Trying to do some catch-up today… just went back and commented on lots of people’s comments, and did some blog rounds. Also doing this one for the We Write Poems haibun prompt. I’m quite fond of the idea of haibun, but usually I find myself doing these short on time, and today is no exception. This is from a party I was at last night; my friend’s parents’ house burned down, but (in some bizarre fortunate way) they were able to rebuild a much fancier house thanks to insurance, with no or little financial loss. The house is beautiful; but it’s not the memory I have of the couple times I went there. For the haiku’s “elliptical relationship” (as Margo puts it), I thought of stars, and fate, and changing fortunes, and how invisible all of that can be. What is good luck, what is bad luck, and how do we know the difference?
Wheels of Fortune
After the old house burned down, they grew a new one from the scorched earth. It winks in the night from salt-crystal windows, blushes deeply in its painted walls; it has lately cracked out of its shell. We still carry our memories of what used to be here (with all its chipped jambs and buzzing fluorescence), old edges and new corners blurring together into the darkness. The yard is still black mud and soft straw; we leave footprints on the smooth patios. Our breaths are the smoke to the fresh palace’s mirrors, but they do not drift as far as the shed out back, hollow and sleeping in its untouched glory. Maybe we will have another barbecue there, when the chill has gone out of the air, and we can fan ourselves with the way things used to be.
Stars will change places
all night, a round, fateful march:
but still there are stars.
Thanks for the jarring of the brain waves on shifting of the stars and how things try to stay the same, but never are…the new house can never be the old house, no matter how it tries.
Peace,
Siggi in Downeast Maine
I remember about commenting on the poem, not the poet :-), but since you gave a story behind the poem, I just want to say I hope that your friend’s family finds happiness in the new home.
Never heard about haibun before, a very interesting form.
Using stars in the haiku portion of this works really well – it echos the change and unchanging that occupies the narrative. I think you nailed the form.
I’m looking forward to trying this prompt this week. I’m just trying to find the right subject. Everything I’ve thought of lately is too depressing or just showing what a bad mood I’m in. I like the hopeful feeling your piece gives me. Wish it was a bit warmer and clearer for star gazing tonight.
But still there are stars. Yes, calamaties come and go, but there is always something to glory in.
oops I invented a nice word, but it should have been calamities!
Simply beautiful use of the form, Joseph. Beautiful and meditative.
The first line of your haiku affects me deeply. If stars will change places, they will certainly change me too. (I know this is not the intent of your haiku, but it is my intent!)
Haibun: Nature’s Songs
Joseph, nicely put together. I love how you wrote to this prompt. Do the stars change places, I wonder? Surely, they must.
Pamela
Siggi: though there is much to be loved in the new house, too. It will develop a character of its own, I’m sure…
Sasha: thanks! And I think of haibun as a stepping-stone to haiku, not the other way around, because it allows you to contextualize the haiku a bit (since it can be really cryptic on its own).
Annette: I hope so. It would have been more accurately Japanese to use a particular seasonal constellation, I think, but “stars” is a one-syllable word so loaded with meaning that it’s hard to replace.
Yousei: you could do a whole series of these, I think. Basho-style!
Viv: “cala-maties” are friends you experience calamities with. ;)
Nan: many thanks, and thanks also for providing the prompt!
MMT: I think it was part of my intent. The underlying thing I wanted to get across was that change, for better or worse, happens to us all; so we should take heart in the fact that there is change. (It means we’re still alive and growing.)
Pamela: they do, one way or another. I love those long-exposure photo graphs of the stars rising and setting, forming huge circles of light through the night.