Beerbox Haiku: A Thousand Feathers Collection
By Raven Mack
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About this ebook
One thousand haiku written from the Workingman perspective along the back roads and dark alleys of American life. These short observational poems look behind the facade, struggling for what's real in our modern lives, not always finding enough of it, and self-medicating to try and make up for what's missing. It's all at once a meditation on existence but also just as easily bonus lyrics to Skynyrd's "Simple Man" in haiku form.
Raven Mack
Raven Mack writes. Sometimes it is carved into metal along railroad tracks, sometimes it is etched into 0s and 1s for new-fangled cyber-devices, and sometimes it is spoken unto the wind. But that is what he does. He has been involved in self-publishing through zines, blogs, printing presses, pamphlets, smoke signals, street art, oral tradition, and astral projection for a couple of decades human time. But let's be honest, he's been doing this forever, or at least since the T'ang Dynasty.
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Beerbox Haiku - Raven Mack
Beerbox Haiku
A Thousand Feathers Collection
By Raven Mack
Copyright Charles Raven McMillian 2013
Published by Workingman Books at Smashwords (Workingman Books #002)
This ebook is licensed for personal use only. This ebook may not be re-sold or re-distributed. If you would like to share this book with another, please purchase an additional copy, or direct them to the author’s website. If you’re enjoying this book and did not purchase it, please do something to support the author. If you feel you are deserving of a free copy in any way, shape or form, take it up with the author. He understands the struggle, as well as truth, is easy to get along with, and would probably just give it to you anyways.
Introduction
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About the Author
Introduction to Beerbox Haiku
Although I am more of a poet in my hidden inner-heart than I ever care to expose to the colder world at-large, my indulgences in poetry pretty much died after college, never to return until for reasons still not entirely clear to me, while deeply embedded in a somewhat beautiful but hopeless cycle of drinking and painting and constructing and self-medicating, I started carrying around notecards to write haiku upon at all times of the day, until I reached one thousand. Old school T’ang era poet Han Shan has always been a personal hero, and though hokku (that’s the smart dude way of saying ‘haiku’) is a Japanese form, the simplicity of style meshed with Han Shan into one concept in my head, and fit my life well as a constant meditative reflection throughout the day (and night, and in between times in between my ears).
At the time, I saved all the empty cardboard boxes from the 12-packs I drank (nearly nightly) and have always kept this shoe box full of magazine pictures clipped to the same size as each other since I was a teenager. The haiku notecards and empty 12-packs and magazine picture fit like a twisted jigsaw puzzle, so naturally I began making Beerbox Haiku Plates, where an old beer box was opened up and had four haiku and five pictures applied to it, then polyurethaned, holes punched in it, brass chain applied, and hung in the delusional halls of my own creation for no one else to ever see.
The thing is these haiku – although written during what I’d consider a dark transitional period in my life – are very beautiful, and full of spirit, and a sedimentary slice of real life that’s not always exposed through poetry. And though I could freestyle five thousand words out easily about my opinions for you about free-form poetry or the state of the workingman in post-fragmentation America, why bother? The beauty of the haiku form – and these poems – is that they are quick flashes of meditative observation, plain and simple. Collecting them here for the first time in chronological has given me a lot of joy, as the constant permission for haiku entry into my mind at that time allowed for a collective creation that I never could’ve consciously done without letting myself be unconscious about it. I am thankful I have these, and I hope you get yourself some useful joy in poking through them like a flea market junk pile as well. Thanks for reading.
Still alive, Raven Mack
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