THE ONION FIELD, haibun by Dimitar Anakiev

 

THE ONION FIELD, haibun by Dimitar Anakiev

If you happen to be walking in the northern part of Kyoto, known as Kitayama, you may notice near the botanical gardens a middle-aged man watching over an onion field situated right next to his house. His name is Branko Manojlovic, a Serbian poet who has been living in Kyoto for quite some time now. Although the onion is an essential part of Serbian culture – I can’t recall a dish that has no onions in it – these were planted not by Branko but by a nameless neighbour. Two years have already passed since the planting, yet the onion is still unharvested.

I was taken with this field too: during my stay in Branko’s house, I watched it every day from the window of my room: the field that by its presence seemed to hint at something that was not so obvious yet at the same time significant.

Looking out of the window – the onion field still wet after rain – I wrote a haiku:

In its second year

onion languishing – who will

harvest it?

At breakfast, Branko looked moody and with dark bags under his eyes from lack of sleep. As I was stirring my tea with a questioning expression he swigged his coffee in a hurry and before going off to work handed me a folded piece of paper: "Last night’s haiku", he said. After he left I opened the paper, it read:

Unable to get back

to sleep... the onion field

lashed by storm

I noticed that Branko had a special relationship with the onion field, but we did not discuss it. One afternoon I observed him pacing about the field as though looking over each stem, each green leaf that was pointing toward the sky. The following morning, I got another piece of paper that read:

A group photograph:

we are the onions

hanging under eaves

I myself wrote haiku on the subject of onions, which seemed to have dominated our thoughts and emotions. On the other side of the street, where the bus no. 4 was passing, I noticed a small Shinto shrine set there probably out of some superstitious belief. Like Christian chapels, these shrines were set up by local people, and this particular one was leaning against a neighbour's house.

When I was leaving Kyoto, I left Branko this haiku:

In Kitayama

the onion field watched over

by some shinto god

I do not know if this field still exists today. If by any chance it does, I bet Branko keeps an eye on it.