The Sound of Water (IV): Lakes and Ponds 5

At an age-old pond,
A frog leaps into water —
A deep resonance.

Basho is believed to have written this poem at his cottage in Fukagawa in Edo (now Tokyo). It is difficult to imagine what kind of place it was. Basho has written several short haibun pieces about this cottage, in one of which he says:

“My grassy cottage is at a lonely place called Mitsumata in Fukagawa where two rivers come together as a fork. I can see Mt. Fuji in the distance, and nearby, large boats sailing to and from far-off places. Morning waves disappearing in the wakes of the boats as soon as they row farther away, and evening winds blowing dream-like through the withered leaves of overgrown reeds make me very lonesome. I sit facing the moon, deploring my always-empty sake barrel. I sleep lamenting the stiffness of my bed.”

Oars hitting the waves,
I feel my guts stiffen in the cold,
Shedding tears at night.

I do not know how accurate this description of his cottage is. Basho is quoting a number of poems from classical poets, both Japanese and Chinese, to emphasize his loneliness. Considering the fact that his cottage was burned down in the Great Fire of Edo in 1682, it may not have been so isolated from other houses. We have no description of the pond by Basho himself, but we know his cottage was owned by his disciple, Sugiyama Sanpu, who was by profession a fishmonger. The pond was originally his fish pond and the cottage was built for its keeper, but it was out of use by the time Basho occupied it. So probably, it was overgrown with reeds and weeds. Actually, Basho lived not far from the estuary of the Sumida. Big rivers tend to form a delta before they empty themselves into the sea, and the whimsical movement of the water creates many ponds. Basho’s pond was probably one of these. A book called Edo Meisho Zue (Famous Sights of Edo) has a drawing of Basho’s cottage by Hasegawa Settan. This book was published nearly a century and a half after Basho’s death, so its accuracy is doubtful. However, it is this book that tells us Basho’ s cottage was once for the keeper of Sanpu’s fish pond.

By a shady pond
I flipped over a black newt —
Its belly was red.

Quiet afternoon,
Coupled dragonflies slumber
On water lilies.

Basho’s statue sits
Facing modern high rises
And an iron bridge.

Drops of rain shining
On the blue iris flowers —
A June luxury.

Postscript: This concludes my haibun series, ”The Sound of Water”. Thank you very much for reading them with patience. Thank you, Tito, for brushing up my English. My best wishes for Christmas and the New Year. The world is full of troubles, but let me pray that peace will prevail throughout the coming year. (NY)

The Last Twelve Hours

I cycled home last night at about 7pm, a taxi was parked in front of our building, driver beside it. What is he doing? He said he couldn’t wait.

Apologizing
his cock half out
my stoppit comes out imsorry

Before bed I wander out to have another look at the crystal dark autumn sky – then again after breakfast this morning.

That pearl in black
that diamond
this bleached morning

7am. Pesky sparrows that will only shit on the verandah. Wait a minute—they’re in heat!

Sparrow pair
back on the porch—
I no longer notice

The Sound of Water (IV): Lakes and Ponds 4

.. Marshes and ponds are found almost everywhere in Japan. At the foot of volcanic mountains, we have large areas of marshes dotted with little pools, which are called ‘chito’ to distinguish them from other ponds. I saw such areas at the foot of Mt. Tateyama and Mt. Gassan. Sometimes these marshy areas are referred to as ‘gakida’ (starving ghosts’ rice-fields). Poor starving ghosts! They would surely not be able to satisfy their stomachs with the harvests of these tiny ponds! Their beauty, however, can fill our hearts, especially at night when the stars are reflected in them. Spiritually, many of us are starving ghosts, and we are healed when we stroll among these ponds admiring their beauty.

.. At the foot of Mt. Hiuchi in Oze stretches mile after mile of marshy land dotted with ponds, where in early spring, mizubasho (skunk cabbages) bear their pure white flowers, and in summer, kisuge (yellow day-lilies) spread their golden flowers. These marshy areas are isolated worlds and very difficult to get to, for cars are not allowed. At Oze, an attempt was made to build a road to improve access, but this was abandoned in 1971. Visitors are requested to walk on wooden planks and not to step on the ground. These marshy areas are extremely vulnerable, so these precautions are necessary to save the natural environment. I visited Oze in late May, but there was still some snow even on the planks. I fell over a couple times. The tour guide, who had told us to be careful, even had a fall! However, I was able to enjoy some early flowers of skunk cabbage. Their beauty, I thought, comes from their strength. It is a wonder to me how they can grow and bloom in the ice-cold water of the mountain marshes.

.. Quite different kinds of ponds are found in rice-growing villages – small reservoirs built to feed water into the rice-fields. Some are made by damming up little streams coming out of the hills, and others, in low-lying places, by building an enclosing bank. These ponds usually abound with small fish, frogs, salamanders, and reptiles. I used to fear these ponds, especially when they were hidden in dark corners. One time, I saw a snake aiming for a frog which was paralysed in fear. Another time, I saw a huge dragonfly called ‘oni-yanma’ claiming the pond as its territory. When it alighted on a bamboo twig, the branch bowed reverently as if to pay the insect homage. In the village where I was evacuated during World War II, big salamanders known as ‘hanzaki’ used to live in the ponds and streams. Hanzaki means ‘half torn’, a strange name for an animal. Nobody knew exactly what the name meant, but it certainly created fear in my mind. It is an ugly animal with a big head and tiny eyes set wide apart. Its movement is very slow, as if it were very lazy, but when it opens its big mouth and swallows a fish, it moves faster than lightning. Another animal that I often saw in these ponds were the frogs called ‘mori-aogaeru’. Just as the name suggests, they are green frogs living in deep forests. In early summer, they make foamy nests on twigs hanging over ponds and lay eggs in them. When baby frogs are born, they automatically slip down into the pond below.

.. This reminds me of the following poem by Basho:

…….. At an ancient pond,
…….. A frog leaps into water —
…….. A deep resonance.

(Nobuyuki Yuasa (Sosui), to be continued)

Waikiki Bound

This anecdote is hardly on the same scale as Tito’s, but my ‘hair-raising’ travel experience on my recent round-the-world trip was a taxi ride from the base of Diamond Head to Waikiki beach. The touting driver offered to take a bunch of us tourists (three Japanese and me) for 3 dollars each, only slightly more than the $2.50 the bus cost, and a lot quicker off the mark. Then two more tourists joined our group, and he put the price down to $2 a head. We piled into his minivan, all smiles. When the latter couple got out first and handed over their money, the driver yelled that they needed to pay more — it was three dollars a head. I pointed out that he’d said two, and he laughed, saying “How could I charge you less than the bus?”, and claimed it must have been his accent that had caused the ‘misunderstanding’. In the immortal words of Basho: “Yeah, right”. We all heard two dollars. Three dollars was still a good deal, but for some reason he felt the need to scam us….

It is true, of course, that such dubious characters ensure that they do not simply blend into the background of a journey: their dodgy-ness grants them a certain immortality.

taxi ride
to Waikiki –
the revised fare
drops like a coconut

(Other images from my trip can be viewed at kyotosnow.wordpress.com.)

Tito, whatever the state of their vehicle, your driver and his companion at least seemed sincere in their attempts to convey you. I trust your destination did not prove mythical in the end, and will feature in the next instalment!

Genjuan International Haibun Contest 2012 Results

幻住庵 Genjuan Haibun Contest
Decorated Works 2012

Grand Prix:
Jackdaws by D J Peel (Takenoko), U.K.

An (Cottage) Prizes:
The Blue Jacaranda by Kala Ramesh, India
Crime and Punishment by Cara Holman, U.S.A.
Yeh Go I by James Norton, Ireland

Honourable Mentions:
Kite in August by Carol Pearce, U.S.A.
Gandolph and Merlin by Pearl Elizabeth Dell May, U.K.
The Unstrung Guitar by Patricia Prime, New Zealand
Timeline by Roberta Beary, U.S.A.
Mind Unfound by Sonam Chhoki, Bhutan

.. We received a total of 96 entries from 14 different countries. We are very pleased with this result and should like to thank all the contributors for their warm support. The general level of the works was high enough, but it was difficult for the judges to single out a piece for the Grand Prix. Also, it was equally difficult for the judges to limit the number of Honourable Mentions to five since so many works followed close on their heels. Our hearty congratulations go to the authors of the decorated works.
.. Some works ran over onto a second page, and others were too short. We also received a copy of previously published work, and one entrant wrote his name at the top of the page! All such minor violations of the rules present us with problems. We have slightly revised the guidelines for next year’s Contest, outlined via the page link at top right of this screen. The main change is that in 2113, instead of a length stipulation of anything up to 30 lines, we have made it 20-40 lines. We hope thereby to encourage rather longer haibun. The top four haibun from 2012 will be reproduced on this site shortly, under a special page link, for anyone to read.

The Sound of Water (II): Brooks and Water Mills

.. Several streams of spring water come together, running down a steep mountainside, soon forming a brook, which entertains us with its beautiful cantata as it courses between mossy rocks. Its soprano is like the singing of a dreaming girl, while its bass is like the wailing of a lover. The passing wind also adds a voice, sometimes resembling the soft whispering of a mother while her baby is asleep, and at other times, sounding harsh like a father’s scolding of a mischievous child. Bird songs also provide accompaniment from time to time. The vivace of spring warblers announces the arrival of warm weather. Cuckoos put us to sleep in summer with their monotonous andante. Shrikes warn us with their autumn staccato to prepare for frost and snow. Crows and owls frighten us in winter with their fortissimo. For me, brooks are the source of endless musical pleasures.
.. Here I am reminded of Wordsworth’s description of a ‘rill’ that runs by his birthplace:
…. Oh, many a time have I, a five-years’ child,
…. A naked boy, in one delightful rill,
…. A little mill-race severed from his stream,
…. Made one long bathing of a summer’s day —
.. When I visited Cockermouth, I was impressed by his birthplace, a sturdy stone building, probably the largest in the whole town, but I did not think the rill was deep enough for swimming, nor could I spot the mill. Probably this mill had gone long before and the rill had lost much of its water.
.. I also found ‘a playmate’ in a brook when I was evacuated from Tokyo to a small country village in Hiroshima. I was a middle-school boy, and spent most of my summer days fishing in the brook running by my house. The water was so clear that I was able to see every stone and pebble at the bottom. I could also see fish swimming against the stream, but I soon learned they were not easily caught. In a brook like this, you should hide yourself behind a tree or a rock and cast your line in the foaming part of the stream. If you do this, before the bait sinks to the bottom, you will have a fish hooked on your line. However, I had to spend more than a year to learn this trick. Another pleasure I found in the brook was the fireflies that came out in early summer. I saw them flying in their hundreds above the brook, blinking their lights in unison. They would also sometimes form balls of light on grass leaves. However, it was very sad to see a few latecomers flying away into bamboo thickets at the end of the season. They were like ghosts returning to their graves.
.. As Wordsworth mentions, brooks are often dotted with water mills. Unlike English mills, which are made of stone, mills along Japanese brooks are wooden shacks, and instead of damming the brooks, water is led to the mills via wooden or bamboo pipes. The upper side of these pipes is open, so that you can see the water gleaming as it passes though them. It always amazes me how silently the water can run through the pipes. The mills are equipped either with waterwheels, or with four arms, each with a kind of bucket at the end. While the latter contraptions are more primitive, musically they make more interesting sounds. As the pipe water drops, waterwheels turn with a continuous noise like the rustling of a brush against rough cloth, but the rotating arms provide an intermittent sound as each bucket suddenly dumps its load. In either case, the mills are equipped with wooden hammers that pound wheat or rice. As the hammers rise they squeak, and as they come down, they surprise us with their heavy pounding noise. This is repeated night and day, but the rhythmical sound of such old-fashioned mills never tires our ears.

…. Singing to herself,
…. A girl crosses a log bridge,
…. Leading to a mill.

…. Four flat stepping-stones
…. Split a brook into five streams,
…. Forming a quintet.

…. There was once a boy
…. Who loved to fish in a brook —
…. Swift as a ninja.

…. Dammed by a brocade
…. Of golden and scarlet leaves,
…. The brook stays a while.

…. The brook hibernates,
…. Its stream hardly audible,
…. Laid in snow and ice.

Kikakuza Haibun Contest ’09-11 anthology available

◊ An anthology of decorated haibun from the three years that the Kikakuza International Haibun Contest has been held is now available to anyone attending Hailstone events and seminars this autumn. Price ￥1,000. If you live abroad and would like one sent, kindly make contact via the comments button below or on the Publications page at this site (via link at top right). Or you may contact either of the compilers direct. There may be a small postage charge added. All contestants have already been sent their own copy of the book. It contains 33 contemporary haibun (from 11 countries) + 4 classical haibun translations, judges’ comments, and a Tohoku Earthquake solo shisan renku by Sosui.

◊ The Contest is to continue this autumn and winter under the new name of the Genjuan International Haibun Contest with rules and deadline unchanged. Full details are given on the page entitled ‘Genjuan Haibun Contest Guidelines’ (see link at top right). The famous haibun Basho wrote while residing at the Genju Cottage in Shiga (幻住庵記) in 1690 is translated into English in this publication.

The Sound of Water (I): Springs and Fountains

Let me begin with the famous poem, traditionally ascribed to Saigyo, in which the poet describes the sound of a spring.

Ceaselessly swelling
Out of a crack in the rocks
A spring trickles down,
Whose water is more ample
Than I can use in my hut.

In the original poem, the poet uses the onomatopoeic expression, ‘toku toku’, which I translated as ‘ceaselessly’ above. Admittedly, this is a very feeble translation. The closest to this expression in English would be ‘drip drip’, but ‘toku toku’ has more force. It conveys the power of nature behind the birth of a spring.

I have seen many different types of springs in the mountains. Some of them just drip down from wet moss and grass. They make a subtle music like the strings of a harp touched lightly. Others swell out of the earth with a heavy sound like the throbbing of a heart. In a way, it is an awe-inspiring sound, for we feel that some mysterious being is pushing up the water. It announces the birth of a river.

A Chinese hermit
Washed his ears in cold water
To forget the world.

Let me vitalize
My whole being with a sip
From this icy spring.

Fountains in Italian cities are completely different. Water gushes from the mouth of animals or some mysterious beings. For example, the Fontana di Trevi has Neptune at its center under a triumphant arch, led by Pegasus and two Tritons, and water spouts out of the animals that follow him. I have also seen a fountain where an ugly human face is pouring out water from a pipe in its mouth. Perhaps, the most extreme case is the Pissing Cupid. No one, I think, wants to drink from him. I suppose his role is purely ornamental. What does all this mean? In my view, it means that fountains in Italy are used as a symbol of civilization. Italian fountains are not at the beginning, but at the end of a long duct which stretches many miles through mountains and valleys. Their position signifies they have been installed for the service of man.

Fontana di Trevi,
Fully dressed women come and go
Chatting and laughing.

In a hot piazza,
The splashing water comes down
With a pleasant noise

Kikakuza Haibun Contest 2011 Results

This year’s Kikakuza Haibun Contest attracted 85 entries from 15 countries. The standard was high. The four prize-winning pieces are here to read on a special page Kikakuza ’11 Winning Haibun accessed via the page link at top right. Details of next year’s Contest will be announced later. Thank you to all who took the time to submit a piece and hearty congratulations to the winners.

Grand Prix:

Memories of the Sun by Melissa Spurr (USA)

Za Prizes (Highly Commended):

Ladle by Earl R. Keener (USA)
Last Journey by Sonam Chhoki (Bhutan)
Remembrance of a Time to Come by Moira Richards (South Africa)

Honorable Mentions:

Strange Bedfellows by Margaret Chula (USA)
Kayo by Toshi Ida (Japan)
Return Home by John Parsons (UK)
Coal Dust by Patricia Prime (New Zealand)
Hill Country by Peter Newton (USA)
I sigh, through all my smiling, at the thought of long ago by Gael Bage (UK)
Winter Subway by Ellis Avery (USA)

Waterside Birds, Part VI: Swans and Cranes

by Nobuyuki Yuasa (Sosui)

.. Wild swans come from Siberia to winter on the northern lakes of Japan. Lake Hyoko in Niigata Prefecture and Lake Izunuma in Miyagi Prefecture are famous as their winter homes. However, we do not often see wild swans on Japanese rivers, probably because Japanese rivers are too fast for them.  Most British rivers, however, flow gently, and therefore, we can see many wild swans swimming there. Here I am reminded of the famous words of Edmund Spenser: ‘Sweet Thames! run softly, till I end my song’. These words appear in Prothalamion, a poem which celebrates the nuptials of two gentle ladies. In this poem, Spenser compares the brides to ‘two swans of goodly hue’ and tells them to ‘come softly swimming down along the Lee’. The Lee is probably the tributary that runs into the Thames at Greenwich. When I visited the ruins of Spenser’s castle at Kilcolman in Ireland, I saw swans swimming peacefully in a small marshy lake in front of it. Here, Spenser wrote his Faerie Queene, but lost his estate and some of his family when Tyrone’s Rebellion destroyed the castle. Knowing this, I could not help wondering if the peaceful swans were the ghosts of the dead, who had somehow transcended the glory and tragedy of the past.
.. Shakespeare was called ‘Sweet Swan of Avon’ by Ben Jonson. When I visited Stratford- upon-Avon, I saw two swans swimming gently in the river close by Holy Trinity Church, where he was buried. In his writings, Shakespeare often associates the swan with death. This is because of the traditional belief that the swan sings immediately before its death. In the final scene of Othello, Shakespeare makes Emilia say, ‘I will play the swan and die in music.’ The pathos of these words is very impressive, but actually swans do not sing beautifully at their death. On the contrary, their voices are rather ugly. I am afraid that ugly voices are common to most waterside birds.

… Pale blue-gray like lead,
… The lake where a flock of swans
… Nestles in winter.

………. The tears of the swans
………. Come down in sudden showers
………. At Kilcolman Castle.

.. In Japan, cranes are more familiar than swans. Moreover, they are regarded as auspicious birds. For a long time, Japan Airlines used a crane emblem on their airplanes, and this was recently revived. Some cranes migrate between Siberia and Japan, but red-crested cranes  stay in Hokkaido all the year round. I once visited Kushiro in the eastern part of Hokkaido to see the monuments of Takuboku, whom I admire as a poet. This town is known for its severe winter, but fortunately, I had a relatively warm day with some sunshine. Takuboku’s monument in Yonemachi Park was impressive, against a backdrop of rough sea. I visited his museum near the river, and his statue nearby. A sea gull came and perched on his head while I was there. Watching this bird, I suddenly had a burning desire to see the red-crested cranes. So I extended my stay.
.. I first went to the Red-crested Cranes Park, a kind of zoo, where I was able to see the birds at very close quarters, but was rather disappointed that they were caged. I was surprised to see numerous kites and hawks perching on the nearby trees. I thought they were after the food provided for the cranes. I then went to the Cranes Observation Point, where I was glad to see a crowd of red-crested cranes in the open wilds, with snow on the ground. While I was watching, a pair of cranes came down and landed unexpectedly. Their elegant flight is something that I shall never forget. Soon, several cranes put their heads together, and raising their long necks, began to cry loudly up at the sky, as if in emulation. Even there, though, I was not watching the cranes in a completely natural environment, for the farmers there had been feeding them in order to attract them. What I had really wanted to see was the cranes going to sleep standing in the marshy rivers. This proved impossible. So I had to satisfy myself with pictures in the museum.

.. With snow all around
.. The crimson berets of cranes
.. Stand out in the sun.

………. Evening fog setting in,
………. Red-crested cranes go to sleep
………. In a marshy stream.

Waterside Birds, Part V: Ducks, Grebes and Snipes

I must not forget to add a few words about ducks and snipes, though their species are too numerous for me to cover them all. In general, male ducks are more colourful than female ducks. The mallard is a typical case. Female mallards are modest brown, but males have bright green on their heads and tails. Generally speaking, ducks will mate for life. In Japan, we have an expression, ‘a couple like a pair of mandarin ducks’, meaning ‘a mutually loving couple’. It is indeed a lovely sight to see a pair of mandarin ducks swimming together. During my childhood, when food was short, many people used to keep ducks. Their noisy cries were irritating at times, but when I felt discouraged they somehow gave me fresh power. Their eggs were twice the size of ordinary eggs, and very nutritious. Dusky mallards are often seen in parks and rice fields. It is good to see them leading a line of newly-born chicks.

Grebes have two different names in Japan, nio and kaitsuburi. In English also, they are sometimes called ‘dip-dapper’. This name seems to have a lot in common with the Japanese names, suggesting their habit of dipping their heads into water. This bird is known for making a floating nest out in a lake. Basho has the following poem about this bird.
….. Early summer rain,
….. Let us now step out to see
….. Grebes’ floating nests.
His own comment on this poem in Sanzoshi is, “There is no haikai quality in the words of this poem, but you may find haikai spirit in the eagerness to go to see the floating nests!” What Basho is really saying, I believe, is that it is important to have a fresh approach to the rather conventional image of the floating nests, already too well-established in the tradition of waka as an image of the flimsiness of our own life in this world.

I once rented a house next to a lotus field, which gave me the pleasure of seeing the beautiful flowers opening and raindrops rolling down their enormous leaves. In addition, I was able to see, on summer mornings, a snipe walking about with a few young. Unlike the dusky mallard, the female snipe has brighter colours than its male counterpart, as it is the male’s duty to look after the chicks. It is a very timid bird, trying to avoid attracting human attention. At night, though, its sharp cries used to alarm me, until eventually I got used to them.
….. In the dense darkness
….. A sharp cry of a snipe
….. Stabs me in my breast.

(Nobuyuki Yuasa)

Kikakuza Haibun Contest 2011 deadline approaches fast!

Very sorry for the conflicting information we seem to have had up on the Icebox until recently. The deadline for this, Japan’s first and still only haibun contest, is officially 31 January, but we had apparently put ’31 March’ on one of our earlier posts. Poets! … I ask you!  (tut)

We have requested the contest office to be lenient with the deadline this year, so if you still have not sent something off, if it arrives in Japan by mid-February, we expect it will be included in the judges’ bundle! And, this year, entry is free. Full details on the Contest Guidelines page (accessed top right). Thank you to Claire in Paris for the alert.