Christina Sng’s Path

On By Nicholas KlacsanzkyIn HaikuLeave a comment

forest path
tracing the veins
on her hand

hedgerow #94, October 2016

© Christina Sng (Singapore)

What I like most about this haiku is its juxtaposition and the pivot in line two.

In haiku, there are usually two parts. The two parts here are “forest path” and “tracing the veins on her hand.” Despite there being no punctuation in this haiku, in English, lines can be a form of punctuation. In Japanese, they have kireji, or cutting words that act as punctuation. However, they are mostly used in poetry, and not in common written Japanese.

Anyways, it is a great observation to compare a forest path to one’s veins on one’s hand. Both weave, but both run to reach a destination through which one can to get the essence of something. It is the heart, and the depth of the nature. We take paths into the forest to go further away from what humans have made, and yet the poet makes an apt comparison between a forest path to the depth of nature and our own veins. Maybe this juxtaposition is also pointing out the similarity between the trail made by human hands, and the hands themselves.

The pivot line is genius. The second line can be read as a part of both the first and third line. It can mean the forest path, with its overhanging vegetation, is touching her hand and traces the veins on it. It could also mean that the way she traces her veins on her hand (with a pen, or simply with her finger) is similar to the forest path. Indeed, we have a forest within us, branching out as nerves, or as thoughts and memories, or as the magnitude of our soul.

Sonically, the “f” sound in “forest” and “veins” give the haiku more weight, and the “a” sound in “path” “tracing” and “hand” supplies a sense of awe.

A haiku that brings many images to one’s mind and many associations, in only eight words. It has a spiritual aftertaste, and gives off a mystical atmosphere when read. That is one of the gifts of haiku: they may seem matter-of-fact, but often express more than what can be said in long prose.

– Nicholas Klacsanzky (Ukraine)

Yokoi Yayū’s Heat

On By Nicholas KlacsanzkyIn SenryuLeave a comment

the well digger
comes out into the floating world—
the heat!

Yokoi Yayū (1702–1783) (Japan)

Before we get into this senryu, let’s take a look at the poet himself. Yokoi Yayū was a Japanese samurai best known for his haibun, a scholar of Kokugaku, and haikai poet, though he was also an expert in tea ceremonies and martial arts.

He learned haikai from Mutō Hajaku and Ōta Hajō. Hajaku and Hajō were pupils of Kagami Shikō, a leading disciple of Matsuo Bashō. Mori Senzō, a student of old Japanese literature, compared his hokku to senryū, and said they were not as interesting as his haibun. Yayū has been described as a master of haibun, and Nagai Kafū called Yayū’s haibun a model of Japanese prose.

Though Yayu was highly respected for his haibun, we are going to go over one of his senryu, or short poem pondering the foibles of human nature.

There is something in this senryu that some readers might not be familiar with: the floating world (ukiyo). What is it? Well, the floating world is a term that describes the urban lifestyle, especially the pleasure-seeking aspects, of Edo-period Japan (1600–1867). The floating world culture developed in Yoshiwara, the licensed red-light district of Edo (modern Tokyo), which was the site of many brothels, chashitsu, and kabuki theaters frequented by Japan’s growing middle class. The ukiyo culture also arose in other cities such as Osaka and Kyoto.

The term ukiyo (when meaning the floating world) is also an ironic allusion to the homophone ukiyo (憂き世 “Sorrowful World”), the earthly plane of death and rebirth from which Buddhists sought release.

So, like many words used in literature, “floating word” has at least two connotations. This open-endedness is one of the main features of senryu and haiku. It is important to have an open interpretation in senryu and haiku, as there are only a few words used, and you want readers to get the most they can from those words.

The juxtaposition in the senryu is intriguing because “the heat!” can mean at least two things. It could be the heat from the day and the feeling of being in the now when struck with that heat. On the other hand, it could be a play on the idea that hell is hot, (where the well digger was digging), and he came up to the surface with a surprise that the same heat that hell had was present on Earth. In a sense, the poet is hinting that hell is on Earth, and that it is not so supernatural after all. This idea of hell also coincides with both definitions of the floating world.

As you can see, senryu, though often humorous, can also have a lot of depth and introspective ideas. Senryu are more about conveying thoughts, and haiku are more about conveying a mood, and ultimately the human heart in connection with the natural world. Each genre has its place in literature, and can equally stir us towards being better people.

– Nicholas Klacsanzky (Ukraine)

 

Kaji Aso’s Dancing Crabs

On By Nicholas KlacsanzkyIn Haiga1 Comment

crabs

dance crabs
under the full moon
until you become a skeleton

© Kaji Aso (1936-2006) (Japan)

Before discussing this haiga (art plus poetry), I will supply some biographical information about the artist and poet.

Kaji Aso was born in Tokyo, Japan in 1936. He received an BFA in Painting and MFA in Printmaking at the Tokyo University of Art. But he was not only an artist; he was also a teacher, singer, adventurer, poet, and philosopher. All those who speak of Kaji Aso use the words “renaissance man” to capture his many accomplishments and his boundless spirit.

In 1972, he founded the Kaji Aso Studio Institute for the Arts in Boston, MA. Here he brought together Japanese and western culture: visual art, music, poetry, philosophy, theater, and good food. He also designed and built the first Japanese teahouse in Boston, where he presided as tea master. For thirty-three years, Kaji Aso was also a professor at the School of the Museum of Fine Arts, Boston. His art is part of the permanent collections of many museums around the world, including the Museum of Fine Arts, Boston; the National Museum of Modern Art, Tokyo;  the Museum of Modern Art, NY; National Museum of Czechoslovakia;  the State Pushkin Museum, Moscow and Padua Museum of Fine Arts, Italy. Thirteen of his works are registered as Japanese National Properties.

As a talented tenor, Kaji Aso performed opera and Italian and Japanese songs. He ran in thirty-six Boston Marathons and led kayak expeditions down some of the longest rivers in the world including the Mississippi, the Nile, and the Volga.

Although haiku was just one of his many special gifts, Kaji Aso very often expressed the wisdom of his beliefs in haiku and did a lot of haiku illustrations. He organized and took an active part in many seminars and lectures about Japanese art, haiku, sumi painting and calligraphy. With countless awards and publications attributed to him, he can be rightly called a legend. [Adapted from The Living Haiku Anthology]

Commentary

In the art, we can notice the moon at the top, with the haiku written in an accented way to take in the haiku slowly. The crabs below the haiku are shown dancing by the dots below them. This type of painting is not exacting, but rather an approach is taken to capture the spirit of what is seen. This relates to wabi-sabi, allowing imperfections to be and seeing the beauty in them. Sumi art is more of a sketch of life, rather than an exact showcasing of it.

Though the art seems simple, we can get a poignant feeling from it. I perceive joy and austerity in the blots and lines of the ink. It gives off vibrations of spirituality, but also a pure simplicity that makes one joyful when viewing it.

The feeling the art exudes compliments the mood of the haiku. Though the art does not show the crabs as skeletons, it shows their dancing and allows us to feel the mysticism of the haiku more.

In terms of the haiku, each line is striking and wakes one up to the moment. Though the haiku can be taken literally, I believe it has a spiritual mood.

Crabs are a reference to different seasons, but most commonly, they reference summer. It would make sense that they would be dancing if it is summer.

The full moon has so much symbolism in Japan that it is hard to define it in a few short lines. But the full moon can mean complete enlightenment, the absolute truth, and even specific mystical beings. In the context of this haiku, I feel the full moon is in a sense luring the crabs into a mystical experience, and that the poet suggests the crabs to give up the attachment of their bodies. The poet recognizes the crabs as seekers of truth when they dance under the full moon, and is instructing the crabs as he would students of Zen or other forms of spiritual practices. There is no sense of division of the human and natural world in the mind of the poet.

We get a contrast of the full moon and the skeleton. This juxtaposition, though it seems obvious after a few readings, does not seem apparent quickly. This is because the starkness of the moment described is so strong, that the reader does not consider the aesthetic of it at first.

A masterful haiga by an enormously talented artist and poet.

– Nicholas Klacsanzky (Ukraine)