Chen-ou Liu's Translation Project: First English-Chinese Haiku and Tanka Blog

Showing posts with label essay. Show all posts
Showing posts with label essay. Show all posts

Sunday, September 4, 2016

The Journey Itself Is Home

(The following is my "Poet and Tanka" essay, which was first published in Ribbons, 12:2, Spring/Summer 2016)

The Journey Itself Is Home

After more than ten years of struggling towards a new life vision and preparing for a major change in my field of study (computer science to cultural studies), in the summer of 2002 I emigrated to Canada to pursue a PhD and settled in Ajax, a suburb of Toronto.

flying above
the light and murmur
of Formosa
the airplane carries
my immigrant dream

Haiku Canada Review, 9:1, February 2015
(In 1544, a Portuguese ship sighted the main island of Taiwan and named it "Ilha Formosa," which means “Beautiful Island")

Toronto settles
into a nocturnal rhythm ...
face to face
in the attic room
with my Chinese self

Haiku Canada Review, 9:1, February 2015

After arriving in Canada, I was frustrated by the lack of in-depth and wide-ranging classroom discussions and, most importantly, I was stressed by the financial burden. I quit my studies and started to write essays in an adopted language, English. After two years of striving, I published three essays but got little attention from the scholars in those fields. Furthermore, I was disappointed by my inability to master English quickly. My pent-up emotions began spilling over onto pieces of scrap paper in the form of free verse. The more I wrote, the more I thought about becoming a poet.

I try out
the English word writer
in my Chinese mouth
several times ...
this bittersweet taste

Whispers, October 11, 2014

After a year of striving to write free verse poetry without much success, I came across three books of tanka poetry by Takuboku: Poems to Eat, A Handful of Sand, and Romaji Diary and Sad Toys. The emotional strength, socio-political sensibilities, and colloquial language of Takuboku’s tanka, a kind of poetry in the moment, appealed to me. For Takuboku, writing tanka was more like the emotional outburst of a mind agonized by the inner struggle and external events that shaped his life and identity. In some aspects, Takuboku’s conception of “poems to eat” is similar to that of Dionne Brand: “Poetry is here, just here. Something wrestling with how we live, something dangerous, something honest” (Bread Out of Stone, p. 113). Since encountering Takuboku’s heartfelt and poignant work, I came to view tanka as a poetic diary that could be employed to record the changes in my immigrant life, a newly-racialized life of struggle with transition and translation.

bare maple tree
standing on the front lawn…
with no one around
I speak to it
in my mother tongue

2011 Best of the Best Poetry Award (Tanka Category), Lyrical Passion Poetry

I used to be...
from an immigrant's mouth
stretches his story --
the pin-drop silence
fills an ESL classroom

Gusts, 16, Fall/Winter 2012
(ESL stands for English as a Second Language)

old-age home
in winter twilight
I listen
to his Hockey Night stories
for minimum wage

Atlas Poetica, 15, 2013

behind my back
they whisper slanted eyes ...
in a dream
I unzip my skin,
put on another

Highly Commended, 2014 Kokako Tanka Competition

when being shouted at
go back where you came from
the gray wings
of the Canada goose
skim my heart

Atlas Poetica, 5, Spring 2010

mid-autumn night…
the wind whispers to me
Chinese words
that offer me a home
in the shape of a moon

Tanka First Place, 2011 San Francisco International Competition Haiku, Senryu, Tanka, and Rengay

Tanka is a short form poetry, and it requires the poet to have acute observation skills and a set of literary techniques to distill his/her feeling, thought, or experience to its essence. In his study of Masaoka Shiki's life and work, The Winter Sun Shines In, Donald Keene makes a similar point: “A haiku or a tanka without rhetoric was likely to be no more than a brief observation without poetic tension or illumination" (p. 57).

In my early days of writing tanka as an English learner, I put more effort into choosing the right words/phrases to depict a scene or an experience in concrete imagery and to structure it into two parts that formed a resonant relationship to spark the reader’s emotions and reflection.

after surgery
both of us said nothing...
her red bra
in the corner of my mind
begins to change color

Second Place, the 60th Pennsylvania Poetry Society Annual Contest

A year later, when I felt more confident in writing tanka, I started applying some literary techniques to the poem in order to expand or deepen its meaning:

Punctuation marks to thematically and emotionally highlight the two contrasting parts (outer world versus inner thought) of the poem to offer more dreaming room for the reader’s imagination.

I open windows
(another day no poem
written down,
only blocks of dead words)
and let the spring breeze in

Gusts, 20, Fall/Winter 2014

Wordplay to bring together the two disparate images to evoke racial-cultural associations that have sociopolitical impacts.

white flight, white fright ...
my Chinese roommate
practices "l" and "r"
before the window
as the moonlight slips in

VerseWrights, March, 2014
(Chinese-English learners, especially adult learners, have great difficulty pronouncing “l” and “r” clearly and distinctly; “white flight” is a term that originated in the United States and starting in the mid-20th century)

The rhetorical device of defamiliarization to effectively convey the speaker's sense of estrangement or displacement.

black coffee
and Chinese fried dough ...
in my mouth
a foreign tongue
licking these lips

NeverEnding Story, February 1, 2015
(For most Chinese people, this food combination of "black coffee/and Chinese fried dough" is weird/westernized; usually, a typical Chinese breakfast includes soybean milk or a bowl of congee and Chinese fried dough)

Syntactic parallelism to reinforce the poem's message by setting up patterns and adding balance and rhythm to the lines to give the poem a smoother flow.

we were all
someone and something once ...
this migrant
sees himself in me
seeing myself in him

VerseWrights, March, 2014

Symbols to open up a different cultural and mental space and transport the reader’s imagination.

the muse rising
from a sea of words
covers her breasts ...
I am pregnant
with verses of longing

Atlas Poetica, 18, 2014

Classical allusion to create novel contrasts that layer the poem with multiple meanings

putting the corpse
of loneliness around my neck
I jump
into the darkness
of a spring day

Back Cover Tanka, Ribbons, 6:3, Fall 2010
(“… In a vivid flash of five lines, Liu’s poem brings the famous Coleridge work ["The Rime of the Ancient Mariner"] immediately to mind. In the tanka, the concrete is replaced with the abstract… Loneliness, is an abstraction given power and life by use of the corpse metaphor... Spring, typically associated with rebirth, sunlight, and joy, here takes on the opposite qualities with the simple alliterative combination of “darkness” and “spring day.” Dave Bacharach, “The Back Cover,” p.1)

As one who has long been interested in cinema, Kaleidoscope: Selected Tanka of Shuji Terayam, greatly appealed to me because Terayama’s cinematic fiction tanka not only dismantled my hard-learned ideas about what the tanka is, but also interwove the narrative threads of personal mythology, trauma, cultural memories, socio-political events and surreal imagination.

a child of O'Keeffe
I've made words my ladder
to the moon --
critics cannot stop
cracking their knuckles

A Hundred Gourds, 3:2, March 2014

wolf moon
standing high in the sky
I hear it
howl in my blood ...
eyes upon the dripping

Opening Tanka, "Ein Fremdes Land," a tanka sequence for Georg Trakl
Lynx, 25:2, June, 2010

In a 2010 prose poem, titled “Why believe you can write verse in English?,” I wrote of my faltering confidence in writing:

“To write verse in English is not like growing ideograms inside your heart, reaping the sentences matured by the muse of desire, taking your clothes off with words, and exposing yourself in the rhythm of the stanzas so that you can hold your passport and cross the borders of linguistic solitudes, emigrating from the ideographic to the alphabetic..."

in English
I try to delineate
the contours
of my Chinese longing ...
this misty winter morning

Bright Stars, VI, 2014

I’ve been writing tanka for almost seven years. It has been and still is a wrenching process of heart and mind. For me to write tanka in English now is to make a run at something without knowing whether I am going to succeed. It points a way for me to function with relative freedom in an unfamiliar world of the alphabet, and to make myself up from moment to moment. On this tanka journey, I sometimes feel at home with myself when using exact English words to depict my Chinese feeling, thought, or experience in evocative imagery.

I skip
a stone of words
across the lake
of another time
another place

Lynx, 26:2, June 2011

Saturday, December 10, 2011

Read It Slowly, Repeatedly, and Communally

In less than six months, Frogpond published two articles1 relating to "déjà-ku"2 experiences that six prominent poets shared (see the poem texts below).3 In his article titled "Bull Kelp," Christopher Herold emphasized that "there are myriad instances of poets tapping into the same sources of inspiration. Resulting poems may be nearly identical… [It's] simply poets attuning themselves to what's going on around them."4 In his article titled "Two and Two," John Stevenson gave similar emphasis that "this phenomenon is all about paired experience and similar expressions… I would say that we independently hit upon a means of expressing a perception that many others must have shared."5 Editor George Swede added a note to the article to share his own déjà-ku experience. In his reply to Swede's enquiry regarding the similarity between their haiku, Jim Kacian stressed that "[my haiku] was taken from life… given the same input and some similar ideas about form, it's not terribly surprising that we might arrive at much the same poem."6

Although recognizing that there are differences between their haiku, both poets give little space in the articles to technical analysis of their poems. As he mentioned in the article, Stevenson at first wanted to withdraw his poem from publication. It's because "it's quite clear that [her haiku] was both written and published before mine and the natural thing to do would be to withdraw mine."7 Later, he felt relieved when Sandra Mooney-Ellerbeck said she didn't want him to withdraw his haiku.8 The Heron's Nest published his poem. However, we all know that it's more usual for the editor to withdraw the later poem due to lack of "originality or freshness." Most importantly, if the poet who wrote the later similar poem offers no sufficient reasons to prove that he wrote it by himself, he will run the risk of being criticized for using someone else's idea or imagery.

In her note to Herold, Connie Donleycott stated that "I had no way of knowing about the other poem, but, because the other poet's was published, I felt mine would come across as a copy."9 Her fear of unknowingly writing similar haiku is not unusual–it's a common fear among haiku poets. Over the past year, I've had several lengthy discussions on déjà-ku with other poets. Throughout those discussions, the recurring words or phrases were "not the first," "similar or same," "not original or fresh," and "has been done." I was surprised by most of my fellow poets who considered the Western concept of originality timeless and universal, and who showed little interest in understanding the Japanese concept of originality or newness and its use of honkadori or allusion while at the same time praising the haiku, most of which are highly allusive, written by Japanese haiku masters.10

Of those similar haiku mentioned above, Stevenson's is most "problematic." His first two lines are identical to Mooney-Ellerbeck's except with "…" at the end of line two. As he stressed in the article, "the nearly exact wording of our first two lines is, indeed, striking."11 But, the most important thing about these two haiku is the differences, tonal and thematic, marked by their distinctly juxtaposed images. Reflecting upon the same phenomenon ("more darkness/ more stars"), Stevenson added "autumn begins" as the concluding line to signify a process of the decaying of life, which is initiated by Mother Nature. What he did with his haiku is not merely to add a seasonal reference, but to show the destructive force of nature; more importantly, in the connotative contexts of the opening image and of the compositional occasion,12 this seasonal reference could be read to prefigure a tragic loss of life. Therefore, we as readers are fortunate to have an opportunity to read this beautifully-crafted and heartfelt poem, which is thematically and tonally different from its predecessor poem. Both poets use the same opening image, but if their haiku are read slowly and repeatedly, these differences will emerge.

The only and most important problem I have with these two articles and those discussions relating to déjà-ku is the unexamined concept of originality. Historically speaking, since the post-Enlightenment, the passion for uniqueness and originality has become the main criteria for art works. Poetry viewed as an "original expression of individual creativity is a recurring definition shared by many Romantic poets."13 Individual imagination and creativity has been theorized to represent a high value in literary criticism. This view is well-explored in Forest Pyle's influential book, The Ideology of Imagination: Subject and Society in the Discourse of Romanticism. Today, high poetic value placed upon originality remains ingrained in the Western literary culture. This fear of unknowingly writing similar haiku or the reluctance or disuse of allusion proves that Thomas Mallon's remark still holds true: the poets live under the "fearful legacy of the Romantics."14 Could those poets or editors who are constantly worried about "not being original or fresh" imagine that a poet deliberately using a direct quote as the first two lines of his haiku can achieve a great poem?

The following haiku is written by Katoh Shuuson (or Kato Shuson; 1905-1993), haiku poet and leader of the humanist school that seeks the truths of human existence through the poetic means of haiku, and who is "known for his scholarly and poetic appreciations of the great classic haijin, notably Matsuo Basho:"15

Japanese Original:

hakutai-no kakaku shingari-ni neko-no ko-mo


English Translation:

the days and months travelers
through a hundred generations
kitten tags along

Trans. by Dhugal J. Lindsay16

On a denotative level, this haiku speaks of two types of movement: one is temporal, and the other spatial; one is portrayed in a metaphorical language, and the other a literal one. The juxtaposition of these two parts of the poem stirs the reader's reflection on temporal awareness and consciousness, and it reminds me of one of the thematic foci described in "Book XI" of Confessions, in which St. Augustine explores the relationship between God's timelessness and his creation's experience of time. Most importantly, the image juxtaposed with the first two lines – the Existentialist statement on time as the traveler – is an innocent, uninvited, kitten, offsetting the unbearable heaviness of its preceding lines and thus creating some sort of a comic-tragic effect. It further stirs up the reader's emotions about and reflection on the absence of human beings in the poem. This haiku is brilliantly written and its suggestive power relies on the thematic gap between the two parts of the poem. It can definitely stand on its own without the reader's extra/inter-textual knowledge.

On a connotative level, the first two lines of this haiku are a direct quote from the opening line of the first haibun in Basho's travelogue, The Narrow Road to the Interior, one that is followed by "and the years that come and go are also travelers."17 Read in the context of Basho's travelogue, the opening haibun is the most important section of the work that determines the theme, tone, movement, and goals.18 It also describes multiple departures – "the hermit-poet's philosophical departure from a particular way of life and his actual physical departure from the hermitage, a symbol of life he abandons."19

The haibun was written in the first person perspective, and Basho stressed that "[many] in the past also died while traveling. In which year it was I do not recall, but I, too, began to be lured by the wind like a fragmentary cloud and have since been unable to resist wanderlust, roaming out to the seashores."20 According to Hiroaki Sato, "many in the past" might refer to Japanese poets, such as Saigyo and Sogi, and Chinese poets, such as, Li Po and Tu Fu, who all died while traveling.21 More importantly, Basho's opening lines allude to a popular piece, the preface to "Holding a Banquet in the Peach and Pear Garden on a Spring Night," written by Chinese poet Li Po.22 They are almost a literal translation into Japanese of Li Po's lines, except that " one Chinese term, using the compound tsukihi (month and days, moon and sun, or time) [is] in place of [Li Po's] koin (day and night, light and darkness, or time)."23 Unlike his contemporaries, such as Ihara Saikaku and Oyodo Michikaze, both of whom used a direct quote,24 Basho changed koin to tsukihi. It's because tsukihi brings to the Japanese reader's mind "more concrete and vivid images of the moon and sun with all the connotations the two carry in the Japanese poetic tradition."25 In the haibun, Basho established a poetic-interpersonal relationship with the ancients, one that reveals his sense of rootedness.

Shuuson, unlike his poetic forefather Basho, used a direct quote written in modern Japanese from Basho's famous haibun, and subtly showed the tonal difference between his quoted line and Basho's original.26 And he wrote his haiku from a perspective of an objective observer. There is no human figure in the haiku. What we see is just a cute kitten unaware of the passage of time, tagging along the procession of the days and months as travelers. The psycho-philosophical impact of the inner tension and thematic gap is brought about by the sharp contrast between the two parts of the poem.

For attentive Japanese readers, Shuuson's haiku is fresh and original in terms of his skillful use of a haikai twist through honkadori that parodies the existential themes of death and of the transience of life explored in Basho's work. When they encounter his poem, they read it slowly, repeatedly and communally. Unlike modern English-language haiku, "which [are] often monologic, a single voice describing or responding to a scene or experience,"27 the haiku Shuuson wrote was mainly situated in a communal setting and dialogic responses to earlier poems by other poets. "The brevity of the [haiku] is in fact possible because each poem is implicitly part of a massive, communally shared poem."28 More importantly, it was until the post-Enlightenment that this non-individualist/communal concept of poetry began to be less known to the poets who were brought up in the Western literary culture.29 In his influential book, titled The Anxiety of Influence: A Theory of Poetry, Harold Bloom particularly mentions Shelley's speculations that: "poets of all ages contributed to one Great Poem perpetually in progress."30 Like Japanese poets, Shelley viewed poetry as a collective enterprise.

Veteran haiku poet and editor Cor van den Heuvel gives an incisive explanation about these perspective differences between Japanese poets and "Western-minded" poets who are worried about not being original or fresh: "If a haiku is a good one, it doesn't matter if the subject has been used before. The writing of variations on certain subjects in haiku, sometimes using the same or similar phrases (or even changing a few words of a previous haiku), is one of the most interesting challenges the genre offers a poet and can result in refreshingly different ways of 'seeing anew' for the reader. This is an aspect of traditional Japanese haiku which is hard for many Westerners, with their ideas of uniqueness and Romantic individualism, to accept. But some of the most original voices in haiku do not hesitate to dare to seem derivative if they see a way of reworking an 'old' image."31

The passage quoted above is used as the concluding paragraph of Michael Dylan Welch's essay that appeared in Simply Haiku wherein he introduced his self-coined phrase, déjà-ku. However, the challenge he poses in the end of the essay has not yet been taken up. Isn't it time for us as readers and writers of Japanese haiku to broaden our poetic horizons and consider deepening our poetry through re-examining our perception of originality? In closing, consider the remark by professor Haruo Shirane about Basho's view of haiku writing:

"[The] poet had to work along both axes: to work only in the present would result in poetry that was fleeting; to work just in the past, on the other hand, would be to fall out of touch with the fundamental nature of haikai, which was rooted in the everyday world." 32

Notes:

1 Christopher Herold, "Bull Kelp," Frogpond, 33:3, (Fall 2010), pp. 71-3; John Stevenson, "Two and Two," Frogpond, 34:2, (Spring/Summer 2011), pp. 93-5.

2 Déjà-ku was self-coined by Michael Dylan Welch to describe the haiku that "bear some relationship to other poems. These relationships are good in some cases, such as parody, homage, and allusion, and not good in other cases, such as plagiarism, cryptomnesia (remembering someone else's poem without realizing that one is remembering rather than creating it), and simply being too similar or insufficiently fresh or original." See Michael Dylan Welch, "An Introduction to Déjà-ku," Simply Haiku, Vol. 2, No.4 (July/August, 2004), http://bit.ly/ez70RO

3 There are two poets included in Editor's Note. The haiku in the articles are as follows;

sickle moon
a boy whips the sea
with bull kelp

~ Christopher Herold

wind in my hair
a boy tames the sea
with bull kelp

~ Connie Donleycott

more darkness
more stars
moving on

~ Sandra Mooney-Ellerbeck

more darkness
more stars ...
autumn begins

~ John Stevenson

spring breeze
the dog runs
in its sleep

~ Jim Kacian

warm spring breeze
the old hound runs
in his sleep

~ George Swede


4 See Herold, p. 73.

5 See Stevenson, p. 93-4.

6 Ibid., p. 95.

7 Ibid., p. 94.

8 Ibid.

9 See Herold, p. 73.

10 For further information on these issues, see Chen-ou Liu, "The Ripples from a Splash: A Generic Analysis of Basho's Frog Haiku" and "Waking from Zhuangzi's Butterfly Dream – Plagiarism or Honkadori," Ripples from a Splash: A Collection of Haiku Essays with Award-Winning Haiku, Ajax, Ontario: A Room of My Own Press, April 2011, pp. 51-73.

11 See Stevenson, p. 94.

12 Ibid.

13 Jessica Millen, "Romantic Creativity and the Ideal of Originality: A Contextual Analysis," Cross-sections: The Bruce Hall Academic Journal, Vol. VI, 2010, p. 91.

14 Thomas Mallon, Stolen Words: Forays into the Origins and Ravages of Plagiarism, New York: Ticknor & Fields, 1989.

15 James Kirkup, "Obituary: Shuson Kato," The Independent, 10 July 1993, http://ind.pn/nZPQFo

16 Kaneko Tohta, "Selected Haiku," the Haiku International Association website, http://bit.ly/qkYXrK

17 Hiroaki Sato, trans., Basho's Narrow Road: Spring & Autumn Passages: Two Works by Basho Matsuo, Berkeley, Calif.: Stone Bridge Press, 1996, p. 41

18 Eleanor Kerkham, "And Us Too Enclosed in Mori Atsushi's "Ware Mo Mata, Oku no Hosomichi"Matsuo Basho's Poetic Spaces: Exploring Haikai Intersections, Eleanor Kerkham, ed., New York, NY: Palgrave Macmillan, 2006, p. 188.

19 Ibid.

20 See Sato, p. 41.

21 Ibid., p. 40.

22 Ibid.

23 See Kerkham, p. 189.

24 Ibid., p. 197.

25 Ibid., p. 189.

26 See Tohta.

27 Haruo Shirane, Traces of Dreams: Landscape, Cultural Memory, and the Poetry of Basho, Stanford, Calif.: Stanford University Press, 1998, p. 15.

28 Ibid., p. 27.

29 Forest Pyle, The Ideology of Imagination: Subject and Society in the Discourse of Romanticism, Stanford, Calif.: Stanford University Press, 1995.

30 Harold Bloom, The Anxiety of Influence: A Theory of Poetry, Oxford, UK: Oxford University Press, 1973, p. 19.

31 Cor van den Heuvel, ed., The Haiku Anthology: Haiku and Senryu in English, New York: W.W. Norton, 1999, p. ix-x. In fact, "Michel Foucault (1977, 115) has argued that the entire concept of artist or author as an original instigator of meaning is only a privileged moment of individualization in the history of art." See Linda Hutcheon, A Theory of Parody: The Teachings of Twentieth-Century Art Forms, Urbana and Chicago: University of Illinois Press, 1985. p. 4.

32 Haruo Shirane, "Beyond the Haiku Moment: Basho, Buson and Modern Haiku Myths", Modern Haiku, XXXI:1 (Winter/Spring 2000), accessed at http://bit.ly/CckuN.

A Hundred Gourds, 1:1, December 2011

Wednesday, March 23, 2011

Reviving Japanese Haikai through Chinese Classics: Yosa Buson and the Basho Revival

Despite the fact haikai was a native Japanese poetic genre, it was closely linked with the world of sinophile intellectuals that flourished in [the eighteenth century], and the Basho Revival owned much to the ideas and notions that circulated within it.

-- Cheryl A. Crowley

Bason’s cultural make-up was essentially bi-national, the Chinese and native Japanese elements woven together in a seamless fabric.

-- John Rosenfield


Written in the Japanese tradition of honkadori, 1 Yosa Buson’s frog hokku opens up a window into the lamentable situation of the eighteenth century haikau community.

Soo no ku o osoite Inheriting one of our ancestor’s verses

furu ike no the old pond's
kawazu oiyuku frog is growing elderly
ochiba kana fallen leaves 2

First of all, semantically speaking, the above poem is made up of two parts that are separated by a kireji (cutting word), kana. The first part is that in the old pond there is an aging frog, whose honi (poetic essence) is “suggestive of spring,… [implying] vigor and youth.” 3 The second part introduces the reader to the scene fallen leaves, whose honi refers to winter. 4

Secondly, technically speaking, Buson employs the puzzle-solving technique to hold the reader in suspense in the first part of the poem (a supposedly youthful and energetic frog is getting old), and he solves the puzzle in the second part through shifting the scene to a winter setting where the seemingly disparate elements of the poem suddenly make sense: the frog is approaching old age, hibernating under fallen leaves that cover the ice in an old pond. 5

Thirdly, according to the headnote that mentions “one of our ancestor’s verses,” Buson makes a honkadori to Basho’s most memorable hokku.

Furu ike ya the old pond
kawazu tobikomu a frog jumps in
mizu no oto the sound of water 6

By using Basho’s old poem as raw material and the device of alluding, Buson re-shapes the old poem and makes the intention and technique of re-shaping itself the object of appreciation. 7 In doing so, Buson creates a startling twist on the accepted meaning of the old poem, which is the skillfully Basho-esque use of “haikai imagination” described in Haruo Shirane’s Traces of Dreams. 8 Connotatively speaking, Buson laments that Basho’s frog, which is suggestive of spring, has no strength to jump into the old pond, and just grows old, buried by the fallen leaves that are associated with winter. 9

Finally, read with the knowledge that Buson’s hokku is a parody of Basho’s, it is reasonable to read Buson’s poem as commentary on the pitiful situations of the haikai genre of his day: “That is, a statement of frustration and dissatisfaction with the popular neglect of Basho’s teachings. In other words, a once energetic and youthful animal -- Basho’s poetic legacy -- is now dormant and aging in the frozen barrenness of the contemporary haikai community.” 10

Due to the scope and main focus of this chapter and for readers who are interested in the East Asian poetic traditions, I will discuss the root causes of this “frozen barrenness of the contemporary haikai community” and the Chinese influences, especially the ideal of the bunjin (Chinese: wenren, which means scholar-amateur), on Buson, the leading figure in the Basho Revival moment. 11

Read the full text here...

Haijinx, IV-1, March 2011

Thursday, December 30, 2010

The Ripples from a Splash: A Generic Analysis of Basho’s Frog Haiku

I once met an avid reader of haiku who could recite at least ten different English versions of Basho's frog haiku, but when I asked him, “what makes Basho's haiku so great that is worthy of more than a hundred different translations published in book form?” 1 How could there be significant meaning in such a simple poem which simply describes a frog jumping into an old pond? Or if I replace “frog” with any other amphibian creature or any creature that can dive into a pond, is it still considered to be great? ” I received no good answers from him at the time, but a few days later I received a lengthy email, in which he gave me a list of books or websites on Basho’s frog haiku. One of them was an often-quoted website page titled Matsuo Basho: Frog Haiku: Thirty-one Translations and One Commentary. 2 The commentary was taken from Robert Aitken’s A Zen Wave: Basho's Haiku and Zen, a collection of essays on Basho’s haiku. I wasn’t satisfied with any of the answers from his sources because of their individualistic, de-contextualized, and Buddhist-influenced interpretations of Basho’s haiku. More importantly, they didn’t help answer my questions. I pondered, “What would Basho say if he were alive today and could read these English language reviews of his frog haiku done by writers or lovers of haiku?”

After an extensive reading of the related materials, I believe that Basho would say, “It might be better to read my poem (a text) in context.” Unlike modern haiku, “which [are] often monologic, a single voice describing or responding to a scene or experience,” 3 the haiku Basho wrote were mainly situated in a communal setting and dialogic, responses to the previous verses in haikai sequences or to earlier poems by other poets. “The brevity of the [haiku] is in fact possible because each poem is implicitly part of a massive, communally shared poem.” 4 And as a genre firmly rooted in the centuries-old tradition, its unabated rigor and cultural richness lie in the haiku poet’s keen awareness of utilizing the poetic legacy and cultural associations. 5 In what follows, I’ll give a generic analysis 6 of Basho’s haiku, hoping that this contextualized reading of his poem would broaden our understanding of some enriching characteristics of Japanese haiku.

The old pond;
bbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbFuru ike ya
A frog jumps in —
bbbbbbbbbbbbbbkawazu tobikomu
The sound of the water. 7
bbbbbbbbmizu no oto

First of all, at the denotative level, Basho’s haiku simply says that there is an old pond, that a frog jumps into it, and that the sound of water is heard. Semantically speaking, as is typical of haiku, his poem is made up of two parts through the use of the cutting word, “ya:” “the old pond” and “a frog jumps in --/ the sound of the water.” The tension is thus created by the collocation of these two parts: the sharp contrast between the static image of an old pond, evocative of stillness and loneliness, and the lively image of an energetic animal that jumps into the pond and makes the water sound. 8 This tension leaves something for readers to ponder, furnishing both meaning and imagery for themselves.

Based on linguistic knowledge of the target language and on literary literacy, a textual analysis of this sort, generally speaking, would give readers a satisfactory pleasure in understanding this poem, but it couldn’t answer the questions I posed above. It’s because there are a lot of poets who write good haiku that leave something unsaid for readers to ponder, and because I don’t see any differences that would be made if Basho changed “frog” to any other amphibian creature or any creature that can dive into a pond.

Secondly, at the connotative level, Basho added an extra layer of meaning or surprise by using a kigo, kawazu (frog), in an unusual way. With its circle of associations, kawazu provided a special pipeline to the reader, increasing the complexity and capacity of the poem. 9 For example, there are some 140 poems classified under the section titled “ponds” in
Fubokusho (Selected Poems from the Land of the Rising Sun), a standard waka anthology, none of them depicts a frog. 10 More importantly, read in the context of classical Japanese poetry and the haiku poetics, kawazu is a seasonal word for spring used in poems since ancient times, and had always referred to its singing and calling out to a lover. The preface to the first imperial anthology titled Kokinshu describes “listening to the warbler singing among the blossoms and the song of the frog dwelling in the water” 11 as in the following poem:

on the upper rapids
a frog calls for his love.
Is it because,
his sleeves chilled by the evening,
he wants to share his pillow? 12

Instead of giving “the song of the frog,” Basho focused on the water sound of a diving frog. He was the first poet ever to defy the poetic essence (honi) of the frog by emphasizing the “splash” that it makes, working against what one would expect from reading classical waka or renga. 13 In juxtaposing these two seemingly incongruous worlds and languages of ga (elegance) and zoku (vulgarity), Basho humorously inverted and recast established cultural associations and conventions of the frog. In doing so, he created a comical effect: a “parody of classical poetry that refers to the frog as expressive of romantic longing.” 14

A contextualized reading of his poem, like the one I present here, would reveal the greatness of his poem: the psychological impact of the inner tension brought about by the sharp contrast between two parts of the poem and the transformative power of the newness created by parodying established practices and cultural associations. For Basho, his notion of the new “lay not so much in the departure from or rejection of the perceived tradition as in the reworking of established practices and conventions, in creating new counterpoints to the past.” 15. Throughout his life, instead of writing haiku with new kigo, Basho devoted himself to “seeking new poetic associations in traditional topics.” 16

Basho’s use of parodic allusion that brought to the reader’s mind earlier texts and reworked an old theme in a new setting has enriched Japanese haiku. His frog haiku, which has been often read one-dimensionally by most of Western haiku poets, is two-axis: on the scenic level, the horizontal axis, the poem objectively describes a natural scene, possessing no emotion, but “the sound of water rising from an old pond implies a larger meditative, lonely silence;” 17 on the vertical axis, it is a parodically allusive variation, a haikai twist on the poetic associations of the frog depicted in classical Japanese poetry. As Haruo Shirane demonstrates in his book titled
Traces of Dreams, Basho believed that “the poet had to work along both axes: to work only in the present would result in poetry that was fleeting; to work just in the past, on the other hand, would be to fall out of touch with the fundamental nature of haikai, which was rooted in the everyday world.” 18

Decades later after Basho’s death, Yosa Buson, who led the Basho Revival movement in the eighteenth century, wrote a response haiku:

the old pond's
frog is growing elderly
fallen leaves 19

Buson’s poem, a parody of Basho’s, could be read as a commentary on the pitiful situations of the haiku community of his day, adding its voice to the centuries-old dialogue between Japanese poets and their predecessors. This allusive characteristic of Japanese haiku has still been absent in most of English language haiku that put great emphasis on the “haiku moment”20, which means “here and now.”Maybe it’s time for us to learn from Basho while greatly praising his haiku.

After all has been said, I would like to conclude my article with a tribute poem to converse with and show my respect to masters and their works.
The Ripples from a Splash: A Haiku Sequence Based on Chinese Poetics 21

moonlit pond…
are frogs asleep
tonight?

flower moon --
its eyes on the flowing clouds
a frog

this frog
crouches on a lotus leaf --
reciting Basho

the frog
shatters the moon’s face...
alone by the pond


Notes:

1 See Hiroaki Sato, One hundred Frogs: From Renga to Haiku to English, New York : Weatherhill, 1983. 1st ed. In the book, he presents a collection of over one hundred translations and variations of Basho’s frog haiku.

2 The Bureau of Public Secrets, “Matsuo Basho: Frog Haiku (Thirty-one Translations and One Commentary),” http://www.bopsecrets.org/gateway/passages/basho-frog.htm

3 Haruo Shirane, Traces of Dreams: Landscape, Cultural Memory, and the Poetry of Basho, Stanford, Calif.: Stanford University Press, 1998, p. 15.
4 Ibid., p. 27.

5 Koji Kawamoto, “The Use and Disuse of Tradition in Basho’s Haiku and Imagist Poetry,” Poetics Today, Vol. 20, No. 4 (Winter, 1999), p. 709.

6 Daniel Chandler, “Working within Genres,” “Advantages of Generic Analysis,” “ D.I.Y. Generic Analysis,” in An Introduction to Genre Theory, http://www.aber.ac.uk/media/Documents/intgenre/intgenre.html

7 See the Bureau of Public Secrets.

8 Cheryl A. Crowley, Haikai Poet Yosa Buson and the Basho Revival, Boston: Brill, c2007, p. 57.
9 Haruo Shirane, “Matsuo Basho’s Oku no hosomichi and the Anxiety of Influence,” in Currents in Japanese Culture: Translations and Transformations, ed., Amy Vladeck Heinrich, New York: Columbia University Press, 1997, p. 182.

10 Makoto Ueda, compi. and trans., Basho and His Interpreters: Selected Hokku with Commentary, Stanford, Calif. : Stanford University Press, 1991, p. 142.

11 Koji Kawamoto, The Poetics of Japanese Verse: Imagery, Structure, Meter, trans., Stephen Collington, Kevin Collins, and Gustav Heldt, University of Tokyo Press, 2000, p. 76.

12 See Shirane, p. 14.

13 See Ueda, p. 142.

14 See Crowley, p. 57.

15 See Shirane, p.5.

16 See Shirane, Currents in Japanese Culture: Translations and Transformations, p. 182.

17 See Shirane, p. 77.

18 Haruo Shirane, “Beyond the Haiku Moment: Basho, Buson and Modern Haiku Myths”, Modern Haiku, XXXI:1 (winter-spring 2000), http://www.haikupoet.com/definitions/beyond_the_haiku_moment.html

19 See Crowley, p. 56.

20 See Shirane, Beyond the Haiku Moment.

21 According to classical Chinese poetics, a poem sequence is a group of poems by one poet or perhaps even by two or more poets intended to be read together in a specific order. The integrity of a poem sequence is dependent on this prescribed order of presentation. A poem sequence by a single author is sustained throughout by a single voice and point of view, and it shows consistency in style and purpose from one poem to the next. The defining characteristic of a poem sequence is that each poem must have its own value and integrity yet contribute to the artistic wholeness of the sequence while maintaining the logical progression of events.

Magnapoets, #7

Friday, December 24, 2010

Haiku as Ideogrammatic Montage:

A Linguistic-Cinematic Perspective

The film-frame can never be an inflexible letter of the alphabet, but must always remain a multiple-meaning. And it can be read only in juxtaposition, just as an ideogram acquires its specific significance, meaning, and even pronunciation only when combined with a separately indicated reading or tiny meaning – an indicator for the exact reading – placed alongside the basic hieroglyph.

From our point of view, [haiku] are montage phrases. Shot lists.

-- Sergei Eisenstein

[What] fascinates Eisenstein about this form of ‘ideographic’ representation is the way in which both haiku and Chinese characters act simultaneously as linguistic signifiers and denotative images of “natural” things.

-- Ron S. Judy

Read the full text...

Haiku Reality, #5

Wednesday, October 13, 2010

Waking from Zhuangzi's Butterfly Dream -- Plagiarism or Honkadori

Michel Foucault (1977, 115) has argued that the entire concept of artist or author as an original instigator of meaning is only a privileged moment of individualization in the history of art.

-- Linda Hutcheon, A Theory of Parody

[Basho’s] notion of the new lay not so much in the departure from or rejection of the perceived tradition as in the reworking of established practices and conventions, in creating new counterpoints to the past.

-- Haruo Shirane, Traces of Dreams

About a few months ago, I had long discussions with some haiku poets over the issue regarding "déjà-ku," a term invented by Michael Dylan Welch for “haiku that bear some relationship to other poems."1 As Welch describes in his Simply Haiku article, these relationships can be good when showing a skillful use of allusion and homage, and not good in the cases of plagiarism and “cryptomnesia (remembering someone else's poem without realizing that one is remembering rather than creating it)"2 Throughout our discussions, the recurring words or phrases were “not the first,” “similar/same,” “not original or fresh,” “has been done.” Some poets even lamented that poets who wrote déjà-ku had great difficulty in submitting them for publication. At some point, the discussions revolved around one key issue: “how similar is too similar?” [déjà-ku is not an academically recognized term but a name for a theory developed by Dylan Welch] In terms of language, structure, style, and theme, the following two haiku are the most problematic of all that we discussed for they are almost identical.

Yosa Buson’s haiku:

Japanese original:

tsurigane ni tomarite nemuru kochoo kana

English translation:

On the temple bell
has settled, and is fast asleep,
a butterfly.

Masaoka Shiki’s haiku:

Japanese original:

tsurigane ni tomarite hikaru hotaru kana

English translation:

On the temple bell
has settled, and is glittering,
a firefly.3

Read in the context of Western literary criticism,4 Shiki’s poem either reaches the limits of allusion,5 or is simply condemned as derivative. However, read in the context of the Japanese poetic tradition, the cultural significance of kigo, and especially of honkadori,6 a concept that is close to a loosely-defined Western equivalent of allusion, Shiki’s poem re-contextualizes Buson’s so as to create new meanings and perspectives.

The different evaluations of Shiki’s poem, one that was written in a later time and understood as reworking of an old image, result from the different understandings of the relationship of one’s creativity to originality/newness. In Edo culture, the ability to create the new through the old was a more preferred form of newness than the ability to be unique and individual.7 This Japanese view of “newness” still pervades and is in sharp contrast with that of the West.

Veteran haiku poet and editor Cor van den Heuvel gives an incisive explanation about these perspective differences: “If a haiku is a good one, it doesn’t matter if the subject has been used before. The writing of variations on certain subjects in haiku, sometimes using the same or similar phrases (or even changing a few words of a previous haiku), is one of the most interesting challenges the genre offers a poet and can result in refreshingly different ways of ‘seeing anew’ for the reader. This is an aspect of traditional Japanese haiku which is hard for many Westerners, with their ideas of uniqueness and Romantic individualism, to accept. But some of the most original voices in haiku do not hesitate to dare seeming derivative if they see a way of reworking an ‘old’ image.”8

In his haiku, Shiki used the same techniques that Buson did, but employed a related, yet dynamically, different image of a glittering firefly (a summer kigo), which stirs the tranquility of Buson’s deeply sleeping butterfly (a spring kigo). This slightly different emphasis conveyed a different feeling, and would be recognized by the informed reader at once and “appreciated as much if not more than a completely new idea. The virtuoso approach to literature, and to art as well, where the artist attempts to do essentially the same thing as his predecessors but in a slightly different way, is characteristic of Japan.”9

Shiki’s use of honkadori [Wikipedia: an allusion within a poem, to an older poem] brought to the reader’s mind an immediate identification with an earlier poem by Buson, for it conversed with and showed respect to the master and his work. Buson’s poem provided the horizon of poetic-cultural expectations/readings: “between the bell and the butterfly there are many layers of contrast -- size, color, solidity, mobility, lifespan -- which deepen the poem's meaning; there is also suspense -- the bell may start ringing at any minute, startling the butterfly.”10 Against these expectations/readings, Shiki’s poem established its “newness” or implied difference. In doing so, poetry, as viewed by the Japanese, is communally written and shared. The concept of plagiarism is a modern one. “The brevity of the [haiku] is in fact possible because each poem is implicitly part of a massive, communally shared poem.”11

For those who are well versed in Japanese haiku and Chinese Daoist (Wade-Giles: Taoist) literature, especially in the Zhuangzi (Wade-Giles: Chuang Tzu),12 the butterfly imagery in Buson’s haiku is “not original or fresh,” rather it belongs to a massive, communally shared Japanese butterfly haiku based on Zhuangzi’s butterfly dream, a famous story recorded in the Zhuangzi:

“Once [Zhuangzi] dreamt he was a butterfly flitting and fluttering around, happy with himself and doing as he pleased. He didn't know he was [Zhuangzi.] Suddenly he woke up and there he was, solid and unmistakable [Zhuangzi]. But he didn't know if he was [Zhuangzi] who had dreamt he was a butterfly, or a butterfly dreaming he was [Zhuangzi.] Between [Zhuangzi] and a butterfly there must be some distinction! This is called the Transformation of Things.”13

In the first haiku lexicon, Yama no I (Mountain Spring, published in 1647), there is an explanatory passage under the entry titled Butterfly: “Butterfly. The scene of a butterfly alighting on rape blossoms, napping among flowers with no worries. Its appearance as it flutters its feathery wings, dancing like whirling snowflakes. Also the image is associated with [Zhuangzi’s] dream, suggesting that one hundred years pass as a gleam in a butterfly’s dream.”14 To demonstrate how to use this butterfly imagery, the compiler Kigin gives the following example:

Scattering blossoms:
the dream of a butterfly –
one hundred years in a gleam15

Since then, the penetration of Zhuangzi’s butterfly dream into themes and images has clearly been seen in Japanese haiku. Among these butterfly haiku,16 the following was written by Basho and is often regarded as one of the most overtly allusive ones:

You are the butterfly
And I the dreaming heart
Of [Zhuangzi].17

Basho wrote a note about this occasional poem sent o his friend named Doi:

“You’re the butterfly, and I the dreaming heart of [Zhuangzi]. I don’t know if I’m Basho who dreamed with the heart-mind of [Zhuangzi] that I was a butterfly named Doi, or that winged Mr Doi dreaming me is Basho.“18

While Zhuangzi played with the “transformation of things,” specifically with himself and a butterfly, Basho played with Doi, personalizing the Buddhist community (the sangha).19

The following are two more butterfly haiku by Basho, which subtly allude to Zhuangzi’s butterfly dream:

not grown to a butterfly
this late in autumn
a caterpillar20

At the denotative level, Basho saw a caterpillar on a late autumn day, lamenting that it has not matured into a butterfly. At the connotative level, Basho reflected on his own life, one which had not been through a transformative change. The poem echoes one of the key themes in Zhuangzi’s butterfly dream – the “transformation of things.”

butterflies flit...
that is all, amid the field
of sunlight21

Because of Basho’s use of the flitting butterfly imagery, some Japanese Basho interpreters, such as Nobuo Hori, think that “the poem has something of a daydream in it, …harking back to [Zhuangzi’s] dream.”22

And the most covertly allusive and regarded butterfly haiku is also written by Basho:

is that warbler
her soul? there sleeps
a graceful willow23

Unlike any poet who saw “a willow hanging its branches as if in sleep and might compose a poem alluding to the butterfly in [Zhuangzi’s] dream,”24 Basho replaced the butterfly with a warbler, subtly comparing the willow tree to Zhuangzi, and the warbler to his butterfly. Thus, he skillfully used this age-old allusion in haiku and was not used by it. This is a perfect example of showing his “haikai imagination”25 creatively reworked an old image. Oshima Ryota claims that Basho “deserves to be called the [Zhuangzi] of haikai.26

As Koji Kawamoto emphasizes in his essay dealing with the use and disuse of tradition in Basho’s haiku, “the key to [haiku’s] unabated vigor lies in Basho’s keen awareness of the utility of the past in undertaking an avant-garde enterprise, which he summed up in his famous adage “fueki ryuko,”27 which literally means “the unchanging and the ever-changing.” This haikai poetic ideal was advocated during his trip through the northern region of Japan . He stressed that “haikai must constantly change (ryuko), find the new (atarashimi), shed its own past, even as it seeks qualities that transcend time.”28 However, his notion of the new “lay not so much in the departure from or rejection of the perceived tradition as in the reworking of established practices and conventions, in creating new counterpoints to the past.”29

Through analyzing Shiki’s allusive variant on Buson’s poem, which is implicitly part of a communally shared poem based on Zhuangzi’s butterfly dream, we can see the Japanese view of newness and the constant use of honkadori play a significant role in the historical depth and cultural richness of Japanese haiku, which has been highly influenced by the Chinese poetic tradition, especially by Taoist literature.30 In writing this essay, I am reminded of Haruo Shirane’s critique of North American haiku: “the emphasis on the ‘haiku moment’ in North American haiku has meant that most of the poetry does not have another major characteristic of Japanese haikai and haiku: its allusive character, the ability of the poem to speak to other literary or poetic texts.”31 I would like to add one more reason: that is the obsession with originality. As Hiroaki Sato stresses in his introduction to Basho's Narrow Road, “the extent of the annotations [342 allusions in Narrow Road to the Interior] might make Basho appear derivative, but as I have pointed out elsewhere (and as everyone knows), the ‘cult of originality’ is something new to our literary experience. A rich fabric of reference – in good hands, such as Shakespeare’s, Eliot’s or Basho’s – is an incomparable resource and a source of wonderment.”32

After all has been said, I would like to conclude my essay with a tribute poem to converse with and show my respect to masters and their works.

My Butterfly Dream: A Haiku Sequence Based on Chinese Poetics33

thinking about
Zhuangzi... a butterfly
flutters its wings

autumn twilight
butterfly darts in and out
of my shadow

my dream floats
the shape and size
of a butterfly

waking from
the dream of a butterfly
me in the mirror?

Notes:

1 Michael Dylan Welch, "An Introduction to Déjà-ku," Simply Haiku, Vol. 2, No.4 (July/August, 2004), http://www.simplyhaiku.com/SHv2n4/features/Michael_Welch.html

2 Ibid.
3 For English translations, see Harold G. Henderson, An Introduction to Haiku: An Anthology of Poems and Poets from Basho to Shiki, Garden City, NY: Doubleday Anchor Books, 1958, p. 154. For Japanese originals, see ttp://haikutopics.blogspot.com/2006/07/bell-kane.html

4 In writing, one of the most important features of imitation that defies the charge of plagiarism is allusion. Since the 1970s, literary theorists not only viewed allusion as a "tacit reference to another literary work," but also argued that an allusion is "a device for the simultaneous activation of two texts." Here are the four modes of allusion well articulated in a typology developed by Earl Miner, who is a well-known scholar of Japanese court poetry:

“i) metaphoric allusion in which an echo of the previous work imports the tenor of the previous work to the new context;

ii) imitative allusion in which a quotation of the exact language or representation of generic characteristics of the previous work creates an equivalence between the previous context of utterance and the new context;

iii) parodic allusion in which a quotation of the language or representation of generic characteristics of the previous work suggests a discrepancy between the previous context of utterance and the new context; and

iv) structural allusion in which repetition of structural elements (e.g., recognition and reversal) of a previous work gives form to the new work by analogy to the previous work.”

For further information, see Earl Miner. "Allusion," in Princeton Encyclopedia of Poetry and Poetics, ed. Alex Preminger, Princeton: Princeton UP, 1974.

5 There are “rules” to delineate the limits of the use of allusion. For further information, see Michael Leddy, “The Limits of Allusion,” The British Journal of Aesthetics, Vol. 32, No. 2, 1992, pp. 110-122.

6 Honkadori is not simply an allusion to a literary work and it may also function as quoting, which means lines are copied word for word. “[It] is true that within the Japanese cultural tradition there is a well-developed custom of quoting and borrowing…
In fact, more than just a custom is involved here: various ways of quoting were themselves regarded as artistic techniques and were admired and appreciated in the same way as original works of art. It is natural to suppose that an 'art of quoting' could be appreciated by connoisseurs who share common knowledge with the artists, since quoting is quoting something that is known by those who quote and those who listen, view or read… If somebody tried to summarize the stylistic character of the 20th century western art, what should he say? One thing he might say is that the 20th century was one in which each artist was expected to have his own style, and possessing this sort of uniqueness and individuality of style was the necessary condition of being considered an artist at all.” For further information, see Akiko Tsukamoto, "Modes of Quoting: Parody and Honkadori," Simply Haiku, Vol. 2, No. 4 (July/August, 2004),
http://www.simplyhaiku.com/SHv2n4/features/Akiko_Tsukamoto.html

7 Haruo Shirane, Traces of Dreams: Landscape, Cultural Memory, and the Poetry of Basho, Stanford, Calif.: Stanford University Press, 1998, p. 5.

8 Cor van den Heuvel, ed., The Haiku Anthology: Haiku and Senryu in English, New York: W.W. Norton, 1999, p. ix-x. In fact, “Michel Foucault (1977, 115) has argued that the entire concept of artist or author as an original instigator of meaning is only a privileged moment of individualization in the history of art.” See Linda Hutcheon, A Theory of Parody: The Teachings of Twentieth-Century Art Forms, Urbana and Chicago: University of Illinois Press, 1985. p. 4.

9 Donald Keene, Japanese Literature: An Introduction for Western Readers, Grove Press, 1955, p. 15.

10 Makoto Ueda, The Path of Flowering Thorn: The Life and Poetry of Yosa Buson, Stanford, Calif.: Stanford University Press, c1998, p. 159.

11 See Shirane, p. 27.

12 The Zhuangzi is the second foundational text of the Daoist tradition as well as the name of the putative author of this text.” For further information, see Peipei Qiu, Basho and the Dao: the Zhuangzi and the Transformation of Haikai, Honolulu: University of Hawaii Press, 2005, pp. 3-4.

13 Burton Watson, trans., The Complete Works of Chuang Tzu. New York: Columbia University Press, 1968, p. 49.

14 See Qiu, p. 18.

15 Ibid.

16 Buson wrote two more butterfly haiku. The following comes from the poem text of one of his haiga:

first dream of the year
even though I become a butterfly
I'm still cold

For detailed information, see Cheryl A. Crowley, Haikai Poet Yosa Buson and the Basho Revival, Boston: Brill, c2007, pp. 192-3.

Here is another one:

as if in a dream
the fingers hold on --
a butterfly

For further information, see Ueda, p. 74.

In Viral 7.1, Scott Metz lists the following butterfly haiku (accessed at http://www.thehaikufoundation.org/2009/09/05/viral-7-1/):

butterfly what are you dreaming fanning your wings

-- Chiyojo (18th c.)

The butterfly having disappeared, my spirit came back to me

-- Wafū (19th c.) [trans. R. H. Blyth]

a butterfly went past after seeing me as an apparition

-- Yasumasa Sōda (20th c.) [trans. Gendai Haiku Kyokai]

17 Robert Aitken, A Zen Wave: Basho's Haiku and Zen, New York : Weatherhill, 1978, p. 125.

18 Ibid., p. 127.

19 Ibid.

20 Makoto Ueda, compi. and trans., Bashō and His Interpreters: Selected Hokku with Commentary, Stanford, Calif.: Stanford University Press, 1991, p. 271.

21 Ibid., p. 133.

22 Ibid.

23 Ibid., p. 88

24 Ibid.

25 “Haikai imagination, which took pleasure in the juxtaposition and collision of these seemingly incongruous worlds and languages, humorously inverted and recast established cultural associations and conventions, particularly the ‘poetic essence’ (honi) of classical poetic topics.” See Shirane, p. 2.

26 See Ueda, p. 88.

27 Koji Kawamoto, “The Use and Disuse of Tradition in Basho’s Haiku and Imagist Poetry,” Poetics Today, Vol. 20, No. 4 (Winter, 1999), p. 709.

28 See Shirane, p. 294.

29 Ibid., p. 5.

30 See Qiu, pp. 1-12.
31 Haruo Shirane, “Beyond the Haiku Moment: Basho, Buson and Modern Haiku Myths”, Modern Haiku, XXXI:1 (winter-spring 2000), http://www.haikupoet.com/definitions/beyond_the_haiku_moment.html

32 Hiroaki Sato, trans., Basho's Narrow Road : Spring & Autumn Passages: Two Works by Basho Matsuo, Berkeley, Calif.: Stone Bridge Press, 1996, p. 35.

33 According to classical Chinese poetics, a poem sequence is a group of poems by one poet or perhaps even by two or more poets intended to be read together in a specific order. The integrity of a poem sequence is dependent on this prescribed order of presentation. A poem sequence by a single author is sustained throughout by a single voice and point of view, and it shows consistency in style and purpose from one poem to the next. The defining characteristic of a poem sequence is that each poem must have its own value and integrity yet contribute to the artistic wholeness of the sequence while maintaining the logical progression of events.

Autumn 2010 issue of Simply Haiku

Friday, July 2, 2010

Make Haibun New through Chinese Poetic Past: Basho’s Transformation of Haikai Prose

Basho believed that the poet had to work along both axes. To work only in the present would result in poetry that was fleeting. To work just in the past, on the other hand, would be to fall out of touch with the fundamental nature of haikai, which was rooted in the everyday world.

- Haruo Shirane

In the narrow sense of the word, haikai, which gave birth to haiku, originally referred to the humorous poems found in the first imperially commissioned anthology of poetry. It was later used to describe popular comic linked verse (haikai no renga), distinguishing itself from the more refined, classical linked verse (renga). Broadly speaking, it is used to “describe genres deriving from haikai or reflecting haikai spirit, such as haiku, haibun, renku, and haikai kikobun, literary travel account”.1 During the second half of the 17th century, there were innovative movements within Japanese haikai circles, and they had transformed haikai from an entertaining pastime to a respected poetic form.2 Furthermore, haiku, originated from hokku which was the opening verse of a haikai sequence, has flowered for four centuries and established itself not only as an autonomous genre of Japanese short verse form, but as a globalized verse form in many languages. As the putative founder of haiku, Matsuo Basho made enormous contribution to the refinement, success, and popularization of Japanese haiku and its related genres.3


Summer, 2010 issue of Simply Haiku

Tuesday, April 20, 2010

Haiku, A Looking Bird

Haiku, A Looking Bird is my haijinx column aimed at an exploration of works in haikai poetics bi-monthly.

The first essay published today is as follows:

The Breach of Meaning?: Roland Barthes’s View of Haiku
By Chen-ou Liu


The brevity of the haiku is not formal; the haiku is not a rich thought reduced to a brief form, but a brief event which immediately finds its proper form.

The haiku reproduces the designating gesture of the child pointing at whatever it is (the haiku shows no partiality for the subject), merely saying: that!

– Roland Barthes

...
Since the publication of the book, Barthes’s view of haiku has been well received among haiku critics and poets, as well as his readers of literary theory and criticism.

...
Generally speaking, both Hass and Sekine capture the key notions of Barthes’s view of haiku described in Empire of Signs: relating haiku to the Zen project of confounding the fixed categories of language, and reading it as a breach of meaning, an exemption from the Western compulsion to commentary. These notions are widespread and inscribed on the minds of haiku poets and readers, but what do they really mean in the contexts of Empire of Signs, his other writings, and his view of Zen Buddhism? Furthermore, does his view of haiku help deepen our understanding of the poetics of haiku? In the following passages, I’ll try to answer these questions in this introductory essay.


You can read the full text of the essay here. This essay is also reprinted in Haiku Reality, #4

Saturday, April 3, 2010

Three Readings of Ezra Pound’s “Metro Haiku”

Throughout the history of English poetry, there seldom is a poem like Ezra Pound’s “In a Station of the Metro” (hereafter referred to as “metro poem”) that has been endlessly researched by scholars, literary critics, and poets alike 1. Most of his readers are familiar with at least two versions of his metro poem: the original version published in the April 1913 issue of Poetry as follows:

The apparitionbbbbof these facebbin the crowd :
Petalsbbbbon a wet, black bough.

and one of the revised versions published in his 1916 book entitled Lustra as follows:

The apparition of these faces in the crowd;
Petals on a wet, black bough.

Everyone may have his/her own reading of this ever-famous poem from different perspectives. But due to the limited space of this article and for Magnapoets readers who are interested in the Asian poetic traditions, I will discuss two major popular readings – the haikuesque and ideogrammatic ones -- in the following sections.

Read the full text here...

first published in the January 2010 issue of Magnapoets and reprinted in Haiku Reality, #4