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      June 18, 2015Musashi-sanJack Vian

      Haibun

      Who are the ones who awake without hearing
      the sound of the sun-filled
      clouds
      dancing upon the edges of an outstretched wing?
      And who am I?
      To stand alone like a swordsman
      without his sword,
      a mere figure
      in the unresolved distance
      like a brushstroke
      awaiting a scroll—
      an empty bowl
      ungrateful for the pleasure
      of its emptiness

      from #47 - Spring 2015

      Jack Vian

      “For the incarcerated poet, a poem is more than just a literary construct, it is an ideal given flesh. It’s the difference in wishing that a passing plane will notice the ship-wrecked castaways, and taking the time to carve an SOS in the beach or put a message in a bottle. So I’m always thankful when readers find something worthwhile in my experience. The only Japanese form that I use regularly is the haiku, and my practice of that had fallen into arrears. But I wrote this highly versified almost-haibun while reading a biography of Miyamoto Musashi.”