WHC NEWS





Re: Go-Shichi-Go January 2007

The new instalment of Go-Shichi-Go of the Daily Yomiuri has been published today and is now also online at: http://www.yomiuri.co.jp/dy/features/language/20070125TDY15002.htm

It continues to talk about the important and fascinating haijin, Shuson Kato (1905-1993), and goes deeper to explore his innermost thoughts through his haiku, ranging from the theme of war to the love for his wife. Students of The Ten Neo-classical Haiku Commandments have a lot to learn from this haijin, especially from the viewpoint of ningen tankyu ha (the school of study of human nature), which tends to be shied away in this school of thought.For those who may find it difficult to visit the page, the text can also be found after my signature.

With best wishes,

Susumu Takiguchi

Chairman, The World Hiaku Club

[Pasted]

Go-Shichi-Go/ Harsh realities of peace after war

Susumu Takiguchi Special to The Daily Yomiuri

Last month, I introduced Shuson Kato (1905-93) and showed some of his haiku that revealed his inner anguish, anger and sorrow over the violence of man against man demonstrated in World War II. Without any overt intention, his poems are in a sense stronger in protesting human atrocities and injustices than some antiwar movements.

Today, we shall dig deeper and look at his views on death, love and nature that can be deciphered from his haiku. We begin with one more haiku about the sorry state to which Japan was reduced by the war.

kogarashi ya/shodo no kinko/fuki-narasu

winter wind blows,
the sounds of a safe
on the scorched ground

Kogarashi is a strong north wind that strips trees, leaving them withered. It has its own sound when it blows, but the sound becomes louder and scarier when it meets resistance from objects such as trees or, in the case of this haiku, a safe.

There is no reason to doubt that what the haiku says is exactly what Shuson saw. But it is still extraordinary. A safe--a symbol of something unbelievably heavy, strong and protective, and normally hidden away or cemented or bolted to the structure of a building--is now exposed to the elements and totally vulnerable after bombing raids. The man-made violence is followed by nature's force. Thus, the story of utter destruction is related simply by the sound of the wind.
The safe may be an allusion to Japan as a state. Japan with all its distinct culture, mental and intellectual excellence and glorious military history had never been defeated until this war.

In the 13th century, for example, Japan repelled and vanquished even the gigantic invading fleet of Kublai Khan's Mongolian empire, which could be compared with England defeating the Spanish Armada and which definitely contributed to the fall of China's Yuan Dynasty. The proud nation that Japan had once been was humbled completely for the first time. It was a shock to the system big enough to create a new Japan. This little haiku with so few words sounds as if it is telling the whole history of Japan in World War II.

hi no naka ni/shinazarishikaba/nowaki mitsu

I was not killed
in the fire, now autumn wind
fills the vacuum

The peace came. Having had a narrow escape when his house was razed by bombing raids, Shuson had to think hard what to do now that the war was over. However, the devastation was such that he was at a loss even as to what to think. The autumn storm winds seemed to gust indiscriminately. Survival was in a sense even worse than having been killed as can be seen vividly in the next haiku:

mi ni shimite/shi ni ki/nokoru wa soshiraruru

cold for the dead;
for the survivors
reproach

Survivors will always feel guilty over the dead. That is one thing. But to be condemned for having been not killed is quite another and is unreasonable. Then again, wars are anything but reasonable.

The same can be said for the aftermath of war. Shuson survived the war. Now he had to survive peace. And peace, as shown in the next haiku, did not mean the ending of human conflict. Shuson experienced the death of friends and acquaintances.

shineba nowaki/ikite ishikaba/arasoeri

autumn wind
blows over the dead;
the survivors quarrel

Anger and hatred previously directed at the enemy were now directed to one another on the same side. These three haiku were written after Shuson greeted the ashes of a friend of his, further sharpening his feelings toward war and peace.

migomorite/shimaeba/nowaki fuku bakari

once pregnant;
only the blowing
autumn wind remains

Shuson's haiku poems are generally difficult to translate. This haiku is no exception and is very powerful in its original Japanese even though no specific circumstances are made clear.

However, one possibility is that the author is talking about a woman who made a perilous journey alone from the Chinese mainland, possibly Manchuria, to return to naichi (Japan) after the end of World War II. She brought back safely her four young children and was pregnant with the fifth. Tragically, though, she died once she had been reunited with her husband. This sad tale may or may not have a bearing on this following haiku by Shuson and one of his most famous. I would like to think there is a connection:

konchu no/nemuri shigao wa/kaku ari-tashi

sleeping insect...
such should be the face
of a dying person

If the tragic woman in the preceding haiku were the subject of this one, she would be the wife of one of Shuson's close disciples. Being a champion of the Ningen-Tankyu-ha (inquiring-human school), Shuson focused on the human condition in all its manifestations. The ultimate manifestation, namely death, was of particular concern for him. In this haiku his focus is on how we humans die. The popular interpretation of it is, of course, that all of us wish to die as quietly and peacefully as a sleeping insect.

However, I would rather put it the other way round. I imagine that Shuson was at a tsuya (or wake in which the bereaved family sit with the dead all night long to help his or her soul set out on its final journey) or funeral of the wife. I imagine he saw the peaceful and serene face of the dead woman and was deeply moved, longing to die like that himself. The funeral took place just at the time when insects stop their singing and sleep, leaving their surroundings in peace.

shinitashi to/iitarishi te ga/negi kizamu

the hands
of the person who wanted to die,
now chop at an onion

Whose hands were they? His wife's? There is no way of knowing it unless the circumstances in which this haiku was written are shown. Whatever the answer, this haiku is striking. Once again, there is a subtle sense of humor here, which makes the tragic background of this haiku even more poignant, like a small amount of added salt bringing out the flavor of soup.
How many thousands or millions of people have said or thought that they wanted to die? Those who survived must have had the same experience of delight and gratitude at being able to do such mundane things as chopping onions.

Shuson wrote many haiku depicting hardships the nation endured, such as the one saying that if you bought a pair of shoes you had to give up buying rice. Out of this all too human sentiment, another famous haiku by him was born:

shi ya shimo no/rokushaku no tsuchi/areba taru

for my death
six-foot deep frosted earth
will suffice

Whether or not Shuson knew the English expression of "six feet under" is a moot point. Possibly he did, because there is no equivalent expression in Japanese and Shuson would have borrowed it from English. The Japanese unit of length shaku (30.3 centimeters) is more or less the same as a foot (30.48 centimeters).

He does not say whose death it is but one would assume it is his own. However, the key word is "frosted." Apart from its frozen state, frost is often used to connote extreme hardship. Other mortals may have been dreaming of going to heaven or dying among spring flowers. Famous medieval waka poet Saigyo (1118-90) wished to die under the full moon and the cherry in bloom. Not Shuson. He had experienced too many hardships to indulge himself in such wishful thinking.

tsukarene no/tsuma no te ugoku/fuyudatami

tatami mat in winter...
wife's fingers twitch,
taking a nap exhausted

Shuson's haiku poems about his wife reveal a mild undertone of affection for her, especially this haiku depicting her off guard. Nowadays, the richer Japanese have their separate Western-style bedrooms in the house but in those days that was a luxury only affordable to the very rich.

As all the futon bedding would be folded up and put away during the daytime, anyone needing a nap had to be content with just lying down on any available tatami matting in the full view of others. In summer many Japanese did so as a form of siesta. Shuson's wife must have been really tired to have to take a nap during winter.

* * *
Readers are encouraged to submit English haiku for this column via dy-edu@yomiuri.com. The next column will run on Feb. 22.

Takiguchi is chairman of the World Haiku Club, a worldwide haiku network (www.worldhaikuclub.org). A Japanese artist, poet and essayist, Takiguchi has lived in England since 1971.

(Jan. 25, 2007)