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A Quarterly Journal
Jeffrey Woodward, Founder & Owner
Ray Rasmussen, General Editor

Volume 12, Number 3, September 2018
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Dian Duchin Reed on Terri L. French's "Frequency"

This haibun puts a light-hearted spin on how my mind constantly tries to make sense of the world (which happens with great "frequency"). What does this mean? How about that? What's a threat, where's the pattern? French's piece is wonderfully elliptical, never even mentioning the word tinnitus. It brings together worry, fantasy, and humor to define the human condition.

As much as the prose, the haiku resonates with me. Its kigo – autumn dusk – gently reminds me that my spring and summer have already been relished, and something new is on the horizon. But it's not yet dark; enough light remains to see the first bat of the evening. Is going batty cause for concern, or might it refer to my fond appreciation for the light-winged insect-eater that navigates this amazing world by high-frequency echo-location?

This piece made me laugh. It made me nod my head. It made me want to write this commentary as a way to thank Terri French for writing this and sharing it with me via Haibun Today.

Background & Bio:

Dian Duchin Reed is an award-winning writer whose poems and essays have appeared in many publications. Her latest book (Dao De Jing: Laozi's Ancient Wisdom) is a modern translation of a Chinese philosopher whose observations are full of insight and mystery. Learn more at dianduchinreed.com.

I've always been fascinated by the magic of words when combined in just the right way. I've been a poet for years and have always preferred short poems to long ones, so haiku was a natural part of my evolution as a writer. Haiku led me to the discovery of haibun, which miraculously combines short prose with short poetry. Brilliant! Thank you, Basho. Thank you, Haibun Today. Thank you, Ray Rasmussen.


Terri L. French

Frequency

It’s at the pitch only a dog should hear and yet it’s in my head. Not constantly, but periodically, randomly, briefly. And then it’s gone. Until it’s back. I wonder if I am going deaf, or possibly it has to do with my blood pressure. Perhaps aliens are trying to contact me. Or maybe I’m just not wired right.

the first bat
leaves the attic
autumn dusk

 

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