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English text
ŠTO JE TO HAIBUN ?
Haibun je u
pravilu kombinacija odlomaka pripovjedne ili esejističke
proze, stopljene s haiku, koji se pojavljuju tamo, gdje će
imati najbolji učinak. Uspjeh haibuna ovisi prvenstveno o
postizanju ispravne ravnoteže između proze i stiha.
Oblikovan je tako, da postigne književni učinak i može
sadržati skriveni program. Autentičnost je zahtjev za
haibun, ali vjerodostojnost nije. Cesto je visoko
nagovještavan i prožet navodima. Razmatra svjetovna
razmišljanja, kao i visoke misli. Pod motom, različitost u
jednakosti, sadržan u različitosti, vrijednosti su od
presudnog značaja, na koje valja misliti. Uključuje određen
stupanj emocionalne napetosti. Proza i stihovi
suprotstavljaju se vremenu, ali ne u prostoru; uglavnom je
pisano u prezentu. Osobnost pisca haibuna je očita i ne
izbjegava se uporaba prvog lica.
Borivoj Bukva
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ŽURKOVO
Borivoj Bukva
U Kostreni, na domak križanju putova i prometu, vrevi ljudi koji stalno nekamo žure, za samo desetak minuta strmom cesticom i skalinama spuštamo se do mora i lučice Žurkovo. Miris i svježina mora, šum valova koji oplakuju obalu, kliktaji galeba prate ribarske brodice i čamce koji uplovljavaju u luku remeteći mir i usnulost doživljenog kao u čaroliji. Zamor djece, igra s mačkom i psićem, žene s torbama, svi čekaju na svoj dio plijena. Iznad luke nadvila se marina, duša koja diše i pulsira srcem ribara, već od ranih jutarnjih sati pa do kasno u noć. Čuje se udar sjekire i bata, zvuk pile, vide se svjetla letlampe, pokoja psovka, onda opet mir i tišina, na trenutak, a čini se vječnost! Čamac je izvučen na suho, razgovor uz pivo i cigaretu, odmor. Stari ribar preplanula lica diže se i nestaje među barkama...
Barke u luci
vitkim jarbolima
paraju nebo.
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POTOK
Vladimir Devide
Jednom sam, šećući se uz pokošeno sijeno pokraj ceste, izdaleka vidio djevojku s glatkom lanenom kosom; sa spuštenom glatkom kosom poput vode sto se preljeva preko obloga bijelog kamena u gorskom potoku kada god padne jaca kiša ili u proljeće kad se topi snijeg u brdima. Ne znam je li bila lijepa; samo sam na trenutak vidio velike modre oči. Poslije je vise nisam vidio i dugo sam, danju i noću, gledao tu djevojku s lanenom kosom.
Niz obli kamen:
voda gorskog potoka -
kosa djevojke.
Htio bih ubrati modrih cvjetova na livadi da ih upletem u lanene kose; cvjetove vodopije i modrih zvončića. Gdje li je sad ta djevojka s lanenom kosom? U Mliječnoj stazi još je uvijek samo odbljesak njezine kose. Samo je poneka vlat u zlatnim slamkama dozrelog žita. Samo se jedan pramen i sada slijeva preko obloga kamena u gorskom potoku, kada ga god probode mlaz zalazećeg sunca, sto se probio među stablima omorika.
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ISIJAVANJA
Dejan Bogojević
Veće puno mirisa. Omamljujuće daljine. Potpuno nemi pokreti i zaboravljene sjenovite misli. Dodiri iskričavih pogleda i zelja za dubljim disanjem. Susreti nadvladaše umiranja misli. Kao dio daha brodolom sam i smrt i trenutak kobi na dlanu sto isplivava u svod. Dok ostajemo nagi snovi kao uzaludni
na djevojčinoj guzi
podrhtava
tetovirani leptir
I bujice postaju neshvatljivi robovi. Dok stvari gube prisebnost blijede zore. Pogledi šibaju ravnodušnost lika na portretu. Obnevideo od čistoće utopljen u krik isijavam svanućima.
jutro -
u rosnoj travi leže
naša naga tijela
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HAIBUN
Jadran Zalokar
U rano proljetno praskozorje, ja i duša odsutna. I u grad proljeće svrati, ali otkad preminuše moje šumske staze, ja i proljeće samo smo stranci u prolazu. Samo u prolazu...U vožnji svakodnevnoj gradskim autobusom...Tako, nizanje trenutaka i zamagljenih pogleda na poneko probuđeno stablo. Taj mali krajolik duše ostao kao krhotina svih proljeća u iščezlom šumskom domu. Sada, u gradu, već dosta godina, susrećemo se mi vječni prijatelji na stazi zaborava:
Tugom vječnosti
cvatu proljetne grane
kroz staklo autobusa
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Slika I
Draško Regul
Opako bogati gospodin iz visokog društva ispruženih je ruku (zaboga, distance mora biti!), pored bogato okićene jelke (mislim, nakit je od suhog zlata, dojam okićenosti je za raspravu), pridržao svojoj supruzi (tako bar piše u dokumentima), također opako bogatoj dami iz visokog društva, skupocjenu bundu od krzna neke tamo mrtve životinje, koja nije stigla shvatiti da je upravo to krzno postalo smislom njena života, dakle, pridržao joj bundu, sebe umotao u isto tako topao i skupocjen ogrtač, te tako utopljeni uvališe nekako svoje pogoleme stražnjice u svoju limuzinu s vozačem (opako skupu) i odvezoše se u centar grada (gdje su najskuplji dućani).
On bi zeleno.
Ona hoće crveno!
Plava kuhinja...
Slika II
Stigoše u centar, potrošiše masne novce na darove (ta, Božić je, zaboga! “U štalici, kažete? Tko bi rekao? Bogec!”), naravno, kupili su i najskuplji autić i lutku za svoju djecu (valjda jesu dečko i curica, moraju provjeriti imena u dokumentima)!
Razočarano
Lice dječaka pred borom:
Opet autić!
Razočarano
Lice curice pred borom:
Ponovo lutka!
Slika III
Jedan je sićani, ali srčani, vrabac hrabro odlučio oprobati svoje snage te se, onako gol, otisnuo u oblak opake hladnoće. Malo mu je falilo, no zima ga je, ipak, nadjačala! Mrtvo mu je tijelo tresnulo posred sivila neugledna dvorišta, da ga svi mogu vidjeti tako da im sluzi za opomenu.
Zamagljen prozor –
Naziru se obrisi
Vječito Spremnog…
What is Haibun?
Haibun is a combination of prose strong in imagery and at least one haiku. The prose in a haibun is trimmed to its essence just as a haiku is composed of few words chosen for their particular meaning. A haibun relates a journey, whether the travels are a physical exploration of the world or an internal journey of discovery. Often haibun contain a revelation or epiphany obtained through experience. The prose can reflect fragmented thoughts or complete sentences, but the sentences are tight with all the words serving a purpose. It is important to note that a haibun is not a short story.
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ZURKOVO
Borivoj Bukva
In Kostrena, nearby the cross-roads and traffic and the crowds of people rushing somewhere, after few minutes by a steep road and over the steps, we descend to the sea and a small harbor Zurkovo. The fragrance and freshness of the sea, murmur of the waves washing the coast, screams of the seagulls accompanying fishing-boats and boats entering the harbor, disturbing the peacefulness and the sleep of the experience, as if magic. Din of children's voices, a game with a cat and the dog, women with the bags, everybody is waiting for the part of prey. Above the harbor there is Marina, soul breathing by the fisherman's heart from early morning up to late at night. Kicks and blues of an ax and hammer can be heard, sound of the saw, light of flames from the gas-burner, a curse here and there, then peace and quiet again, for a moment appearing as eternity. The boat has been hauled onto the dry, conversation above the beer and cigarette, the rest. Old fisherman with tanned face raises and disappears among the boats...
Boats in the harbor
ripping the sky
by tall masts.
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Translation: Đurđica Vukelić - Rožić
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A BROOK
Vladimir Devide
Once, while walking by the road, past cut hay, I saw in the distance a girl with lank flaxen hair; with loose lank hair like water overflowing a round white stone in the mountain brook whenever there is heavy rain or in spring when snow is melting on the surrounding hills. I do not know whether she was beautiful; I just saw her big blue eyes for a moment. I never saw her again, but in my thoughts I looked for a long, long time, day and night, at the girl with lank flaxen hair.
Over a round stone
water of a mountain brook -
a girl's hair.
I would like to pick some blue flowers from the meadow to weave them into the flaxen hair, flowers of forget me-not and blue bell-flowers. Where is she now, that girl with flaxen hair? In the Milky Way there is still only a reflection of her hair. But there are some blades of it in the golden straw of ripe corn. Just one lock is still overflowing that round stone in the mountain brook, whenever it is pierced by a ray of the setting Sun bursting through the pine-trees.
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Translation: Višnja McMaster
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THE RADIATIONS
Dejan Bogojević
The night full of scents. Tempting distances. Completely speechless gestures and forgotten shady thoughts. Touch of sparkling looks and desire for deeper breathing. Meetings have defeated the death of thoughts. Like a part of the breath I am a shipwreck and death and a moment of fate on the palm that swims out towards the welkin. As we remain naked dreams appear to be vain
on girl's buttock
shivers
a tattooed butterfly
And torrents become incomprehensible slaves. While things lose their consciousness dawns fade. Looks whip the indifference of an image on the portrait. Blinded with the purity, drowned in the scream, I radiate through
sunrises morning -
in dewed grass lie
our naked bodies
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HAIBUN
dr.sci.Jadran Zalokar
In the early spring dawn, my absent mind and me, alone.
In the town, spring stopped by, but since my forest
path died, me and spring are only strangers passing by.
Only passing by....
In daily commute by the public bus...
So, moment after moment, and fogy look to some
awakened tree...
The peace of my soul stays as a scrap of all those
springs in my vanished forest home.
Now, in town, after many years passed by, we meet
again.
Eternal friends on the path of oblivion:
With eternal sadness
branches of the spring bloom
thru the bus window.
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Translation: Biljana Bokun - Lora
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Scene I
Stretching his arms (for God's sake, a certain distance must be maintained!), an extremely rich gentleman from high society, held, next to the richly decorated Xmas tree (I mean, the decoration is in pure gold, the sensation of decoration is a question for dispute), an expensive fur coat, made of the skin of some dead animal, who didn't have chance to realize that this very fur became the reason of it's existence, for his wife (it stands in the documents so, at least), an extremely rich high-society-lady as well, yea, he held the fur for her, wrapped himself in the equally warm & expensive robe, and, thus warmed-up, they somehow managed to settle their rather huge bottoms into their drivered limo (extremely expensive), and drove to the City (where the stores are the most expensive).
He would like it green.
She insists it be scarlet!
A blue kitchen...
Scene II
They arrived to the City, spent big money for gifts (why, it's Christmas, for God's sake! „In a barn, you say? Now, who would fancy that! Poor thing!“), including, of course, the most expensive toy-car and a doll for their children (presumably, they are a boy & a girl, they gotta check their names in the papers)!
Disappointed face
Of the boy 'fore Christmas tree:
A toy car, again!
Disappointed face
Of the girl 'fore Christmas tree:
It's a doll, again!
Scene III
A tiny, yet brave, sparrow baldly decided to test his strength, so he, naked as he was, cast off into a cloud of extreme chill. He's almost done it, but the winter was nonetheless stronger! His dead body crashed into the middle of a grey, unsightly yard, so that everybody could see him, serving as a reminder.
A hazy window -
The shade is to be seen of
The Always Ready one...
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Translation: Draško Regul
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harvest moon---
that reed in the water
is moving!
Most of my tour of duty in the
Vietnam War was spent on the YRBM-17, a river repair boat barge,
that looked, from a distance, like Noah's Ark, except for the
dull gray color indigenous to U.S. Naval vessels. It as
permanently moored in the man-made, brown water harbor forming a
semi-circle around Dong Tam, a strategic military base housing
U.S.
Army and Navy Amphibian units.
Isolated from the villages that
bordered the base, Dong Tam was a wasteland carved out of what
was once a rice field. During the day we wabbed decks, painted
bulkheads, repaired patrol boats, relegating our activity, as
much as possible, to the indoors; the heat oftentimes
unbearable. Nightfall was a different story. The Vietcong
fought most of the war at night.
I remember standing guard on the
ship's stern one moonless night, wondering why the Commanding
Officer assigned me to stand watch on the back of the ship. "The
enemy would never attack us from the water," I reasoned. The
thought of it sounded ludicrous. "This is the YRBM-17. The
safest spot on Base. They have no S.E.A.L. team, let alone
scuba gear. Give me a break, Captain!"
I saw the enemy as inferior.
And like many young men my age, I saw myself as invincible. I
was young. I was alive. And I was too green to know otherwise.
Imagine my surprise later on when
I learned about a VietCong soldier who'd once snuck into the
brown water harbor using a hollow reed to breathe air. No sound,
no bubbles, no tell-tale trace. Reaching his mark, he snuck up
on an unsuspecting sailor standing watch, not unlike
myself, and slit his throat.
Robert Wilson, USA
pun mesec---
trska u vodi
se mrda!
Veći deo vojne dužnosti u
vijetnamskom ratu sam proveo na YRBM-17, deregliji za popravku
rečnih brodova, koja je iz daleka ličila na Nojevu barku, izuzev
što je bila prljavo sive boje tipične za američku mornaricu.
Dereglija je bila ukotvljena u mutnoj vodi veštačke luke koja je
obrazovala polukrug oko Dong Tama, strateške vojne baze za
smeštaj američke vojske i ratne mornarice.
Pilično daleko od sela koja su
okruživala bazu, Dong Tam je bio pusto mesto na kome su se
nekada nalazila plodna pirinčana polja. Tokom dana smo ribali
palubu, farbali ograde, popravljali patrolne čamce, gledajući da
obavljamo dužnosti što je više moguće u unutrašnjosti broda, jer
je vrućina često bila nesnosna. Noć je već bila druga priča.
Vietkonžani su uglavnom tada napadali.
Sećam se kako sam stražario na
krmi broda jedne noći bez mesečine, pitajući se zašto mi je
komandant jedinice naložio da budem na zadnjem delu broda.
"Neprijatelj nikada ne napada iz vode", zaključio sam. I sama
pomisao na to mi je zvučala smešno. "Ovo je YRBM-17.
Najsigurnije mesto u bazi. Oni nemaju S.E.A.L.* jedinice, a
kamoli aparat za zagnjurivanje. “Pusti me da se malo predahnem,
kapetane!"
Potcenio sam neprijatelja. Kao i
mnogi mladi mojih godina, smatrao sam da sam nepobediv. Bio sam
mlad. Bio sam živ. I bio sam previše zelen da bih mislio
drugačije.
Zamislite kakvo je bilo moje
zaprepašćenje kada sam kasnije saznao kako se neki vietkongški
vojnik jednom došunjao kroz prljavu vodu luke dišući kroz
izdubljenu trsku. Ni zvuka, ni mehurića, ni nagoveštaja.
Naciljavši metu, došunjao se kroz vodu do mornara koji je, ne
sluteći ništa, mirno stražario, baš kao onda ja, i prerezao mu
vrat.
Robert Wilson, SAD
*specijalne jedinice za odbranu
na moru, kopnu i vazduhu
Prevod: Saša Važić
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