[stylist] Sharing a tankabun similar to a haibun

[Ashley Bramlett]

Jacque,
do you write tankas too?

-----Original Message----- 
From: Jacqueline Williams
Sent: Monday, April 23, 2012 12:47 PM
To: 'Writer's Division Mailing List'
Subject: Re: [stylist] Sharing a tankabun similar to a haibun

Myrna, Robert,
I forgot to attach my article on the Tanka. Here it is, I hope.
Jackie

-----Original Message-----
From: stylist-bounces at nfbnet.org [mailto:stylist-bounces at nfbnet.org] On
Behalf Of KajunCutie926 at aol.com
Sent: Sunday, April 22, 2012 8:15 PM
To: stylist at nfbnet.org
Subject: [stylist] Sharing a tankabun similar to a haibun

At our board meeting tonight I said I would share a  tankabun, a poetry
form developed by myself and a writer friend and collaborator  on one of my
books, E. W. Richardson.  We named it so because it is  fashioned after the
haibun, which is  a mix of haiku and prose.  In  this version, a tanka is
used
followed by the prose section which is the  'bun'.  Tomorrow I will go in
search of the specific instructions we had  written up for it and send it to

you... but for now here is a tankabun written  to honor my father and the
first incident that truly let me see that he  understood my blindness.   I
have
attached it as well as put it in the  body of the email. If you have
trouble viewing the attachment I can send using  an older version of Word.
Myrna


Icicles
Just  one icicle
Laid across her tiny hand
Taught her about life
Her daddy  placing it there
Let her understand his love

He had been watching. Her  little face was serious, eyes squinting, looking
out the window and trying to  see the icicle things. Taking her small hand
in his, he brought her outdoors,  broke an icicle hanging from the eaves,
and placed it across her palm. He  remained silent but she knew he watched
her
still. It was cold, this icicle, and  wet, as it melted within her hand's
warmth. 'Do you see it now, mon petite?' he  asked after a moment. She
nodded, awestruck, realizing for the first time that  Daddy did understand
her
need to see. "It's dying, Daddy," she said as  she sadly held out her nearly

empty hand. "No, mon petite, icicles do not die," Daddy  said as he held her

icy hand.  "They just need to change clothes  sometimes and this one is
saying 'thank you' for undressing it."  She  smiled at him and for both it
was
enough.
C  mdbadgerow  2008






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