Professional Documents
Culture Documents
prose poems
Rochelle Potkar
First published in India in 2018 by
Copper Coin Publishing Pvt Ltd
L5/903 Gulmohur Garden
Raj Nagar Extension
Ghaziabad 201017
Delhi ncr
www.coppercoin.co.in
Paper Asylum
© Rochelle Potkar 2018
The moral rights of the author have been asserted.
isbn 978-93-84109-26-4
This book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by way
of trade or otherwise, be lent, resold, hired out, or otherwise
circulated, without the publisher’s prior consent, in any form of
binding or cover other that in which it is published.
For Shekar, keya, Mai, Aaee, Baba
Thank you for being my incredible atoms
Contents
Haibun in Me ix
Tanka 1
Palimpsest 3
Asylum 5
Selena 8
Summer Hills 10
The Behaviour of Rain 13
Lapping Oceans 15
Reflux 17
Thumbprints 19
Seed 20
Weight in Kilograms 22
Broken Shells 24
Plantation 26
Tattoos 28
Spice Garden 30
vii
Barley and Coffee Beans 32
Entombed 34
Thirst 36
Snakes and Ladders 38
Samsara 40
Routine 43
Stillborn 46
A Knot of Toads 48
Scabbard 50
Voltage 52
Ex-space 54
Typewriter 56
Lake Vostok 58
Mass 60
Gravity 62
Tides 64
September 66
A Fly Lands on the Meal 68
About-turn 70
Quiet Chaos 72
Outing 74
The Quivering of Purple Petals 76
Ekphrastic 78
Syllabus 80
viii
Knowledge 83
Garble 86
Retake 1 89
Retake 2 91
Uriel, Gabriel, Chamuel 93
Spoken Word: Absent, 2017 95
Chabad House 98
Molting 100
Acknowledgements 103
ix
Haibun in Me
xi
We know the haiku: two images juxtaposed in a
fragment (one line) and a phrase (two lines) that link
and shift. The haibun, then, is prose poetry interspersed
with haiku. Written in a first-person narrative, in the
present tense, it can range from autobiography to diary
writing, essay to travel-journal writing. Like the haiku,
the haibun begins in the everyday events of life and can
be described as a narrative of an epiphany. The
practitioner of haibun is called a haibuneer. There can
be 100 haiku in a haibun, but we generally find one or
two. The haiku forms an integral part of the haibun and
follows the same link and shift inherent to all Japanese
short poetry forms, including haiga, tanka and senryu.
While the haiku links and shifts between its phrase and
fragment, the haibun does so between its title, prose, and
haiku. The link and shift apes the continuity of life’s
wheel, keeping in motion the navigation to new
territories of notion, imagery, and feeling.
xii
words like goldsmiths, for brevity between lines 1,
2, and 3 of the haiku.
Every time I enter a new college classroom for
a workshop and tell students that to write haibun
they can be a bit of a storyteller, personal diarist,
traveller, chronicler, and poet, there is a sigh of
relief that runs through. No one feels excluded.
I think the time for haibun has come, given the
small reading screens and attention deficits. Or the
fact that this is an accessible form allowing its
practitioner to intersect story and poetry, besides
acquiring edible-sounding titles like haibuneers and
haijins, while practising the art of word zen.
Since I write in other forms, I think it’s
interesting to mention that in relation to free verse
poetry, I have found the haibun to have sentences
stacked horizontally. While comparing it to flash
fiction, the ‘Act 3’ is a haiku.
St. Xavier’s College was the first in Mumbai to
include the haibun in its syllabus under Emerging
Poetry Forms, whereas Wilson and V.G. Vaze colleges
welcomed the haibun through workshops by me.
But I am probably a late-comer to this bandwagon
of haiku and haibun practitioners, probably an even later
champion. The stalwarts in India who have affected me,
and to whom I pay my obeisance, are Angelee Deodhar,
Johannes Manjrekar, Kala Ramesh, Geetanjali Rajan, K.
Ramesh, Gautam Nadkarni, Paresh Tiwari, Raamesh G.
Raghavan, Akila
xiii
Gopalakrishnan, and the many whose works I come
across in international journals and magazines.
A special note of thanks to Kim Richardson for
going through an earlier version of this book and
saying, ‘Your haibun are good, and I don’t say that
lightly. You “get” the form.’ I have never forgotten
those words. My deepest gratitude to Michael
Rehling, Christopher Merrill, and Gabriel
Rosenstock for writing a quote for this book.
A must-read book is the Journeys series, edited by
Angelee Deodhar, while online archives of Contemporary
Haibun Online, Haibun Today, and Cattails are the other
sources to deepen one’s morning zen.
Rochelle Potkar
xiv
Tanka
(1)
on a diet
she kills her cravings,
painting her nails
a luscious, viscous
chocolate brown
(2)
within
a hand-me-down shirt
I wonder
at a thrift shop,
all what I must be inheriting
(3)
he aligned his fork
on his finished plate
before the ship sank—
his manners more ingrained
than survival instincts
1
(4)
the nouveau city
opens like a 3D fairytale book
and by night
folds into two-line axes
of an infinite dream
(5)
the blue sun
passes through the
distended womb of sea
like the refracted memory
of our once-summer love
2
Palimpsest
3
thick, carving out new expressions over her face
each minute.
captive—
the sun shaping trees
on her dungeon pane
4
Asylum
5
sinking
to the bottom
coin of the moon
this sense of
losing you
6
apartments. Holding this vision long enough makes
the confines around melt.
The window frame is expanding too into Prussian
blue now, kissing starlight, as everything blends.
this globule
of desert
is rain-drenched
if ever dawn
reveals you
7
Selena
8
hot sun as a means of penance, he walked from his
home to hers—a good 20 kilometers. He nearly
fainted when he arrived.
They remarried—since they had filed for divorce
and the papers were in court. She now has two
children with him, and no house help. She cannot go
to the gym. She cannot wear clothes that reveal her
femininity. She doesn’t talk too much to friends.
As far as he is concerned, she cooks all day, drops
and picks Evan and Angel, feeds them, and waits for
him. For herself, she has a secret gym membership for
the late mornings when the children are at playgroup.
She packs figure-hugging jeans and cleavage-
clinging singlets into a bag when she sets out—
that’s why her bag is always full.
She has a part-time job in the early evenings,
where she glances at men hungrily and greedily as
she walks on the road, and is glanced at back
equally hungrily and greedily.
She also has a dream . . . that someday she will take
the kids to a foreign land and meet a suitable partner,
and maybe—who knows—even find true love.
That dream takes her a long way off. This,
before the doorbell rings.
9
Summer Hills
mango harvest—
the flush of dawn
through my skin
10
Manojji lives in the servants’ quarters with his
wife and two toddler daughters. He is the caretaker,
cook, cleaner, and gardener. He joined the
household when he was, maybe, twelve.
Over the years, many servants came and went
as Manojji earned a soft belly from leftover food, a
thick supervisor’s moustache to instill fear in the
new bunch of gardeners and cooks.
Manojji is a curious man. His eyes and ears are
always shifting. One day he quits his job. He takes
his family to a rented apartment near his daughters’
school. He exhausts his flab and the languor of his
earlier job. He hops into cars of property seekers
and drives them up and down the hills, savouring
and summarising the land.
Soon, sales happen and Manojji’s commissions
come in too. The cities around these hills swell, its
arteries choking with holidaymakers in a never-
ending trail seeking to melt their urban angst. More
and more clients come via a three-hour-quick
expressway. More properties sell. Manojji finally
affords a secondhand car.
Today a buyer wants to check a resale cottage
in Summer Hills, and Manojji drives him through.
In ten years, he has forgotten the white
bungalow and its lanes. Amidst polite talk, he gazes
at it blaring music. Young voices still screaming,
yelling, and hooting into the old quiet of the hill.
The same smell of aromatic food . . .
11
Nothing has changed about this bungalow in
twenty years. It is only far on the outside that
Manojji’s daughter is graduating through an
international MBA programme.
reunion party—
the taste of rum
on her lips
12
The Behaviour of Rain
13
the original poetry, or pencil sketches that can
justify the curve of his nape to him, more than his
fans with their selfies and erotic poetic lines stolen
from the Internet.
14
Lapping Oceans
morning sickness . . .
throwing up the Milky Way
to let in stars
15
Cranial radiotherapy and injections through the
spinal canal . . . to try and kill it. That was most
painful,’ says Suman.
Whereas . . . my relationship was a cancer of
misunderstandings, spreading from one thought to the
next, one need to the next, one desire to the next.
No amount of discussions helped.
autumn whirlwind . . .
a child grabs at her
candy floss