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The Free Renbun Thread ***READ RULES**

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  • The Free Renbun Thread ***READ RULES**

    Please read the guidelines in full before posting.

    In light of the success of our Neverending Chain: Free Renga, I thought we could do the same thing with haibun. This will be a more challenging thread but with the popularity of haibun I think it will be both fun and instructive in terms of getting us to write more haibun and this form is not completely new but it is relatively unknown and deserves exploration.

    What is a renbun? Well, the word is a coinage of my own from a portmanteau of the genres renku and haibun, of which it is a mashup: ren 連 (collaborative/linked) plus bun 文(writings/prose) = renbun 連文. This is not a genre that is known in Japan, so use that term with a healthy grain of salt, but the ideas are not so foreign to the Japanese genre as to be untenable. “Linked haibun” I suppose is also an acceptable term.

    The idea was first explored by Margaret Chula and Rich Youmans (she has suggested “haibunku” as a name) in their book Shadow Lines. I have not published any collaborative renbun, but I have experimented with it with Jacob Salzer, and my own haibun are influenced by the idea of taking the link and shift, non-linear narrative aesthetic of linked verse and applying it to a longer haibun with multiple prose passages.
    .
    A few guidelines for this thread.

    1. Alternate short verses with prose passages, as in a haibun. 3, 2 or 1 line haiku are acceptable, as are 5 or 2 line tanka, there is a history of tanka prose as well as haibun and I think it's ok for the purposes of this thread to use whatever kind of short poem the prose elicits, but keep the poems short and in the realm of haiku and tanka.

    2. Prose passages must be shorter than 400 words, better to aim for 100-250. Prose poems, medium length poems (6-30 lines) are acceptable as substitutions for narrative prose but in general this is haibun so it will alternate prose and poem. Experimental prose as found in “The Other Bunny” or more traditional diaristic prose are both acceptable. Fiction/persona, or autobiography are both fine.

    3. This is a linked form, so link and shift! Do not continue the prose passage from before or have too much similarity between consecutive ku, there will be a slight shift/contrast/juxtaposition with some kind of linkage between each part of the chain and nothing but forward momentum and non-linearity. This is not a “finish/continue the story” kind of collaborative writing but tied to Japanese aesthetics of linked verse which require oblique motion, shifting away from past episodes and “unity in variety.”

    4. Quote the previous addition as in the free renga thread. Do not write both a prose section and the responding poem as if you were writing a full haibun: the fun of this activity is to be collaborative and have each others' pieces complete the other the way the two part structure of linked verse works as a collaborative tanka.



    That all said, let's begin! If someone wants to start with an opening prose section, be my guest, otherwise I will start it off later. I don't have the time right now to dig into writing a prose piece but I wanted to get this going.
    ghost cave i brush aside the dharma of a lobster god

  • #2
    Monk plays Ruby My Dear as clouds float by through the muted autumn sky. The crows have moved into the city ahead of winter, called to the grey streets by the promise of safety, and their black forms drift into a lazy river that wanders past the urban skyline. If there were a reason for the melancholy that sinks into the bones as the cold wind shakes the last few leaves from grandfather oak, I might be inclined to change the record to a different tune. But my tea has over-steeped and turned bitter, and I have no one else to blame.
    ghost cave i brush aside the dharma of a lobster god

    Comment


    • #3
      Monk plays Ruby My Dear as clouds float by through the muted autumn sky. The crows have moved into the city ahead of winter, called to the grey streets by the promise of safety, and their black forms drift into a lazy river that wanders past the urban skyline. If there were a reason for the melancholy that sinks into the bones as the cold wind shakes the last few leaves from grandfather oak, I might be inclined to change the record to a different tune. But my tea has over-steeped and turned bitter, and I have no one else to blame.


      longer-lived
      than its immediate past
      a held note

      Comment


      • Pris Campbell
        Pris Campbell commented
        Editing a comment
        Hansha, I posted just a second after you did. I deleted mine. Yours is much better.

      • Hansha Teki
        Hansha Teki commented
        Editing a comment
        Sorry, Pris. Maybe you can bring in a prose piece now.

      • Pris Campbell
        Pris Campbell commented
        Editing a comment
        Hansha, bedtime for me but will take a shot tomorrow.

    • #4
      longer-lived
      than its immediate past
      a held note

      I wander down paths the fairy tales warned me about. Shining eyes blink at my trembling body. A stone lodges between my feet and my flip flops......yes, a shoddy choice for an adventure into wonderland, but I head onward. Turning back isn't my style.
      My website is at www.poeticinspire.com

      Comment


      • #5

        I wander down paths the fairy tales warned me about. Shining eyes blink at my trembling body. A stone lodges between my feet and my flip flops......yes, a shoddy choice for an adventure into wonderland, but I head onward. Turning back isn't my style.

        despite the fabled kiss
        the gutter rat remains
        a gutter rat
        ghost cave i brush aside the dharma of a lobster god

        Comment


        • #6
          despite the fabled kiss
          the gutter rat remains
          a gutter rat

          You knead and weave a horse from dreaming grass but you don't know how to ride.

          Comment


          • #7
            You knead and weave a horse from dreaming grass but you don't know how to ride.

            beyond the sea
            the glimmer of stars
            begins to fade

            ghost cave i brush aside the dharma of a lobster god

            Comment


            • #8
              beyond the sea
              the glimmer of stars
              begins to fade

              Waking to the dawn chorus Tiresias, with blind understanding of the birds' song, embraces his anima while stumbling amid the contortions of copulating serpents. He dashes off a tweet to warn an infamous narcissist that he will continue to thrive as long as he never gets to know himself.

              Comment


              • #9
                Waking to the dawn chorus Tiresias, with blind understanding of the birds' song, embraces his anima while stumbling amid the contortions of copulating serpents. He dashes off a tweet to warn an infamous narcissist that he will continue to thrive as long as he never gets to know himself.

                from beneath
                the siren’s call
                to the one-eyed monster

                Comment


                • #10
                  from beneath
                  the siren’s call
                  to the one-eyed monster

                  people move through the streets in a trance, eyes glued to little screens. have we come to worship our devices like the grunting apes pounding the ground around Kubrik’s black obelisk? Hal won’t open the pod bay door and the only phone calls I get are from robots. they say hell is other people, but what’s that say about the simulacrum of a person?
                  ghost cave i brush aside the dharma of a lobster god

                  Comment


                  • #11
                    people move through the streets in a trance, eyes glued to little screens. have we come to worship our devices like the grunting apes pounding the ground around Kubrik’s black obelisk? Hal won’t open the pod bay door and the only phone calls I get are from robots. they say hell is other people, but what’s that say about the simulacrum of a person?

                    in blue light
                    an omniscient camouflage
                    for being known

                    Comment


                    • #12
                      in blue light
                      an omniscient camouflage
                      for being known

                      Thinking about the return I find it somewhat abhorrent. The last one proved disastrous with the killing and all. I thought it was supposed to be about learning to love openly without conditions. Oh well, maybe this time I’ll finally understand that joke once and for all.

                      Comment


                      • #13
                        Thinking about the return I find it somewhat abhorrent. The last one proved disastrous with the killing and all. I thought it was supposed to be about learning to love openly without conditions. Oh well, maybe this time I’ll finally understand that joke once and for all.


                        tumble weeds
                        caught in the barbwire
                        no country for any

                        ghost cave i brush aside the dharma of a lobster god

                        Comment


                        • #14
                          tumble weeds
                          caught in the barbwire
                          no country for any

                          In the half-light of the desolation I can’t call home my torn flesh hangs in tatters. Strangers I meet tell me I will heal. But what of the scars? What, I cry, of the scars? I drop to my knees, never perhaps to rise up again. Unearthly laughter slowly recedes. And I am left all alone ...

                          Comment


                          • #15
                            In the half-light of the desolation I can’t call home my torn flesh hangs in tatters. Strangers I meet tell me I will heal. But what of the scars? What, I cry, of the scars? I drop to my knees, never perhaps to rise up again. Unearthly laughter slowly recedes. And I am left all alone ...

                            cold hands
                            rain dilutes
                            this bloody mess

                            Comment

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