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my haiku books

forgiving the rain
(Snapshot Press 2012)

A multifaceted memoir of home: of children and parents, joy and fear, dreams and desires, and, ultimately, the inherent wonder of ordinary lives. These contemporary haibun combine the narrative power of prose with the epiphanies of haiku poetry to question and explore where home is, how we recognise it, how we leave it, and how we find our way back.

Bashō did this. On his narrow road north. He wrote what he saw and what he felt. Wound his prose around his haiku, studded his creative world with perfect places. Lynne Rees is on the same journey. These are scenes from a life: childhood, adulthood, passion, age, joy, pain. Her haiku are headlamps. Her prose flowing water. I couldn’t put it down. Peter Finch

It had me laughing, very moved, fully involved and also (since Lynne and I seem around the same age) immersed in the reference points along the way! I'm in full admiration of the haibun form and its possibilities in the hands of an adept such as Lynne. Really beautiful. I teach life writing and will be pointing my students to this book as a great example of how to approach auto/biography - but I recommend it to anyone. I know that I'll be going back to it again and again. Fiona Owen, Writer & Teacher






another country - haiku poetry from Wales
(Gomer Press 2011) co-editor

The first anthology of its kind to celebrate the literary wealth of haiku and its associated forms created both within Wales and by Welsh writers internationally from the 1960s to the present.

This is an important contribution, not only to Welsh literature in English but also to all writing of haiku and its related forms in the English language. Paul Griffiths

£9.99 from Gomer Press: orders@gomer.co.uk

Popular posts from this blog

haiku: a poetry of absence or an absence of poetry?

The following paper was presented at the PALA (Poetics and Linguistics Association) 2015 Conference at Canterbury University, Kent, UK on 16th July 2015. 
Abstract: HAIKU: A POETRY OF ABSENCE OR AN ABSENCE OF POETRY? Minimalism in Contemporary English Language Haiku
The popular perception of haiku as three lines of 5, 7 and 5 syllables persists in the mainstream poetry world and beyond as if nothing has changed since the first Western translators counted the onji, or sounds, in traditional Japanese haiku and created that misconstrued but enduring template fleshy enough to support a traditional English syntax.
And while putting flesh on bones might be a useful metaphor for the construction of formal and free verse, contemporary English language haiku practice is often more akin to the trimming and polishing of bones to create a form where point of view, adjectives and even verbs may be dispensed with entirely. 
This 30 minute presentation will analyse examples of minimal, micro and monostich…

haiku commentary ~ Annette Makino

Sometimes life and poetry intersect naturally. I had a brutal wardrobe clear-out yesterday, as witnessed by the pile of clothes hangers in the centre of the bed and a bulging large carrier bag destined for the charity shop.  And then, through one of those random extended internet excavations, I came across this haiku by Annette Makino, published by tinywords a few years ago which I'd commented on briefly. 

hanging in my closet the person I used to be

Reading it again still elicited a similar variety of responses: laughter, recognition, resignation and sadness. And this time part of ‘the person I used to be’ was neatly folded at my feet! 
Most of us keep clothes that no longer fit us, or suit us. I still have an ostentatious, ostrich feather bolero that I bought in the early 1980s and will never wear again but hold onto from a sense of nostalgia. But the haiku also propels me towards imagining clothes that belonged to someone else, a husband, wife or partner who may have left, or died…

haiku commentary ~ Paul Miller

spring foghorn . . . 
cormorants spilling 
from an over-crowded ledge  

Paul Miller, Called Home (2006)


Sound, sight and movement, and texture. These are the explicit physical senses through which the haiku speaks to me. But there must be more haunting the images and the spaces between the lines to produce an element of unease in me.
There’s warning in the sound of the foghorn. Spring tides (despite the natural response of ‘joy’ that we have to the idea of Spring) can be dangerous and have stronger than usual rip currents. The company of black birds spills into the air like a ragged cloak of wing and cry. There’s a sense of danger, or risk, implicit in an overcrowded ledge. 
The ellipsis at the end of line 1 indicates hesitation and uncertainty. spilling/ at the end of line 2 also allows the reader to experience that sense of falling into the white space on the page. Line 3 ends gruffly with the definite thump of a single syllable: ledge,
Twice in the last two days I have read the closin…