Essays by Takiguchi Susumu (1944-)

Table of Contents

Haiku As a World Phenomenon

The Development and Nature of Haiku in Japan
Haiku Poems after Taneda Santôka
Hino Sôjô (1901-1956) - The life, loves and sad fate of a haiku rebel
Can the Spirit of Haiku be translated?
Sense of Humour – A Forgotten Prerequisite of Haiku
The Future of World Haiku and Hope for India

Susumu Takiguchi is a haiku poet and critic, artist and essayist, with various other interests. A Japanese
national, residing in the United Kingdom for nearly thirty years, his interest in haiku began with a study
of Matsuo Basho while he was Lecturer in Japanese Language and Civilisation at Aston University in
Birmingham, England. This interest continued to grow until
now when he is engaged in the international haiku movement. The prime example of this is the World
Haiku Festival 2000 organised by him in London and Oxford 25 - 30 August 2000. In 1998 he established
the World Haiku Club which manages the Festival and its numerous events including world-wide haiku
networks on the Internet.

He was born in 1944 in Japan and studied at Waseda University, Tokyo and the University of Oxford. He
has had a wide-ranging career, including financial reporter with Nihon Keizai Shimbun (Nikkei); Editor-in-
Chief, The Art Market Report; art critic and part-time lecturer at Oxford University; lecturer at Aston
University in Birmingham; Executive Director of Strategic Planning and Research, Nomura Europe PLC.
He is currently Director of Ami-Net Oxford International and occasional lecturer at Oxford Brookes
University. He is Chairman of the World Haiku Club.

Publications include Kyoshi - A Haiku Master (Ami-Net International Press), Ushizu no Zaregoto (an
anthology). He has also translated The Fake's Progress by Tom Keating, Geraldine Norman, Frank
Norman (Shincho-sha), Naked Came I (the life of August Rodin) by David Weiss (Futami-Shobo), Towards
The Tamarind Trees by Anthony Trew (Hayakawa-Shobo), Modesty Blaise by Peter O'Donnell.

Haiku As a World Phenomenon

by Susumu Takiguchi
Article from the Ginyu No. 5.

"...After about twenty-five years of English language haiku do we know what haiku is?"(1) It is
refreshing to hear such a modest remark as this from such a doyen of haiku poetry as Cor van den
Heuvel. The remark was made nearly fourteen years ago. Are we any wiser? The lack of general
consensus on this question looked to him to be "a sign of its health and vitality".
Are haiku poems written today not only in English but also in all other languages in good health and
full of vitality? Do we retain van den Heuvel's humility?
Some say that they are now tired of this "What is haiku?" question repeated countless times. Others
still insist that this and other fundamental questions on haiku "have not become old questions" (2). In
a similar vein, is the question "What is time?" boring as opposed to the question "What time is it?",
which may be boring?

While not only Japan but also the rest of the world seem to be enjoying an unprecedented popularity
and proliferation of haiku, there are some worrying signs as well. The history of haiku is a succession
of prosperity followed by decline. So, the ups and downs of the haiku movement are nothing new.

What is different in today's haiku scene is that prosperity and deterioration are there simultaneously.
It has been pointed out that symptoms of the deterioration include stagnation of existing haiku
movements, lowering of the standards and quality of haiku, commercialisation of haiku, factional
rivalries, self-aggrandizement and deterioration and corruption generally. They have been seen to be
sapping the health and vitality of haiku and yet precious little seems to be done about it. How has this
state of affairs come about and how can we possibly free ourselves from this situation?

"Fueki ryuko" (3) is an answer. This is one of the essential principles of what I call Basho's dialectic
poetics. It should be given much greater significance than was originally perceived. This is because it
now applies to almost all aspects of modern Japan where the balance between fueki, or permanent
values, and ryuko, or changes, is shaky. A similar situation is also seen elsewhere in the world.

The two words can be interpreted in more ways than one. Fueki, for instance, can represent
unchanging tradition while ryuko can represent changing fashion. Since the two are contradictory
there should be a kind of creative tension generated between them. This tension should keep haiku
fresh, creative and interesting. If people cling to tradition and neglect newness (or atarashimi)
inherent in fashion, then haiku could become stale, imitative and boring. If, on the other hand, people
indulge in newness without tradition, haiku could become gimmicky, incomprehensible and
nonsensical. Needless to say, fueki should be genuine fueki, and ryuko should be genuine ryuko. And
here starts one of the most important arguments, "What makes fueki and ryuko genuine?"

Another answer would be "Kogo kizoku". This is also a principle of Basho's dialectic poetics and means
"obtaining high enlightenment but coming back to the populace". There has been a tendency to
polarise these two essential factors so much that they have lost their vital link. Some people have
become "elitists", armed with their own creed and are negligent of kizoku, or addressing plebeian
needs. Others have gone the opposite way and vulgarised haiku by neglecting kogo. Again, we need
both of these factors interacting and forming creative tension.

If we are blessed with kogo at all, then that is better than nothing. However, we have witnessed the
deterioration of the quality of kogo. Some haiku debates are perceived to be nothing but poor and
often empty rhetoric. Even worse, some others are taken to be merely a collection of dogmas, or
misconceptions.

The third answer may be found in the teaching of Basho, "Don't follow ancient masters, seek what
they tried to seek". We see people blindly following not only ancient masters but also modern
masters without knowing what they tried to seek. What this means is that we are in need of going
back to basics and deepening our thought and understanding of the fundamental issues still to be
addressed. One way of doing so may be for us to do an honest and critical review and reassessment of
the current haiku movements, including their well-established canon. Only then will we be in a
position to discuss the fundamental issues of haiku and to find ways in which haiku will be allowed to
develop further in good health and vitality.

Now that haiku has spread across the world, we might as well do such a review and reassessment on a
worldwide scale. In this regard what is painfully lacking is the true communication between Japan and
the rest of the world. This is regretable for both parties because Japan could gain some insight and
inspiration from the way haiku is written overseas in order to break the stalemate which her own
haiku world seems to be experiencing. Also the rest of the world could learn whatever it has not yet
learnt from Japan and could correct whatever misconceptions it might have developed in the absence
of the true understanding of Japanese haiku.

Outside Japan, communication among haiku people is much better by comparison but it is by no
means adequate or perfect. More co-ordination and exchange is needed. Regionally, things are
improving through such means as international conferences, mutual exchange of information and
people and last but not least through use of the Internet. Ideally, efforts in this direction on a
worldwide basis need to be made. World Haiku Festival 2000 which the present author is organising in
Britain for the year 2000 is the world's first event of its kind. If the "Prelude to HAIKU2000" which
started in 1998 and the "Epilogue to World Haiku Festival 2000" planned for May 2001 are included,
this project spans four long years and involves a great number of haiku events for the purpose of
disseminating and developing haiku at the same time.

The most important characteristic of World Haiku Festival 2000 is that it looks upon haiku not as a
product of one particular country, or of a group of countries but as a literary and cultural
phenomenon of the whole world, a standpoint which has never been taken before. It does not mean,
however, that each constituent country is not important. On the contrary, each haiku country is put in
the world's perspective and studied more vigorously than before. World Haiku Festival 2000 is a
worldwide network which transcends factionalism, nationalism, imperialism and any other
undesirable rivalries and disputes as well as any hindrances to positive, constructive and friendly
relationships among haijin of the world.

It is very exciting that similar movements, aimed at making haiku a world phenomenon, are beginning
to emerge in different parts of the world. If this becomes a strong and concerted trend, half the battle
is won. Those people who are spearheading this type of movement are hoping that haiku clubs and
associations in different countries and, most importantly, each haijin everywhere in the world will join
in this movement. However, they will only be able to do so if they are prepared to overcome their
narrow-minded factionalism and personal self-aggrandizement and take a humble and friendly stance.

We need to draw a world map of haiku. We also need to write a history of haiku from the world's
perspective. In this way, we share our resources and drive and avoid wasteful overlapping. We may
also be able to overcome the aforesaid damaging rivalries and narrow-minded isolationist attitude
and a host of undesirable human foibles all of which are observed in the modern haiku scene. Many
leading haiku poets in the world with whom I have made friends as I prepare for World Haiku Festival
2000 are seriously seeking the right way, or a likely way, in which haiku can develop in the future. I
call them 'haiku thinkers' and they can make an enormous contribution to the advancement of world
haiku if their efforts are co-ordinated. All too often it is pointed out that in such efforts, sadly, the
Japanese are conspicuous by their absence.
We also need to compile a new classification of haiku which has reached a stage of such
diversification that we constantly run the risk of talking cross purposes if we just use 'haiku' as a
general term. At this stage, the classification need not be too elaborate or detailed as in the case of
Masaoka Shiki's efforts. Avant-garde haiku poets cannot possibly be speaking the same language as
fundamentalists of the traditional haiku school. In paintings, we accept the co-existence of the Old
Masters, religious paintings, landscapes, still lifes, seascapes, figurative, abstract, surrealism,
conceptual art, pop art, minimalist, Japanese paintings, African art, or whatever. There is no point in
denying somebody else's haiku as being not haiku, when we have such varieties of haiku poems in
over seventy different languages (4).

Ultimately, we are after truths. If St. Augustine said that poetry was devil's wine (5), it must be that
poetry is a powerful wine. One reason why it is powerful is that "in vino veritas". A poet said that
wine was bottled poetry (6). Then the essence of poetry must be truths, and universal truths at that.
As Aristotle put it, (Bwhile poetry is concerned with universal truths, history treats of particular facts."
(7) When Basho talks about fuga no makoto, this is normally interpreted as poetic sincerity. However,
makoto also means truths, or true words, or true things. In ancient times makoto referred to man's
spiritual state where shin (truth), zen (goodness) and bi (beauty) were integrated. In terms of poets,
makoto is that which springs from their magokoro (true heart, or soul). Haiku is certainly capable of
(local, particular) truths. Sometimes it is capable of universal truths and that is when great haiku
poems are born.

Poetic truths, then, must be a criterion against which inferior and dubious haiku poems can be
weeded out. Haiku is part of the haiku poet's way of life. Haiku is partly what he or she is. If he or she
is not truthful his or her haiku cannot be good poetry. In today's climate where haiku values are
confused, it is important for us to go back to such stringent criterion as poetic truths.

This point has been eloquently described by our contemporary haijin Jim Kacian in a recently
published book entitled KNOTS with a hole in the middle of it, through which one passes a string and
tie the book by making a knot. It goes, This is what is indestructible in haiku, what has made it grow
from one nation's cultural export to a world's form of choice to reveal the truth and beauty of the
deep moments, the connected moments, of our lives." (8)

Though fuga no makoto must not be taken too narrowly, it is instructive that it relates to truths first
and foremost and not to beauty. Basho was not a mere natural poet, a point which should be brought
to the attention of some haiku poets of the traditional school of haiku, who emphasise natural beauty
to the exclusion of other haiku values.

There are a great deal more things that Japan and the rest of the world can and must do to move on
and find the way forward in the interest of the further development of world haiku. World Haiku
Festival 2000 aims to provide some of the answers and also tries to encourage haijin from all corners
of the world to join in the movement it has started. The readers of this pioneering haiku magazine are
welcome to discuss these matters with.

Notes:

(1) Preface to the Second Edition, "The Haiku Anthology, Haiku and Senryu in English, Simon & Schuster,
1986, p 19.
(2) Lee Gurga, "The Midwest: Cradle of American Haiku" , 5 July 1999.
(3) Fueki ryuko is one of the key concepts of Basho's poetics.
(4) There is no "official" statistics. This figure is only according to an estimate.
(5) "Poetry is devil's wine", Cntra Academicos, St. Augustine (AD 354-430)
(6) Robert Louis Stevenson (1850-1894)
(7) Poetics, Aristotle (384-322BC)
(8) Jim Kacian, "Tapping the Common Well", Knots - The Anthology of Southeastern European Haiku
Poetry, Tolmin, Slovenia, 1999

The Development and Nature of Haiku in Japan

by Susumu Takiguchi
World Haiku Review, January 2010, Volume 8 Issue 1 - January 2010

EDITORIAL
Here is a reprint of my early paper which I present in this issue in lieu of Editorial in the hope that it
would still be useful especially for haiku beginners. The paper has subsequently been included in my
book: Kyoshi - A Haiku Master, Ami-Net International Press, 1997.

INTRODUCTION

If you ask the question “What is haiku in a nutshell?” then you already have the answer. Haiku is the
shortest form of Japanese poetry, whereby poetic ideas and feelings are compressed within an
extremely small space, like the inside of a nutshell. The nutshell in haiku terms is only seventeen
syllables long. It is because of these limits within which a haiku poet must compose that certain
beneficial devices have evolved, making the writing of a haiku poem possible without losing any
depth or scope of expression.

These devices include seasonal references, e.g. kidai (season themes), kigo (season words), or kikan
(seasonal feelings) which give the reader an instant sense of common experience and perception
associated with each seasonal reference. Also, there is the device known as kireji (cutting words),
which may best be described as punctuation. They give a haiku poem a sense of completeness as well
as accentuation and articulation. Kireji can also single out a part of the haiku, separating it from the
rest and emphasizing it, thus creating a dramatic effect.

The seventeen syllables which fall naturally into a 5-7-5 rhythm, a seasonal reference and the use of
cutting words are the three most fundamental factors of haiku without which, some assert, haiku is
not haiku.

As we have seen, these devices facilitate the composition of haiku rather than restrict it. For
physiological and diachronic phonological reasons, five and seven syllables have an innate appeal for
the Japanese speaker. They give a natural, comfortable and even pleasurable length of articulation
and breathing. Such has been the case since before the very first anthology of Japanese poetry, the
famous eighth century Manyoshu, that to speak in phrases of 5 or 7 syllables has become a part of the
mental faculty for the Japanese(1).

Similarly, the seasonal references and cutting words cause no problem to a Japanese poet, for
virtually every Japanese is keenly sensitive to all elements of the seasons, especially the transition
from one season to another. He or she also knows all the cutting words by heart (there are only about
eighteen) even if they are now archaic after the inevitable but sad modernisation of old Japanese in
late 19th century.

Compared with the complicated prosody and metre of English poetry, haiku rules are surprisingly
simple. It would be a poor excuse of the lesser poet to assert otherwise. There are no bad haiku rules,
only bad haiku poets.

Armed with the devices mentioned above, haiku can be a profound and sophisticated form of poetry
in spite of, or perhaps because of, its brevity. Complicated human thoughts and feelings can often be
reduced to a few words. These words, however, must be the very best words and must be put in the
best order. This is why it is easy enough to write a mediocre haiku and yet it is so extremely difficult to
write a good one. Deduct the number of syllables needed for a seasonal reference and for cutting
words from a haiku and you are left with an even smaller number of syllables with which to express
all your perceptions and emotions. For this reason it is the quality and originality of your perceptions
and the choice of right words put in the right order that will distinguish good haiku from the
mediocre.

In this creative tension lies the secret which can give a haiku incredible power and profound meaning
and enable it to reach eternity “through the evanescent”(2), realise universality through the specific,
and to grasp providence “through the commonplace”(3). This is not confined to Japanese haiku, for
William Blake could see “a World” and “a Heaven” in “a Grain of Sand” and in “a Wild Flower”, and
hold “Infinity” and “Eternity” in the “palm of your hand” and in “an hour”, respectively(4) and Hamlet
bantered he could be “…bounded in a nutshell…” and could count himself “…a king of infinite space…”
(Hamlet Act II Sc.2)

Haiku, then, is an art, as Donald Keene succinctly puts it, “… expressing much and suggesting more in
the fewest possible words.” A good haiku is a demanding and conscious form of poetry, positioned
somewhere nearer to silence than to speech. Moreover, by ostensibly presenting a microcosm, a good
haiku can actually depict a macrocosm. It is a rare art form, whereby the bare essentials of a poem are
expressed “before” rather than “after” all is said and done, making the “saying” and “doing” a rather
superfluous and even harmful activity. If talking is needed, the haiku in question cannot amount to
much.

DEVELOPMENT OF MODERN JAPANESE HAIKU

Modern Japanese haiku began in the middle years of the Meiji era (1868 ~ 1912) with the reform of
traditional haiku by Masaoka Shiki (1867 ~ 1902). His reform began to take effect in the early 1890s.
Until then traditional haiku had slipped back again to a low ebb and was in no way capable of dealing
with the changing requirements of the modern era, still less with the strong Western influence which
was fast engulfing this young and eager nation. Helped by his closest friends and followers, Shiki set
about elevating the status of haiku from a vulgar level to the status of proper literature. This proved a
formidable task, not only because Shiki and his fellow haiku reformers had to make sure that this old-
fashioned form of poetry made sense in the changed and changing condition of modern Japan, but
also because, for the first time, it was necessary to divest haiku of its connections with renga, or
linked verse. Right up to Shiki’s time it is the renga that had been the mainstay of the past haiku
masters, of which Basho is a supreme example, and commonly haiku had first been conceived as the
opening verse (called hokku) of a renga, and only later come to have a separate existence. With the
advent of modern Japanese society the renga had all but vanished as a viable poetic form. Haiku now
had to stand on its own.

Freeing haiku from its previous tendency of subjective indulgence and decadence, Shiki advocated the
importance of objectivity and the modesty with which the haiku poet should “sketch” what is out
there in nature rather than exercising poetic licence subjectively.

In forming his poetics, Shiki drew inspiration from Buson (1716 ~ 1783), whose paintings and haiku he
admired. Although Shiki could not complete the haiku reform because of his early death in 1902,
subsequent developments of modern haiku in Japan have revolved around his initiatives. For the rest
of this century haiku has been progressing along many avenues. However, even the most bigoted and
most avant-garde haiku poets have been unable to ignore the orthodox movement which was
promoted by Shiki and his prominent followers, most notably Takahama Kyoshi (1874 ~ 1959).

The scope of this paper does not allow us to follow the haiku movements after Shiki in any detail, nor
the numerous personalities who led them. Broadly, however, we can see a division between
traditionalists and anti-traditionalists. The former uphold the haiku rules we have already seen and
poetic values of a traditional nature such as poetic sincerity, love of nature and man’s involvement
with all that happens in the universe. The latter, on the other hand, regard the traditionalists’ way as
being too restricted and stifling. They see it as killing the free spirit and broader inspiration of the
poet, struggling to liberate haiku so that it may become something more than the strictly traditional
form of poetry. They often deny the 5-7-5 format, seasonal references and other grammatical rules
like kireji. Instead, they advocate free-verse, subjectivity more than objectivity, human-orientated
rather than nature-orientated viewpoints. They add thought and inspiration derived from sources
other than nature. These might include broader literary movements such as naturalism, political
creeds, human conscience and psychology, or metaphysical and religious quests.

Kyoshi led the traditionalists, who form the mainstream of modern Japanese haiku to this day. Based
on haiku clubs and associations, they publish their works and views on haiku in various haiku
magazines. The most notable of these are the Hototogisu, or common cuckoo, and the Tamamo, or
sea-weed. Apart from a few poets who broke away, such as Shuoshi (who ran the magazine Ashibi)
and Kusatao (who ran the Banryoku), the traditionalists have kept their solidarity, which has led to
their unprecedented popularity. An imposing array of talents have sprung from the Kyoshi School.
Among these were Toshio and Tatsuko, Kyoshi’s own children. Also, there arose such distinguished
followers as Seishi, Seison, Bosha, Dakotsu and Teijo, all of whom started their own schools, spreading
Kyoshi’s teachings still further afield. Two outstanding students already mentioned, Shuoshi and
Kusatao, became great modern haiku masters in their own right, spawning their own followers, such
as Hakyo and Shuson. The Kyoshi school has been the most stable and consistent of all the modern
haiku schools. His disciples and descendants are numbered in their millions. His own great grand-
children are in the front line of these.

The anti-traditionalist movement was started by Kawahigashi Hekigodo (1873 - 1937), Kyoshi’s friend,
who was with him another follower of Shiki. His movement came to be known as Shin Keiko, or New
Trend but soon collapsed, partly because of its too rapid and radical departure from tradition, but
more importantly because of the internal divisions which imploded, creating various splinter groups.
Some of these groups, such as Seisensui and Ippekiro succeeded in creating their own schools. Among
Seisensui’s many well-known pupils, Santoka was unique.

The Haiku poets who followed this anti-traditionalist line are too numerous to deal with here but one
name, that of Kaneko Tota (1919 -) should not be ommitted. He belongs to the Shuoshi School and
studied haiku under Shuson but his greatest contribution has been to generate the “avant-garde”
haiku and as a leading figure in today’s haiku circle in Japan he is helping to foster contemporary
haiku, influencing its future direction.

HOW HAIKU IS COMPOSED IN JAPAN IN PRACTICE

Let us look at some of the criteria for composing and appreciating Japanese haiku by quoting actual
works by modern Japanese haiku poets. The criteria reflect traditional practices but there are now
different schools of haiku which do not follow them. The following sections are presented as an
introduction to the former and not as a denial of the latter.

[ 1 ] The 5 - 7 - 5 Format (seventeen syllables)

(a) Examples following this rule

• Ka-ki ku-e-ba/ ka-ne ga na-ru-nari/ ho-u-ry-u-ji

575

(Eating a persimmon/ temple bell is ringing/ from Horyuji-temple = Shiki)

• Ki-ri hi-to-ha/ hi-a-ta-ri-na-ga-ra-/ o-chi-ni-ke-ri

575

(A single leaf of paulownia/ Has fallen:/ catching the sunlight/ As it went = Kyoshi)

• Tsu-bo-ni shi-te/ mi-ya-ma no ho-o no/ha-na hi-ra-ku

575

(Arranged in a vase/ deep mountain magnolia/ blossoms open = Shuoshi)

(b) Examples slightly breaking the rule (hacho)

These are called jiamari (excessive syllables) and jitarazu (insufficient syllables). They have been seen
since before Basho’s time.

• A-ka-i tsu-ba-ki/ shi-ro-i tsu-ba-ki to/ o-chi-ni-ke-ri

675

(Red camellia blossom, then/ White camellia blossom,/ Both fell to the ground = Hekigodo)

• Ya-ma no i-ro tsu-ri-a-ge-shi a-yu ni ugo-ku-nana

585

(The colours of the mountain move as I fish out the ayu-fish that I’ve just caught. = Hara

Sekitei)

• Su-mi-re ho-do na/ chi-i-sa-ki hi-to ni/ u-ma-re-ta-shi

675

(I wish I could be born again a person as small as a violet. = Natsume Soseki)

• Ya-ku-so-ku no/ka-n no tsu-ku-shi wo/ ni-te ku-da-sa-I

576

(Please cook for me the winter horsetail as you have promised. = Kawabata Bosha)

• U-sa-gi mo/ ka-ta-mi-mi ta-ru-ru/ ta-i-sho-ka-na

475

(Even a rabbit’s ear is bent, what heat! = Akutagawa Ryunosuke)

(c ) Examples completely ignoring, or denying the rule

• Na-tsu-a-sa hi-n-mi-n no ko ga hi-ki-ka-ka-e-ta-ru hi-to-tsu-no ky-a-be-tsu (26 syllables)

(Summer morn a child of the poor/ tugging and hugging/ a head of cabbage = Ippekiro)

• Se-ki wo shi-te mo hi-to-ri (9 syllables)

(coughing, even: alone = Hosai)

• To-ma-to wo ta-na-go-ko-ro ni, mi-ho-to-ke no ma-e ni, chi-chi-ha-ha no ma-e ni (26

syllables)

(with a tomato on the palm of my hand, my only offering, do I pray in front of Buddha, and in front of
my dead parents = Santoka)

• Wa-n-ky-o-ku-shi ya-ke-do-shi ba-ku-shi-n-chi no ma-ra-so-n (20 syllables)

(Bent and burnt/ the atomic-bomb site/ a marathon race = Tota)

[ 2 ] Season words
There are more than ten thousand season words and average haiku poets are estimated to use 500 to
1, 000 of them regularly. In the following examples, the underlined season words correspond with the
underlined part of the English versions.

(a) Season words expressly mentioning a particular season itself

• Are kuruu umi wo wasurete fuyugomori (winter)

(Oblivious to the raging sea I am keeping indoors for the winter. = Ikeuchi Takeshi)

• Endai ni ushirode wo tsuki aki no kumo (autumn)

(Sitting on a long stool and leaning backwards with my hands placed behind me, I look at

autumn clouds. = Tomiyasu Fusei)

• Kamogawa no mizu no kokoro no dokoka haru (spring)

(Somehow the soul of the water of Kamogawa River tells me that spring seems to be with us

somewhere. = Nomoto Eikyu)

• Aiida wo kikite Roma no natsu no tsuki (summer)

(Listening to Aida, I look up the summer moon over Rome. - Nishikawa Hiroko)

• Ikko no hitori ga kakuru nisshabyo (summer)

(One person is missing from our group, sun stroke = Bojo Toshiatsu)

• Waga koe no fukimodosaruru nowaki kana (autumn)

(My voice has been blown back by the strong autumn wind. = Naito Meisetsu)

(b) Season words as a symbol of a particular season, or events during that season

• Furu yuki ya Meiji wa tohku narinikeri (winter)

(Falling snow/ Ah, the Meiji era is now far behind! = Nakamura Kusatao)

• Hisho no ko ni uma yo bohto yo pinpon yo (summer)

(My daughter is enjoying riding a pony, rowing a boat and playing pingpong,

summer holiday. = Inahata Teiko)

• Tsuku tsue ni ho wo sasowaretsu ume biyori (spring)

(My steps are enticed by the walking stick towards plum blossoms on a [spring] day. = Ogata Kukyo)

• Himosugara sagiri nagaruru tani momiji (autumn)

(All day long thin fog flows along the red and yellow leaves of the valley. = Kawamura Saishu)

(c ) Season words inducing associations and inspiring imagination

• Usumetemo hana no nioi no kuzuyu kana (winter)

(Even thinned by hot water the arrowroot starch gruel has the smell of cherry blossoms. =

Watanabe Suiha)

• Toku obi no ashi ni matsuwari hanazukare (spring)

(Undoing the sash that coils round [my] legs, I am weary having been to a cherry blossom viewing. =
Mihara Sokyushi)

(d) Season words which are concrete “things”, or objects

• Hito taki ni kikuna no kaori iya tsuyoku (spring)

(The smell of chrysanthemum coronarium becomes even stronger as I give it a boil. = Takahama
Toshio)

• Uchiwa tome nani ka kokoro ni todometaru (summer)

(Waving of a fan stopped, something has occurred to me. = Mashimo Masuji)

(e) Historically well-established season words

• Ichi no yana, ni no yana Hida no akifukashi (autumn)

(Going from one weir to the next deeper into Hida mountain the autumn is ending. = Saito Hachiro)

• Yukuharu no mado ni taretaru tamoto kana (spring)

(Spring is ending, someone’s sleeve is hanging across the window. = Nomura Hakugetsu)

(f) Season words with double meaning

• Basu ware wo kareno ni hitori nokoshi saru (winter)

(The bus has dumped me and gone, leaving me standing all alone in the withered field. = Iwakiri
Tessho)

The withered field, being a winter season word, also represents the feeling of loneliness, desolation
and decay in Iwakiri’s heart.

• Banshu no hei no tsukitaru hitorigoto (autumn)

(End of autumn, end of the stone wall, too, I talk to myself. = Kimura Shigeo)

Here, end of autumn also indicates the end of the wall, and in turn the end of the poet’s linkage with
his fellow human beings.

• Mizubana ya hana no saki dake kure nokoru (winter)

(It has all become dark except the tip of my dripping nose. = Akutagawa Ryunosuke)

This haiku has a zensho (or, brief foreword), saying “self mockery” and is regarded as the jisei no ku
(or, death poem) of this talented but tragic novelist. The drip sitting on the tip of his nose is the winter
season word but Akutagawa, soon to commit suicide, compares his desperate and meaningless self to
it, sitting useless on the useless nose which is malfunctioning like his life itself.

Some of additional points on season words

• Other functions of season words are universality, commonality, depicting broader meanings in a
compact way.

• Kigasanari = using more than one season word in a single haiku, which is to be avoided. If there are
two, one becomes the leading season word.

• Kichigai = using words of different seasons in a haiku, which also should be avoided.

• Muki = using no season word, either by design or by default

[ 3 ] Kireji (cutting words)

Since kireji is purely a Japanese practice based on the linguistic and grammatical features, there is
practically no way of demonstrating it by trying to find the English equivalent. There are, however,
ways of gaining similar effects in English, such as the use of commas, semi colons, dots etc. but this is
not within the scope of this paper. (For basic understanding of kireji, see Higginson (4).)

[ 4 ] Other features of haiku

(a) Nouns, verbs, adjectives etc.

The general point to observe is to secure concreteness and immediacy and to avoid abstraction and
conceptualisation. Nouns are much more important than verbs or adjectives. Avoid abstract nouns
expressing such notions as beauty, happiness and honour. Names of actual flowers, birds and places
give immediate impact. Adjectives are a problem. Rather than “sad”, use concrete things to express
sadness.

(b) Particles, or “te-ni-wo-ha”

Japanese particles play an important role in haiku, clarifying direction, relationship, tense, spatial
positioning, subject/object articulation and all other grammatical inter-relationships. They therefore
play the same role as English prepositions, and word order. Being short, normally just one syllable
(e.g. ha, ga, ni, te, wo), the Japanese particles are ideal for haiku and are sometimes critical for the
success of a haiku.

(c ) Rhythms
The main source of haiku rhythm is the 5 - 7- 5 syllable format already discussed. It can be grouped in
one or other of two ways, i.e. either 5 + 12, or 12 + 5, but even then there is a notional pause between
7 and 5, or 5 and 7 within the 12 syllables.

(d) Sound properties

The sounds in Japanese are simpler and less varied than those in English. They also have much less
accent, stress and intonation, giving a somewhat monotonous, soft and flat impression. There are
only five vowels and in theory consonants are always followed by a vowel. Certain English sounds are
absent in Japanese, such as v, f, di as in dim. Other English sounds, most notably r and l, are bundled
together in a single sound.

The five vowels, a, i, u, e, o, are said to have the following “feelings”: -

a: grand, rich, bright and positive

i: light, sensitive

u: calm, melancholic

e: mild, elegant, sharp

o: bold, majestic

The rest of the fifty plus one sounds, which form all Japanese sounds, are created by adding these five
vowels to consonants, k, s, t, n, h, m, y, r/l, w. The last sound is a soft, nasal version of n. They are said
to have the following feelings: -

ka, ki, ku, ke, ko: strong, clean

sa, shi, su, se, so: sharp, soft

ta, chi, tsu, te, to: heavy, thick

na, ni, nu, ne, no: sticky

ha, hi, ju, he, ho: light, open

ma, mi, mu, me, mo: rich

ya, yi, yu, (ye), yo: cloudy, closed

ra, ri, ru, re, ro: fluid, smooth

(la, li, lu, le, lo)

wa, (wi), (wu), (we), wo: loud, open

(e) “Rhyming”
Rhyming in haiku is neither as prominent nor as important as in English poems. Its abuse could even
make a haiku gimmicky and artificial but used well it can help create a sophisticated and dramatic
haiku. Its position is not restricted to the ends but frequently found within the lines. In this sense
haiku rhyme is more like refrain explained in the next section and perhaps should not be called rhyme
at all in the sense used in English or Chinese poems.

• Yama mata yama yamazakura mata yamazakura

(Mountain after mountain, mountain cherry trees after mountain cherry trees = Awano Seiho)

• Ikikawari shinikawari shite utsu ta kana

(generation after generation cultivate these rice fields = Murakami Kijo)

• Chiru sakura umi aokereba umi e chiru

(Falling cherry flowers fall into the sea - that sea which is blue = Takaya Soshu)

• Koineko no koisuru neko de oshitohsu

(Cats in love will persist as cats in love = Nagata Koi)

• Ajisai ya ao ni kimarishi aki no ame

(Hydrangea has settled its colour to blue; autumn rain = Shiki)

(f) Refrain

• Yuki naran sayo no Nakayama yoru naran

(It must be snowing at Sayo no Nakayama, it must be night. = Hekigodo)

• Samukaro, kayukaro, hito ni aitakaro

(You must be cold, you must be itching and you must be wanting to see other human beings. = Shiki)

• Kono aki no uragareno yuku karenoyuku

(This autumn I am crossing the desolate fields and going across the desolate fields. = Kyoshi)

• Uragaeshi mata uragaeshi taiga haku

(Sweeping a big moth, it turns one side up and then the other side up. = Maeda Fura)

• Kanbotan sakishiburi shiburi keri

(Winter peonies, reluctant to flower, very reluctant to flower. = Hino Sojo)

• Monono me no hogure hogururu asane kana

(Buds are opening and opening; I am still in bed in the morning. = Matsumoto Takashi)

• Tsuki ichirin toko ichirin hikariau

(One moon, one frozen lake, shining at each other. = Hashimoto Takako)

GUIDELINES

Last but not least, some useful guidelines can be gleaned from the various teachings and advice given
by three centuries of haiku masters and practitioners, from Basho to Kyoshi.

• Try to write a haiku only about what actually happens to you (i.e. avoid fictitious, or imaginary
renderings).

• Try to write a haiku, only when you have been deeply moved, strongly inspired and poetically
touched by the subject matter (i.e. do not “fake” poetic feelings).

• Try to write a haiku immediately after the haiku feeling has hit you and do not leave it for too long.
Alterations and changes are an essential part of haiku-writing process but do not linger or elaborate. If
it does not write easily, leave it and do something else.

• Try to reject clichés, hackneyed expressions and words, or even deep feelings if they have been used
time and time again by countless haiku poets.

• Try not to use embellishment, or lay it on thick, even if you have hit on a brilliant idea. Be honest,
simple, clear, straightforward and modest.

• Try not to “explain”. Haiku is not science and should need no explanation if it is good.

• Try not to “conceptualise”, “intellectualise”, “philosophise”, “moralise”, or “theorise”.

• Try not to “report”. “Express” it.

• Try not to be “clever”, gimmicky, over-witty, artificial, presumptuous, too precious, mysterious,
esoteric. Just be “natural”.

• Try not to express your raw and subjective feelings such as being “happy”, “sad”, “lonely”, “glad” in
so many words. Express them by presenting some concrete actions, objects etc. (e.g. Even coughing, I
do all alone.) and let the concrete image speak for itself.

• Try to keep some detachment even in the most dire circumstances and preserve always a sense of
humour. Haiku is not in the business to be cold or unkind but it is not about wallowing in raw
sentiments in misery either. Always remember that haiku originated from haikai no renga (or, comic
renga) and the sense of humour remains a prerequisite of the haiku spirit.

• Try not to explain the minutiae but the essentials and leave the rest to the readers’ imagination. If
your haiku feeling is deep your haiku will be deep. If you are deep so much more will be your haiku.
Good haiku comes from your whole being like a good singing voice from the singer’s whole body and
from his mind and from his entire life.

NOTE
(1) The crucial question is whether to speak in English in phrases of 5 or 7 English syllables would equally
be easy and natural for a native speaker of English. This would challenge the validity of writing haiku in
English by automatically and possibly uncritically employing 5-7-5 syllable format without any regard to
the linguistic differences of the two languages. Efforts need to be made to find the right length of haiku
in English as well as the number of lines, which would be most natural and satisfying for the native
English to say or hear. The Japanese format should serve only as a basis or guideline for such an
exercise. This is why the polemics over whether haiku in English should be of three lines or four lines
sometimes sound like missing the point. Maybe the best guide would be Pound’s belief “in an ‘absolute
rhythm’ …in poetry which corresponds exactly to the emotion or shade of emotion to be expressed.” For
some hints, see pp. 100 - 106, particularly p. 105 of The Haiku Handbook - How to Write, Share and
Teach Haiku, William J. Higginson, Kodansha International, 1985.

(2) Classic Haiku - A Master’s Selection, Yuzuru Miura, Charles E. Tuttle Company, 1991, p. 7

(3) op.cit., Yuzuru Miura, p. 7

(4) The original verse by Blake goes: -

To see a World in a Grain of Sand,

And a Heaven in a Wild Flower,
Hold infinity in the palm of your hand,
And Eternity in an hour.

(Auguries of Innocence, William Blake 1757-1827)

Haiku Poems after Taneda Santoka

THE MEANINGLESSNESS OF WRITING SANTOKA-LIKE HAIKU AFTER HIM
by Susumu Takiguchi
http://sites.google.com/site/worldhaikureview2/themeaninglessnessofwritingsantoka-likeh

The literal meaning of haiku poems written by Santoka Taneda (1882-1940) is not that difficult to
convey in translation into different languages. This is mainly because his words are clear, specific and
plain. However, the style, choice of words and the rhythm of his haiku so distinct in the original
Japanese get largely lost in translation. They are so distinct that ironically it is not difficult at all to
create Santoka-like haiku in Japanese.

As far as I know, there has been little attempt by any Japanese haiku writers to compose haiku in the
style of Santoka or even by imitating his works. In his days there were obviously poets of the vers libre
school such as the group called Soun, who wrote haiku poems similar in style to Santoka, and of
course there was Hosai Ozaki (1885-1926). This is somewhat puzzling when compared with poets like
Kyoshi Takahama (1874-1959) in whose style millions of Japanese haiku poets have written their
works. There are millions of copycats for Kyoshi and none for Santoka.

Among the reasons for this strange phenomenon I can think of, the following seem most important.
Firstly, though the technical side of Santoka’s haiku (e.g. style, choice of words or ordinary events etc.)
may be clear and therefore easy to imitate, the deeper meaning and philosophy of it are not easy to
fathom or grasp. Secondly, it is not easy and may even be impossible for anyone to write Santoka-like
haiku by mimicking him superficially without leading a life half as much desperate, poverty-stricken,
reliant on other people’s alms, self-indulgent and self-mocking as Santoka’s. In short, they may
imitate his haiku but can they be beggars?

Whatever the reason, it is odd that no one seems to be interested in writing haiku in the style of
Santoka in a country where so many other things get copied almost overnight. My own strong feeling
is that Santoka alone could write haiku that he wrote. Even stronger is my conviction that there just
isn’t any point in producing imitations of Santoka’s works in the same sense as there is no point in
producing imitations of Picasso’s works.

I wish to prove the two observations I have made by creating my own versions of Santoka-like haiku:
(1) It is easy to create Santoka-like haiku; (2) However, there is absolutely no point in doing so.

The first ten haiku poems were written by me on 2 May 2000 after Santoka. They were written in
Japanese as Japanese haiku and then translated into English.

winter rain in the mountains

my ankles are also wet

lying down
my friends are but fireflies

hopeless me
looking at violets

I can die any time now

walking along the rice paddy foot-path

the body that cannot die

is it going along the straight road?

hill after hill have I come

delicious water

picnic lunch with pickled vegetables

what blue sea!
8

even if they are withered still they are weeds

are they hails

that are making noises on my kasa sedge-hat?

10

back in hometown
no friends
tsukutsuku-bohshi cicadas

Some additional examples (from No. 11 to No. 30) were written on 25 and 26 October 2003 while
travelling the Island of Hirado, Nagasaki Prefecture.)

11

aki no umi migi to hidari, yama he modoru

the autumn sea, right and left

I climb back to the mountains

Note: Santoka is said to have disliked the sea

12

shima dakara moh aruku saki ga nai

as this is an island
no more road to walk on

13

shi no tabi ni dete mata nonde iru

on a journey to death
I am still drinking

14

asa kara shigurete suso ga nureta

winter rain since morning

the bottom of my robe’s got wet

15

youta ato ni mizu wo itadaku

after becoming tipsy

I drink water
16

sake wo nomi amadare no oto wo sakana ni

drinking sake
with the sound of raindrops
as my companion

17

shima wo dete mata ayumi tsuzukeru

leaving the Island,

once again I go on walking

18

kono michi wo aise-nai jibun ga aruku

I who am unable
to love this road
walk

19

shima zutai ni aruite wa ike-nu

I cannot walk on,

hopping these islands

20

massugu na michi wa kono shima ni nai

no straight roads
on this Island

21

aki ni natte kono hashi wo futatabi watatta

autumn
I have crossed this bridge
again

Note: Santoka wrote a haiku poem talking about never crossing a bridge again.

22

nohkotsu no hokora no naka wo akikaze ga fuku

into the hollow

where the ashes are about to be placed
blows autumn wind
23

karasu ga hikuku tobu yo

crows flying low

24

taigan ga aru-kara aruku no da

because there is that opposite shore

I am walking

25

shi no yuwaku ni mo yoru no hoshi

temptation to take my life,

night stars

26

shima ni kite mo shi ga semaru

even coming to this Island,

death is just behind me

27

shine nai jibun ni nani ga dekiru

what can I do
who cannot even
die?

28

nugi-suteru koromo mo nai

no clothes
even to cast off

29

hai ni natte shimaeba sono mama

once ashes
that’s it!

30

kusatta karin wo mite sabishii

gazing at
a rotten quince,
I feel lonely

Hino Sôjô (1901-1956)

Go-Shichi-Go [5-7-5] / The life, loves and sad fate of a haiku rebel
by Susumu Takiguchi
Yomiuri Shinbun, 01/09/2006

We saw in the last Go-Shichi-Go how Shuoshi Mizuhara started his haiku career as a darling student of
Kyoshi Takahama, and ended up rebelling against him. This month we will look at another haijin who
met a similar fate.

Sojo Hino (1901-1956)

beni-tsutsuji/hana michite ha wa/kakure keri

red azalea...
as its flowers bloom fully
the leaves get hidden

As it gets warmer in April or May, depending on where you are in Japan, you will notice the bright
green leaves of azalea begin to appear. The next thing you see is that these same bushes have become
covered with flowers almost overnight. The transformation is spectacular, especially at a time when
people are missing the recently fallen cherry blossoms. The world now seems to be suddenly more
optimistic, joyful and merry. Such emotion is what makes this rather statement-of-the-obvious haiku
remarkable. Also, his attention was more on the leaves (which people normally overlook) than on the
flowers (the conventional focus of attention).
Sojo was a talent whose achievement may have been underestimated. Let us see if we can give him a
proper reappraisal.

haru no kumo/nagamete oreba/ugoki keri

spring clouds...
as I am watching them,
they've moved

Spring is a sleepy, milky and relaxed time. Clouds often seem stationary. However, this is conventional
wisdom. Sojo seems to have accepted such conventional views, but has given them a twist (the
surprise at seeing what seems stationary start to move). That was his art and it was his way of life,
too.

matsukaze ni/sasowarete naku/semi hitotsu

a single cicada...
enticed by the wind in the pines,
begins to cry

Using ingredients from classical Japanese poetry--the wind blowing through pine trees and a cicada--
Sojo focuses on the fact that there is only one cicada (it is rare to hear only one cicada). This is his
twist, however mild it may be.

Whether the wind actually lured the cicada into its singing is a moot point. It is more likely to have
been a reflection of the author's own sensibility. However, what is most important about this haiku is
that in a subtle way Sojo was comparing himself to the lone cicada. Unlike Shuoshi, who put nature
before man, Sojo put human affairs, especially his own, at the heart of his haiku-writing.

kuchishi mune/kujaku to shite/fuyu-gomori

my rotten chest...
all empty and forlorn,
winter hibernation

Sojo suffered from pulmonary tuberculosis (then called consumption) from the age of 44--an illness
that four years later forced him to resign from his job at a leading insurance company where he had
worked for the previous quarter of a century. Many haiku he wrote regarding his illness are moving
and sometimes even painful to read. His best haiku can be found among these poems, as well as
among his love haiku. He was a well-educated person, having studied law at the Kyoto University.
However, unlike some other intellectual haiku poets Sojo was not pedantic, but natural; not brainy,
but sensual; and not detached or aloof, but passionate and tactile.

mienu me no/ho no megane no/tama mo fuku

that lens of my spectacles

that covers my blind eye,
I clean all the same

Sojo lost the sight in his right eye.

ugan ni wa/miezaru tsuma o/sagan nite

my right eye
cannot see my wife; I look at her
with my left eye

This is one of his best love haiku. Without using any flowery language or beautiful words like
Shakespeare's sonnets, he captured the essence of a man's true love for his life companion.

miyuru ka to/suwareba miyuru/to-zakura

distant cherry blossom...

I sit down asking myself, "Can I see the blossom?"
Yes, I can!

This haiku reminds me of some of Shiki's haiku about the flowers he tried to see from his sickbed.
katame nite/mi-sadamen to su/haru no hae

spring fly...
I make sure I'm seeing it
with one eye

Was he trying to swat the fly? Or, was he just unable to see it clearly? Either way, a lot of pathos and
the Issa-like sense of humor in this haiku make us smile, and cry...

saishi o ninau/katame, katahai/kare-te-ashi

supporting my wife
and children, with one eye, one lung,
and worn limbs

This haiku has a maegaki (foreword), saying "gambare Sojo," or "Sojo, cheer up!" What is there is not
so much self-mockery or self-pity as a simple sense of humor. He was too philosophical and mature
about his misfortunes to wallow in them. Such was his realism that it was as if there was, inside the
poet, another person who was cool and detached enough to depict the realities as relentlessly as, say,
Rembrandt or Courbet did in their paintings.

utsukushiki/hito o mikakenu/haru asaki

early spring...
I chanced to see
a beauty

Sojo elevated a man's love of women to the height of poetic elegance and beauty. Whether or not he
meant his wife when he referred to a woman, or someone else, or even an imaginary womanhood, is
really neither here or there. From his many haiku on his wife the strong message coming across is that
he was devoted to her. The quality and depth of his love for a woman made these haiku special.

hatsu-kaya no/shimi-jimi aoki/ose kana

how green it is,

the mosquito net first used in the season!
--our clandestine rendezvous

A mosquito net is often used as one of the popular "stage props" for the drama of sensual love in
Japanese literature and also in such art forms as ukiyo-e. The color of the net varies but green is the
most common. If you are lovers, once inside one of these you feel more intimate, romantic, private
and aroused.

hitori-ne no/kaya no yosumi o/tsuri meguru

sleeping alone...
I move about to hang the four corners
of the mosquito net
At the other end of the spectrum from romantic bliss is when you have to sleep alone under the
Japanese mosquito net. What should the exciting, expectation-filled task of hanging it, turns into a
boring and lonely chore.

haru-samu ya/futatabi aenu/hito no kao

spring cold...
the face of a woman I will
never meet again

As this woman cannot be his wife, the haiku must be talking about a love affair which had come to an
end. The haiku is in an anthology published in 1932 when he was 31 and, yes, still sighted in both
eyes. Sojo was known for huge eyes and a fixed gaze. One can imagine him taking a long and careful
look at this lady before saying good-bye, so that the image got etched in his memory.

tebukuro o/nugu te nagamuru/ose kana

looking at hands
taking off the gloves...
our clandestine meeting

Another "gazing" haiku. Because of the nature of Japanese we cannot tell whose hand or hands we
are talking about, or whether it is a glove, a pair of gloves or two pairs of gloves we are talking about.
In other words, we cannot tell who is looking at whose hand(s).
This kind of grammatical ambiguity can be frustrating. However, in this case it leaves all sorts of
details to the imagination of the reader, which in a sense makes this haiku fascinating. It could be that
the woman has just been ushered into the man's warm room or house and the first thing they want to
do is to hold each other's hands. It could even be their first such meeting. Or, it could be that they are
outside in a cold park or street. It is most likely, though, that Sojo was looking at the lady's hands and
admiring the beauty of them with anticipation.

Can the Spirit of Haiku be translated?

by Susumu Takiguchi
This paper is based on the talk given at an academic conference, the Study Day 'Traduire la contrainte'
St. Hugh College, Oxford, 19th June 1999

Haiku Is a Way of Life

Haiku is more than poetry. It is a way of life. At the beginning of the 20th century, an Oxford professor
of poetry, A. C. Bradley said, "In true poetry it is impossible to express the meaning in any but its own
words, or to change the words without changing the meaning." (1) This has the same resonance with
T. S. Eliot who, when receiving a question from my own wife when she was a school girl as to what the
eyes meant in his 'The Hollow Men poem', replied curtly to the effect that the words he had written
meant exactly what they said.
I have a theory that if we take Bradley's remark to its logical conclusion, the popular adage that only
poets understand other poets poems is not only true but may be an understatement. This is because,
somewhere in their mental process it is unavoidable for them to try to interpret the original poems of
other poets. Such interpretation involves changing the words, which is an equivalent of translation,
and thus changing the meaning of the original. Moreover, poets may not necessarily understand their
own poems even! Then, who indeed can understand poems? Only the One up there, or muses?

This theory ceases to be facetious the moment we are confronted with problems of translating
poems. Because translation of poems is further down the line of the same mental activity which we
call interpretation. There is no avoiding the same issue of interpreting poems correctly, whether they
are written by other poets or by oneself. If it is difficult to understand poems in one's own language,
what hope is there for one to understand poems of other countries through translation? Thus
translating haiku poems seems at first an absolute impossibility.

Visible and Invisible Constraints

In this paper, we will follow Bradley's dictum and look into the issues of translating haiku in a negative
way in order to see whether there will be anything positive left, and if so, whether such positive
values may lead to any viable literary merits. We will restrict ourselves to dealing with traditional
Japanese haiku poems only and also to translating them into English. We shall not deal with
translating haiku from English into Japanese, or between any other languages.

It is useful to divide different constraints imposed on translating traditional Japanese haiku (hereafter,
only haiku) into English into two categories: visible , or formal constraints and invisible, or non-formal
constraints. The former are more of technical nature, the hard-ware of haiku, if you will, and are less
difficult to overcome, while the latter are concerned with contents, or the soft-ware of haiku, which
are far more difficult to deal with, sometimes simply impossible. Both need to be addressed properly
for good translations to become achievable. We must heed against a common mistake that if one
follows form, then one can attain the substance.

Different Versions of the Same Haiku

Before going into details of that analysis, let us just see the actual translation of one particular haiku,
which is arguably the most famous of all haiku poems the world has ever produced but which is, in my
opinion, one of the most misunderstood and misleading haiku as well. It is, of course, Basho's frog
haiku.

An old pond
A frog jumps in -
Sound of water.
(Geoffrey Bownas and Anthony Thwaite)

This is probably one of the most orthodox and literal translations of the haiku, a benchmark against
which other translations can be assessed. However, there are said to be over one hundred and
seventy versions of this haiku in English alone. How different are they? Are they correct or good
translations anyway? We shall look at only a handful of them from a book(2) especially edited to
show such vast differences in the translation of the same haiku.

The old pond!

A frog jumps in -
Sound of the water.
(Nippon Gakujutsu Shinkokai)

An ancient pond!
With a sound from the water
Of the frog as it plunges in.
(W. G. Aston)

The old pond, aye! And the sound of a frog leaping into the water.
(Basil Hall Chamberlain)

The old pond.

A frog jumps in -
Plop!
(R. H. Blyth)

The ancient pond

A frog leaps in
The sound of the water. (Donald Keene)

The old green pond is silent; here the hop

Of a frog plumbs the evening stillness: plop!
(Harold Stewart)

The old pond

A frog jumped in,
Kerplunk!
(Allen Ginsberg)

Breaking the silence

Of an ancient pond,
A frog jumped into water -
A deep resonance.
(Nobuyuki Yuasa)

The quiet pond

A Frog leaps in,
The sound of the water.
(Edward G. Seidensticker)

The old pond -

A frog leaps in,
And a splash.
(Makoto Ueda)
The still old pond
and as a frog leaps in it
the sound of a splash
(Earl Miner)

Ancient pond unstirred

Into which a frog has plunged,
A splash was heard.
(Kenneth Yasuda)

Old pond
a frog leaps in
water's sound.
(William J. Higginson)

Listen! A frog
Jumping into the stillness
Of an ancient pond!
(Dorothy Briton)

ancient pond -
a frog jumping into its splash
(R. Clarence Matsuo-Allard)

pond
frog
plop!
(James Kirkup)

Oh thou unrippled pool of quietness

Upon whose shimmering surface, like the tears
Of olden days, a small batrachian leaps,
The while aquatic sounds assail our ears.
(Lindley Williams Hubbell)

There once was a curious frog

Who sat by a pond on a log
And, to see what resulted,
In the pond catapulted
With a water-noise heard round the bog.
(in the style of limerick)

A frog who would a-water-sounding go

Into some obscure algae-covered pool
had best be sure no poetasting fool
Is waiting in the weeds and, to his woe,
Commemorates his pluck so all will know
His name and lineage, not for the fine school
He learned to sing at, nor, to make men drool
The flavor of his leg from thigh to toe.

He will not for his mother be remembered,

Nor for his father's deeds, his honor bright,
Nor for his brother's leg dismembered,

And eaten by a king with rare delight.

He will be famous simply for the sorta
Noise he makes just when he hits the water.
(in the style of sonnet)

Difficulties of Translating: the Case of the Frog Haiku

I have already pointed out that this famous haiku by Basho was one of the most misunderstood and
misleading haiku poems. Let me try and justify such a daring and quite possibly suicidal assertion. The
following points are the main aspects of common misunderstanding about this haiku. However, these
points are seldom heard. Probably for that reason they are relatively unknown.

• We seldom see in Japan a single frog around a pond in the springtime. What we normally witness is
a group of frogs, sometimes even countless numbers of them. A frog or frogs are a season word for
spring. When and on what ground did we decide that the haiku was talking about a single frog and not
a number of, or many frogs? Only three translations use the plural frogs out of 130 or so in the book.
The question of how many frogs are involved in the haiku is a crucial point which affects the
interpretation of the haiku's mood and its main thrust.

• Frogs tend to jump into the water all the time, one after another, or simultaneously, or at random,
in spring time. Why should it be a single splash?

• Frogs are noisy in spring when this haiku is believed to have been composed. They are a symbol of
merriment, colour, life and bustling movements of the springtime, which is a celebration of life on
earth. This is particularly the case in their mating time. It is the frogs' chorus, often boisterous, that
has been the main theme of haiku, bearing this season word. Which explains why it was such an
original and innovative departure when Basho tuned his poetic sensibility into the sound of water
rather than into the croaking of the frogs. How was it, then, that such a loquacious and busy scene
was doctored and philosophised into a symbol of stillness, loneliness and tranquillity?

• Also, frogs have been liked by the Japanese haijin for their comic and haiku-like (light-hearted and
with a sense of humour) quality. It is known that the first version of the jumping of frogs in Basho's
haiku was "tondari" as opposed to "tobikomu" in the final version. "Tondari" is a much more
dramatic, graphic, outlandish and comic expression and very much more in line with the Danrin
School. What this indicates is the possibility that Basho was initially toying with the idea of a
humorous, light-hearted and even comical scene of the frog(s) jumping and splashing with joy. It is
only later that he might have turned to more modest, rustic and serious tone. Here one detects
Basho's own poetic licence. As can be seen in Basho's other writings and poems, especially in the
"Narrow Road to the Deep North", he often changed facts into fictitious situations for literary effect.
It would not be surprising if he had done the same in the frog haiku.

• In the meeting of spring 1686 (1681 or 1682, according to some) at the second Basho-an when this
haiku is believed to have been created, one of Basho's disciples, Kikaku, suggested that the first five
syllables of the poem should be yamabuki-ya (Japanese yellow rose, kerria japonica). Yamabuki had
long been used in connection with frogs in the Japanese classic poetic tradition*. The brilliant yellow
of yamabuki is another symbol of spring. The episode suggests that there must have been a joyful
feeling among the large gathering with Basho. Therefore, the melancholic stillness normally attributed
to this haiku is either an outright mistake, or at least an overplay, a typical example of fukayomi, or
"reading too much into haiku". Such interpretation, it has been pointed out, could be an invention for
propaganda purposes by some of Basho's followers in order to promote the Basho school. The
rejection of "yamabuki-ya" in favour of "furuike-ya" (the old pond) is yet another example of Basho's
originality and innovative faculty, quite apart from the fact that the former would have constituted
kigasanari (season word duplication), which probably would not have mattered at that time. Basho
preferred the "modest" old pond to the "gorgeous" yamabuki. Whatever the cause, this
interpretation of stillness has been accentuated by over-zealous Western haiku poets to whom such
interpretation suited and has permeated the whole world as an undisputed or indisputable single
interpretation.

• "Eternity", which is also often mentioned as an attribute of this haiku, is a different story all
together. One can feel "eternity" looking at an old pond with or without the song or splash of frogs. A
single frog making a single splash and creating a single sound in between the silence of the infinite
past and the silence of the eternal future sounds slightly too good to be true.

• Some brave commentators in Japan have even gone so far as to say that this world-famous haiku is
not that brilliant and that in fact it is rather mediocre. I personally do not subscribe to that school of
thought but the haiku may possibly have been somewhat over-rated. The choice of the old pond for
the first five and the choice of the sound of water rather than the singing of the frogs turned this
haiku from an ordinary work into one with eternal relevance and universal appeal. As I have already
pointed out, the greatest significance of this haiku lies in its originality and innovative nature. It is
referred to as "Shofu kaigan no ku" (the eye-opener, or enlightenment of the Basho School) For
Basho, this haiku was like "Demoiselles d'Avignon" for Picasso. If people have been overestimating its
merit, it is largely due to the one-sided interpretation of the "stillness" school.

• If the comments I have made here were to be established as reasonable, the whole understanding
of haiku in the West might well have to go through a serious rethinking, or worse still, a fundamental
correction.

Part One: Visible, or Formal Constraints

We now turn to what I call visible constraints (or formal constraints) in translating haiku in Japanese
into English. Since the three most important rules of traditional Japanese haiku are season words
(kigo or yuki), 5-7-5 syllables (teikei) and cutting words (kireji), let us briefly examine them first. The
traditional Japanese haiku is often referred to as "yuki-teikei" to distinguish it from the more modern
free verse haiku.
Season words (kigo)

Haiku is a nature poetry as the Japanese have long developed a keen perception of changing seasons.
Could that perception be translated into English? The constraints in this regard are as follows:

1. Difference of kind: there is no tsuyu (sticky rainy season) in Britain while there is no humid winter in
Japan. Difference in seasonal events.

2. Difference of degree: What English people feel hot temperature in summer would be cool to the
Japanese skin. What English people feel a mild winter would be a bitter one for the average Japanese.

3. Difference of perception: To most Japanese the moon still means a lot in their perception of beauty
and poetic sentiment. The moon is no more than an object of scientific enquiry to many English
people. The Japanese are more emotional, sentimental while these qualities are disliked by the British
who are more pragmatic, unromantic and reliant on the power of reason. One man's meat is another
man's poison.

4. Difference of priority: On the whole human affairs are more important to English people than
nature, which is subjugated to human exploitation. Nature is an ornament to decorate man-made
objects and not something to be respected in her own right. The Japanese have helped to destroy
nature in modern times but they are still akin to nature and regard themselves at one with nature.

These differences tend to make the translation of Japanese haiku into English unsatisfactory,
inaccurate and even irrelevant.

5-7-5 So-called Syllables (teikei)

There is a consensus about the rhythm and form of Japanese haiku. As a representative argument, we
will undertake basic analysis based on the summary by Keiko Imaoka.

It has already been established that it does not make sense to apply a feature inherent in Japanese to
a totally different language such as English. Here the so-called Japanese 5-7-5 "syllables" are not the
same thing as syllables in English. Therefore, it is wrong to write haiku in English in 5-7-5 English
syllables. Not only the quality of English syllables is different from their Japanese cousins but also the
same number of English syllables carry much more information than in Japanese. Therefore, haiku in
5-7-5 English syllables carry too much information than their Japanese counterpart, making the
English version wordy and defying the rule of brevity in haiku.

"Onsei" is Japanese syllables. However, in haiku "haku", or a beat=jion should be used. Haku is the
smallest unit of aural sound of daily Japanese and forms the basis for Japanese verse. Japanese haku
(beat) is very articulate, short and distinct like staccatos, e.g. sa-ku-ra. Haku can be subdivided into
phonemes (on-so) which is just an academic concern.

Japanese vowels are called 'bo-in'. There are five bo-in=5 vowels, a, i, u, e, and o. There used be 8
vowels until Heian. (5 vowels , the same with Spanish, Latin; 3 in Arabic, 11 in French, 9 in Korean) On
the other hand, Japanese consonant is called shi-in and there are 14 of them, very few compared with
other languages.
There are very few Japanese word having only one haku (beat), e.g. tsu, su, ta, ki, etc. Two haku
(beats) is really the length which is comfortable for the Japanese. In spoken Japanese each mora is
more or less the same length-the same is hardly true for English syllables. English also has more
prominent accents than Japanese, which really gets in the way sometimes when you try to make the
syllables match - simply put, English words are such that you don't necessarily get rhythmical
smoothness just by having five syllables. This makes a 5-7-5 division that makes no provisions for
accented and unaccented syllables less natural for the English language. (Shimpei Yamashita)

Cutting words (kireji)

Cutting words are certain particles of old Japanese and it is almost impossible to find the English
equivalent for the same effect, except for effective use of such things as colons, semi-colons and
caesuras.

kumatagari (enjambment)=Not all Japanese haiku can be divided into three arts (5-7-5). Sometimes, a
word, or phrase, stretches into two parts. This is called kumatagari and sometimes poses difficulty
when translating such haiku into English.

brevity=Brevity is the soul of wit The point is not to say as much in the [single poem] as possible, by
condensing and compacting, but perhaps to say as little as possible that will sketch the scene! I like to
think of haiku as sculpture, where we are trying to chip away the excess material (of experience) to
reveal the clear image within. If we leave any of the 'extra' stone, the result is less sharp and clear.
(Kim Hodges)

Vagueness of Japanese= The vague nature of Japanese leaves the translator with all sorts of
possibilities of interpretation. When putting it into English, he/she will have to choose one option.

old Japanese (still used extensively in haiku)=Arguably more difficult to learn than modern Japanese.

reversed syntax=In many instances the syntax in Japanese is the opposite to that in English. This
makes it difficult for the translator to use the original Japanese syntax in the English version.

other word order= English pre-positions are post-positions in Japanese. There are other grammatical
constraints (determining the subject, dropped subjects, singular/plural, taigen-dome, tohchi-ho, etc.)
which poses problems for translation.

rhyme= Rhyming is not the main feature of haiku. It is partly because of the phonetic properties of
Japanese. Also, rhyming in haiku makes it artificial and affected, the characteristics contrary to the
spirit of haiku. To rhyme the English versions of Japanese haiku would often give them definite poetic
form and make them "sound like" English poems. For precisely that reason, rhyming is rather disliked
in today's haiku in English.

Images=haiku relies heavily on pictorial images. However, Japanese images are different from those
of English.

Refrain=The Japanese refrain does not translate well into English.

Part Two: Invisible, or Non-formal Constraints

Let us now look at the invisible, or non-formal constraints to translating haiku in Japanese into
English. This part is more difficult to evaluate not least because it tries to deal with the characteristics
of Japanese haiku, which are not readily visible or knowable.

hai'i (haiku spirit, or haiku feeling)= This is arguably the most important element of Japanese haiku,
without which a haiku poem would be boring and soul-less. Originally, 'hai' was derived from a
Chinese word, haikai, meaning 'comic'. This phrase was used in "haikai no renga" (comic renga=linked
verse), to distinguish the new form of poetry from the classical and elegant form of linked verse,
called simply "renga". It was then taken up by Basho who elevated the meaning to a more refined
value. Basho's broadened definition was anti-traditional and was characterised by freedom of
rendering, search for new subjects, language and perceptions and a refined sense of humour. Thus
hai'i became an independent aesthetic and literary value, distinct from that of waka. However, this is
the most difficult feeling to explain to non-Japanese and to translate into their languages.

haiku no kokoro (the soul of haiku)=Similar to hai'I, this refers to the soul, or feeling, of haiku which
permeate an individual's way of thinking, psychological attitude to things and generally his or her way
of life. The words used in a haiku can have such soul, or feeling (not just season words) The subjects or
objects to be used in a haiku, e.g. animals, plants, flowers or objects which evokes haiku soul.

haigon (words having haiku feeling)=words traditionally used for haiku in Japan are different from
traditional poetry and assume characteristics peculiar to haiku. Haigon reflect the distinct way in
which the haiku poet observes the world: an outlook with a slight twist, sense of humour, direct and
concrete. Haigon express the hai'i explained above.

yojo (lingering echo of feeling, 'aftertaste'=the ringing sound after the bell is tolled is often compared
to the lingering echo after reading a haiku. A good haiku often has this yojo and like a good aftertaste
of fine wines give the prolonged pleasure to the reader.

fuga no makoto (poetic truth)=perhaps the most important of all Basho's teachings. Haiku without
fuga no makoto is shallow, bland and artificial, however cleverly it is written. This is particularly true
with modern haiku where "imagination" and "invention" are given a place in haiku composition,
which can slip easily into false emotion and faked sensibility, lacking fuga no makoto. However, what
constitutes fuga no makoto is difficult to define, let alone transmit into different languages.

furyu (special taste of artistic and poetic nature)=another term impossible to translate. It is translated
as elegance, taste and refinement. However, there is no accounting for tastes. A person with furyu is a
person of a romantic turn of mind, one of refined taste and loves art, literature, particularly poems.
He or she is somewhat removed from the mundane affairs and lives a life of leisure, indulging in
cultural pursuits and accomplishment.

wabi, sabi, karumi=One can write a long thesis on each one of these. These are some of the most
important poetic values which Basho developed in the haikai. The meanings of wabi (patina, rustic
beauty and loneliness), sabi (melancholic sense of beauty) and karumi (lightness) are well-
documented elsewhere and do not detain us here.

honkadori (allusion to a classical poems)=a haiku which 'borrows' an anecdote from the old times,
which have been told in classic poems.
cultural constraints (indigenous, local events, music, art)=especially those events, cultural values
which are 'unique' to Japan and which, therefore, have no equivalents in other cultures.

human senses (smell, colour, sound, tactile sense etc.)=haiku is a form of poetry which reflects human
senses strongly and make a good use of them for effect.

Summary characteristics of haiku

Brevity, immediacy, particularity(concreteness), directness(subject, experience, sensory directness);

concrete subjects, plainness, spontaneity & poetic naturalness, seasonal perception, poetic sincerity,
haiku-feelings, delicacy of feelings, use of image, lyric poem, ordinary everyday occurrences and
familiar objects, common language (plain English), sense of humour but not showing off clever wit,
newness and originality, real lived experience (not faked, or imagined), the Suchness of things, a
snapshot of events in words, here and now. Maurice Saatchi said, "The fewer the words the better
advertisement becomes. No word is the best ad"
Wabi(rustic), sabi(patina, loneliness), karumi(lightness), shiori(thinness)

Metaphor, allusion, sense of detachment

Buddhist elements: the evanescence of all things, the selflessness of all elements, the bliss of Nirvana,
features of Zen.

Apparent Contradictions of Haiku: here and ow/universality - timelessness - permanence; concrete,

specific subjects/ generality; 'surface' phenomena/ deep insight; subjective/objective; suchness
(things just as they are)/ universal truth (things as they should be); physical/ metaphysical; metaphor/
simile; immanence/ transcendence

Summary

1 There are considerable difficulties in translating Japanese haiku into English.

2 The difficulties are caused partly by visible, or formal constraints but more importantly by invisible,
or non-formal constraints.

3 Therefore, if we accept the validity of such translation, we should also accept the limitations
thereof. Some translations are better than others depending on the subject matter, words used in the
original, quite apart from the ability of the translator.

4 Notwithstanding, there is a scope that excellent translations of Japanese haiku into English can
sometimes be achieved. In some instances, the translations can arguably be better than the original.

5 There are instances of what may be termed as 'creative translation' (or, creation itself), whereby the
translator more or less rewrite the original, or create a new poem out of it. Here, perhaps we need to
define the word 'translation' applied to translation from Japanese haiku into English.

Because we should remain within the boundary of translation for any translation to remain as such.
Two Haiku Examples to Test the Conclusions

Let us now look at two more haiku closely to put these conclusions to test.

Mallow Flower Eaten by My Horse

Michi nobe no mukuge wa uma ni kuware keri (Basho)

Donald Keene's translation

Mallow flower
By the side of the road-
Devoured by my horse.
Pp142-143, Nihon Bungaku-shi
(Japanese Literature, London, 1953)

Keene compares this translation by himself with that by Chamberlain of the same haiku;

The mallow-flower by the road

Was eaten by a [passing] horse. Basil Chamberlain

and maintains that what makes the Basho's haiku infinitely distinct is that it was the horse Basho was
riding that ate the mallow flower. Basho was riding the horse when suddenly it notice the flower and
lowered its head to eat it, a second before which Basho had a vivid view of the beauty of it.
the moral lesson conveyed in those few words was too obvious: - had not the mallow pressed forward
into public view, the horse would never have devoured it. Learn, then, ambitious man, to be humble
and retiring. The vulgar yearning for fame and distinction can lead nowhither but to misery, for it
contradicts the essential principle of ethics. (Chamberlain)

Not Dying On the Journey

Last but not least, I shall introduce a commendable attempt by an English poetess() at demonstrating
the feasibility of translating Japanese haiku into English effectively by creating ten different English
versions of a famous haiku by Basho.

The haiku in question is:

Shini mo senu tabine no hate yo aki no kure

(Kasshi-ginko)

The basic prose translation runs thus:

At the end of this journey at last,

I haven't met my death, as I feared at the beginning;
At the end of autumn.

[1] Her first rendering attempted to call up memories of great works in the English literature canon.
A weary way; now, at last, the end:
In the beginning, fear of death, that passed away.
Autumn is ending too.

The English reader should recall Grey's 'Elegy' -

The ploughman homeward plods his weary way,

also the first words of the Gospel of St. John,
In the beginning was the word.
And an Anglo-Saxon lament with the refrain,
That passed away, so will this.

Here she seems to be attempting to make an exotic poem acceptable as English poetry by evoking
accepted masterworks.

[2] The second version uses simple rhythm and rhyme to mark the haiku firmly as 'poetry' in a form
accepted by all English people, - the four line >rhymed verse found in nursery rhymes and hymns.

This is journey's end at last;

I set out fearing Death; he passed
Me by and all my wandering's done.
And autumn's come and gone.
This version personifies Death, using a familiar folk-lore representation of Death as a solitary traveller
met on a lonely road.
She may have tried out the easiest English verse form. Overall, this version is too wordy.

[3] The third attempt uses the same easily acceptable form and emphasises Basho's hint of self-
mockery.

The end of this long road; the journey's made

At last. Starting, I was afraid
I might meet Death. My foolish fear!
Wandering and autumn's days end safely here.

[4] Her fourth try is more concise and ambiguous. Does the end of autumn bring cosy security or
expectation of winter and old age?

The end at last. This weary journey done,

I set out fearing Death; he passed me by;
The end of autumn's come.
In this version, she has abandoned rhyme and maybe for that reason it turned out to be too much like
ordinary speech.

[5] Version five is again a three line verse, but contains a rhyme and is more cheerful in outlook, even
mildly triumphant.

This is journey's end at last;

I set out fearing Death, he missed my trail;
Journey and autumn's end are safely past.
[6] The sixth variation is the one she herself preferred. It expressed the mood of calm acceptance
which I perceive in the poem. It also uses assonance rather than true rhyme.

This journey's over; all the wandering done;

Starting, I feared to meet my death but now,
Only autumn's gone.

[7] Version seven, very similar, contains a true rhyme (last - past) in place of the 'eye rhyme' done -
gone. She feels on reading 6 and 7 aloud that 6 sounds more 'musical' and softer.

This is the journey's end at last.

The death I feared at starting never came,
And not my life, but only autumn's past.

[8] The eighth variant follows the rules for Anglo-Saxon poetry in alliteration and rhythm. Thus an
English reader perceives the verse as a clever exercise in archaic style which arouses interest.

The trail travelled truly; goal reach at long last;

Death-dread at road's head needlessly heeded.
Autumn fast fading.

She uses words derived from Anglo-Saxon, which gives a strength and vigour to the lines. She thinks
that alliteration is still an effective device when writing poetry in English.

[9] In the ninth version she tries, as many translators of haiku do, to copy the Japanese form of
seventeen syllables. She feels that English words contain too many syllables to allow nuances of
meaning to be expressed in seventeen English syllables.

End of this long trail

Begun in fear of death.
Alive. Autumn ends.

[10] The last try offers an example of a pun, using the word 'remains' in two senses in an attempt to
reproduce the device of the 'hinge word' which is used in so many haiku.

My journey is completed, finally.

Death I feared at starting; life remains
And the remains of Autumn.

NOTE
(1) A. C. Bradley: Oxford Lectures on Poetry, 1909
(2) Hiroaki Sato, One Hundred Frogs, Weatherhill, Inc., 1995

Sense of Humour – A Forgotten Prerequisite of Haiku

by Susumu Takiguchi
http://www.haijinx.org/I-1/articles/takiguchi.html
A doyen of haiku looked surprised and then amused at the Global Haiku Festival in April 2000 when he
suddenly realised that a Japanese speaker had been pronouncing the word "haiku" very differently
from how it is said in English. This amused me immensely. The man knew almost everything there is
to know about haiku, including the origin and the literal meaning of this very word. And yet it never
seemed to have occurred to him how it should be or is pronounced in Japanese. Pronounced in the
Western way, haiku could mean "discarded poems", or "useless void". How humble they sound, albeit
unwittingly! If this man did not know the correct pronunciation of the word of which he is an
undisputed authority, how much chance is there for the ordinary haijin outside Japan to know the
first thing about haiku as practised in Japan?

Spring rain:
The uneaten ducks
Quack.
Kobayashi Issa

The doyen's amusement and my own are both in keeping with the true spirit of haiku. And here is the
reason why. The word "haiku" is composed of two parts, "hai" and "ku", and it is the meaning of the
former which is often forgotten or never learnt in the first place, creating one of the most serious
flaws in Western writing of haiku. The "hai" is part of another word "hai-kai" of Chinese origin, whose
Japanese equivalent is "kokkei". Now, the word "kokkei" can be variously translated into English:
comicality, drollery, waggery, jocularity, joke, jest, pleasantry, humour, witticism, pun, farce, funny
things etc. etc. No problem with the word "ku", since everybody seems to know what it means,
namely a stanza, or a piece of poetry.

bush warbler —
a dropping on the rice cake
at the veranda's edge!
Matsuo Basho

"Haiku", then, ought to have meant nothing but a comic verse, had it not been for Basho. How on
earth is it that when it comes to haiku in the West and by extension in the rest of the non-Japanese
world, it looks as though haiku means anything but a comic verse? The confusion between haiku and
senryu is one silent testimony to this. Zen obsession which Western haijin have inflicted upon
themselves is another. The lesson we need to learn outside Japan is that we should never forget that
humour has always been, still is, and should continue to be, if possible, part of haiku. Without this
lesson becoming an integral part of our sensibility, it would be an unending uphill struggle for us to
begin to grasp that special frame of mind, or view of life, which is peculiar to haiku: a detached,
tangential, light-hearted and humorous way of looking at things. This is the forgotten half of the
essence of "haiku-no-kokoro" (the haiku spirit), the most difficult quality for non-Japanese to
understand, let alone acquire. It is present in haiku poems and also in the way of life of their authors,
sometimes overt and other times latent, but it is there always, maintaining a delicate balance with
"fuga-no-makoto" (poetic truth or honesty). When and where did it go wrong, if it has ever gone
wrong?
Samurai's gathering —
their chat has the pungent taste
of daikon radish
Matsuo Basho

In this connection, we must ask the question, "what is the word haiku?" as opposed to the question
"what is haiku?" The word was not invented or coined by Masaoka Shiki as is widely believed. The
word "haiku" had been in existence at least two hundred years before Shiki. What Shiki effectively did
was to give this word a special role, that of replacing the word "hokku" (opening stanza) in order to
sever it from the rest of renga ("haikai-no-renga" to be exact) and to make it a genre of modern
"literature" in its own right. At first Shiki used both "hokku" and "haiku" but then started to use solely
"haiku" to replace "hokku", because "hokku" implied that other stanzas were to follow and became
inappropriate. Shiki's so-called haiku reform was first and foremost this attempt of his at making
"hokku" (now haiku) independent of the haikai-no-renga. This also meant that he and his followers
had the task of developing now independent haiku in such a way as to let it make sense in the fast
modernising and Westernising Japan over a hundred years ago.

Autumn fly —
all the fly swatters
are broken
Masaoka Shiki

The first haikai document to record the word "haiku" is thought by general consent to be Hattori
Sadakiyo's Obaeshu which was published in Kambun 3 (1663). Originally, "haiku" was abbreviated
from "haikai-no-ku" and was used as a general term to mean any ku (stanza), whether it was "hokku",
or other "tsukeku", in the haikai-no-renga. In the Meiji era, it took some time before "haiku" was
established and well circulated. A History of Japanese Literature by Sanji Mikami and Sukisaburo
Takatsu (1890), for example, gave the word "haiku" a proper status as a technical literary term and
consciously used it to signify an independent form of poetry previously represented by "hokku".

Above her sash,

Breasts in her way
As she tucks in her fan.
Iida Dakotsu

In order to understand the word "haiku" accurately, we must sort out another commonly used but
equally commonly misunderstood word, "haikai", from which was derived haiku as we know it.
"Haikai" is a much wider and more complex term covering not only hokku (or haiku) but also more
loosely many of the literary works related to hokku such as renga (or "renku"), haibun and hairon
(haiku theory, or essay), though the narrowest definition of the word would be the haikai-no-renga.

The word "haikai" had been used in Japanese literature before Basho's time. One example of this is
the "Haikai-ka" (or Comic Verses) of the Kokinshu. This tradition goes even further back to "gisho-ka"
(farcical poems) of the Manyoshu. Haikai-no-renga was first established by such people as Yamazaki
Sokan, and Arakida Moritake and was then developed into a more wide-spread genre of literature by,
among other people, Matsunaga Teitoku and Nishiyama Soin. However, as we all know it was Basho
who elevated haikai to a height comparable to that of "waka", or serious renga or any other literary
form of merit. Ever since that time, haikai-no-renga (and haiku as its modern incarnation) has been
bearing the cross, so to say, of having to do the balancing act between the humorous and the serious.

If it rains,
Come with your umbrella,
Midnight moon.
Yamazaki Sokan

The confusion or misconception about the word "hai-kai" in the West has naturally added to the lack
of true understanding of haiku itself. With the surge of the world haiku movement, we should grasp
the opportunities it provides us with to unravel all sorts of misunderstandings, misconceptions and
lack of true understanding of various aspects of haiku before they are permanently enshrined and
made into icons to be worshipped. If it is in the interest of haiku and its genuine and healthy
development in the 21st century to correct these kinds of idols and icons, then we need to have
modern versions of desirable iconoclasts. Not those iconoclasts in the past who tried to destroy icons
only to become new icons themselves. Make no mistake: these modern iconoclasts should be
genuinely supported not persecuted, since their other names are reason, fairness, bon sense,
integrity, objectivity, tolerance and last but not least genuine love for haiku.

Days getting longer —

I part with a friend who caught
a yawn from me
Natsume Soseki

Thus, if we truly appreciate that a sense of humour is part and parcel of haiku, then the way we look
at a specific haiku or compose haiku ourselves should now go through subtle or even drastic changes.
For example, we would be looking at Basho's frog pond poem (one of the most misunderstood
poems) with new eyes and would be able to see a comic side to it. We would also come to realise that
we have been taking haiku far too seriously, to the extent to which such an attitude would faintly
verge on idolatry, fetishism or fanaticism, which are anathema to true haijin. The sense of humour
("hai") in haiku would restore the right balance for us.

Wasting in summer:
Arms heavier
Than iron bars.
Kawabata Bosha

A quick survey of the sense of humour which has permeated haiku from its origin to the present day is
given by Nobuyuki Yuasa, beginning with the fathers of haikai-no-renga, Yamazaki Sokan, Arakida
Moritake, through Teitoku, Soin, Saikaku, Basho, Basho's followers, Buson, Issa, to Shiki, Soseki and
Ryunosuke (pp. 63 - 81, "Laughter in Japanese Haiku", in Rediscovering Basho - A 300th Anniversary
Celebration, Stephen Henry Gill & C. Andrew Gerstle ed., Global Oriental, 1999, ISBN 1-901903-15-X).
This essay is a good starting point to rectify one's long negligence of honouring the sense of humour
as a vital ingredient of haiku.

The few flies that remain

Seem to remember me.
Taneda Santoka

THE FUTURE OF WORLD HAIKU AND HOPE FOR INDIA

By Susumu Takiguchi
9th World Haiku Festival, on 23 February 2008, in Bangalore, India - Key-note Speech

PART ONE: RABINDRANATH TAGORE

I wish to start with a special poet who is a national hero and pride in India but who is also a father of,
inter alia, all modern poets in the world, Rabindranath Tagore (7 May 1861-7 August 1941).

Tagore wrote a brief account in his travelogue of his first visit of Japan in 1916. Brief, but in it every
word is a jewel and the whole prose reads more like free-flowing poetry even in Japanese translation.
It is one of the most exhilarating readings, at least to me.

Exhilarating, not because it is full of praise of Japan but because every observation is told not in
isolation but as a representation of deeper realities or broader universality, which seems to me to be
a characteristic of this first Nobel laureate in Asia. It is also exhilarating because it teaches that one
can say so much in so brief a writing. Who needs a volume like War And Peace to say what it is that is
to be said? All we need is the best words, in the best place and in the best order. And the more one
knows what one wants to say the fewer the words needed. The fewest words of all are silence. It
seems as if we may be talking about haiku here, doesn’t it?

However, the greatest exhilaration comes to me because Tagore sought to promote a new world
culture which was based on ‘multi-culturalism, diversity and tolerance’, according to a study. I might
hasten to add that the phrase ‘multi culturalism’ Tagore used had no pejorative or debased meaning
which it has sadly acquired in modern Britain. This remark of Tagore is almost identical with the aim
of the World Haiku Club. With such a fortunate coincidence, I am emboldened to appeal to my friends
in India to take part in the world haiku movement which was started by us in 1998 but which needs to
be passed continuously to new haiku poets in all corners of the world and to continue to be pursued
and developed in earnest by them. Tagore showed us the way how that could be done. World Haiku
Festival 2008 in which we rejoice at taking part here in India marks a high point of following in the
footsteps of Tagore, in our case in the field of haiku literature.

In his travelogue, Tagore introduced two haiku by Basho, one about the old pond and a frog and the
other about the withered branch and a crow. About the former, Tagore comments after citing it, “That
is all. And that is sufficient”. This is because, according to him, there are many eyes in the Japanese
reader’s mind, which can see that which is not mentioned in the haiku but only implied in the most
succinct and beautiful way. Nothing more is necessary. Tagore, it seems, got straightaway to the
essence of haiku, and without reading any of today’s haiku textbooks or frivolous explanation about
haiku at that.

About the second poem of the withered branch and the crow by Basho, Tagore made a similar
comment but this time emphasised the importance of the power of intuitive understanding of the
Japanese reader. Because of this, the author of haiku not only has no need to put him- or herself
forward into the poem but also must indeed withdraw and step aside. This, by the way, has nothing to
do with the popular assertion that ego must not come into haiku, which is all too often admonished
wrongly by so many.

The reason why Tagore could get to the heart of the matter in appreciating the essence of haiku so
easily is not just that he was an exceptional Renaissance man. It is because he approached haiku with
unadulterated and open heart. Quoting another Japanese poem (heaven and earth are flowers/kami-
god and Buddha are flowers/man’s heart is the essence of flowers), Tagore introduces an almost
identical Indian verse (heaven and earth/god and Buddha/these two flowers blossom from the same
stalk) and points out that the beauty of things beautiful stems from human heart.

This is an important point for haiku-writing in the present circumstances where what could be termed
as the ‘author’s right’ is ignored in preference for the ‘reader’s right’ with the former made to worry
far too much about what the latter might or might not think about his or her haiku of originality and
newness. It is also important because we should really leave most things to our human heart when
writing haiku and not to irksome rules and regulations.

Then Tagore goes on to explore the sensibility unique to the Japanese, which he calls ‘restraint of the
soul’. By this he means that it is possible to increase the feeling and expression of beauty by
restraining the feeling and expression of the emotion. Less is better than more. This strikes me as one
of the best explanation about the essence of haiku.

If the same blood runs through all Indian poets and the same sensibility is found in them as that of
Tagore, they will have already made a good start with haiku.

PART TWO: THE FUTURE OF WORLD HAIKU

I now turn to my reflections on world haiku and discuss its future.

This year, 2008, marks the 314th anniversary of the death of Basho. Since his birth, indeed, as many as
364 years have passed. If we take Arakida Moritake (1473-1549), the renowned haikai-no-renga
master, it is 535 years since his birth. Compared with this long history of haikai, the world haiku as I
understand it is only about 20 or 30 years old in a loose sense, and only 10 years old in the strict
sense. Haiku was first introduced to the outside Japan earlier, about 100 years ago, but then it could
hardly be called world haiku. What can be called as American haiku has a history of mere 50 years or
so.

The phrase ‘world haiku’ was first used by R. H. Blyth. Takahama Kyoshi (1874-1959) was alsotalking
about the future of haiku and envisaging the time when haiku would be written even in tropical zones
and elsewhere. However, no one could imagine that haiku would become so popular and widespread
across the world as now. Ten years ago I decided to use the same phrase ‘world haiku’ and founded
the World Haiku Club to be dedicated to the development of world haiku, as I perceived that haiku by
then had become what I called a genre of world literature and needed a different treatment
altogether than it had been given until then.

So, what is the world haiku scene today? Until about 1900 haiku was a complete preserve of Japan,
quite unheard of in the rest of the world. It is well-known that around that time the genre started to
trickle out at the hands of pioneering introducers of Japanese culture, mainly to the West. However, it
was only after the WWII, especially in the 1960s, that haiku began to be flowing out of Japan like
streams, largely through North America.

Today, there are basically, say, four players on the haiku map of the world, according to a new
classification. There is first and foremost gigantic in haiku terms but still largely closed and isolated
Japan. There are many reasons for this isolation, not least the language barrier. In spite of the effort
by some to improve the situation, what is happening in Japan’s haiku community is little known
outside it, and vice versa. This mutual ignorance and lack of will or ability of communication remain a
major obstacle to the healthy development of world haiku outside Japan.

Then, secondly, very open and ever-expanding American-led haiku nations and individual poets in the
United States and across the world except for Japan. Here, I am using the term ‘American-led’ in a
neutral and factual sense. This is the dominant force in today’s world haiku community. Most of the
haiku poems outside Japan are written on the model and under the influence of, or even as
straightforward or blind copies of this school of thought. Of course, there are subtle variations within
it but the differences are slight when looked at in terms of the trend as a whole. There are a small
number of poets who are trying to break the mould, which is not easy, but that is largely due to such
individuals’ own efforts and talent and not assisted by the trend itself.

No doubt, this American-led haiku trend should be celebrated and congratulated for its great
achievement of disseminating haiku not only within USA and other English-speaking countries but
also in almost all other countries in the world save Japan and making it such a popular and treasured
literary mascot. However, what is also more than obvious is that it cannot be healthy or natural that
such wide world of ours with all its diversities and differences should be dominated by a single haiku
movement.

The dominant position of the American-led haiku trend has been attained by a number of reasons.
Firstly, it has been gained because of the passion, enthusiasm, energy and sheer love for haiku on the
part of American poets and their faithful followers in other parts of the world who in turn have
become leaders in each of their country or regions. Secondly, except for a small number of
distinguished individuals with their own distinct views and opinions in different parts of the world, all
other nations, especially non-English-speaking ones, have lagged far behind America which after all
has been the only major pioneer in developing and spreading haiku outside Japan. This lack of
competition or rivals has almost automatically ensured the American dominance in haiku. When
others ‘discovered’ haiku it was far too late for them to do their own laborious research or to make
painstaking efforts to find for themselves what haiku was all about from the primary source, which is
Japan, and to resist the temptation of taking the easiest route of swallowing the American haiku trend
hook, line and sinker out of the books, magazines, anthologies or any other sources coming from
America because these were virtually the only source of information about haiku outside Japan. Of
course, R. H. Blyth was British but it was the Americans who first recognised his worth, which was
virtually unknown in Britain, and introduced his magnum opus among poets. This situation meant that
the rest of the world was totally vulnerable and ready to swallow whole whatever was put on their
plate.

Thirdly, on the world haiku map there are regions and nations that have not escaped the influence of
the American-led haiku but are trying to make their own mark at the same time. It has become
fashionable for them to call their product in their own brand name such as ‘Irish haiku’, ‘British haiku’,
‘New haiku’, or even ‘French-Canadian haiku’. Whether such a ‘logo change’ reflects real difference is
another matter. However, what they are trying to achieve is highly commendable and provides some
hope for the future development of world haiku.

And last but not least, in fact most importantly, there are those rare individual poets who are
independent-minded enough to follow their own poetic instinct to tune in to the sound, colour, smell
and vibration of true haiku but at the same time humble enough to continue to learn from other
people’s experiences. These are the best category of haiku poets in today’s world, our ultimate goal
and seem to present the best hope for future world haiku. The more of them, the better. In fact, all
haiku poets should be like them in the first place.

Ever since haiku was unleashed out of the two stringent and fundamental shackles, namely the
traditional mould of Japanese haiku and the Japanese language itself, it has quickly begun to flourish
across the world. However, there is the other side of the coin. Namely, haiku has at the same time
plunged into a state of flux on the verge of chaos in every way, ranging from definition questions to
style or subject matter. But, like the genie out of the bottle, contemporary haiku can neither be put
back into the traditional Japanese haiku bottle nor confined to the Japanese language.

That there are different varieties of haiku is not in itself a bad thing at all. What seems to be the real
problem is the widespread narrow-mindedness, intolerance or even arrogance with which people
condemn other poets’ works as not haiku. Once this mindset takes hold of us there is little scope for
constructive interaction between and among haiku poets or for haiku itself to be developed freely.
The definition of haiku, for example, is so varied and different that it has virtually become
meaningless now to try to define it in the first place.

To ask what is haiku, or more precisely what is the essence of haiku is very different from defining
haiku. It is productive, useful, instructive, uplifting, forward-looking, intellectually stimulating and
profound. By contrast, to try to define haiku is restrictive, divisive, exclusive, limiting, backwards,
shallow and intellectually very, very boring. I therefore wish to propose in deadly earnest that we
should drop the preoccupation of trying to define haiku or reading different definitions of it, say, for
the next ten years and just get on with writing haiku. YES, believe it or not, we can write haiku
without such irksome definitions. Recently, I was walking with someone in the English countryside
when he was admiring the scenery loud in a few words. And I said, ‘Oh, that’s a jolly good haiku!’ He
said, ‘Oh, really? Is haiku some kind of a Japanese food?’

From the purist and somewhat fundamentalist point of view, anything which is purported to be haiku
but written in languages other than Japanese is not haiku. It is a deviation from or derivative of the
genuine haiku at best. (Incidentally, even those haiku written in kohgo, or modern Japanese, used to
be condemned to be not haiku at all because the real haiku had always been written in bungo, or old
Japanese.)
It has been proved time and again that such purist or fundamentalist position of haiku cannot provide
a wholly viable literary form in the modern age and modern world. However, the majority of Japanese
haiku poets think that foreigners cannot understand haiku, let alone write it. Those Japanese who
think differently are either academics specialising in English or English literature, or some of the haiku
poets who, for their self-serving purposes, would benefit from getting involved in international haiku
movement. Language is the biggest and most formidable barrier but even more seriously there is a
barrier of culturally isolationist attitude of the Japanese on the one hand and what may be termed as
intellectual laziness and arrogance of non-Japanese haiku poets on the other.
The hard fact that we should face up to and accept is that in terms of the world haiku we should by
now have graduated from the rudimentary stages of haiku-learning which I have just outlined and
made more progress in reaching advanced and refined stages. It is not too late. However, if the
present situation of world haiku continues as I have described so far, it would be difficult for anyone
to move on to these advanced and refined stages because that situation is extremely limiting and will
work as a hindrance to their progress.

Confused or chaotic as the world haiku may look at first sight, all the haiku poems being written in
today’s world can in fact fall into three broad categories or areas without any difficulty. At the World
Haiku Club we call them Neo-classical, Shintai (or new style) and Vanguard (Avant Garde), which cover
the whole spectrum of all haiku imaginable. An individual haiku poet can freely write haiku either in
one or two of these areas, or in all three of them, depending on his or her mood, feeling, haiku stance,
circumstances or subject matter. When writing, there is not even any need for the author to be
conscious of these different areas. Why classify? Why define? Just write, following your sensibility,
instinct, perception or emotion. The outcome may range from dust to gold --- mostly dust, perhaps.
However, when you feel you have struck gold, that would be the bliss for any haiku poet.

My prediction about the future trend of world haiku is that while some stubborn and self-serving
people may cling to their dogma or creed till the end of their lives and some unsuspecting newcomers
will fall in their clutches, many haiku poets will sooner or later come to realise that there is indeed no
need to spend a lot of their time busying themselves in defining, classifying or interfering with other
people’s haiku.

Many or at least some of truly good haiku will speak for themselves. The most effective and secure
way of improving one’s haiku is to encounter as many of these gems as possible and study them in
depth, rather than wasting one’s time on lesser poems. Listen to the authors of these rare works,
even if they may not be vociferous as they are rather quiet and self-effacing usually, rather than to
haiku politicians or self-appointed haiku leaders. If you cannot find these true haiku poets, then listen
to nature instead.

I have been involved in other people’s problems of defining haiku for a long time. Nowadays, more
out of despair than choice I am even being tempted to think, considering the futility of such efforts,
that anything is haiku if its author says it is, which, needless to say, has nothing to do with the
condemnation of ‘anything goes’. For in this case, the only question and the only question that
matters is whether the poem thus written is good or bad, and not whether it is haiku or not. To put it
in another way, under any definition good haiku are good and bad ones bad. We just have to be
honest about it and also be humble.
What I have tried to explain above is a fundamental problem for world haiku and needs to be
addressed properly. We can try to seek a solution to it, like in many other cases, by listening to some
of Basho’s teachings.

Let us, then, look at Basho’s “fueki ryuko” (eternal value and fashion of the day). This is a far more
dynamic and progressive haikai tenet than is generally recognised. It is an effective key to solving
many problems which haiku poets outside Japan are faced with today. The usual explanation that
permanence and change are both needed for haikai fails to convey the creative momentum and
incessant quest for inspiration contained in it. Rather, “fueki ryuko” is really talking about changes,
and suggesting that eternal essence of haikai should be found in these changes. It is like Hegelian
dialectic whereby two opposing forces collide to create a new force. In this sense, it is talking about
the same thing as Basho’s other teaching of “atarashimi” (newness) which is the lifeblood of haikai.

The reason why Basho added “fueki” (eternal essence) is that the change needed in haikai should not
be just any change, or change for the sake of change, but those changes which seek eternal values. In
other words, he tried to make these vital changes a haikai poet’s target which may be very difficult
but worth attaining, thus paving the way for haikai to develop along the right and ever-improving
path. To put it in the modern context, the lesson we should learn from “fueki ryuko” in our haiku
composition and in haiku movement is that we should be constantly seeking changes which are likely
to realise permanent poetic values. This seemingly contradictory nature of “fueki ryuko” is the
creative tension which Basho was developing for himself and for his followers.

Sixteen Challenges

Any human activity will become sterile without the injection of fresh air, new blood or progressive
innovation. However, it is common that such an activity becomes readily “institutionalised” and
resists changes. Haiku is no exception. Therefore it is important for anyone involved in haiku to stop
from time to time to reflect upon him- or herself and make sure that rot has not set in. It is a good
practice to do so in order to rid oneself of complacency, arrogance and narrow-mindedness.

One of the most effective ways of exercising such a review is to challenge what seems to be doing
well. For any critical reappraisal levelled against it can logically apply more profoundly to lesser
endeavours. As Descartes proposed to doubt everything that he could manage to doubt (“Cartesian
doubt”), so we can propose to challenge everything we can manage to challenge. The more well-
established and unassailable a target seems to be, the more worthwhile the challenge would become.

It was for this reason that the process was started at the WHF2000 London-Oxford Conference to look
at everything in the haiku community critically and give it a thorough re-examination and reappraisal.
It is hoped that through such review we may find right paths along which world haiku can develop in
the future. The initiative was taken under the two slogans, “Challenging Conventions” and “Charting
Our Future”. The two slogans require that we should conduct our discussion in as “critical, new,
original, positive, constructive, creative, inspiring and thought-provoking” a way as possible. It is
certainly not an easy task. On the contrary it is a tough exercise which needs a great deal of
intellectual input, creative energy, courage, open mind, honesty and above all quite a lot of time to be
completed.
Under “Challenging Conventions”, we basically challenge just about everything. At the World Haiku
Club we have been dealing with at least sixteen important challenges.

Another essential point is that haiku, or something like a primordial sensibility for haiku, is actually in
every one of us, regardless of race, culture, language or religion. It is like saying that in every one of us
there is Buddha, or we only do not realise that each of us has Zen essence and that we only have to
remove all those things which hide it from us. Put in another way, if we compare haiku to cooking, its
ingredients are to be found in every one of us. We only have to cook it. And like food, every haiku
tastes different, unless, that is, one gets it from MacDonald’s. The question, then, is how to extract
haiku from within ourselves. Simple, isn’t it? Or, is it?

Science Science provides ways in which to explore scientific truths through experiments. Philosophy
provides philosophical truths through contemplation. Arts --- artistic truths through pictorial or
musical language. What, then, does haiku provide? I believe that haiku provides ways in which we can
explore what I call poetic truths, or truths found and expressed in the haiku language. Here I am
talking about what Basho was seeking both in his writing and teaching of haikai-no-renga and hokku,
namely, fuga no makoto, or poetic truths. One of Basho’s disciples, Hattori Dohoh, went so far as to
say that haikai became capable of reaching truths for the first time with Basho because his haikai was
not that of the old but haikai of makoto, namely truths.*

I am sure you will agree with me when I say that haiku opens up for us a very different way of looking
at things around us. You probably can never forget the first time when a haiku poem hit you and
suddenly you were experiencing something totally new and different. Perhaps you remember that
particular haiku by heart. As you walked along the haiku path since then and were consciously or
unconsciously acquiring a different outlook from your usual views, haiku must have changed you
permanently even in the subtlest kind of way. The world, it seems, would not be the same again. You
would not see nazuna (a shepherd’s purse) or a spider in the same way again. You would not feel the
same again when you get wet with spring rain or hit by hail. You would not look up the sky in the
same way again, as you would become more conscious of the Moon or the Milky Way all the time.
You would not pass narcissi by without trying to find if they were bent by the first snow.

If we can put a genuine haiku experience in a few right words, then we would probably have achieved
fuga no makoto, or poetic truths. There are a number of paths leading to such poetic truths.

Firstly, as I have already mentioned, there is a path for them to recognise and learn a different way of
looking at things. Though things they see may be the same as those they are accustomed to, yet it is
the new way in which to look at them that is different.

The second path is for them to write down what they saw in a new and different way, namely a haiku
way. The haiku way of writing one’s observations is different from any other writing style they are
accustomed to.

Thirdly, people can be taught to realise for themselves that the subject matter of haiku is also
different from that which they are used to with their indigenous poems.

Now, the word makoto in fuga no makoto is a key word to understand one of the central tenets of
Japanese spiritual values in the arts, literature, ethics or philosophy. Ma in makoto means true and
koto means both ‘words’ and ‘things’, thus makoto means both true words and true things, i.e. truths
in words and things. In addition, makoto when not broken up like that means an ethical, humanistic
or moralistic value of honesty, sincerity and truthfulness. So, when Basho uses the phrase fuga no
makoto, it means not only poetic truths but also poetic honesty and sincerity both in words and
subjects. There is an element of moralistic value in Basho’s fuga no makoto, while for many other
haiku poets such a moral dimension was neither important nor part of their concern.

In this connection, a teaching by someone who preceded Basho is instructive. It points out that haikai
is indeed one body but that it can be divided into two parts. One is the haikai of heart. And the other
is haikai of words. It puts the former above the latter. It would not be surprising if these words had
been spoken by Basho himself. The teaching is that of Saito Tokumoto and can be found in his Haikai-
Shogaku-Sho. This book, published in Kan-ei 18, or in 1641, three years before Basho was born, is
renowned as the first book on haikai to be published in Edo (modern Tokyo). The remark is attributed
to Sogi, a renga master, whom Basho respected.

Historically, there were three major values people sought to achieve in Japanese culture: shin (truth),
zen (goodness) and bi (beauty). They represented philosophical, ethical and aesthetic goals
respectively. Waka or tanka sought beauty first, followed by truth and some element of goodness.
However, normally haiku looked into truth and beauty but seldom into goodness. Of course truth can
be found in beauty and truth itself can be beautiful. And there is that famous adage: Beauty is in the
eyes of the beholder. Aesthetic values can be broad or narrow according to the thinker. No one
doubts the beauty of Basho’s wisteria haiku or the Milky Way haiku. But how many people would see
beauty in the cicada or the roaming dream haiku?

A single haiku may not have all these values, though it is not impossible. Some haiku poems may have
only one of them and still manage to be good. However, it seems to me to be essential for any haiku
to have truth as a pre-requisite. This is why it is so important for us to spend some time to think about
what we mean by poetic truths.

Obviously, we cannot dissect haiku into these clear-cut poetic values. Nor should we really do it if we
can appreciate good haiku without such irksome and often unnecessary analysis. Even so, what is
important to remember is that it is haiku’s own poetic values that provide us with ways in which we
can reach fuga no makoto.

Let us, then, look at some of the points we need to explore in search of fuga no makoto.

Firstly, about the word fuga. In the broadest sense, it means arts in general. In the commonest sense
it means literature, especially poetry. For Basho, it meant sometimes poetry in general but often it
meant haikai itself. So, for him the terms fuga and haikai were interchangeable.

Secondly, we are not talking about truths in general terms. The truths we are dealing with are poetic
truths, and especially haikai truths. Poetic truths are those arrived at through poetic perception and
expressed in the poetic language. Some of them cannot be reached in any other way. Others may be
the same truths but perceived and expressed as poetry.

Thirdly, as we have already seen fuga no makoto refers to broad, deep and somewhat intangible
truths, having aesthetic, epistemological, ethical and humanistic dimensions. It is a poetic branch of
one’s Weltanschauung and that is why I call haiku a way of life. And, significantly, it is also why haiku
cannot really be taught during a very short course in the school curriculum or in a one-hour workshop.
Fourthly, fuga no makoto is not a freak phenomenon or momentary accident but holds its value over
time, often forever, and becomes timeless.

Fifthly, fuga no makoto also often extends in space as well. In other words, the poetic truths thus
obtained in one place can be understood, shared or repeated elsewhere in the world. This is the
aspect of haiku which has universality.

Sixthly, fuga no makoto is a result or product of the dynamism of two colliding forces: fueki ryuko,
which is another important teaching of Basho, as we have already seen. Fueki simply means ‘no
change’ and refers to values of a permanent and enduring nature. Ryuko, on the other hand, means
changing fashions of the time and refers to newness, innovation, originality or unconventional values
which would break with old ways in a revolutionary manner. For instance, Beethoven created new
and innovative music, ushering in a new age and setting a new trend. However, he did not do so
without first having been steeped in classical music of an old tradition. Thus he had fueki ryuko and
left legacy of permanent value. None of us is Beethoven but all of us can become a little Beethoven!
Fueki ryuko is an abbreviation of senzai-fueki ichiji-ryuko (eternal no-change and temporary fashion).
When fueki and ryuko collide and interact in a dynamic explosion of creative haiku-writing, the result
could be like a newly-born baby, taking after both parents but different from both. And there is a
single ultimate value which lies beyond fueki ryuko, and that is nothing but fuga no makoto.

Seventhly, haikai jiyu. This is another extremely important teaching of Basho. It refers to the freedom
which haikai came to enjoy but which had been denied to other traditional genres such as waka.
However, once this freedom becomes institutionalised it ceases to be new and fresh and becomes
part of tradition, creating new needs for further freedom. Western haiku was fresh but has now
become laden with the burden of rules and regulations. It needs to be liberated. We need to secure
and preserve the maximum freedom of poetic expression and creation all the time. It is an ongoing
process and there is not a single moment in time when a haiku poet is pronounced, or regards him- or
herself, as accomplished. It is his or her fate to remain an eternal learner.

Eighthly, haiku is a product of interaction between nature and man, with man as part of nature. That
is why haiku is a complex literature. Such practice in the West of dividing up the subject matter into
nature and man and, for instance, allocating nature to haiku and man to senryu is a gross over-
simplification and a bit of criminal negligence even.

Ninthly, similar to a point we have already seen, Basho taught the importance for a haikai poet of
remaining a learner and not becoming complacent about his/her skills or experience. “Let small
children do haikai” and “Poems by beginners are promising” are Basho’s words to express this
sentiment. To put a popular saying slightly differently: Those who teach, can’t. Basho advises against
haikai becoming gimmicky, contrived and boastful.

Tenthly, Basho said that there was that which could not be really taught in haikai. He is referring to
what cannot be explained or theorised. Learners therefore need to learn it themselves by their
intuition or sensibility. Some of them just don’t get it. That is too bad. However, many of us are born
with it and some of us can acquire it so long as we go about it in the right way.
There are still many more interesting points regarding Basho’s teachings which are useful for our
investigation but these ten points I have outlined would probably be enough for us to be going on
with.

Let’s just recapitulate what we have seen. One of the ultimate aims of any education is to help
learners find ways to reach truths. Haiku helps them to reach poetic truths, which are truths perceived
and expressed through poetic sensibility and language. Haiku truths, or haikai truths, are what Basho
called fuga no makoto. Fuga no makoto has a broad dimension encompassing aesthetic,
epistemological, moralistic and humanistic values. To reach this ultimate goal of fuga no makoto, a
haiku poet must follow certain right paths. These include: recognition that haiku is a way of life and to
learn it properly one needs to be ‘brought up’ by it; implementation of the dynamic process whereby
fueki (tradition, permanent values) and ryuko (fashion, newness, innovation and originality) would
interact and collide in a creative way; making the most of haikai no jiyu which is freedom of poetic
expression and creation in haikai; true understanding of the important point that haiku is neither
about nature nor about man alone but is about the interaction and relationship between the two with
man as part of nature; the importance of a haiku poet to remain an eternal learner; recognition that
there is something in haiku which cannot be taught but only learnt by the learner by intuition and
practice.

Does this fuga no makoto of Basho make sense to you? Does it resonate with your sensibility? Does it
appeal to you as something you wish to aim for? I believe it does. If it is with you and inside you in the
sense Basho mentioned, you can’t go wrong and you can then make it resonate with the sensibility of
other people, including children.

Some non-Japanese haiku poets may never reach the Japanese haiku spirit but all haiku poets can
expect to reach fuga no makoto and that is a wonderful possibility to celebrate. True haiku can have
universality in time and space. Fuga no makoto is the catalyst for such universality and therefore is
the ultimate aim of our learning haiku.

PART THREE: HOPE FOR HAIKU IN INDIA

Pioneers and Latecomers

In any field of human activity pioneers are normally admired and given a special place in history.
Followers, or latecomers, by contrast, would not be given such a favourable treatment. This is half
justifiable for obvious reasons but the other half is open to question, especially when the pioneers
would be over-worshipped on the one hand and the latecomers would be unduly under-estimated on
the other. Pioneers must be allowed to come down from the pedestal on which they have been forced
to stand and find their right place in history. Latecomers must be allowed to be free from the
pioneers’ mistakes.

It depends of course on what these pioneers are of. If they are pioneers of landing on the moon, or
discovering the number zero, or penicillin, then they cannot be worshipped enough. However, if they
are pioneers of discovering haiku and of introducing it outside Japan, it is a slightly different story.
Pioneers have the advantage in that nobody has known whatever they are pioneering. Latecomers
have the advantage of hindsight and all the wisdom and knowledge which have been accumulated
since the first discovery. Pioneers make mistakes as well as discoveries and in a sense they are
allowed to make mistakes if the importance of what they discover far outweighs the ill effects of their
mistakes. Latecomers on the other hand are not allowed to make such mistakes or any other mistakes
which are made perfectly preventable by the wisdom and knowledge available to them. More
importantly, it is the duty of the latecomers to correct the mistakes of the pioneers. This is not to
belittle the latter but on the contrary to pay them proper respect rather than florid but meaningless
adulation.

What, then, is the real situation in the haiku community? The answer is regrettably rather not very
satisfactory, or mixed at best. The main reason is our weakness as human beings not to learn from
pioneers’ mistakes but to repeat them as no one around is saying they are mistakes.

All too often pioneers get excessively hero-worshipped, overly admired and wholly idolised by those
who would benefit from such extravagance. Namely, they tend to do it for self-aggrandisement. This
is not genuine homage to the pioneers but it does happen and happens once too often. There is no
shortage of examples of this in haiku: Ezra Pound, Shiki Masaoka, R. H. Blyth and, yes, Basho himself
to name but a few heavyweights. There is a serious need to review not only what Shiki achieved but
also and even more importantly possible ill-effects of his reform or teaching. Blyth is at last widely
admired now but this is precisely the dangerous time when we have to examine his bad influences in
addition to his positive contributions to gain a balanced view of him, all in our interest.

If this is the situation with such glittering figures as I have just mentioned, how much more so in the
case of lesser figures in the haiku community who nonetheless wield enormous power over the vast
number of other haiku poets across the world.

What is true with individuals is also true with countries. There are pioneering countries and “late-
coming” countries. I do not know if there were pioneers in India who a hundred years, or fifty years
ago practiced haiku and disseminated it across the country. There may well have been some such
pioneers if we dig deeply into India’s modern history. After Tagore, the single important figure
regarding haiku in India is Satya Bhushan Varma. However, as a country let us for the argument’s sake
assume that India is a latecomer in haiku. Once again, let me hasten to add that this is not to insult
India in any way. Far from it, it is in fact a grand celebration as you will see soon enough from what
follows.

Blessed are the latecomers: for theirs is the kingdom of haiku heaven. They have all the advantages
which the pioneers were not endowed with and none of the disadvantages which were more or less
all that the pioneers possessed. Latecomers have no heavy and unwanted baggage. Latecomers are
like an artist's blank white canvas before the first brush stroke is placed on it. Latecomers can bring
fresh views and different insight to the table. So much more so if the latecomers were countries of
long and rich history of culture and civilisation such as India.

If you have a living legacy as old as Vedas and modern men as great as Tagore, India cannot be an
ordinary latecomer in haiku. India is one of the countries I have a special expectation in terms of how
haiku would develop in a profound way. China is another such country.
The circumstances under which haiku would or would not start to be practiced in a country other than
Japan can be complex. They also can be and are different from one country to another, though there
has been a common pattern whereby the same influence would penetrate into a late-coming country
from a dominant haiku force.

Since haiku poetry began to fly out of Japan across national, linguistic and cultural frontiers, it has
been bestowed with a new potential of expanding its scope, enriching its content and celebrating its
varieties to an unprecedented degree. This potential would be severely curtailed if the influence of a
single dominating force would pervade all or most of the countries in the world.

This makes it so much more important for a country like India to develop its own haiku on the basis of
its own study of Japanese tradition, of its own literary and aesthetic tradition and of its own
perception and sensibility concerning haiku, quite independent of, but not divorced from, the
dominant force. Developing haiku is not an arms race or economic competition. Smallest haiku
nations should rank on a par with most powerful haiku nations. There is no hierarchy in haiku. Only
quality is the judge.

If India is a latecomer in haiku, it is in fact an unbelievably fortunate gift not only for Indian haiku
poets but for haiku itself. This is because Indian haiku poets can set out on a new and different
journey of the way of haiku on the one hand and on the other haiku can have a chance to benefit from
how it develops in India. The other side of the coin is that Indian haiku poets have some kind of a
special responsibility for developing their haiku in the way they think best. For if they would develop
haiku in the wrong way it would mean a great opportunity lost not only for you but also for the rest of
the haiku poets in the world.

How that can be achieved would of course be up to the Indian haiku poets but some of the basic
points common in all countries may be of some use. Let me hasten to add that I have not come all the
way to India to preach or pontificate. However, if I say nothing but diplomatic niceties, I would be
wasting everybody's time. The following recommendations are presented, shall we say, as a friendly
advice, or my honest opinion based on painful observation of the experiences elsewhere in the world.

Freedom is probably the most important point. By this I do not mean political ‘freedom’ which is
bandied about nowadays with guns and explosives. As I have already said, it is freedom of poetic
expression and creation in a narrow sense and also freedom of spirit in a broad sense. However, like
any other kinds of freedom it is not limitless or without some constraints or responsibility. The most
crucial constraint is of course the framework within which poems should remain as haiku. Outside this
framework it would become meaningless to call anything haiku. How far one would expand or limit
the framework is a difficult question but is basically a practical and relative consideration and would
vary according to different schools of thought.

Within the framework there is a tangible element (form, kigo etc.) and intangible element (haiku
spirit, subject matter, etc.). I shall not go into details, as they can be read in the WHC archives and
publications. There are other kinds of freedom, including freedom from undue influence from other
haiku movements, especially dominant ones.

The second point I believe to be important is the critical faculty of the Indian poet. It is a kind of
creative doubt or scepticism and a capability of creative criticism, which should go along with his/her
ability to keep an open mind. If some pioneers preach and pontificate, the first thing this poet should
do is not to accept it uncritically. Similarly he/she should doubt any received theories, rules, dos and
don’ts before truly digesting them, especially if they are no more than dogmas. The poet should also
use his/her critical power to be able to tell good haiku from bad not according to the received wisdom
but according to his/her own inner insight as a poet.

The third important point is Indian poets’ readiness and humility with which he/she always remains
willing to refer back to Japanese haiku and its tradition rather than deluding him/herself at any given
time into thinking that Indian haiku has now been so well established that there is no longer any need
for or point of learning anything from Japan. Such thought would be very tempting and has been
witnessed in many countries as everybody wishes to celebrate the establishment of his or her
motherland's own haiku. It has happened on an individual basis as well, and rather widely. However,
the temptation must be resisted for the good of Indian haiku, if you can.

The fourth point is the importance of the local soil. In addition to originality and individuality which
are so vital for haiku of interest and distinction, what comes naturally and spontaneously from the
local culture makes the haiku more distinctly Indian. This is the most interesting aspect from the point
of view of the world haiku movement. Here lies the rich soil out of which many haiku poems can be
expected to flourish which are distinct from those written in other parts of the world, especially in the
West.

The fifth point is closely related to the fourth, namely indigenous languages in India. A lot of good
things can be expected from the development of haiku in Hindi, Tamil, Bengali, Marathi or Urdu, if not
all 500 local languages. In the worst case, these languages and their literary tradition may be totally
unsuitable for, or even incompatible with, the style and spirit of haiku. Even then, experiment of
writing haiku in these languages will be worth trying and we may well have some pleasant surprises. A
much greater possibility is that the poetic tradition in these languages will help create a new haiku
trend in India which will add to the merit of haiku as well as to the Indian poetry itself.

The old anthologies such as Ettutogaiad or Pattuppattu in classical Tamil may be too ancient to be
adapted to haiku (not to mention the classical Sanskrit) but modern Tamil may have a good prospect, I
have been told. Unlike the classical Sanskrit, Prakrit is a vernacular language and may be more
suitable for haiku-writing. The Rajasthani bards in Hindi of some 600 years ago may be an example to
which Indian poetic tradition can trace its origin back and can work as references for guiding haiku in
India. There is also such legacy as the Kesav Das which is erotic literature in later Hindi which can give
inspiration to erotic haiku. Satirical poets such as the 18 century Saudi would help injecting a sense of
humour to haiku, a possibility denied in the West, or inspiring Indian senryu. There is a well-
established short form of poetry in Urdu called rubai which has a comparable rhythm, style and
pathos as haiku. There was also a talk to day about an Indian short verse called vachana.

Even if English is an official language in India, writing haiku only in English would be far from sufficient
not least because there are 17 other official languages. I have been told that already many haiku
poems are written in these languages including Tamil, Hindi and Marathi. There seems to be no need
in this country to remind people that haiku in English is not everything. Tagore would have written
haiku in the Bengali-language.
The sixth point I wish to mention is the importance of avoiding any internal division or conflict within
Indian haiku community. Such division or conflict is caused by negative haiku politics which any
country could do without. The reality is that many countries suffer from this disease. In a country like
India with such enormous linguistic, regional, social and racial differences and varieties, there is an
increased likelihood of negative haiku politics leading to division and conflict. Special vigilance is
therefore necessary against it. This point cannot be stressed enough as such division and conflict
would sap the energy of healthy development of haiku in India, distorting it and bringing
inconvenience and unpleasantness to those involved. It is hoped that this World Haiku Festival 2008
would be the first to provide a common platform for all haiku poets in India who would flourish side
by side but keeping their differences and individuality intact.

At the moment relatively small number of poets are practicing haiku independently in India. Some
estimate that there are over one thousand haiku poets in India. This may look a large number but
compared with India’s population it is still a very small number. It is therefore important for them to
communicate and help each other as much as they can in order to make the most of the limited
available resources and to avoid wasteful rivalry and harmful conflict. Soon there will be a desire to
form different national haiku organisations in India. However, keep it to be a single united
organisation only for as long as possible and avoid any temptation to create the second national haiku
organisation which is bound to be in conflict with the first. You do not need two national haiku
organisations in India at least for the foreseeable future. Also, keep this single national haiku
organisation as open, transparent and inclusive as possible.

Sub-haiku organisations are a different story. They can be regional organisations on a geographical
basis. Organisations can be established on a language basis. The distinctions can be made according to
different categories of haiku, e.g. neo-classical, new-style and vanguard (avant garde). No doubt these
will evolve in India during the coming years. However, I cannot recommend strongly enough that you
should continue to try hard to have only one national haiku organisation. Japan has three national
haiku organisations, apart from numerous gigantic private organisations, duplicating, wasting,
confusing and conflicting each other. In this respect, America could be a very good model for India
with a single national organisation and many regional and state bodies, somewhat similar to their
political structure.

I have celebrated the position for India of being a latecomer in haiku. Being such Indian haiku poets
can enjoy the best of both worlds. Namely, they can take good things from the pioneering countries
while rejecting their mistakes or things inappropriate for India. They can also benefit from the
knowledge and experience which have been accumulated mainly for the last 50 years or so.

One last thing I wish to point out is something fundamental but probably seldom mentioned. I for one
have never heard it said. Like so many other things in Japanese art and culture, haiku is a product
which originally emanated from the socio-economic condition which we call poverty. Japan was a
poor country. Everything, of course, is relative and there were, for instance, rich merchants among
Basho’s disciples. However, from how she was in the past, today’s Japan is a miracle, an impossibility!
Even until recently, say, before the Japanese economic progress in 1960s, poverty was everywhere to
be seen, again relatively speaking. Japanese aesthetic terms such as wabi, sabi and hosomi and many
paintings, artefact, crafts, furniture and ceramics, and generally taste for colours and interior
decoration are all sophistication and refinement out of the condition of poverty. When Japan became
rich such as the Azuchi-Momoyama period, or the Meiji Era, the Japanese taste became garish and
crass. In rich Japan of the last fifty years, the colour and motifs of women’s kimono, for example, have
progressively lost the traditional elegance, subtlety and modest beauty.

What is so wonderful about human culture is that artistic inspirations or poetic sensibilities are never
killed by poverty. On the contrary, there have been fine arts and literature created out of, or even
because of, poverty. What is really miraculous here is that haiku was born out of poverty. The fact
that Santoka, having been born into a rich family, ended up in utter poverty having only his haiku
flourishing has a lot to do with this fundamental characteristic of haiku. Also, there is an inner and
deep contradiction in rich and decadent countries of today indulging in haiku. Pursuit of material
wealth and individual ambition do not sit well with true haiku spirit.

India is now enjoying incredible and unprecedented economic growth and industrial progress. India is
quickly becoming rich. However, try to remember that materialism, worship of Mammon and
decadence are antithesis to the essence of haiku.

You may have expected from me a kind of flowery language of greetings and diplomatic niceties
which are often used in a speech like this. Instead, I have chosen to mention some hard realities and
cautionary tales in order not to insult your intelligence by such empty words of flattery, and to make
it quite clear from the outset that there is an incredibly promising scope for haiku in India which
should be made the most of without wasting time for frivolity, rivalry or imitation.

I hope you will all enjoy the next three days to the full and come away with an optimistic feeling that
haiku will flourish in India and will do so in the right way, namely, Indian way! I wish to express my
gratitude to H H Sri Sri Ravi Shankarji for providing us with shelter, food, serene atmosphere and
friendship and to Sri Ratan Tata Trust for sponsorship. I would like to pay tribute to those who have
worked so hard to make this event possible, especially to Mrs. Kala Ramesh, Director of World Haiku
Festival in India.I wish to close this speech by reading a poem from GITANJALI by Tagore. Its message
seems even more needed now than when it was first delivered.

GITANJALI
"Song Offerings"
Translations made by the author from the original Bengali.

Mind Without Fear

Where the mind is without fear and the head is held high;
Where knowledge is free;
Where the world has not been broken up
into fragments by narrow domestic walls;
Where words come out from the depth of truth;
Where tireless striving stretches its arms towards perfection;
Where the clear stream of reason
has not lost its way into the dreary desert sand of dead habit;
Where the mind is led forward by thee into ever-widening thought and action---
Into that heaven of freedom, my Father, let my country awake.

https://terebess.hu/english/haiku/takiguchi.html
 So:ba
Jim Kacian

So here we are.

You've heard that one before. It's a common expression, so

common we might hear a hundred times and not think twice
about it. But common though it is, there's something glad about
it, something that cheers us and makes us feel at home. Its knot
of language holds its energy tight within it in a way that we
can't quite exhaust. And so we might use it, again and again,
without tiring of it.

I'd like us to consider this expression a moment, piece by piece:

here = in this designated time and place; we = the conjoined
mass of like-minded men and women; are = have existence.
And binding this together, so = as a consequence of what has
happened before; or, more colloquially, with knowledge of the
situation. Every part of this phrase, and its order, matters: how
different would it be if we were to say �we are so here�, or,
�we are here, so�, or simply, �we are here�.

So here we are. And to the �hereness� and the �weness�

and the �areness�, the �so� is ba.

If you look up ba in any Japanese-English Dictionary you'll find

it means �place� or �site� or �occasion�. And these are
all true in the most general sense—ba is a pointer to a kind of
awareness that something of importance is happening in time
and space. Everything, properly considered, is of importance,
but we, being the limited and biased creatures we are, can know
the significance of only a few of such things at a time, so we
need a way of saying �this one—this one's important�. And
this is true for each of these meanings—this place, this site, this
occasion—and in a way that is especially pertinent to such a
group as ourselves, haiku poets, preternaturally interested in
�this one�.
Take �place�, for instance: just now, Plattsburgh is ba.
Elmira is a place, but it's not ba, not to us, not now. Plattsburgh
is where it's happening, Plattsburgh is where, as a consequence
of what has come before—like-minded men and women—exist.
Plattsburgh is the �so� of that phrase. Elmira is very nice, but
Plattsburgh is ba.

And Thursday at 10:30 A.M. is ba, and the Plattsburgh

International Haiku Conference is ba. There are many other
candidates that will emerge today and in the ensuing days of our
lives, places and times and occasions that will want to be and
will actually be ba for us, but for today, here it is, and we are in
its midst.

This ba, this knowledge of the situation, can take so many

shapes and directions that it's impossible to list them all, but
you can gather that at its largest, it signifies a grounding of who
we are right now, in this place, at this time, the whole package
that we might sum up as our awareness, our consciousness, our
reality.

So here we are. Ba. Now what?

The answer is, perhaps not surprisingly, now everything. Ba is

the basis for pretty much everything we do in haiku. In fact, ba
is the message of haiku: so here we are! Of course haiku is not
message-driven, and I don't mean to suggest that the value of all
haiku can be reduced to this simple mantra. But I do wish to
argue that ba is the jumping-off point, without which we
wouldn't really know what or how any particular haiku means.
And in fact we depend upon it in all instances to ground our
poems, to make them mean something to others—in fact,
acquiring ba was the �learning curve� we all experienced
when we first came to haiku. Ba is the place where haiku reside,
and while it is possible to write poems in haiku form or on
haiku topics without a sense of it, one cannot be said to have
written haiku until one finds this place and dwells there.
Further, the specific sense of what ba might be has come to us
in a very definite way, for historical and political reasons, and I
think it might interest you to explore these reasons, and the
powerful effect this has had on the conception and practice of
western haiku.

***
First, though, let's consider how ba has affected us in our own
writing. Think back to those early days of our haiku
apprenticeship. Remember those poems that we wrote in the
throes of our first infatuation? How we carefully counted
syllables, neatly arranged our three lines—flush left, staggered
or indented one and three? How we toyed with this adjective or
that—I'd like to use �malleable� but �perverse� has the
two syllables I have left. And when it was done, how pleased
we were, we'd done it, and it was surely one of the best things
ever done in the form, how pithily it stated the profundity of my
vision, how deftly it married the melliflousness of the language
with the wisdom of ages. And we mailed it off to Modern Frog
Nervz with our self-addressed stamped envelope looking
forward to our dollar's return—we don't do this for the money,
of course—and when it did come back, it contained no dollar
but a terse note saying Not Quite or Are You Serious or Have
You Considered Taking Up Golf Instead. And we were
convinced that haiku editors were idiots if they couldn't find the
artistry, the craftsmanship, the deep sense of our little gems.

Obviously this did not discourage us—or at least not enough—

so here we are! And now, in hindsight, we might look back
upon those times and admit, grudgingly, that perhaps yes, those
editors did know a thing or two, that maybe there was a thing or
two about haiku we didn't yet fully possess, and that yes,
perhaps the language was a bit stilted, and perhaps the lines
padded out, and just possibly we were trying to make a point
through abstraction or philosophizing. Okay, let's admit it,
maybe they were right. I hate it when that happens . . .

And now we can look back on those times and perhaps we can
smile. We have come over to the other side, and if it were our
lot to have to evaluate those same early poems, or others just
like them, we'd have to admit that we'd reject them as well.
What's happened to us? Have we simply given up and given in,
merely kowtowing to the prevailing notions of haiku in order to
get published once in a while? Maybe some of us feel that way.
But I'm guessing that for most of us, we recognize that we've
learned a few things along the way, some things that make the
writing of haiku more difficult, more challenging, more artful.
What we've learned, in fact, is ba.

T. S. Eliot, in his essay �Tradition and the Individual Talent,�

wrote �No poet, no artist of any art, has his complete meaning
alone.� By which he meant that no artist invented himself in a
vacuum—rather, all artistic meaning arises from both an
understanding of as well as a break with the tradition that is the
ground of that art. And for proof we need look no further than
ourselves: what did we make of the first haiku we saw? Even if
it came clear to us, how could we evaluate it other than to say
whether or not we liked it, whatever that might mean at the
time. And if we looked at this same poem again today, knowing
what we know now, would we not regard that poem differently?
What has been added? Our knowledge of haiku, its practices
and practitioners—in short, ba: �that which is a consequence
of what has happened before.� Eliot again: �Some one said:
"The dead writers are remote from us because we know so
much more than they did." Precisely, and they are that which
we know.�

Now it is true that every one of us, and every poem, contains its
own ba. So it's not so simple as to say either you know
everything you need to know about haiku and so are included in
the group, or you do not, and so are not. What is significant
about Eliot's realization is that at least some part of what we are
doing as poets must find its breath and life within the tradition
of poetry. If I were asked to write a poem and took out a chisel
and carved a figure out of stone, you might say that's very nice
(or not) but what I wanted was a poem. To think that a sculpture
would be an equal swap suggests my lack of understanding of
the history of poetry, where no poems have previously come in
the shape of sculpted stone. This doesn't mean they won't in the
future, but for the moment we have no means of communicating
with each other, because I haven't spoken intelligibly within the
tradition, that is, within ba. And if I argue that that's what I
mean by poem, well, that's fine, but I'm going to have trouble
communicating with others who have a more historically
accurate sense of what's usually been meant by the word.

So it is with less extreme distinctions as well. I may well have

my idea of what poetry is or ought to be—that's fine, that will
help the art grew, if I'm any good and I can manage to say
something important interestingly and well. And we can call
this my personal ba. But if none of my readers is able to
connect with it—that is, if it doesn't line up with the historical
and communal ba—then we will all end up frustrated and
nothing will be accomplished. So while no poem can come
completely outside of ba in the personal sense, it is ultimately
the communal sense of ba that we measure it against.
And we know this to be true. Poems that come from outside ba,
even when witty or poetic or poignant, are often laughable from
within it. We all know poems written for the popular market,
such as

I wait for you to

Clean the rugs. Hack! Hack! Here: my
Best hairball to date.

Deborah Coates, Cat Haiku

We can, of course, find the story in this, and even with a casual
glance ascertain that it's been written according to the formula.
But even with the aid that the book's title supplies, we can't find
ba, and for a good reason: it's not present. Not that the poem
doesn't have a context—it's just not haiku's context, but rather
that of the poet. When a poet has come to terms with ba, he or
she might make these two contextual ideas coincide—in fact,
that's what it means to be accomplished. What haiku poet is
more idiosyncratically herself than Marlene Mountain? And yet
so here we are:

pig and i spring rain

Why does Marlene's pig possess more ba than Deborah's cat? Is

it just that we know Marlene (or know the part of herself she
exposes in her work) or is it something else here? After all,
we're talking about five words, five syllables—how can this be
enough to create a world and an empathy? And the answer is, it
isn't. What makes it whole, what makes it resonate, is ba:
knowledge of the situation.

This is old news in the haiku world. The significance of ba has

been critical to the understanding of classical Japanese haiku for
centuries. It was the discovery of and implementation of ba, in
fact, that elevated haiku from a punny leisure activity to a
serious literary pursuit. Consider, as an example, this poem by
Teishitsu (1609-1673), chief pupil of Teitoku, who founded the
Teitoku school, the dominant school of haiku just prior to
Basho:

suzushisa no katamari nare ya yowa no tsuki

coolness
condensing in the air –
the midnight moon
It is obvious this style of poem comes from an earlier
understanding of what was possible in haiku. It is what at one
time was termed a poetic conceit: that is, an overdriven
metaphor which in this case is intended to be a bit of a witty
surprise as well. And we can appreciate it—there is something
interesting in the notion that the air might gather itself into a
solid block of coolness, especially after a hot day. And then,
there it is, its refreshing whiteness shining down on what had
been parched and hot before, the other side of day, the goddess
of the night, the moon. So as these things go, this is pretty good.

But if it's so good, why did it disappear? The truth is, it hasn't—
there are thousands of poems written like this every year, and
some of them find their way into print:

The mystery is:

here is the fork in the road,
but which way is up?

William Warriner, Corporate Haiku

You may prefer one or another of these, but the impulse, and
the level of accomplishment, is about the same. It's apparent
both poets can count, both are capable of creating a bit of
suspense, both reach a level of achievement. And certainly both
are better than what we usually get from absolute beginners:

When dawn is breaking

rustic leaves gusting in the wind
the pumpkin shivers.

Ron Dawson, A Cache of Haiku

This is not meant to be an indictment of Ron Dawson or his

poetry: we all start somewhere. However, Mr. Dawson has had
the bad advice or judgment to put a sizeable portion of his early
work in print, and so has needlessly exposed himself to a
certain amount of criticism. That's what happens when we send
our children out into the cold, unfeeling world. But if he wants
to, if he reads and studies and practices, Mr. Dawson will get
better. And how will he get better? He will acquire ba. I could
be wrong, but my assumption is that neither Ms. Coates nor Mr.
Warriner has any interest in getting any better.
As we all know, improvement is not an instantaneous process,
nor is it automatic, no matter how much we desire it. Consider
this one:

ara nani tomo na ya kin� wa sugite fukutojiru

well, nothing's happened —

and yesterday has come and gone
fugu soup

For those of you who don't know, fugu, what we call blowfish,
is a Japanese delicacy which, if not properly prepared, can
paralyze and kill the eater. Isn't the playfulness of this poem
very like that of Teishitsu and Warriner? We can easily imagine
the poet, probably a young man, eating fugu on a dare, and
now, safely on the other side of yesterday, watch him crow a
bit—see, I did it. But bravado aside, nothing about the poem
invites deeper reflection: it's just a joke. And who is the author
of this poem?

Yes, it's Bash�, but before he became Bash�. This poem

originates from around 1678, when he was 34, so the poet was
no newbie at this point: he has been studying for seven years
with his master So�n in Edo, was considered by this point a
rising star of the Danrin school, and had even taken on Samp�
and Kikaku as students. Yet it's easy to identify this as a
relatively immature effort. Compare it with this:

kareeda ni karasu no tomarikeri aki no kure

on a withered branch
a crow has settled —
autumn evening

It's not just the somberness of the content that has changed
here—everything's different, not least the poet himself. This
poem, written in 1680, only two years later, suggests what a
great distance Bash� has come.

***

This movement from amusement to literature is the reason why

we're here today. If haiku had remained the jokey plaything it
was prior to Bash�, then it would have had its fifteen minutes
and disappeared, just as the purveyors of contemporary trash
haiku will have their populist fling and then we will hear no
more of them. This seems fitting: very little has actually been
accomplished in these poems, and in fact, if any of us turned
our minds to it, I'm sure we would have no difficulty writing, in
the space of an hour or two, quite a good-sized book of trash
haiku on virtually any subject we might think of. And perhaps
we ought—perhaps we should have a workshop on Commercial
Haiku, brainstorm a topic, and let fly. It might even be fun. But
even if we did that, it wouldn't compel us to change our
routines, endure the hardships of travel, perhaps take a day off
from work without pay, to gather and discuss them. Why
bother?Yet here we are, and it's Bash�'s fault, Bash� and his
followers and their followers and the translators and the critics
and theorists and the early practitioners and our fellow poets—
it's all our own fault. Since we recognized the power of ba and
featured it in our poems, we have made something significant of
it, something more than a nonce poetry. It may not make us rich
or famous, but it has something that keeps calling to us, and we
answer.

Since ba has had such a powerful effect on our lives, it's worth
having a look at how it has come to us here in the west. It's one
thing for Bash� to adapt a local custom, but quite another for a
completely different culture to identify and adopt such a foreign
concept.

Japan was a closed culture for a very long time, so we in the

west knew nothing of haiku (or its predecessors) for its first
several centuries. Only after the so-called �opening� of the
islands by Commodore Perry in 1853 did we catch a glimmer of
what kinds of things were happening there, and even then there
were few non-Japanese who could speak the language and had
the wherewithal to interpret what they were witnessing. And it
was these very few people, largely a group of artists and
intellectuals from Boston, who were responsible for creating the
cult of Japonisme that emerged. These people—Ernest
Fennelosa, Edward S. Morse, Stuart Bigelow and others—were
the interpreters of the East for the first fifty years of our contact
with it, and we came to view it largely through their eyes. As
you might imagine, simply cataloging the range of activities
and norms of another culture would be a staggering
achievement—opining on their value is something else again.

Haiku was an art wholly endemic to Japan, which made its

interpretation all the more difficult. Nevertheless, as early as
1869, or a mere 16 years after Commodore Perry's invasion, the
first non-Japanese book of haiku appeared—in Bulgarian! It
was, of course, a book of translations of original Japanese
poems. But consider the challenge—even if you get the words
right, what do they mean together? And even if we catch the
literal and idiomatic meaning, how do we discover the poetic
sense?

Isn't this just like our own first encounters with haiku? But with
this important difference—when we encounter something
unknown to us, we have the resources to learn more. The
earliest writers and translators, on the other hand, had either to
ask the Japanese, or make the best guesses of which they were
capable, given their own understandings and backgrounds—that
is, given their own ba. This accounts for the interesting if
wrong-headed assumptions and dictums we find from this
period, such as Basil Hall Chamberlain referring to haiku as a
�poetical epigram�. But for the first time non-Japanese could
begin to fathom what haiku poets had been working at for those
many centuries. Not until Lafcadio Hearn took up residence in
Japan in the 1890s was thoughtful and balanced consideration
given to what had been attempted, and even then Hearn was no
specialist (his interest was primarily folk song). It was another
decade before other scholars, Japanese and outsiders, began
publishing their considerations of what haiku were.

Simultaneously while exporting of their own culture, the

Japanese were also importing western culture at a great rate. In
fact, there was real concern in the 1920s that the Japanese might
jettison their entire way of life for a western mode of being, and
it was due at least in part to those Boston intellectuals that some
of the old ways were maintained and revalued in Japan.
Amongst the ideas that gained a foothold in Japanese culture at
this time were a new foundation for commerce, a familiarity
with western philosophical dualism, and an acceptance of
western-style arts, especially painting and literature. Some of
the modes of the day imported wholesale into Japanese
discourse included naturalism, surrealism and dada.

This free-market cultural exchange has had an enormous impact

on, among many other things, the history of haiku in the west. I
don't mean simply that haiku was coaxed out of its indigenous
home to be interpreted by Lafcadio Hearn, revisioned by Ezra
Pound and contextualized by R. H. Blyth, though these things
are extremely important. Even beyond that, something was
going on in haiku in Japan that was unprecedented and which
has never been repeated, at precisely the moment we began
taking it on board here.

As we recollect, Bash� elevated haiku in the seventeenth

century to a literary art. It remained in good health for a time, as
his disciples kept the practice alive and taught others well. But
after a time, and inevitably, haiku declined, returning again to
wordplay and slickness of treatment as opposed to the depths of
emotion and allusion it had come to feature at its zenith. There
were two revivals of haiku as high art, each centering on the
work and personality of a particular master of the art, first
Buson (flourished 1760) and then Issa (flourished 1810), but
neither created the widespread systematic schooling that
Bash� had managed, and so haiku again and quickly slipped
into a retrograde condition. It was in this state when Perry
sailed into Tokyo harbor.

But through an unbelievable piece of bad luck, all this happened

at exactly the time that Japanese haiku was going through a
remarkable revaluation, led by a young, ambitious poet:
Masaoka Shiki. Shiki was very interested in the cross-cultural
exchange that had come to Japan. His first love was that ancient
and honorable Japanese sport—baseball. He was studying the
English language as early as high school. And he had a taste for
western art, particularly representational painting, which was to
have a marked effect on his own opinions of what constituted
good art. And, of course, he was deadly serious about haiku.

And we know the result: Shiki retooled the moribund haiku into
an objectivist art, replete with a model of composition (shasei),
and a revaluation of the pantheon (Buson became his exemplar,
replacing the subjective and heterodox Bash�). Or, to put it in
the terms of this conference: he jettisoned the ethos of 400 years
of haiku for something like the philosophy of the Hudson River
School. Shiki changed the foundation of haiku by changing its
ba.

The consequences, of course, have been profound. The west

came to haiku at the only time in its long and estimable history
when it had adopted an objectivist orientation. Never mind that
objectivism is philosophically untenable, that there is no way to
prove through language the existence of any sort of reality
�out there.� Even more implausibly, the whole grounding of
the traditional art of haiku, according to Shiki, was now to be
based on an imported western construct. And haiku has suffered
for it ever since.

This is not to say there is no value in Shiki's approach, but in

seeking to revive it, he felt it necessary to throw out the very
underpinnings of the art, the stuff out of which Bash� had
made it an art form in the first place. And to argue his case, he
reinterpreted the history of haiku in Japan in a way that the
poets themselves would have rejected. Buson was no
objectivist—his model, in fact, was the subjective Bash�, and
he employed ba as the core of his best work in the same
fashion. Consider this famous poem:

tsurigane ni tomari te nemuru koch� kana

resting upon
the temple bell —
sleeping butterfly

Shiki singles this out as exemplary of what haiku ought to be—

image-based, pictorial, and immediate—a �sketch from
nature,� perfect shasei. In fact, Shiki considers this poem to
exemplify what he terms �positive beauty�—a western
attribute, as he saw it, and as opposed to the traditional
�negative beauty� which marked �Oriental� art. The
translators and interpreters who followed concurred: Miyamori
calls it an �artless little verse� and �a mere simple objective
description.� Blyth follows with �There is nothing
symbolized,� and continues �however objective it may be,
we feel the intensity and absorption of the poet and butterfly as
one thing.�

Really? Is that what Buson had in mind, or are Shiki and

Miyamori and Blyth simply arguing for their interpretations?

In fact, Buson's poem is a web of allusions, not least to the

famous dream of Chuang Tze (in Japanese, S�shi), who could
not say if he was a man dreaming of being a butterfly, or a
butterfly dreaming he was a man. I doubt any literate Japanese
could read this poem without being reminded of this incident,
much less a poet, and especially a poet of Buson's caliber.
Beyond this, there is an allusion to a Noh play by Zeami
entitled Takasago, and an episode in the Genji Monogatari,
though both of these are based on this same classical original.
And of course it plays ironically with Moritake's famous falling
leaf/rising butterfly poem. But most of all, it alludes directly to
Basho's

kimi ya ch� ware ya s�shi ga yume gokoro

you're the butterfly

and I'm Chuang Tze's
dreaming heart

To deny the possibility of allusion and symbolism to Buson's

poem is like saying that Moby Dick must be read as a
straightforward account of a fishing expedition: it's possible to
do so, but why would you want to? This doesn't mean that
Buson never saw a butterfly on a temple bell—we don't know if
he did, and it doesn't matter. What we do know is that wherever
he got his material, he knew how to turn it into poetry. To
denude such haiku of its allusion is to strip it of its fetch, and to
reduce it to little more than a journal entry.

And of course this is not the only such example—the entire

corpus of Buson's work contains this same sort of allusive
material. Simultaneously we can go through Shiki's readings of
Buson's poems and find this same reductionism at work. This is
too bad for Buson, but what of it? Why should this matter to us,
two centuries later?

It matters because of the manner in which it has affected the

very way in which you and I and all westerners have come to
view haiku, narrowly limiting what haiku have traditionally
been by making the least out of that which makes haiku so
distinctive: its ba. In order to demonstrate this let's consider the
arc of the Haiku Society of America's definition of haiku from
the time of its inception in the early 1970s to the present time.
The need for definitions is apparent—how else to tell the
uninitiated (that is, most new members) what we are about? But
definitions are famously retrograde and proscriptive.
Interestingly, however, the HSA's earliest attempts at definition
were broader, and grew gradually narrower. The first version,
as suggested by Professor Harold G. Henderson: �A short
Japanese poem recording a moment of emotion in some way
connected with nature.� (I will omit discussions of format and
English cognate at this point for brevity's sake.) Notice that
even at the outset mention is made of nature. There is the
mention of �moment� here as well, which is equally loaded,
but that's a discussion for another time.
A month later this became �A Japanese poem, a record of a
moment of emotion, in some way linking Nature with human
nature.� The �moment� is retained, nature has become
Nature and human nature has been removed from this Nature by
being posited against it, as though it were something else. In
other words, there is something out there called Nature, and we
humans do not partake of it. And the clear limning of this
Nature as it relates to us is the business of haiku. This is a
clearly objectivist position, following Shiki

Half a year later this has morphed into this: �A Japanese

poem, a record of a moment keenly perceived which in some
way links Nature with human nature.� This is much the same
as the previous except for the addition of the phrase �keenly
perceived,� which, as one of its outcomes, suggests that �the
record� of any moment �keenly perceived� is a haiku.
Marlene Mountain's parody definition of this was that a haiku
was �a dull moment keenly perceived,� and of course she
makes a point: none of this is about art so much as about optical
acuity.

At this point it's worth considering how Japanese dictionaries

define haiku—from the Jikai, edited by Kindaichi Kyosuke and
considered the equivalent of Webster's Collegiate Dictionary:
�1. abbreviation for �stanza of a haikai� etc., and 2.
particularly, a name for 'hokku'; a word used and popularized
by Masaoka Shiki circa the 23rd year of Meiji (1890). Five-
seven-five, three-line, seventeen-sound short poem.�
Interesting, isn't it? No mention of nature, or Nature. No
�moment�. No �keen perception�. Haiku in Japan is
defined primarily as a poem, and all that that implies. But what
we had imported was something quite different: in brief, we had
taken on Shiki's program as though it were the whole of haiku,
when in fact it was an extremely minor, doctrinaire, one-time
aberration in the lengthy history of haiku as an art.

***

And we are all heirs of this understanding. The definition quest

went on for some time after that, arriving finally at the
following: �An unrhymed Japanese poem recording the
essence of a moment keenly perceived, in which Nature is
linked to human nature. It usually consists of seventeen onji.�
Let's not get started on the whole onji thing. And only latterly,
after a good deal of agitation by difficult parties, of which I am
pleased to claim membership, has the HSA come to the
following: �A haiku is a short poem that uses imagistic
language to convey the essence of an experience of nature or
the season intuitively linked to the human condition.�

We still have some sort of objective nature in there, and we still

have some separation of this nature from human nature, which
is at the very least a debatable issue, but at least we're getting
closer to what is actually being attempted in haiku. A poem,
yes, and using imagistic language—as opposed to philosophical
or abstract language, though these are not unheard of, in
classical Japanese haiku, in contemporary Japanese haiku, in
our own practices. The essence of an experience of nature—
that's a mouthful, but if we consider everything nature (and how
can we not?) then it means simply the insight that made us write
it down in the first place.

While this is still far too prescriptive—consider again that

Japanese definition—it is some distance removed from the
blinkered objectivist agenda we inherited from Shiki. We,
Japanese and others, still have some of the trappings of that
mindset embedded in our very notion of haiku behavior:
consider, for instance, the ginko. The rationale of the ginko is
that the poet, brought face to face with the raw workings of
Nature, will be inspired to the sublimity of art. But we also
know the actual results of such things: for every worthy poem
produced, thousands of workmanlike, dull, imitative poems are
churned out. I have no objection to ginko, and there are some
few to whom it is an actual inspiration. And equally, for some it
is their only opportunity and excuse to actually get out into
nature, which cannot be a bad thing. But when the French
composer Claude Debussy wrote �It is more important to see
the sunrise than to listen to Beethoven's Ninth Symphony,�
was he suggesting that he took his music paper out into the
fields and composed before the source?

Certainly not. Exposure to nature, in as large a context as we

can conceive nature to be, is certainly the source of most of
what we do as haiku poets, but it's not enough simply to be sat
down before it: Haiku is not photography, a simple exact
limning of what lays before our eyes. If it is an art, then it must
be the selecting and ordering of words into a cogent form that
helps lead another's mind along the path that the poet's has
followed, with perhaps a similar reaction to be had at the end.
And this rarely takes place before the butterfly's wing, but
usually in the roiling of the mind, consciously and
unconsciously, whenever it can—for me that often means in the
middle of the night.

And yet despite this we still retain some residual disdain for
what are termed desk haiku. In truth, every haiku I've ever
written has been a desk haiku. It may have had its origins in
some natural spectacle, and I may even have written it on the
spot. But always, some time later and in the darkness of my
mind and study, I look again. It's this revisiting that is the actual
work of art—even if I don't change a word. �Desk haiku� is
another way of saying I'm a working poet.

So it is evident that we were very unlucky in our timing in

coming to haiku, that we have had a great deal to overcome to
arrive at anything approaching poetry as opposed to botany or
empiricism. But the Japanese have not escaped entirely
unscathed themselves.

Throughout the 20th century, Shiki and his disciples held the
dominant position in Japanese haiku, so that Japanese poets and
scholars had similar difficulties as non-Japanese in getting more
subjective, allusion-driven work published and into circulation.
The model was the shasei, the premier publication Hototogisu,
and the dominant organization the Modern Haiku Association.
But in the past three decades this has begun to change (cultural
things generally change slowly in Japan) through the work of
poets such as Kaneko Tohta and scholars such as Hasugawa
Kai. And these poets and scholars too have recognized the
hegemony that the Shiki model has held for so long at the
expense of a proper valuing of the rest of the haiku tradition.
Bash� is making a comeback in Japan, and allusion is
returning to the poems published and winning awards. Haiku is
returning to ba and is the larger for it.

Nothing has been more fundamental to the historical

understanding of haiku than this sense of �knowledge of the
situation�. Technical issues like syllable counting and kigo,
and content issues such as the inclusion of non-classical topics
and the distinction between haiku and senryu come and go, but
this issue of the so-here-we-are, this ba-ness of haiku, goes on
and on. And the proper domain for this is, of course, not a
culture or a language, but our minds. Ultimately, ba is the realm
of mind, a subjective realm, to be sure, but not necessarily a
realm in isolation. In fact, it is the cooperation of minds that
makes culture and language possible. There can be no
conception of objective reality without the subjective reality
 that underpins it, our own consciousness. And if we can bring
mind to bear on our art, then we are capable of making more of
it than simply sketching from nature. In fact, we must. We are
capable of understanding the ba out of which can be written:

from the future

a wind arrives
that blows the waterfall apart

Ban'ya Natsuishi, A Future Waterfall

If we cavil, as the objectivists might, that this is not a sketch

from nature, then we have missed the opportunity to dwell in
that which makes us unique in nature—the imagination. And at
the same time, this imagination, part of us, is part of nature as
well.

Literature is capable of giving us a clue, not to what is true, but

to what we think we're being true to. And while that's not
everything, it's a lot, and it makes our taking pains to find ba
and maintain it worth the effort.

So here we are. What are we going to make of it?

Thank you for your kind attention.

Plattsburgh, NY
30 July 2008

Skinning the Fish: Interpenetration in Haiku

Jim Kacian

For many, perhaps most, practitioners of haiku, it's the process

that matters, the growth of spirit and realization of our lives,
moment by moment. But the actual products of this process, the
haiku themselves, can help us gauge our progress, at least in
literary terms. I offer this string of fish by way of illustration.

In the infancy of my encounter with haiku, I wrote

the silver carp leaps

for its dragonfly supper,
disturbing the moon

I was delighted with it at the time. It met all my criteria of the

time for excellence: it was 5-7-5 without seeming to strain; it was
a single moment in time and yet time seemed to stand still,
despite the seeming action, within that moment; it interrelated
two disparate objects with some cohesion; and it was a pretty
picture to boot. Since then I have come to realize some of its
flaws�offering as it does a rather polished and pictorial surface,
but not a particularly great depth of insight�but admit to an
affection for it nonetheless. There is the fish; there is the moon;
they are both portrayed simply as themselves. There is a
connection that unites them. So far, so good, but there is a
problem, and the problem is not in this connection, nor in the
objects themselves, but in the writer: he has not enough insight
into the being of these objects. That's just it�the objects remain
objects. The poet witnesses, and that is all. It is not too much to
say that the majority of haiku written and published in the west
have been of this type: we might call them �objective;� Shiki
called them shasei. They present a picture, sometimes a charming
or arresting one. They are occasionally finely crafted. And, very
rarely, they are original in subject matter or approach (as the
example above is not). As an editor I have published some of
these (especially those of originality) willingly. But they are not,
for me, haiku of the highest standard.

After a little practice and growth, I wrote the following:

autumn twilight�
the shadow of a fish
stops at the weir

Following the first flush of infatuation, I found this poem to be

similar to the previous example, but with this difference: it
possesses the beginnings of what we might call sympathy, a
cognition of the circumstances of the other regarded in the poem.
There is kinship here, in the poet's mind and being, between the
failing of the light and the staying of the fish's course; and the
even deeper resonance that as the remaining light attenuates, so,
too, will the fish's shadow diminish. Moreover, there is an
integration of the emotion of the circumstances, a constriction
binding the fish, the day, the poet, the reader. The poet witnesses,
and shares.

But there can be more, of course�yet a little later:

hooked trout
feeling the life
on the line

This is, in many ways, much the same, but again in an important
way it is quite different. Once again, the level of connection with
the subject has deepened, beyond sympathy this time to empathy.
The difference as stated seems slight, but makes a world of
difference in the experiencing: empathy is more than the
recognition of circumstances, and a commiseration in
kind�empathy is identification with the other, and an actual
taking on of the intellectual and emotional reality of the situation.

How like a fish can a human be? and how human a fish? Here the
poet explores this question, imaginatively (how else?) partaking
in the struggle�conjuring the feeling of the �life� of the fish,
and its play, through the connecting medium of the fishing line.
He knows the trout's contortions and thrashings, and thus comes
to embrace a conjectured version of fish-fear and fish-rage,
comparing them to how they are like our own fear and rage. We
are directly linked, by the monofilament, yes, but also by our
capacity to empathize: the poet witnesses, shares, identifies.

But there is yet a ways to go. In all of the examples above, the
poet is manifest�he is observing, approaching, identifying with
the other, but there is yet a chasm between them�the chasm of
self. As long as self is present, we can get only so near to the
other. We are approaching interpenetration. Interpenetration
goes as far beyond empathy as empathy moves beyond
sympathy. Interpenetration is total identification with the other,
outside of one's sense of self. One so totally identifies with the
other that one loses one's self, and in so doing takes on a oneness
with all else. Consider the following:

some of the sun

glinting off the sea
is dolphins
Here there is an absolute identification: sun and dolphin and poet
(though he is nowhere to be found) are of the same stuff,
intertwined and indistinguishable. We are all children of the sun,
but only occasionally do we acknowledge it. But here no barrier
distorts the oneness�sun and dolphin and poet
interpenetrate�identification supercedes witness. Of course, it's
not simply a matter of using a transitive verb, or describing one
thing in terms of another, to realize such identification.
Interpenetration is rarely expressed, even in a medium such as
haiku that seeks and honors such states, because it's neither easily
stated nor easily achieved. There are many ways to skin a fish,
but only at the right angle, in the proper light, will it shine, and
then again, only by a refinement of that angle and a focusing of
that light will the scales glow from within. It is not enough to
look�one must see, and identify, and then recuse the self in the
identification.

It's the process, it's worth repeating, that matters most, but
specific haiku can illustrate how successful the fishing has been.
And, as the Chinese proverb has it, give us a fish and we eat
today, teach us to fish and we will be nourished for a lifetime.

Van Gogh�s Shoes: Thingness in Haiku

Jim Kacian

How does haiku differ from other kinds of poetry? This is a vast
subject, and of course can�t really be answered�haiku is very
like other kinds of poetry, at times, and at other times nothing
like it at all. Which poetry it is, and which haiku, makes all the
difference.

One characteristic of haiku that contrasts with other poetry is lack

of story. That is, haiku are not generally in the business of trying
to narrate a tale, though of course there may be a tale involved,
either in the content of the poem, or in its discovery. If one is
attempting to tell the story of the Trojan War, one might opt for
a kind of poetry in which to tell it, but it assuredly won�t be
haiku. (And so, naturally, a story, attributed to Basho: challenged
by a man to include the Eight Views of Omi in a single verse
(merely listing the names of the eight views would require more
than 60-on), the poet produced shichikei wa kiri ni kakurete mii
no kane �� seven views / hidden in the mist� / the (temple)
bell of Mii �� returning story once again to poetry).

Haiku, as this example illustrates, are not so much opposed to

narrative as beyond it�not telling tales, but encompassing them.
Haiku have neither past nor future, and are not strictly narratable.
As narrative fails, description takes over, bits and pieces obtrude.
A description of bits and pieces is concerned with neither
memory nor desire. It insists on the presence of that presented.

Of course bits and pieces may stir memory for an instant: they
are signs. But they are never inclusive, and though selected,
cannot aspire to conjuring the world whole in any individual
poem. They are, instead, the meaningfully random, and only
taken as a whole�that is, the entirety of all haiku ever
written�does anything like comprehensiveness arise. The bits
and pieces are not more than bits and pieces�they will remain
for the duration of the poem exactly what they already are. But
in accumulation they approach fractally the sum of reality, of
mind. As I�ve written elsewhere, haiku, the world�s shortest
poetry, agglomerates to haiku, the world�s longest poem. Read
enough haiku, then, and the world will work in that special sense
that literature permits.

Narrative keeps fresh the capacity for memory and desire that, in
turn, freshens narrative. What bits and pieces keep fresh is
something else again, something we might term sensibility. The
Japanese coined special words for elements of this: sabi, for
instance, and wabi, karumi, yugen. These collectively amount to
a sort of nostalgia, a state which is not memory, is not desire, but
requires access to them in order to work. These bits and pieces,
these objects, were not considered worthy of description until
they had acquired the patina of sensibility. This is considered to
be revealing not only of the condition of objects, but of their
owners or perceivers. There must be a sense of having been used
that conveys worth. Poets are expected to spend some time in the
presence of such detritus, in order to achieve tone. When the poet
stops writing the stories of these objects and begins to describe
them (or, as we are wont to say, permit them to speak for
themselves), s/he is ready for haiku.

To make the abstract concrete: recall your favorite pair of jeans.

You can�t quite throw them away, in part because they are
enmeshed with your memories and desires, but also in part
because they still work. You can wear them (to some places,
anyway) without embarrassment and with physical and
psychological comfort. Their utility has not been used up. They
remain commodities in the real world sense.

But should you remove this commodity from the real world and
make of it something else�an element in a painting or a poem,
say�you have changed its meaning. This is precisely what Van
Gogh does in his famous painting A Pair of Shoes (painted in
Paris in 1886, just as the first wave of Japonisme was seizing the
French avant-garde).

In this painting the shoes are immortalized not for their utility but
for their affect. (Another tale: the story is told that Van Gogh
bought these shoes at a flea market for use in a still life, but found
them unready�only a long walk in the Parisian rain made them
fit for paint.)

More generally, this commodification in haiku is an important

element in its conveying of meaning. A commodity is an object
worthy of exchange�that is, containing value in two minds. But
it need not be the same value, and in fact in haiku objects are seen
to be removed from their utility (although it was utility which
created their worth) and elevated to the status of idea. This is an
old conceit, here and abroad�in the west Karl Marx in Das
Kapital defines commodification as a kind of transcendence; in
the east, we have haiku.
The value of an object (in haiku, in Marxism) is not in its
continued usefulness�that is, in its ability to contribute to the
furtherance of a narrative that includes it�but rather simply as
itself in its current state. Such an object has no past and no
future�it simply is, and now. But haiku values this not in
commercial (that is, real) terms, but on its own terms. In haiku,
matter survives commodification intact, even inside the idea that
has made it a commodity, where it can be grasped by a theory:
not Marx's theory, but literature�s. One might say there are two
kinds of commodification: the real, theorised by Marx, which
raises matter into meaning and value but always the same �hard
currency� meaning and value; and the abstract, theorised in
literature, which raises it, oddly, yet further, into a compelling
particularity (in fact, into a type of particular). That is, it re-
objectifies the object. This is precisely haiku�s method.

There are western analogues, of course, most specifically

suggested in the philosophy of Heidegger, and by William Carlos
Williams's �No ideas but in things.� This does not suggest that
there should be no ideas at all, but rather that objects be the
necessary condition for ideas. This is an important extension of
our understanding of haiku, in that it permits it to grow beyond a
simple listing of objects to the repository of idea, and so a greater
claim to inclusiveness. The best haiku, Japanese and western,
arise from the �thingness� of their elements that suggests
breadth of thought and possibility. It is in this �(post-)modern�
sense of the object that we are to find the direction for growth in
haiku. Not just knowing the difference between an object and a
thing, but also the sense of things having nothing to do with the
sensation of thingness. The being of things lies no more in the
details of their mere physicality than does the being of humans.
Objects are to be reobjectified not by an accretion of details but
by their powers of allusion, the accumulation of meanings and
feelings which people have found therein.

If haiku is to remain viable, it must not be a catalog poetry, but a

poetry of emanation. This flies in the face of most supposed
definitions of haiku as �moments keenly perceived� if we take
perception to be the close noticing of attributes. Rather it must
become what Wallace Stevens suggested in �The Plain Sense
of Things� when he anticipates the wearing thin of meaning
imbued in things, but recognizes that in reality such is
inexhaustible, even if it must rebound upon ourselves: �Yet the
absence of the imagination,� he continues, �had / Itself to be
imagined.�

Winchester, VA
2008