).

Generally speaking, contemporary haibun consists of one or more paragraphs punctuated by haiku, either at the end or throughout. The prose generally comes first and is usually concise and leans toward the poetic. The prose resonates with the poetic but does not repeat it or explain it.

As Beth Vieira emphasizes in Haibun: Haikai Prose:

"Like haiku, haibun begins in the everyday events of the author's life. These events occur as minute particulars of object, person, place, action. The author recognizes that these events connect with others in the fabric of time and literature, and weaves a pattern demonstrating this connection. And if this writing is to be truly haibun, the author does this with a striking economy of language, without any unnecessary grammar, so that each word carries rich layers of meaning."
_________________
Time is nothing but a disquiet of the soul

[christine]

[[christine]]

[ericcoliu]

[[ericcoliu]]

[东西]

[[东西]]

[东西]

[[东西]]

[ericcoliu]

[[ericcoliu]]

[ericcoliu]

Here are responses from fellow poets at Poetry Connection, posted at http://forum.poetryconnection.net/viewtopic.php?t=22163

Hi eric, I love this haibun. The Japanese verse form allows the poet to expand a thought while focusing the emotion. I introduced the haibun aat the connection a few months ago. I am a student of verse form and love it when I see someone shares modern work that so beautifully displays the advantages of writing within a prescribed convention.

Like the narrator, my bird of youth has flown and I appreciate the honesty with which the narrator assesses life and the reality of aging.

-- Tink

Hi there, as I have told so many before, my greatest joy in this site is the discovery of new poetic voices. Those that may awaken me within me, with their deft use of the language, with their acerbic wit or even with their outright ridiculousness. This is my first poem of yours and thus I have spent quite some time reading and re-reading.

I am no scholar of form and rarely invest my time in searching for more than the meaning of a poem to enhance and expand me. Perhaps this makes me less? But rarely in a battle would I take time to analyze a parry from a sword meant to skewer me! Yet, I take with me from each fray the scars of the strokes, the memories of victory and the joy of meeting people skilled in an art we share. I revel in my own reactions as much as I have in yours.

I read your lines of verse. I read your descriptions. I read your prose. And I can't do anything other than disagree and rally against your views. But poems are meant to do that, so it is a good thing.

I am no philosopher and I lack the conceit to profess of having a worldy view. But I have lived and died three times alone in this one life. We can thank the wonders of modern science for the two additional chances I have been given.

I have been to the heights of exhiliration and the slough and despond of deepest apathies. I would like to believe that I have seen the upside of down and the downside of up. In all my travels and adventures I have discovered two things:

1. No one is ordinary.

2. All time is borrowed.

And thus, I can only be fascinated by the type of life you must have lived. What sights you may have seen and the repository of deep knowledge you have become. A well is a simple thing, yet it provides life to so many. There are so many layers to things we often take as so mundane. Your poem reveals so much yet gives away so little.

Turning Gray can mean so many things, color has faded from life, dust has collected across ones spirit and a general serious demeanor about so many things. Yet you temper this with the humour of irony that can only be associated with a tale about a man who slept for so long to finally awake and see what he had lost. Who even knows of the Van Winkle we speak anymore. Using the name also could imply R.I.P. but that would really be stretching something that has to be taken as knowledge apriori.

I do not believe you have an ordinary or mundane life and I look forward to travelling down the roads you take us on through your poems. By my estimation, the courage to live is forged through experience, hammered out on the anvil of life and tempered in the flames of perserverence.

Thank you for several fascinating poems from a book I long to read, but until now I had never heard of and never would of, were it not for your comments.

-- icarusfalling
_________________
Time is nothing but a disquiet of the soul

[[ericcoliu]]

Here are responses from fellow poets at Poetry Connection, posted at http://forum.poetryconnection.net/viewtopic.php?t=22163

Hi eric, I love this haibun. The Japanese verse form allows the poet to expand a thought while focusing the emotion. I introduced the haibun aat the connection a few months ago. I am a student of verse form and love it when I see someone shares modern work that so beautifully displays the advantages of writing within a prescribed convention.

Like the narrator, my bird of youth has flown and I appreciate the honesty with which the narrator assesses life and the reality of aging.

-- Tink

Hi there, as I have told so many before, my greatest joy in this site is the discovery of new poetic voices. Those that may awaken me within me, with their deft use of the language, with their acerbic wit or even with their outright ridiculousness. This is my first poem of yours and thus I have spent quite some time reading and re-reading.

I am no scholar of form and rarely invest my time in searching for more than the meaning of a poem to enhance and expand me. Perhaps this makes me less? But rarely in a battle would I take time to analyze a parry from a sword meant to skewer me! Yet, I take with me from each fray the scars of the strokes, the memories of victory and the joy of meeting people skilled in an art we share. I revel in my own reactions as much as I have in yours.

I read your lines of verse. I read your descriptions. I read your prose. And I can't do anything other than disagree and rally against your views. But poems are meant to do that, so it is a good thing.

I am no philosopher and I lack the conceit to profess of having a worldy view. But I have lived and died three times alone in this one life. We can thank the wonders of modern science for the two additional chances I have been given.

I have been to the heights of exhiliration and the slough and despond of deepest apathies. I would like to believe that I have seen the upside of down and the downside of up. In all my travels and adventures I have discovered two things:

1. No one is ordinary.

2. All time is borrowed.

And thus, I can only be fascinated by the type of life you must have lived. What sights you may have seen and the repository of deep knowledge you have become. A well is a simple thing, yet it provides life to so many. There are so many layers to things we often take as so mundane. Your poem reveals so much yet gives away so little.

Turning Gray can mean so many things, color has faded from life, dust has collected across ones spirit and a general serious demeanor about so many things. Yet you temper this with the humour of irony that can only be associated with a tale about a man who slept for so long to finally awake and see what he had lost. Who even knows of the Van Winkle we speak anymore. Using the name also could imply R.I.P. but that would really be stretching something that has to be taken as knowledge apriori.

I do not believe you have an ordinary or mundane life and I look forward to travelling down the roads you take us on through your poems. By my estimation, the courage to live is forged through experience, hammered out on the anvil of life and tempered in the flames of perserverence.

Thank you for several fascinating poems from a book I long to read, but until now I had never heard of and never would of, were it not for your comments.

-- icarusfalling
_________________
Time is nothing but a disquiet of the soul