Featured Writer: Marjorie Buettner

First-person reflections on the art of writing haibun

I have always been inspired by the prose poem, that oxymoronic term which Baudelaire called “the prickings of the unconscious.” Like the prose poem, haibun concentrates upon the concept of suddenness. In this concept, the reader glimpses, just for a moment, a glimmer of the universal underlying all things.

Kintsukuroi

This winter solstice I feel the dark encroaching, growling like a wild animal at my door. I feel the distance that separates grow wider, deeper. I want to reach out, extend my hand to you, but time and space will not allow it. What is that healing balm which repairs those broken fissures in life? Where shall we find that golden resin the Japanese use to mend that which is shattered, making fragile pieces whole again, strong again, united?

last length of light—
a bird's extended note
through darkness

The haibun could be a diary or memoir, a travel chronicle, or just a letter to a friend. It is an amalgamation of prose and poetry inspired by the leap of faith the poet takes when guided by the unconscious and dictated by the heart and mind, or as the Japanese say, Kokoru, dictated, as well, by Makoto (sincerity and directness); these are Basho’s two most fundamental rules of haibun writing. This concept of suddenness, this leap of faith in haibun, corresponds with what Bruce Ross says in his anthology Journey to the Interior: American Versions of Haibun¹: “haibun is the narrative of an epiphany … a diary of epiphanies.” Epiphany, or the dictates of the concept of suddenness, is essential to the sustenance and movement of the haibun itself. Robert Bly succinctly reflects upon this importance of a sudden leap into epiphany:

In ancient times, in the “Time of Inspiration,” the poet flew from one world to another, “riding on dragons,” as the Chinese said. Isaiah rode on those dragons, so did Li Po and Pindar. They dragged behind them long tails of dragon smoke … This dragon smoke means that a leap has taken place in the poem. That leap can be described as a leap from the conscious to the unconscious and back again, a leap from the known part of the mind to the unknown part.

—Robert Bly, Leaping Poetry: An Idea with Poems and Translations²

The haibun itself is a gift given by the writer to the reader just as Basho’s haibun was a gift to the various friends who hosted Basho during his long journeys. The process of writing haibun is indeed a journey to the interior; it is a mysterious and transformational exploration into the unknown regions of the heart and mind with truth and sincerity. What motivates the poet to write haibun is this concept of suddenness or epiphany, leaping into realms not dictated by the conscious mind but by the unconscious heart and mind.

Evolution

They say the body changes every seven years; it is an evolution that seems quiet and unnoticed. Lately, however, there has been a movement internally toward some unknown cliff and I am standing at the edge looking down: I feel the wind in my hair and the heat of an unseen sun warming my aged skin and from a distance, not far from me and growing, the scent of my childhood home with its garden of roses in bloom wafting toward me.

Chinese New Year—the zig-zag dance    of a snake in the grass

When I first started writing haiku I was surprised and delighted when I realized I could unify both prose and poetry within the haibun form. It gave me a sense of freedom from the limited restrictions of a poetic form such as haiku or tanka. I was astounded and amazed when one of my haibun was chosen for Pat Van Boeckel’s stream-of-consciousness video that appeared in the 2023 Haiku North America Haibun Film Festival (part of the innovative Moving Poems series). Once again, haibun has become a new, innovative form encompassing diverse genres:

Of course, I would be remiss if I did not mention the importance of haibun as memory gatherer or dream catcher. Somehow, the act of writing haibun frees these memories and dreams that cloud the mind. They are brought out in the open, breathing and alive and full of that perfume which only words can emanate:

Dayclear

The Ojibway have a custom when honoring their dead which releases the spirit of the loved one so that it can be carried to the ancestors, given back to the earth—the original grandmother. In this way, mother, and in so many other ways, I set your true spirit free, casting it between this nightbreak and dayclear, sending your spirit off on its journey.

river mist rising…
I call your name out
to the other side

Ophelia at Last

In my dream I am floating out to sea: blue sky meeting the blue of the ocean while the tide washes over me and sweeps me away. My arms outstretched, I am suddenly surrounded by a tangle of lily pad vines. They float around me like a wreath thrown in remembrance of the dead. I seem not to care that my arms have become their arms, my hair, their hair: white lily pads encircle me, cover me over; Ophelia at last, my body disappears, and I become something other than myself.

white on white—
blinded by the morning sun
over snow

In all of this haibun writing I have been blessed to read and be inspired by various poets who have taught me by example the transformational quality of haibun, utilizing the two fundamental principles which define Basho’s haibun poetics: Kokoru (heart and mind) and Makoto (sincerity and directness). I am lucky to count them as my friends: Hortensia Anderson (R.I.P.), Penny Harter, and Margaret Dornaus. Without their inspirational direction, I might have been lost to the winds.

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Books Cited

1. Journey to the Interior: American Versions of Haibun, edited by Bruce Ross; Tuttle Publishing, 1998.
2. Leaping Poetry: An Idea with Poems and Translations by Robert Bly; University of Pittsburgh Press, 2008 (originally published 1972 by The Seventies Press).

Credits

• “Kintsukuroi” originally appeared in contemporary haibun online 20.1 as part of a collaborative haibun with Margaret Dornaus.
• “Evolution” originally appeared in A Hundred Gourds 2:3, June 2013.
• “Unremembered” was among the films for the 2024 Haiku North American Haibun Film Festival presented by Dave Bonta, who also served as judge along with Jane Glennie and James Brush. To see more of the videos, go to the Moving Poems: Poetry in Video Forms website.
• “Dayclear” originally appeared in Frogpond XXXVII, January 2004.
• “Ophelia at Last” originally appeared in contemporary haibun online 8:1, April 2012.

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About the Author

Marjorie Buettner has published two books of poetry by Red Dragonfly Press: Seeing it Now (haiku and tanka) and Some Measure of Existence (haibun), the latter of which won the Haiku Society of America book award. Her most recent chapbook, Dakota Dreaming (2024), won the Poetry Plains and Prairies Award sponsored by North Dakota State University Press. She lives in Chisago City, Minnesota.

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