BY KAILEY TEDESCO
Hands down, the best decision of my life was joining a low-residency MFA in Creative Writing program. When I think about my experience, I imagine Mike Teavee from Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory. My poems, like Mike, started out normal sized and a bit naive. Then they shrunk. This tiny poem phase didn’t so much reflect the length of the verse, but instead the humbling of my ego. Everywhere I went, I met beautiful poets and read amazing collections. I currently take in every bit I can of anything that might even closely resemble a poem so that my tiny, metaphysical mind-poem can grow. And that’s just what it’s doing.
As I close out the program, I’m sending my poems to the taffy puller in hopes that they stretch and impact as many readers as possible. This whole drink me/eat me process of shrinking and growing has become fairly rote as of late. This week’s workshop, however, threw me for a loop. My professor gave us a seemingly simple assignment: write a haibun.
To be totally honest, I just recently learned that a haibun is a hybrid poem that mixes a prose poem and haiku. Hybrid poems of any kind are becoming increasingly popular in contemporary poetics, and when done well, they are often beloved by modern publications. So, I was excited to try my hand at this new form.
At this point in the program, content of my poems comes fairly easily as I already have a working manuscript with a fairly succinct aesthetic. I write a lot about the occult and the divine through the eyes of a young girl, and I’ve been wanting to write bluntly about the Salem Witch Trials for some time now. I’ve been visiting Salem biannually for over twelve years now. Even before I began dabbling in witch craft, I had formed an immense connection with the town, and a deep reverence for victims of the atrocities that occurred in the 17th century.
As I got older, I noticed the more campy aspects of the town and how these might reflect upon trials themselves. It is a blast to visit the tourist attractions here because there is more to learn about Salem of yesterday and today than you could even imagine. As fun as it is, it can also become incredibly sobering as we better understand what these innocent Americans had to suffer.
My haibun is based specifically about the Witch Dungeon Museum, an attraction that contains the actual holding cells where the victims of the trials would be detained. I wanted to explore the idea of disconnect when standing in hallowed places such as this one. For many reasons, and reasons I am equally guilty of, it can be difficult to fully empathize when in the face of past horror. Below, you can view my poem in an earlier stage.
Trials
If you look to your right, you'll find exact waxen replicas of the 1692 jury.
Their jowls dangle like broken marionettes. Their bodies look tired from the light penetrating the windows. If they could speak, they'd ask us to close the blinds.
This here is the dungeon. Young boy, go ahead and step inside. Now, stretch your arms.
He says he can't, and his lone cackle halts against the salivating bricks.
The accused would be held in there for years, standing up. Absorbing their own filth like wet mops.
The couple next to me says
they could really go for some
Chinese food after this.
I received some great feedback based on the content of the haibun, and my entire cohort agreed that this is a relatable experience. However, my first haibun did not totally live up to the haibun legacy. The two major comments were:
- A successful haiku juxtaposes two images in a surprising or enlightening way. Mine only conveys one.
- The form of the poem feels at home enough as a haibun, but it may more naturally take on a different form. (I usually write free-verse poems, often utilizing unrhymed couplets or tercets).
Because I really wanted a haibun in my repertoire, I decided to keep the form as is. I did, however, make some revisions. Here is the updated poem:
Trials
If you look to your right, you'll find exact waxen replicas of the 1692 jury.
Their jowls dangle like broken marionettes. Their bodies look tired from the light penetrating the windows. If they could speak, they'd ask us to close the blinds.
This here is the dungeon. Young boy, go ahead and step inside. Now, stretch your arms.
He says he can't, and his lone cackle halts against the salivating bricks.
The accused would be held in there for years, standing up.
They absorbed their own filth like wet mops.
Up above, replicas of their faces
hang from the rafters.
A couple craves Chinese.
In the newer version, I attempted to better balance the outer and inner dialogue between the tour guide and the speaker, respectively. Since this is a prose poem, I did not enjamb consciously, but I did allow the interlocution to parallel line by line. I also made sure to condense the content of my first haiku to better allow for another image.
Ultimately, the revisions in the haibun were simple, but I feel as though the result speaks more accurately to the tone I’d hoped to convey. My ultimate hope is that this poem can balance reliability and verisimilitude in a way that might make readers reflect on their own disconnect.
Kailey Tedesco will soon hold her MFA in Creative Writing from Arcadia University. She is the co-founder and editor-in-chief of Rag Queen Periodical, and holds bylines at Ultra Culture and Hello Giggles. Her poetry has appeared in FLAPPERHOUSE, Jersey Devil Press, Eternal Haunted Summer, Hermeneutic Chaos, and more. She is a recent Pushcart Prize nominee.