WHC Double Haibun Contest Categories:
I. Nature Winners
II. Urban Winners
III. Nature Honourable Mention
IV. Urban Honourable Mention |
Judge: Bruce Ross
(US/CA)
This has been, in my estimation, a
very successful event. There were around 430 postings, including announcements,
submissions, revisions, and discussions. Entries from Australia, Canada, India,
Japan, The Netherlands, South Africa, the United Kingdom, and the Unites States
were posted. I hope everyone enjoyed their participation and learned something
more about haibun as I did.
Of note is that haibun which began
early in Japan's history but which faded out as a viable form in that country in
the 20th century is now a thriving worldwide genre of writing. But further, it
is thrilling to find that there were entries from Japan to our Double Haibun
Contest.
There were two categories, nature
and urban, with three winners (first, second, and third place) in each category.
I would, however, be remiss not to include a number of fine honorable mention
entries (five in each category, as it turns out, arranged alphabetically).
Winners will receive copies of my
book, Journey to the Interior, American Versions of Haibun.
Congratulations to the winners, the honorable mentions, and to all those who
participated with fine contributions in our WHC Haibun Workshop and Double
Haibun Contest.
Bruce Ross, Facilitator
WHC Haibun Workshop and Double Haibun Contest
I. Winners:
Nature Category
First Place, Carmen Sterba,
Kamakura, JP: Passing Through
Second Place, Paul T. Conneally, England, UK: Pinks and Snails
Third Place, Naia, California, US: A Stirring
| First
Place: Carmen Sterba - Kamakura, Japan |
Passing Through
Even though it is winter, my students ask me to show them the Hydrangea Temple.
As we ascend the steps, I tell them about the smiling jizo which had earrings of
fresh blue petals when I came here last May. We turn the corner, and there he is
in his winter garb with a brightly knitted muffler snug around his stone neck.
scent of plum blossoms
the flock of swallows
changes trees
Comment by Bruce Ross:
The preciousness of the author's concern for her students and the
anonymous loving regard for the jizo statue touches us. The sensitiveness of the
haiku with its first hint of spring in the plum blossoms and the swallows, like
the children, responding to the seasons and their changes breaks our hearts.
[br]
II. Winners: Urban
Category
First Place, Rob Scott (NL): Recharging
Second Place, Hortensia Anderson (US): Public Sympathy
Third Place, Maria Steyn (RSA): Home
| First
Place: Rob Scott - The Hague, The Netherlands |
Recharging
Lately, we've taken to taking the lift from the basement carpark up to our
apartment, as well as fixing ourselves a couple of drinks on getting there.
Spent and unable to speak, we begin each night laying here on the couch waiting
for the day to loosen its grip. Motionless and in silence too, our labour-saving
gadgets are plugged in and recharging, no doubt ready for what will come next.
icemelt -
the moon drifts
through my whisky
Comment by Bruce Ross:
This is the essence of modern urban life presented with striking
poetic honesty. It holds at its end for a self-reflective pause that lets
nature, the drifting moon of the haiku, enter the urban malaise of the author's
life. [br]
| Second
Place: Hortensia Anderson - New York City, NY, United States |
Public Sympathy
Marking the half year since the World Trade Center was hit by terrorists, nyc
has replaced the steel and glass buildings with two towers of light. I can watch
them from my roof and if I really try, I can imagine my life last summer. At 11
PM, they disappear.
still dark -
my neighbours tell me
the stars mean "hope"
Comment by Bruce Ross: What can one say
after September 11th which has altered so many of our lives. The author, who
lives in New York City, reflects on that common destabilization with touching
directness. The moving poetic use of light and dark culminates in the all but
withheld desperation ironically mediated by the starlight of the haiku. [br]
| Third
Place: Maria Steyn - Johannesburg, South Africa |
Home
The cemetery in the central business district, enclosed and hidden
for so long behind high cement walls, now has a vandalized opening
facing East. As cars drive past, the gap discloses a flash of warm,
peaceful, stony silence, filled with weeds and broken vases; but when
dusk shuffles down city streets, the homeless unobtrusively leave
their endless daytime wandering to rest. By starlight they drape
dirty clothes over granite angels, make beds among weeds and gravel,
heedlessly give answer to the call of nature, wipe greasy hands on
polished stones.....life slowly trickles into this no-man's land,
eroding the isolation of those who so carefully planned separation.
gathering shadows
the late-afternoon sun
through bluegum trees
Comment by Bruce Ross:
The author has created a haunting drama of the urban homeless who
live with the dead in a city graveyard. That the drama takes place in the main
business area elicits a troubling sense of urban failure whose imagery of the
homeless in the night time graveyard and of the haiku's approaching dusk serves
as a resonant metaphor for our collective mortality. [br]
| First
Place: Rob Scott - The Hague, The Netherlands |
III.
Honourable Mention: Nature Category
Ferris Gilli (US): The Tender Roots
Nicholas Roosevelt (US): Feeling
Gary Steinberg (US): Laundry Day
Alison Williams (UK) Watercolours
Eiko Yachimoto (JP) Nature Never Fails
| Honourable
Mention: Ferris Gilli - Orlando, Florida, United States |
The Tender Roots
March, 2002
Working in the garden brings me a sense of peace, of "all's right with the
world." Gloveless, I press the readied earth around each young plant,
and feel how gently the rich soil holds the tender roots. When my neighbor
comes to kneel beside me, I turn to her with a smile.
news of his suicide--
I carefully brush dirt
from the last petunia
| Honourable
Mention: Nicholaes Roosevelt - Storrs, Connecticut, United States |
Feeling
Caged! Holed up in life; do what is before me to do: haibun kukai. Brother
Robin lived with me for a year prior to passing with A.I.D.S.; we'd walk over
the tunneled lawn to the bridge by the stream slowly... because he had a
severe case of neuropathy; he said on his arrival
was hoping
to feel
the mole beneath
| Honourable
Mention: Gary Steinberg, Mahwah, New Jersey, United States |
Laundry Day
There are times when the weather, just so, can take me back to those days. A
March gale beating against the house. And in just an instant, darkness captures
all of space, as if I've learned nothing about solace all these years.
spring chill
....... my wife in
her boyfriend's sweater
| Honourable
Mention: Alison Williams, Southampton, England |
Watercolours
Brushing her hand across the grass she says, "Look, every one is a
slightly
different shape and colour, you know, if I was going to paint this I'd have
to paint each blade separately, not just a solid block of green."
Then she
looks into the eyes of a friend and into the bright blue sky and, with the
thoughtlessness of youth, moves on to other things.
spring dawn
each blade of grass holds
a world of dew
| Honourable
Mention: Eiko Yachimoto - Yokosuka City, Japan |
Nature Never Fails
Buckminster Fuller was a good friend of Isamu Noguchi whose father, Yonejijo,
was a poet who loved Busho Hara, the remarkable oil painter, who also had such
haikai spirit as to name himself after Basho with one humble variation, and yet
they have been cold to him, to his dedication to art and to his masterpieces
altogether... When interviewed Fuller answered, 'No, my young days weren't full
of failures. Nature does not have such concept, only humans."
outdoor sleep --
billions of light years
envelop me
IV.
Honourable Mention: Urban Category
Paul T. Conneally (UK) East
Side of the Street
Angelee Deodhar (IN) Tapestry
Kirsty Karkow (US) Alone
Michael McClintock (US) A Rememberance of Dean
Elbert Pruitt (US) Sapporo Nights
| Honourable
Mention: Paul T. Conneally - Loughborough, Charnwood, England |
Each Side Of The Street
In every other garden a burnt out car or two, old refrigerators, pushchairs
and bike wheels. That some of these houses are still homes is hard to take in
yet there they are, mums calling out to children playing soccer with a
tin-can. My grandfather lived on a council estate like this, flowers on the
front, carrots and onions round the back.
late afternoon
a line of old cherry trees
each side of the street
| Honourable
Mention: Angelee Deodhar - Chandigarh, India |
Tapestry
Our backyard, a long and narrow strip of grass bordered by basil bushes, the
area between the new neighbours' house and ours catches the afternoon sun. After
the house tour and the drinks the conversation turns to their children's
children. Not having any leaves us listening silently.
old thorn tree
the empty weaver bird nests
sway in the breeze
| Honourable
Mention: Kirsty Karkow - Waldoboro, Maine, United States |
Alone
I am alone this year. As an afterthought, I knock on her door, though
it is late. "Share a pot of tea and some cookies with me", she says,
taking my hand, pulling me into a warm kitchen that smells faintly
of balsam and various holiday spices.
Christmas --
her dining table
set for one
| Honourable
Mention: Michael McClintock - S. Pasadena, California United States |
A Remembrance of Dean
I find out the Griffith Observatory is closing for three years of renovation and
renewal and decide I want to see it one more time, before all that happens, and
because you never know. But I was too late to say good-bye to the bust of James
Dean that graces the walkway leading from the parking lot to the entrance, where
he died in the arms of Natalie Wood in the movie "Rebel without a
Cause". They'd already packed him up in a crate, that big bronze head
with the hair frozen in waves that made you think of Santa Monica beach, angry
motorcycles, and
fast roadsters with plump, shiny fenders.
summer clouds
no arms
no legs
| Honourable
Mention: Elbert Pruitt - Houston, Texas, United States |
Sapporo Nights
Full on great beer and Beethoven, we shoulder our instruments and head downtown
to make some music of our own. As students, we are forbidden by our
hosts to play on the streets, but cannot pass up an opportunity to earn yen for
souvenirs. When we emerge from the subway, the summer-night air is cool and
vibrant with the notes of visiting festival musicians: jazz trios, string
ensembles,
brass quartets, and talented local artists who earn their livelihood beneath the
neon...
eclectic crowd-
we yield our corner
to the one-man band
