Title:  Dissection of the Haiku Tradition (6)

                                                                Rivers and Oceans

      When I started this series of essays last year (in Volume XXVIII, Number 1, Winter 2005), I wrote I would
“discuss one of the traditional am just telling personal stories.  I have no intention of providing analytical or
academic thoughts through my writing.  What I am dissecting here may not be a haiku tradition in the typical
sense. 　Digging into my culture, my background and my emotions helps me explore kigo.  I write haiku to tell
my story.  A story can be about how I ate ice cream.  A story can be about a historical event awakened by
cherry blossoms or the winter wind.  

      hirogereba biichi parasoru tote ryôbun     

              opening                        
              a beach parasol claims        
              its territory                        
                                                      Kigajô Fukumoto (1)

      What is the first image in your mind when someone asks you to write a haiku about the sea?  Sea is our
birth place. Life started in the water, didn’t it?  Is it too abstract to write about?  How about European explorers
like Columbus venturing into the sea?  You may say you have never met Columbus in your life and it is against
your principle to write an imaginary haiku.  I may compose a haiku about kamikaze  (the Divine Wind).  Let me
tell you how I leap from ‘sea’ to ‘Divine Wind.’   
In the thirteenth century, Mongolians (the Yuan Dynasty in China) tried to invade Japan.  Their fleet failed to
reach Japanese soil because of a typhoon in the region; not once but twice.  The Japanese thought their gods
protected the country and destroyed the Mongolian battleships.  I think a name for the suicide attack by zero
fighters during WWII came from this belief.

              I crossed River Styx
              as a kamikaze pilot
                    August dawn
                                                      Fay Aoyagi (2)
                                             
When I was a child, I wished I could be ‘a new kid in town.’  Each time a transferred student arrived at our
classroom, his/her name was written in big letters on the blackboard.  I truly wanted to be the one in the center
of the class’s undivided attention.  I am not sure that is why I left Japan and became a new kid (adult, rather?) in
a foreign city.  I fantasized changing about my surroundings like a river flowing through different landscapes.

      hinokuchi no sabiiro fukaki wataridori    

              deep rust
              of the sluice—
              migrating birds
                                                      Mariusu Nadaya (3)

One of my clients in Silicon Valley has a large saltwater pond in front of its global headquarters.  I see many
geese there throughout the year.  Sometimes I feel that exchanging places with a bird may not be a bad idea.  
Of course, a life as a bird can be tough, too.  
Those geese seem to think human beings are a little more than walking trees.  They act as though they are the
owners of the property.  Yet occasionally, I see the hue of sadness in their eyes.

      dono umi mo umi to tsunagaru ôashita     

              every sea connects
              with other seas—
              New Year’s Day
                                                      Minako Tsuji  (4)

You do not have to watch a movie about the Titanic or read Moby Dick to know the danger of the sea.  One day, it
is calm and friendly; next day it can kill hundreds or thousands of people by tsunami.   Kigo, ‘ôashita’ (New Year’
s Day), in the above haiku literally means ‘a big dawn.’  When we see sunrise, someone at the other side of the
sea may be admiring moonrise.
I cannot shake off a wild thought: a gigantic octopus is at the deep ocean bottom.  Its spread tentacles form for
the foundation of the earth; so that everything on the land above, buildings, bridges and trees, can stay erect.


      shinkai-de yadokari hirou santoukaki

              in the deep sea
              i pick up a hermit crab…
              the date Santôka died        
                                                              Dhugal Lindsay  (5)

      Dhugal, a marine biologist, is an Australian who lives in Japan and composes haiku in Japanese.  ‘Yadokari’
(a hermit crab) is one of my favorite spring kigo.  The literal translation of the Japanese characters for yadokari
is ‘a worm living in a rented dwelling.’  Sometimes I feel close to yadokari which has to rely on shell of other
creatures.  After all these years living in the United States, I sometimes feel like yadokari if I stay in Japan
longer than a month.  

      Hiroshima atsushi naifu no yôni kawa nagare  

              Hiroshima heat—
              the river flows
              like a knife
                                                     Shin Yamaguchi  (1)

      When I lived in Tokyo, I seldom traveled to other parts of Japan, except for ski trips.  Each time I
accumulated enough money or vacation days to travel, I visited other Asian countries.  Going to the Philippines
or Thailand was cheaper than a domestic travel.  My older sister moved to Indonesia shortly before I turned
twenty.  I could squeeze money out of my parents, who have never traveled by air, if I included a visit with my
sister in the itinerary.
      In those days I was not interested in Japanese traditional culture, not even haiku.  Now, I regret I did not see
more kabuki (a play and dance by an all－male cast), bunraku (a puppet show) and rakugo (a comical story
telling).  I was shocked to realize how little I knew about Japan when I moved to the United States.  I did not have
answers for most of the questions asked by my American colleagues and friends.

      Stubovi mosta
      posle bombardovanja
      spojeni nebom.

              After bombing
              the pillars of the bridge
              arched by the sky.
                                                              Nabjša Simin (6)

I found this haiku in Aozora (meaning ‘a blue sky’ in Japanese; a web site featuring haiku from South-Eastern
European countries).  The above haiku is from an anthology published in 2000 about the bridges destroyed in
the war.  Serbian originals are accompanied by translations in English, French and German.
Haiku, I believe, is a sketch of life.  What I mean by ‘sketch’ is not limited to describing nature.  Nature is a part
of our lives, but we witness civil wars, riots and political scandals on this earth.  I am not saying that haiku
poets should make a statement through haiku.  After I started writing haiku, I began to find more pleasures in
small things; such as bird songs in the early morning or the first camellia blossom opening in my
neighborhood.   At the same time, I have an urge to describe a thing which only exists inside of me. Kigo can be
the entrance to the waves, the flows or the swirls in my soul.

      Next theme will be ‘Moon.’     

(1) Gendai Saijiki (Modern Saijiki), edited by Tota Kaneko, Momoko Kuroda, Ban’ya Natsuishi, Seisei Shuppan,
Tokyo, 1977  
(2) Unpublished
(3) Ginko Kukai Hikkei (Indispensable Handbook for Ginko and Kukai), edited and published by Kadokawa
Shoten, Tokyo, 2000
(4)  Umi To Yama No Raibiriensu (Labyrinth of Seas and Mountains), edited by Shinji Saito, Kawade Shobo,
Tokyo, 2004
(5) bottle rockets #14 2006 edited by Stanford M. Forrester and Ann D. Foley, Wetherfield, CT   
(6) Treca obala reke (The third bank of the river) edited by Nabjša Simin, 2000, (www. tempslibres.
org/aozora/books/bank/bank00html).  Translation from Serbian to English by Vladislava Felbador

Except for haiku by Dhugal Lindsay, all Japanese translation by Fay Aoyagi.

                                      

Essay 6