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Template:PD-US A history of Japanese literature CHAPTER IV

POETRY OF THE SEVENTEENTH CENTURY— HAIKAI, HAIBUN, KIOKA

Haikai

It might naturally be supposed that in the Tanka of thirty-one syllables poetry had reached its extreme limit of brevity and conciseness. But a still further step remained to be taken in this direction. In the sixteenth century a kind of poem known as Haikai, which con- sists of seventeen syllables only, made its appearance. The Haikai is a Tanka minus the concluding fourteen syllables, and is made up of three phrases of five, seven, and five syllables respectively, as in the follow- ing :—

" Fwii ike ya I Kawadzu tobi-kotnu^ Midzu no otoJ"^

It differs from Tanka, however, in more than metre, being much less choice in diction and matter than the older kind of poetry. It admits words of Chinese deriva- tion and colloquial expressions, and often deals with subjects which the more fastidious Tanka refuses to meddle with.

The earliest professor of this accomplishment was

Yamazaki So-kan, a Buddhist priest (1445-1534). The

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verses of his which 1 have met with have mostly a comi character. Here is one : —

" Even in the rain, come fori h, O midnight moon I But first put on your hat^^

A halo is called in Japanese kasa, which also means broad hat or umbrella.

Another early Haikai writer was Arakida Morital (1472-1549). The following is from his pen : —

" Thought /, the fallen flowers Are returning to their branch j But lo / they were butterflies.^^

Coming down to the Yedo period, the first name note in this department of literature is that of Matsunag Teitoku (1562-1645). A well-known Haikai of his is th following : —

" For all men ' Tis the seed of siesta — The autumn moon.^^

In other words : The autumn moon is so beautiful th people sit up half the night to gaze on it, and have thei fore to make up for their want of sleep by a siesta dn t following day.

If it were not, however, for the fame of Matsura Bash (1643-1694) and his disciples, it would hardly be nece sary to notice this kind of composition at all. He ported a more serious element, and greatly refined ani improved the Haikai, until it became a formidable riv; to the Tanka. The latter had in these days become to exclusive for the popular taste. The Fujiwara famil who were its special patrons, practisers, and critic

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maintained the traditional canons of the art in all their rigidity, and the nation was glad of a new and more un- confined field for its poetical talent. To write tolerable Tanka required a technical training, for which the many had neither time nor opportunity, but there was no- thing to prevent any one with ordinary cleverness and a smattering of education from composing Haikai. Saikaku, an unlearned man, is said to have produced twenty thousand stanzas of this kind of poetry during one day's visit to the shrine of Sumiyoshi, and to have received on that account the cognomen of ^' the twenty- thousand old man." The story is an obvious exaggera- tion, but it shows what an easy thing Haikai writing was thought to be.

Basho belonged to a Samurai family, hereditary re- tainers of the Daimio of Tsu, in the province of Ise. He acquitted himself with credit in an official capacity con- nected with water-works in Yedo, but for some reason threw up his appointment and entered the Buddhist priesthood. He built himself a cottage in the P'ukagawa district of Yedo, and planted a banana-tree beside the window. It grew up and flourished, and from it he took the name of Basho (banana), by which he is known to posterity. He was a diligent student of the Zen Buddhist doctrines and of Taoism, and was also an artist. From time to time he took long excursions to the remotest parts of Japan, leaving behind him traces of his presence, which remain to this day, in the shape of stones inscribed with poems of his composition. On one of these jour- neys he took suddenly ill, and died at Osaka in the fifty-first year of his age.

Shotei Kinsui relates the following incident which hap- pened on one of Basho's tours. It illustrates the favour

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in which Haikai was held even by the lowest classes oj the people : —

Once, when on his travels, Basho passed through a certain rural district, making Haikai as he went alona It was full moon. The whole sky was flooded with light so that it was clearer than noonday. It was so brigh that Basho did not think of seeking an inn, but continue( his journey. In a certain village he came upon a part of men who had brought out sak6 and something to ea with it into the open air, and were enjoying the moon light. Basho stood still to watch them. Presently the; fell to composing Haikai. Basho was greatly pleased t( see that this elegant accomplishment was practised evei in so remote a place, and continued looking on, when 5 silly fellow of the party noticed him and said, *' There i: a priest who looks like a pilgrim. He may be a begging priest, but, never mind, let us invite him to join us.' They all thought this would be great fun. Basho coulc not refuse, so he joined their circle, taking the lowes seat. The silly fellow then said to him, ^^ Everybody here is bound to compose something about the full moon You must compose something too." Basho apologised He said he was a humble individual, belonging to country place. How should he presume to contribute to the entertainment of the honourable company ? He begged, therefore, that they would kindly excuse him. " No ! no ! " said they, '^ we can't excuse you. Good or bad, you must compose one verse at least." They urged him until at last he consented. Basho smiled, folded his arms, and turning to the clerk of the party, said, " Well, I will give you one : —

' ^Twas the new moon

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" The new moon ! What a fool this priest is ! " cried one. The poem should be about the full moon." " Let him go on," said another ; " it will be all the more fun." So they gathered round, and mocked and laughed at him. Basho paid no attention, but went on —

" ' Twas the new moon ! Since then I watted— A nd lo ! io-nij^ht ! [/ have my reward^

The whole party were amazed. They took their seats again and said, *^ Sir, you can be no common priest to write such a remarkable verse. May we ask your name ? " Basho smilingly replied, " My name is Basho, and I am travelling about on a pilgrimage for the sake of practis- ing the art of Haikai." The rustics, in great excitement, apologised for their rudeness to an eminent man " whose fragrant name was known to all the world." They sent for their friends who were interested in Haikai, and began their alfresco feast anew in his honour.

It has been objected that Haikai, even in the hands of an acknowledged master like Basho, is too narrow in its compass to have any value as literature. The Kanga- kusha Dazai Shuntai calls it a tsutanaki mono (a stupid sort of thing), and Shotei Kinsui admits that in the eyes of ^' the superior man " this is doubtless so. Its popu- larity, however, is undeniable. The name of Basho was known to the very cow-herds. He had ten disciples, and they in their turn had pupils whose name is legion. Monthly conferences of Haikai amateurs were held regularly both in the capital and the provinces, and there were professors who contrived to make a living by practising this art.

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It would be absurd to put forward any serious claim on behalf of Haikai to an important position in literature. Yet, granted the form, it is difficult to see how more could be made of it than Basho has done. It is not only the metre which distinguishes these tiny effusions from prose. There is in them a perfection of apt phrase, which often enshrines minute but genuine pearls of true sentiment or pretty fancy. Specks even of wisdom and piety may sometimes be discerned upon close scrutiny. Sugges- tiveness is their most distinctive quality, as may be seen by the following : —

"^ cloud of flowers I Is the bell Uyeno Or Asakusa ? "

To the English reader this will appear bald, and even; meaningless. But to an inhabitant of Yedo it conveys more than meets the ear. It carries him away to his favourite pleasure resort of Mukojima, with its long lines of cherry-trees ranged by the bank of the river Sumida, and the famous temples of Uyeno and Asakusa in the vicinity. He will have no difficulty in expanding it into something of this kind : ^' The cherry-flowers in Muko- jima are blossoming in such profusion as to form a cloud which shuts out the prospect. Whether the bell which is sounding from the distance is that of the temple of Uyeno or of Asakusa I am unable to determine."

But brevis esse laboraty obscurus fit, A very large pro- portion of Basho's Haikai are so obscurely allusive as to transcend the comprehension of the uninitiated foreigner. The following are some of the more lucid. The same quality of suggestiveness pervades them all.

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'•^ An ancioii po7td! With a sound fro7n the water Of the frog as it plunges in^^

" / cotne weary ^ In search of an inn — Ah I these wistaria flowers I "

" Ah ! the waving lespedeza^ Which spills not a drop Of the clear dew!"

" ' Tis the first snow — fust enough to bend The gladiolus leaves ! "

OfMiidera The gate I would knock at— The moon of to- day ^^

That is to say, How beautiful the scenery about the temple of Miidera must look on a fine moonlight night like this ! I would that I were there to see it.

" On a withered branch A crow is sitting This autumn eve"

" The cry of the cicada Gives no sign That presently it will die"

The following are by other writers : —

'■^^ Tis the cuckoo — Listen well I How much soever gods ye be'"

" ^Tis the first snow. Yet some one is indoors — Who can it be?

" The club-shaker's Rising and falling in the water Until it becomes a musquito"

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The water-grub, which subsequently becomes a mus- quito, moves about by the rapid vibration of its tail. Hence the name *' club-shaker." To the Japanese it is an emblem of the mischievous boy who is destined to develop into a wicked man.

" O ye fallen leaves ! There are far more oj you Than ever I saw growing on the trees ! "

^^ Alas! the width of this musguito-?iet Which meets my eye when I wake And when I lie down"

The following characteristic specimen of this kind oi poetry is quoted in Mr. B. H. Chamberlain's Handbooi of Colloquial Japanese : —

^^ Asagao ni

Tsurube torarete, Morai-mizu ! "

Literally, '* Having had my well-bucket taken away by the convolvuli, — gift-water ! " The meaning, as Mr. Chamberlain not unnecessarily explains, is this: *'The poetess Chiyo, having gone to her well one morning to draw water, found that some tendrils of the convolvulus had twined themselves around the rope. As a poetess and a woman of taste, she could not bring herself to disturb the dainty blossoms. So, leaving her own well to the convolvuli, she went and begged water of a neighbour. A pretty little vignette surely, and expressed in five words."

Haibun

The Haibun is a kind of prose composition which may be conveniently mentioned here, as it is a sort of

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satellite of the Haikai, and aims at the same conciseness and suggestiveness. The most noted writer of Haibun is YOKOI Yayu (1703-1783), a high official of Nagoya, in Owari. He is the author of the much admired apologue which follows : —

"An earthen vessel, whether it be square or round, strives to adapt to its own form the thing which it contains : a bag does not insist on preserving its own shape, but conforms itself to that which is put into it. Full, it reaches above men's shoulders ; empty, it is folded up and hidden in the bosom. How the cloth bag which knows the freedom of fulness and emptiness must laugh at the world contained within the jar !

O thou bag

Of moo f I and flowers

Whose form is ever changing I "

In other words : How much better it is to yield our hearts to the manifold influences of external nature, like the moon and flowers, which are always changing their aspect with the weather and the season, than, self-con- centrated, to try to make everything conform to one's own narrow standard !

KlOKA

Kioka (literally " mad poetry ") is a comic and vulgar variety of Tanka. There is here an absolute freedom both in respect to language and choice of subject. The Kioka must be funny, that is all. In this kind of poetry, of which an immense quantity was produced during the Yedo period, the punning propensity of the Japanese has been allowed full scope. Share (pronounced " sharry ") reigns there supreme. Share is one of those numerous

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Japanese words for which there is no exact English equivalent. It may be translated " wit/' but in order to express its full meaning a spice of what is comprehended under the terms gaiety, esprit, playful fancy, stylishness, must be added. Japanese wit, like that of other countries, has an element which defies analysis or classification. But the jeu'de-mots predominates. Share infests not only the Kioka, but the drama and fiction, to an extent well-nigh intolerable to European tastes. Dr. Florenz, Professor of Philology in the Imperial University of Tokio, has treated this subject with truly German con- scientiousness and erudition in a paper read before the German Asiatic Society of Japan in July 1892. Follow- ing a native investigator named Tsuchiko Kaneshiro, he classifies share under two heads with divisions and subdivisions, making in all twenty different kinds. Our old enemy the pivot-word is here, also the pillow-word, and several varieties of the ordinary pun, with various fearfully complicated acrobatic contortions of speech which I shall not attempt to describe. Even the reader who has a competent knowledge of the language requires a special study to understand and appreciate them. He follows these far-eastern waggeries with a halting step, and frequently finds himself in the position of the Scotchman who was heard suddenly to burst into laughter at a joke which had been made half-an-hour before. Nothing testifies more strikingly to the nimble- ness of the Japanese apprehension than their delight in these '^ Taschenspielerkunstchen des sprachlichen Aus- drucks" (linguistic prestidigitations), as Dr. Florenz has aptly called them, whether in conversation or in books. It may be doubted whether such an excessive fondness for mere verbal wit does not amount to a disease, and

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whether it has not constituted a serious obstacle to the development of higher qualities in their literature.

In quite recent times a popular kind of lyrical poetry has come into fashion which somewhat resembles the ancient Naga-uta in form. The following may serve as a specimen : —

" Vain has been the dreiun In which I thought that we met; Awake ^ I find myself again In the darkness Of the wretched reality. Whether I try to hope Or give way to gloomy thought^ Truly for my heart There is no relief.

If this is such a miserable world that I may not meet thee^

Oh / let 7ne take up my abode

Deep in the far mountains^

And deeper still

In their furthest depths^

Where, careless of men^s gaze,

I may think of my love!'