Janice Doppler

My Journey to Haibun

I worked as a teacher during most of my early adulthood. In my early forties, I moved from the Philadelphia area to Massachusetts and secured a position as a Health Education Coordinator in school district. Writing as many grant proposals as possible was expected. During sixteen years in varied administrative positions, I wrote myriad proposals. And then, I retired.

For years before retiring, I learned tai chi, qigong, and Daoist meditation from Master Cheng who had emigrated from China. I became enthralled with Chinese philosophy. When the local senior center offered an introductory haiku class, I thought it might be a way to add lightness to the intensity of my philosophical study. Not Chinese, but at least it’s Asian. I expected haiku to be three lines of 5-7-5 syllables. Simple. I learned that haiku is so much more and was captivated. I borrowed Lee Gurga’s A Poet’s Guide and Patricia Donegan’s Haiku Mind from the public library the same day as the workshop and purchased my own copies soon after. I joined the Western Massachusetts Haiku Poets’ Society and Haiku Society of America. I began writing haibun about a year after starting haiku. I don’t remember how I was introduced to haibun although, I suppose, reading it in Frogpond was probably my initiation. What I do know, is that I enjoy writing haibun at least as much as haiku.

Over time, I learned that Bashō was highly influenced by Chinese poets Du Fu and Li Po as well as Daoist philosopher Zhuangzi, who is a long-time favorite of mine. At this point, I am engrossed in exploring the intersection of Chinese poetry and philosophy, haiku and haibun, and my life as a haiku and haibun poet.

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Stardust: a debut collection

A Few Haibun

Three Treasures

I wander a two-acre Japanese garden.  Raked gravel paths suggest the flow of water.  Pocket gardens focus on a single plant, sculpture, or boulder.  Purple, mauve, pink, and white azaleas in diverse stages of bloom.  A bee with a saffron-splotched thorax sips nectar.  Yellow marsh marigolds and cattails at the edge of a pond.  A turtle on a log.  A large Zen garden … white sand … curving lines around lichen-covered rocks lead my eyes throughout and within … wind-scattered azalea petals … the sound of a stream … a single footprint at an apparent entrance … I sit. 

in the pond —
cloud dragons
swim

Frogpond Vol. 42:3, Fall 2019

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Child Support

Momma scans the mail the moment she gets home from work, desperate for the check that is nearly a month overdue. She mumbles and shakes her head, removes her coat, goes upstairs. 

When she returns her eyes are red, yet my siblings and I are excited when she announces a special dinner – corn fritters. It turns out to be canned corn mixed into pancakes. Only pancakes. She asks about our days at school. She smiles as I report progress with my fetal pig dissection, furrows her brow as my youngest brother defends his role in another playground fight. Her eyes glisten as my other brother describes his school lunch – baked chicken, mashed potatoes with gravy, peas, salad, milk and chocolate pudding. Our little sister, too young for school, just listens. 

Before Momma heads for her night job, she promises to tuck us in when she gets home.  We nod and grin even though we all know we’ll be asleep by then.

bedtime fairy tale
the girl adds
another wish

Contemporary Haibun Online  17.1   April 2021

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Close Encounters

Bacon sizzles on the camp stove . . . a mug of green tea warms my hands . . .  red, green, and yellow dew diamonds sparkle in the grass between sand dune and forest.  Movement catches my eye.  An adult bald eagle zooms toward me four feet above the ground!  The power of its flight . . . the intensity of the glare of its yellow eye . . .  the whoosh of its wings.  Seconds later, the enormous bird returns.  A small mammal hangs from a claw.  The eagle’s flight is more casual than before.  Air pressure waves from the beat of its wings wash over me.  My jaw drops.

morning draught
your exhale
my inhale

The Haibun Journal  Issue 3.1 April 2021

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Clearing Cloud-Mist

Mist intensifies as the bus climbs to the top of Wudang Mountain – legendary birthplace of tai chi and centuries-old refuge for Daoist hermits. My teacher, Cheng Lijun, and I fantasized of coming here. We argued before her sudden death, so I have arrived with more than the usual baggage. I follow a wire-covered boardwalk to a small hotel.

Mornings: Qigong instruction. Afternoons: meditating and journaling to heal the past, remember the present, and set intentions for the future. Evenings: lectures and sipping Wudang-grown tea at a shop where I snap a selfie with a life-size carving of Laozi. 

On the fifth day, the rising sun bounces pink and gold off the departing four-day cloud-mist. I break the routine for a personal hermit day. I walk to an overlook with a wall draped by a rainbow of raincoats drying in the sun. A brown grasshopper with antennae six times longer than its body eats a bamboo leaf. A wasp investigates the stylized lotus on my shirt. I meditate below a gnarled pine tree imagining Lijun and her teacher with me. Afterward, my body flows into the opening tai chi move … the next … the next … the next …  

It is the beginning of the Harvest Moon Festival, a time of moon gazing and reunions with family and friends that has been celebrated since the Tang Dynasty. I don’t believe Lijun’s teaching about the benefits of absorbing the yin energy of moonlight, but to honor her memory, I end my day with moon gazing. The moon is cradled in the upturned roof of the hotel. I listen to cricket song and feel the cool night air on my face. More and more calm, more and more centered. At last … I understand.

slippery boardwalk
the unhurried pace
of a chartreuse caterpillar

Akitsu Quarterly   Spring 2021 

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Haibun in Drifting Sands

Amandla

Trick or Treat

Garden Drama

Leaps

Porch Swing

The Smell of Diesel

Strangers

Tides

Tradition

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Haiku

For samples of my haiku check out

Living Haiku Anthology

Haiku Registry at Haiku Foundation

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