Showing posts with label shasei. Show all posts
Showing posts with label shasei. Show all posts

Sunday, May 18, 2014

Poetic Musings: Best Known and Most Controversial Tanka by Masaoka Shiki

(Updated, May 19: Shiki's 10-tanka sequence and Donald Keene’s comment added below)

Shiki worked with the small, the finite, the close to home.
 -- Janine Beichman, author of Masaoka Shiki: His Life and Works

To see into the reality of things and represent the life where nature and the self are unified in the original one. This is shasei, drawing from life, in tanka poetry.
-- Saito Mokichi


Kame ni sasu            a tuft of wisteria
fuji no banabusa       arranged in a vase
mijikakereba             was too short
tatami no ue ni          it couldn't reach
todokazarikeri           the surface of the tatami

Masaoka Shiki


Saito Mokichi's Comment:

This poem of wisteria may be considered "objective" in the ordinary sense of the term. But if someone says that there is not enough subjectivity in it to be a poem, he simply does not understand it. People are not aware that mijikakereba/ tatami no ue ni/ todokazarikeri is a voice of subjectivity the poet could not hold. He complains that the tuft could not reach the tatami as though this were important. It was his true inner voice. The poet, who was totally unable to see the grandeur of mountains or the agitation of the ocean, faced instead a tuft of wisteria at his pillow side and made this song. A deep tune comes from inside the poet and appeals to our mind.

-- excerpted from Haga Toru's "Saito Mokichi's Poetics of Shasei," Japanese Hermeneutics: Current Debates on Aesthetics and Interpretation, edited by Michael F. Marra, p. 210)

Shiki's tanka above was written in 1901, the year before he died. It is the opening poem of his famous sequence of 10 tanka about the wisteria, which is prefaced by the following prose:

After finishing dinner I was lying on my back looking to the left when I noticed that the wisteria arranged on my desk had responded to the water in the vase and were now at their peak. I murmured to myself, "How charming, how lovely!" and vague nostalgic recollections of the Heian romances flitted through my head. I felt strangely moved to write some tanka. Considering how neglectful I have lately been of the art of poetry. I took up my brush with some uncertainty (cited in Donald Keene, Dawn to the West: Japanese Literature of the Modern Era, p. 53).

According to Haga Toru, this is Shiki's "best known and most controversial" tanka (p. 210). Despite its high reputation among Shiki's readers in Japan, on the surface this tanka appears rather plain or even banal in expression, and for many critics, it is merely about an objective description of the wisteria hanging down not far enough to reach the tatami (the straw matting on the floor of the room) where Shiki lies (as stated in the opening sentence of his prefatory note). However, in the commentary above, Saito Mokichi, the "most representative and the greatest poet of modern Japan" (Toru, p. 207), takes the reader to "see" beyond what Shiki describes in the poem and points out that the key to understanding this poem is: that  why the tuft not reaching the tatami is so important. This urge to see beyond the "what" and look into the "why" stirs the reader's reflection on the gap, thematic and emotive, between what Shiki describes in and intends for the poem.

Evaluated in the biographical and compositional context of the prefatory note, "a deep tune [of sadness] comes from inside [Shiki] through this concrete image of the wisteria hanging down not far enough to reach the tatami where he lies. In the poem, Shiki observes two separate entities (himself and the wisteria) and his thematic concern is the separation between him and the wisteria, a metonym for nature, which he is unable to see ("the grandeur of mountains or the agitation of the ocean" as stated in Saito Mokichi's comment) because of being bedridden. This tanka successfully sets the tone and mood for the whole sequence.

In his insightful comment, Saito Mokichi applies his own theory of shasei in which "to see/ look into" (kannyu) the reality of things is one of the key concepts, which I will further discuss in the next "To the Lighthouse" post.


Updated, May 19

In his 1984 book, titled Dawn to the West: Japanese Literature of the Modern Era, Donald Keene thinks “the sixth poem of the sequence implies more” than the opening poem does:

Sprays of wisteria
arranged in a vase --
the blossoms hang down,
and by my sickbed
spring is coming to an end

Below is Shiki’s 10-tanka sequence about the wisteria, which was translated by Burton Watson (Masaoka Shiki: Selected Poems by Shiki Masaoka, Columbia University Press, 1997, pp. 105-110)


Sprays of wisteria
arranged in a vase
are so short
they don't reach
to the tatami

Sprays of wisteria
arranged in a vase --
on cluster
dangles down
on the piled-up books

When I look
at wisteria blossoms
I think with longing of far-off
times,
the Nara emperors,
the emperors of Kyoto

When I look
at wisteria blossoms
I want to get out
my purple paints
and paint them

If I were to paint
the purple
of wisteria blossoms,
I ought to paint it
a deep purple

Sprays of wisteria
arranged in a vase --
the blossoms hang down,
and by my sickbed
spring is coming to an end

Last year in spring
I saw the wisterias
in Kameido --
seeing this wisteria now,
I recall it

Before the
red blossoms
of the peonies,
the wisteria's purple
comes into blossom

These wisterias
have blossomed early --
the Kameido wisterias
won't be out for
ten days or more

If you stick the stems
in strong sake
the wilted flowers
of the wisteria
will bloom again like new


Donald Keene’s Comment:

At first reading, this tanka seems little more than a statement that consists of a single sentence; but if the reader is aware that at the time Shiki composed the poem he was lying immobile in a sickbed, unable to touch the wisteria because it did not reach as far as the tatami, the poem becomes unforgettably poignant. The unadorned plainness of the expression adds to the strength; this is not so much a poem as a cry. The remainder of the sequence is mainly in the same vein. Readers who do not know Japanese may find the sequence among the most difficult of Shiki's poems to appreciate fully, even with Burton Watson's excellent translation to assist them. The bareness of expression is likely to seem prosaic, but with time, as is true of minimalist music, the bareness may seem the essence of poetry…

… The ten wisteria tanka have been well translated by Burton Watson in Masaoka Shiki, 105-110. Robert Brower, in "Masaoka Shiki and Tanka Reform," 403-8, discusses the wisteria tanka, which taken by themselves are "very flat and prosaic," but which acquire other dimensions when one takes into consideration the time of composition.

-- excerpted from The Winter Sun Shines In: A Life of Masaoka Shiki, Columbia University Press, 2013

Saturday, November 23, 2013

To the Lighthouse: Fanciful Haibun ?!

Ihara Saikaku (note: 1642 - 1693, Basho's contemporary) employed an experimental, dramatic form of haibun, or haikai prose, for which there was no precedent in the prose literature of his time.

-- Haruo Shirane, Early Modern Japanese Literature: An Anthology, 1600-1900

Nothing is less real than realism. Details are confusing. It is only by selection, by elimination, by emphasis, that we get at the real meaning of things.

-- Georgia O'Keeffe

 
Renowned poet and a founding member of the British Haiku Society, David Cobb, has recently published two books, Marching with Tulips and What Happens in Haibun: A Critical Study of an Innovative Literary Form, simultaneously. The second one uses the subtitle “A Critical Study for Use in Tandem with the Haibun Collection, Marching with Tulips” on its front cover, different from the one on its inside cover, which I think is mainly for a practical as well as an advertising purpose.

Thematically speaking, What Happens in Haibun is divided into two parts; the first one consists of Introduction (pp. 5-15) and Conclusions (pp. 75-83), which provide Cobb’s reflections on the literary genre, haibun, practiced in Japan and in the West and his thoughts on the craft of haibun writing, and the second one Commentaries on Marching with Tulips (pp. 16-74), which is made up of detailed comments made by the critic David Cobb on each and every haibun included in Marching with Tulips written by the poet David Cobb.

......

Generally speaking, throughout Commentaries on Marching with Tulips, the critic David Cobb seldom challenges the poet David Cobb to see his haibun from an aesthetically different angle; furthermore, in the cases of the poet’s “untraditional haibun,” such as “Holiday Affairs” below, the critic seems to be too reluctant to help readers, including editors (“gatekeepers” of the genre) to envision a different horizon, one that is not prescribed by the mainstream haibun aesthetics.

Holiday Affairs

Room is very white in every part. Perfectly proportioned. Breathes conditioned air.

I am a torso braised by too much sun. Torpid. Buttered with lotion.

Room and I are sharing a day of rest, a day out of the sun, the third of our holiday together. Now we are doing a crossword. Under her cool breath Room supplies the answer to three-down. "Pervading atmosphere of a place." Ambience. of Course, my dear.

This success gets us on to swapping words in the different languages we speak. Room's is Italian (with a Sicilian twang) and she tells me her real name is Camera. Surely not a paparazzo, up there with an Olympus in the soffits? Tomorrow on page 2 of The Peeping Sun?

I rub my big toe along one of her four legs, stroke her white coverlet and plump up her pillows.

sultry dusk
on the veranda
           the erotic
           rocking chair

(Marching with Tulips, p.30)

   
“Holiday Affairs”

Personification of a hotel room -- difficult to follow with a haiku. Perhaps a fatally flawed concept from the outset, whimsy taken too far? Its haiku does "shift" us forwards in time, and out from the hotel room onto a veranda; and the protagonist's lecherous eye wanders from a bed to a chair -- a different personification. Does the rhythmical effect of erotic rocking compensate at all for the general facetiousness of the piece?

I rub my big toe along one of her [Room's] four legs, stroke her . . .

sultry dusk
on the veranda
            the erotic
            rocking chair

(What Happens in Haibun, p. 37)


In Glossary of Japanese Terms, Cobb claims that “haibun . . . .[includes], at least in the West, . . . “[haibun] stories,” 6 which may be either anecdotal and imaginary, or a blend of both fact and fiction” (p. 83; see my critique of Cobb's definitions, "To the Lighthouse: Misunderstood Japanese Literary Terms" ). Then, what’s the problem with the use of personification if he asks the reader to take off his / her old-fashioned pair of “shasei” (“realist”) glasses when reading this Felliniesque haibun with a psychological bent. By asking a timid yet technical question, he fails to challenge readers to broaden their view / stretch their imagination of the poetics of haibun. Under the oppressive gaze of the shasei regime, it is no wonder that my haibun below, which is more radical than “Holiday Affairs,” has been rejected time and time again for its unrealistic or fanciful characterization.

And the Spring Will Come

He can write in English, states the dog-eared Chinese-English dictionary on the coffee-stained desk. A German Shepherd lives with him, says the attic wall with an old map of Taiwan on it. But he can't stand Canadian food, observes a line of jars of salted bamboo shoots. Except food, everything looks OK, they say in unison.

the stillness
of this morning . . .
tenth winter

-- excerpted from my Haibun Today essay, titled "What Happens in [David Cobb’s Conception of Haibun: A Critical Study for Readers Who Want More,"  a 30-page thematic, textual, and perspectival analysis of David Cobb's What Happens in Haibun.


Below is my response haibun:

A Dedication To You, the Reader

It is your interest in my haiku that has enabled this slim volume to continue its journey into the promised land of old souls. The NeverEnding Story of imagination carries us further...

The hunter's moon cracking in the attic window. And water stains on his unfinished manuscript, the one not for the faint of heart or for those who are loyal subjects of the totalitarian shasei regime.

On the Road leans
against Essential Haiku
his cold breath

Note: For those who are new immigrants or seasonal workers, the shasei regime (euphemistically) means the objective realist regime.


Editor's Note: For more information about David Cobb's conception of haibun and my critique, see To the Lighthouse: Haibun as a Box of Matches?

Tuesday, October 8, 2013

To the Lighthouse: The Model for All Haiku !?

Outside the haiku community, R. H. Blyth is a little known author, but in our increasingly globalized village, his books about Japanese short form poetry, especially about haiku, have a profound influence on English-speaking readers and writers, especially on the ones who are interested in Asian arts, culture, and spiritually (mainly Zen Buddhism). In his 1952 influential book, Haiku, Blyth viewed the following poem by Shiki as “the model for all haiku” (p. 517)

nureashi de suzume no ariku roka kana

The sparrow hops
Along the verandah,
With wet feet

And he made the following comment (pp. 517-8):

This might be taken as the model for all haiku. It is poetical and yet extremely matter-of-fact. It is like one of those perfect jokes, so simple, so inexplicable. The delicate three-pronged little marks on the floor of the verandah, so soon to dry up and vanish for ever, as transitory as the pyramids or the solar system -- what an infinity of meaning in them! (note: this is a typical comment by Blyth, in which he said little or nothing about the poet’s use of kigo or cutting, two formal characteristics of Japanese haiku; it’s mainly because he was more interested in Zenizing the haiku he reviewed )

His view was uncritically accepted by most of our fellow villagers and later this haiku was quoted in Jack Kerouac’s 1958 acclaimed novel, The Dharma Bums (p. 59), which has greatly helped promote Blyth’s view.

[Early in the novel, Ray Smith (“Jack Kerouac”), who lives in Alvah Goldbook’s (“Allen Ginsberg’s”) rose covered cottage in Berkeley, California, notes that: “On the walls are hundreds of books everything from Catullus to Pound to Blyth . . . “ (p. 17). And a few days later, while hiking with Japhy (“Gary Snyder”), Ray expresses with great joy;]

Oh this is like an early morning in China and I’m five years old in beginningless time!” I sang out and felt like sitting by the trail and whipping out my little notebook and writing sketches about it. “Look over there,” sang Japhy, “yellow aspens. Just put me in the mind of a haiku . . . . A real haiku’s gotta be simple as porridge and yet make you see the real thing, like the greatest haiku of them all probably is the one that goes ‘The sparrow hops along the veranda, with wet feet.’ by Shiki. You see the wet footprints like a vision in your mind and yet in those few words you also see all the rain that’s been falling that day and almost smell the wet pine needles” (p. 59).

After searching University of  Toronto’s e-databases, I found out that Shiki’s haiku has never been commented on to further explore its “greatness” or “depth,” except that in a Simply Haiku interview (6:4, Winter 2008) with Robert Wilson, Richard Gilbert adopted a biographical approach to “enrich the meaning”  of  Shiki’s haiku by giving “an informed understanding of the place, era, and significant relationships in Shiki's life around the time of composition.”  This means the “enriched meaning” of the poem relies mainly on the reader's extratextual knowledge. Most importantly, throughout the whole interview, although pointing out that the haiku was kigoless, Gilbert never said anything about Shiki’s use of cutting. 

Now, be honest with me, if I didn't tell you Blyth’s comment  above and replaced Shiki with my name or any other little-known name, would you think this haiku was brilliantly crafted, and that it “might be taken as the model for all haiku?” If yes, I would like to know your reason(s), especially the ones based on Shiki’s use of kigo or cutting.

To conclude this post, I would like to share with you Kerouac’s haiku below, which is accredited as "the first baseball haiku and a classic:" (Burns, ‘Gallery Fifteen: Play Ball”)

Empty baseball field --
A robin,
Hops along the bench

L1 sets the context, seasonal, thematic and emotive, while allusive Ls 2 &3 make a shift in theme and imagery, thus establishing a contrasting relationship with their preceding line through Kerouac’s skillful use of the zoom-in technique. This contrasting relationship fully embodies the “principle of internal comparison,” which is well articulated by Harold G. Henderson in his study of Japanese haiku (p. 18); therefore, it  gains added poignancy. On the contrary, without establishing any sort of comparisons/contrasts, Shiki’s haiku is a merely factual description of a scene.

Kerouac’s two-axis, cinematic haiku is beautifully crafted and serves well as a starting point for many thoughts and emotions.


Updates:

1 Below is an excerpt from John J. Morrell's "Summers in the Skagit: Gary Snyder, Jack Kerouac, and the Language of the Lookout"

Kerouac’s interest in and use of haiku in The Dharma Bums results from Snyder’s influence, and he represents it as such in the text. Japhy even critiques Ray’s attempts at haiku, offering examples and advice. When Ray makes his first try at spontaneous haiku during their hike up Matterhorn, suggesting, “Rocks on the side of the cliff…why don’t they tumble down?,” Japhy responds:‘Maybe that’s a haiku, maybe not, it might be a little too complicated,’ said Japhy. ‘a real haiku’s gotta be as simple as porridge and yet make you see the real thing, like the greatest haiku of them all probably is the one that goes ‘The sparrow hops along the veranda, with wet feet.’ By Shiki. You see the wet footprints like a vision in your mind and yet in those few words you also see all the rain that’s been falling that day and almost smell the wet pine needles. (DB, 59).

Japhy points to Ray’s questioning “why” the rocks don’t fall as the element of his haiku that complicates his image, imposing a metaphysical question on top of what should be the simple record of an encounter with the material world. Japhy suggests the appropriateness of haiku as a poetic form for representing engagement with the natural world, and more importantly, for prompting in the reader a more-than-intellectual encounter with the poem itself. Kerouac represents Ray’s increasing understanding of haiku as the result not only of his conversations with Japhy, importantly, but also as an organic product of his engagement with a particular landscape: “Walking in this country you could understand the perfect gems of haikus the Oriental poets had written, never getting drunk in the mountains or anything but just going along as fresh as children writing down what they saw without literary devices or fanciness of expression. We made up haikus as we climbed, winding up and up on the slopes of brush” (TDB, 59). Kerouac’s stylistic shift towards haiku and away from “bop prosody” represents Ray’s changing conception of the natural world and his attainment, in the fictional world of The Dharma Bums, of Buddhist insight.

2 Below is an excerpt from Robert Wilson's interview with Richard Gilbert:

RW: I read with great interest your comments regarding Blyth, who for many is a non-reproachable iconoclast revered for his insight into and translation of haiku. The American Beat poets of the late 1950s and '60s (Snyder, Kerouac, Corso, etc.) read his treatises on haiku and were greatly influenced by them; yet, you say he was biased towards classical haiku and held little value in modern haiku. "Blyth idealized the classical while devaluing the modern as at root selfish, small-minded, and confused." Your comments challenge popular thinking and will certainly shake heads. What are we to make of Blyth? Was he on or off the mark regarding haiku theory?

RG: Regarding haiku theory, he was on his own mark. Blyth sited or situated haiku in an idiosyncratic way, voluminously, and with great passion. As someone who was excited by haiku and Japanese culture via Blyth, I have great respect and admiration for his efforts. At the same time, it's worth asking why he isn't quoted and referenced by academicians these days. (note: for example, in his 40-page Introduction to Light Verse from the Floating World: An Anthology of Premodern Japanese Senryu, Makoto Ueda  emphasizes only one simple fact that "R. H. Blyth [had] translated more senryu into English than anyone else, " p. 27-8, That's all. He says nothing about Blyth's books on senryu, Japanese Life and Character in Senryu and Senryu: Japanese Satirical Verses). It's hard to know where to place Blyth. Certainly, if we consider him an authority on the meaning and cultural value of haiku, on its native soil, it seems valuable to re-work and enrich Blyth's interpretations. To do justice to this topic, a long paper needs to be written. In this short space, my colleague Itō and I would like to discuss Blyth's translation of an internationally influential haiku penned by Shiki.

First, here's a quote from a paper published in 2000 on haiku metrics written by myself and Professor Judy Yoneoka, illustrating a cross-cultural encounter with Blyth, as penned by Kerouac.

Even considering the increased interest in haiku form and its development, Japanese haiku and possibilities in English might have remained minor cultural footnotes if it hadn't been for the publication and popular success of Jack Kerouac's The Dharma Bums, in 1958 (following the publication of On The Road, in 1957, and his resulting rise to fame). Kerouac did something for the haiku movement no amount of scholarship alone could, in creating the character Japhy Ryder, a scarcely-veiled portrait of the poet Gary Snyder. Japhy transplants something of the Japanese haiku ethos, or an imagination of it, into the heart of American vernacular. Japhy seems like a modern-day gloss on Bashō—a kind of Bashō cum Li Po cum Oregonian lumberjack: "From the beginning a woods boy, an axeman, a farmer . . . . his face was a mask of woeful bone, but his eyes twinkled like the eyes of old giggling sages of China, over that little goatee . . . . he'll make the top of your head fly off, boy, with a choice chance word." In his pilgrimages into natural settings and intuitive feeling for nature, acquaintance with Zen practice and philosophy, simple lifestyle and dwelling-place, Japhy tantalized and inspired readers with novel possibilities for perception, spirituality, lifestyle, and poetic process.

3 I just came across the following poem by Ozaki Hosai, which I think could be read as a response haiku to Shiki's above:

the footsteps of a sparrow
walking on the tatami floor
sound familiar


References:

Reginald Horace Blyth, Haiku, Volume 2: Spring, The Hokuseido Press, 1952.

Jack Kerouac, The Dharma Bums, Penguin Books, 1958.

Allan Burns, Montage: The Book, The Haiku Foundation, 2010.

Harold G. Henderson, An Introduction to Haiku: An Anthology of Poems and Poets from Basho and Shiki, Doubleday Anchor Books, 1958.

John J. Morrell, "Summers in the Skagit: Gary Snyder, Jack Kerouac, and the Language of the Lookout," Beat Generation Symposium, 2008.

Robert D. Wilson,  "A Brilliant Literature: Robert Wilson Interviews Professor Richard Gilbert, Part I," Simply Haiku, 6:4, Winter 2008.

Monday, September 23, 2013

A Room of My Own: A Dedication To You, the Reader

It is your interest in my haiku that has enabled this slim volume to continue its journey into the promised land of old souls. The NeverEnding Story of imagination carries us further...

The hunter's moon cracking in the attic window. And water stains on his unfinished manuscript, the one not for the faint of heart or for those who are loyal subjects of the totalitarian shasei regime.

On the Road leans
against Essential Haiku
his cold breath

Note: For those who are new immigrants or seasonal workers, the shasei regime (euphemistically) means the objective realist regime.


Editor's Note: A Dedication To You, The Reader is a sequel to Winter Thoughts (for Mary Oliver), whose opening haiku and prose paragraph are as follows:
 
rejection slip
a sunflower bending
to the wind

I often get editorial advice like this:
 
"You will notice that we veer away from authorial comment, abstract language, and the imposition of human qualities on the natural world. Instead, we choose haiku that achieve resonance through the juxtaposition of disparate images, credibly present in the same place at the same time."

Read the full text here

Friday, July 26, 2013

To the Lighthouse: Haibun Myth

Case 1:

Much older, non-European prose poetry also appears in the form of Japanese haibun, originated by the Japanese monk and poet Matsuo Basho (1644-94). Haibun is a combination of prose poem and haiku, traditionally written in the form of travelogue. With its block of prose either topped, tailed, or interspersed with an ideogrammatic haiku, the haibun is a form of prose visual poetry that predates the European "origin" of the form by 200 years. present tense, bevity, Zen "detachment, " and pictorialization are all foregrounded, whilst the contrast between the density of the prose and the lightness of the haiku provides a harmonic intensity: the haiku amplifies the prose in a tangential fashion. American postmodernist poets, notably John Ashbery and Sheila E. Murphy, have since approproated the form in the US where it has merged as an the idiosyscratic "American Haibun," bearing only residential similarities to the traditional travelogue form.

Andy Brown, “The Emergent Prose Poem,”A Companion to Poetic Genre, p. 320


Case 2a:

Haibun       The generic name for any confection of prose with embedded haiku. Includes, at least in the West, essays and “[haibun] stories,” which may be either anecdotal and imaginary, or a blend of both fact and fiction (See also Kikobun, nikki).

David Cobb,  “Glossary of Japanese Terms, “ What Happens in Haibun: a critical study of an innovative literary form, p.83

Case 2b:

My haibun, "Winter Thoughts," was rejected for its “essay-like quality.”  For further discussion, see my “To the Lighthouse” post, titled “Essay-Like Haibun ?!.”  (note: I  added  one more section to the post, and it contains an  excerpt from and a brief analysis of Basho’s longest haibun, “An Essay on the Unreal Dwelling” (“Genju-an no Ki”). His essay contains about 15oo words in Japanese. As its title indicates, the essay tells of Basho's life at the "Unreal Dwelling/Hut" near Lake Biwa in the summer of 1690. It has a confessional nature, its structure is tight and well-ordered, and it "displays Basho’s prose craftsmanship at its best.”)


The common misunderstanding about haibun is that haibun was originated by the Japanese haikai poet Matsuo Basho, traditionally written in the shasei ("realist") style of travelogue, exemplified by Basho's famous travel journal, entitled The Narrow Road to the Interior. Below is excerpted from my essay, "Make Haibun New through the Chinese Poetic Past: Basho's Transformation of Haikai Prose," which was first published in Simply Haiku, 8:1, Summer 2010 and then reprinted in Haibun Today, 6:1, March 2012)

First of all, broadly speaking, haibun was developed before Basho and written in the form of short essays, prefaces or headnotes to hokku, such as Kigin’s Mountain Well (1648). Its prose style resembled that of classical prose. 20 In 1671, a well-known Teimon poet Yamaoka Genrin (1631-1672) published his experimental work of haibun, entitled Takaragura (The Treasure House), and in it, he “[emulated] Zhuangzi’s gugen [(Chinese, yuyan)] 21 by revealing beauty and virtue in ordinary household apparatus.” 22 His work was “highly metaphorical and allegorical,” 23 it didn’t have great influences on the way haikai poets at the time wrote their haibun (added note: And Basho's contemporary, Ihara Saikaku (1642 - 1693), "employed an experimental, dramatic form of haibun, or haikai prose, for which there was no precedent in the prose literature of his time." For more information, See Chapter 2, "Ihara Saikaku and the Books of the Floating World," Early Modern Japanese Literature: An Anthology, 1600-1900 edited by Haruo Shirane, and Christopher Drake's essay below)

It was not until shortly after Basho returned from his journey to Oku that he became more focused on developing a different style of prose, which was infused with a haikai spirit. Around 1690, in a letter to Kyorai, he named this new haikai prose haibun, which was characterized by the “prominent inclusion of haikai words (haigon), particularly a combination of vernacular Japanese (zokugo) and Chinese words (kango).” 24 After the publication the first anthology of the new haibun, entitled Prose Collection of Japan, Basho was recognized as “the first to create such a model [for haikai prose] and breathe elegance and life in it.” 25

Secondly, as Haruo Shirane stresses, Basho’s The Narrow Road to the Interior, “may best be understood as an attempt to reveal the different possibilities of haibun in the form of travel literature.” 26 A lot of commentators also point out that Basho’s work is less a factual record of a travel journal account, where haiku commemorate real but isolated moments keenly perceived on the journey, than it is a highly related set of about fifty haibun structured to convey a specific literary effect. 27

For example, Basho’s travelling companion, Sora, recorded in his diary that on their visit to Nikko, they first visited the temples and shrine on the mountain and then rested at Hotoke Gozaemon’s inn on their last night. Basho rearranged this series of events – resting first and visiting later – in separate Nikko haibun in order to dramatize their stay with Hotoke Gozaemon. In doing so, he was able to compare/contrast three schools of thought: 1. Shinto (the shrine and its history); 2. Confucian (Hotoke Gozaemon reminded Basho of one important passage from The Analects of Confucius); 3. Buddhist (describing in two passages Sora’s religious preparations for the journey and their improvised Buddhist “summer purification retreat”). 28

Furthermore, it is “best considered a long prose poem, which gives vernacular and Chinese phrases the cadence and tonality of poetry.” 29 That is because many commentators observe that Basho’s prose conveys poetic beauty through concise imagery, making the boundary between prose and verse disappear. 30

Therefore, there is no general agreement on exactly where the haibun breaks occur. The majority of English translations do not indicate them. As a result, most readers will look upon The Narrow Road to the Interior as a travel journal infused with haiku. 31 Nonetheless, the haibun is used to divide the text into subsections, indicating a “discrete passage which characteristically ends in one or more haiku.” 32 This is such a non-linear text, freely mixing prose with verse in a way as to demand a relational reading. Significant meaning of a work of this sort is embedded with the interaction of text and context. 33


Notes:  

1 Definition of Haibun in The Princeton Companion to Classical Japanese Literature

Haikai writing. Prose composition, usually with haikai stanzas, by a haikai poet. Normally with an autobiographical or theoretical interest, it could treat many kinds of experiences. When it treats a journey, it becomes a species of kiko (note: travel journal) (p. 275)


2 Scholarly View of Haibun:

Rags and Tatters. The Uzuragoromo of Yokoi Yayu
Lawrence Rogers
Monumenta Nipponica, 34:3, Autumn 1979, pp. 279-291.


Haibun

THE term haibun, literally 'droll prose', is an inadequate and misleading term, since it is elliptical and should be understood in the sense of haikai no bunsho or haikai no bun,5 that is, the prose of the haikai poets. Unfortunately these terms mislead us because they are too broad. Such an agentially defined categorization, although accepted by some students of haibun, is meaningless if taken as indicating any and all prose written by a haiku poet, since it would then include diaries, travel sketches, informal essays, haiku criticism, book prefaces, and letters. And while haibun has been the province of the haiku poet, we cannot demand poetic authorship as part of our definition, for many pieces generally accepted as haibun and having those qualities associated with it in this more precise sense were written by literati whose reputations, in fact, rested on other than the haiku verse. Whatever the shortcomings of nomenclature, however, haibun refers to a short informal essay,6 usually light in tone and commonplace in theme, which shares those qualities that we associate with haiku verse, including suggestion, allusion, and ellipsis, and which similarly exploits the techniques of the pun, the associative word, and the pillow phrase and word.7 At its best, haibun is ruminative and reflective, a happy wedding of brevity of form and profundity of content, affording the reader a fresh and unconsidered view of the world, a new look at the commonplace -- a fan, the sweet pleasure of sleeping late, the pitfalls of borrowing money. When it is less than successful, it can be studied, artificial, almost euphuistic in its stylistic ornamentation and the gratuitous intrusion of classical allusion and proverbial lore.8

Stylistics of Uzuragoromo

THE language of Uzuragoromo, by and large, is similar to that of the other haibun collections of the Tokugawa era. The grammar is pseudo-classical, as were all Japanese literary forms of the period, and its diction a melange of contemporary and classical vocabulary, the latter heavily, but not exclusively, Sinitic. Like other haibun writers, Yayu exploited simile, classical and proverbial allusion, parallelism, puns, associative words, and related elements of individual and generic style. Because haibun were written for the eye rather than for the ear, as were, for example, the joruri plays of Chikamatsu, we naturally find less of those devices whose greatest appeal is aural. Thus onomatopoeia, a conspicuous element that strongly colors the modern language as well, is stylistically irrelevant in Uzuragoromo. For the same reason, Yayu did not rely on assonance or alliteration to the degree that Chikamatsu did in his puppet plays. Conversely, an element of style such as parallelism, the appreciation of which is as visual as it is aural, assumes greater importance in haibun. That parallel prose is a stylistic technique of haibun, yet encountered only infrequently elsewhere in Japanese literature cannot, however, be explained wholly in terms of an assumed aural or visual orientation of the genre, and suggests the probability of Chinese influence on this quintessentially Japanese literary form.

Chinese parallel prose (p'ien-wen)9 is characterized by four or six-character parallel phrases, tending toward a florid style, rhyming, and frequent allusion. Such a style is natural, perhaps inevitable, given the essentially monosyllabic nature of literary Chinese, represented by discrete symbols of uniform size, and vocally expressed through a phonological structure capable of sophisticated rhyming. For the same reasons, literary Japanese is clearly not predisposed to parallelism precisely because it is polysyllabic and vocalically impoverished, and thus its sentences cannot be put together like a string of like-size graphic beads.

Linguistic predispositions notwithstanding, a kind of syntactical parallelism is possible, and Yayu often resorts to it. The opening line of Tabako no Setsu, the haibun on tobacco, is a striking example:

Yomichi no tabi no nebutaki tote koshi ni chabin mo sagerarezu
Aki no nezame no sabishiki tote tana no mochi ni mo te no todokaneba.

You may get drowsy journeying along a road at night,
but you cannot dangle a teapot from your waist to refresh yourself.
You may awake forlorn one autumn day,
but you cannot feed yourself when you cannot reach the rice-cakes on the shelf.


(important notes: 6 We should not be reticent about using the term 'essay' when describing the haibun genre, since we are using it in the same sense as Montaigne did, that is, literary attempts that are essentially unsystematic discourses, as opposed to the more formal, systematic, expository arguments on philosophy, morality, governance, and the like. 8 Traditional literary scholarship has preferred a topical analysis, dividing haibun into the Pristine School and the Farcical School, and identifying Basho's work as the exemplar of the former and Yayu's as representative of the latter. In fact, from a topical perspective Uzuragoromo seems to be rather a synthesis of the antithetical elements ascribed to the two so-called schools, a confluence of the solemn elegance of the Pristines and the frothy wit of the Farcical stream.)




3 Fuzoku Monzen edited by Morikawa Kyoriku, Basho's gifted disciple
excerpted from World within Walls: Japanese Literature of the Pre-Modern Era, 1600-1867 by Donald Keene, pp. 142-3.

... the first important collection of haibun, Fuzoku Monzen is a grab bag of prose pieces by Basho and members of his school,... The prose of Basho's travel diaries is known as haibun because its incise and elliptic style suggests his haikai poetry, not because it has any specifically humorous, "haikai" content; but many selections in Fuzoku Monzen are marred by the deliberate injection of an arch and pretentious humor, which the authors seem to have considered to be indispensable to haibun.... In all, twenty-one "genres" of haibun are represented in the collection. These represent the various categories of elegy, preface, rhyme-prose, etc., derived from traditional Chinese collections like Wen Hsuan (Monzen in Japanese), but little attempt was in fact made to distinguish one genre from another... Of the total of 114 selections in Fuzoku Monzen, ranging in length from a paragraph to eight or ten pages... Fuzoku Monzen was Kyoriku's most lasting monument. it was at once the first and best collection of haibun, and its influence was considerable, not only on writings specifically in this style but on much of the Japanese prose of the eighteenth century (note: there are two haibun with no haiku, "Huzi no hu/Prose Poem on Huzi" by Matukura Ranran and "Minomusi no setu/On the Mantle-Grub" by Yamaguti Sodoo, written in the hu/"prose poem" and setu/"essay or monograph" styles respectively, included in Selections from Japanese Literature: 12th to 19th Centuries edited by F. J. Daniels, pp. 52, 146-9)



4 The Passage regarding their visit to Nikko:

The 30th: stopped over at the foot of Mount Nikko.13 The innkeeper said, “My name’s Buddha Gozaemon. My principle is to be honest in all things --that’s why people call me that. So make yourself at home and rest up, even if it’s just for a night.” What sort of Buddha is this, appearing in a mean and muddy world to aid beggar-monk pilgrims like us? I observed him closely: free of cleverness or calculation,14 he was a man of unswerving honesty. It’s said: “One of sturdy character and steadfast sincerity approaches true humanity.”15 And this man’s natural purity of heart is admirable indeed.

-- Basho’s Journey:The Literary Prose of Matsuo Basho, Translated with an Introduction by David Landis Barnhill, pp. 50-1

13. Site of the mausoleum of Tokugawa Ieyasu (1542–1616), founder of the Tokugawa shogunate.
14. Literally “devoid of wisdom and discrimination.” Scholars differ on whether this is criticism or praise. I take it positively as lacking artificiality, which parallels the other terms used. Note that the portrait begins with references to Buddhism and ends with references to Confucianism.
15. From the Analects of Confucius. (p. 156)


Makoto Ueda' s Comment (excerpted from Matsuo Basho, pp. 138-9)

[Here] is a stubbornly honest man, the sort rarely found in an urban, sophisticated society. He is artless, almost native; he can tell his quests he is called Buddha, without suspecting that they may consider him presumptuous. Basho suspected and watched him closely; he found in him not a Buddha but the sort of man so simplehearted as to precede both Buddhism and Confucianism. Basho saw an image of primeval man unspoiled by the evils of civilization….

… According to Sora, …Basho was entertained by high-ranking samurai and well-to-do merchants at various towns…. Basho makes no mention of them whatsoever. The Narrow Road to the Deep North is a literary journal with a deliberate choice of facts.


5 Haibun Fiction by Ihara Saikaku (1642 - 1693)

Mirroring Saikaku: The Great Mirror of Male Love. by Ihara Saikaku
Christopher Drake
Monumenta Nipponica, 46:4, Winter, 1991, pp. 513-541

Saikaku's long haikai sequences did not simply break down the distinction between poetry and prose in the modern sense but developed into a new worldly kind of haibun, or haikai prose, a genre that has virtually become a lost art in modern Japan.

Saikaku did not 'mature' from haikai to haikai-'embellished' prose to more mimetic, less rhetorical prose in his later fictional works. In fact, it can be argued that the later works are even more thoroughly rhetorical because their tropes do not draw attention to themselves. Nor is there any evidence that Saikaku wrote his haibun fictions spontaneously, with no intellectual interven-tion or revision. In the afterword to his 4,000-verse Oyakazu  sequence, Saikaku stresses that he practiced long and hard at achieving a rapid flow of interesting images. Although he and other Danrin poets often use polite humility when referring to their sequences, which are more colloquial and less restrained than waka, renga, or Basho's haikai, Saikaku's haikai sequences and haibun fiction works (none of them, strictly speaking, 'novels') can in no way be described as 'intended as a moment's effort, presented for a moment's pleasure' (p. 27).


6 The Princeton Encyclopedia of Poetry and Poetics edited by Roland Greene, Stephen Cushman, etc., Fourth Edition, 2012, p. 592

Haibun. A literary form developed in Japan that employs a combination of prose and haiku. A haibun may be as brief as a single terse paragraph followed by a single haiku or an extended work involving an laternation of prose and verse. Accordingly, the [haiku] may occur singly, in groups, or in linked series, between prose passages. The best known examples are the travel journals. Narrow Road to the Interior by Basho (1694) and the autobiographical The Year of My Life by Issa (1819). The prose and verse sections of a haibun are intended to function discretely as self-contained texts; however, in combination, they enact a kind of dialogue between them, a compounding of points of view on the same situation or topic. While the form was developed by Basho out of the haikai tradition. of linked verses employing commonplace diction and a lighthearted tone, it has been used for a range of tones and themes; however, personal themes predominate. As with haiku, haibun has been adapted into many languages and cultures. its practice is cultivated by haiku societies, journals, and web sites; it is also practiced by poets such as James Merrill, Robert Hass, and Rachel Blau DuPlessis. The form has undergone variations as well: in Merrill's 'Prose of Departure,' the haiku  and prose are connected syntactically, rather than being discrete elements; also, the first and third lines of each haiku rhyme. Others vary the form by not keeping to the strict syllable count of haiku or more flexibly employing free verse --William Wenthe, English, Texsa Tech. University