On the Kokinshū and Ichiyō

This year, I'm in Japan, translating the poetic works of a woman whom I consider one of the greatest Japanese writers, the late nineteenth century wordsmith Higuchi Ichiyō. Ichiyō is primarily famous not for her poetry (though she left us more than five thousand waka), but for her short stories, the most famous of which is "Takekurabe".

There are several reasons for this. The first is that her short stories are, in fact, of a higher calibre than her poetry (but it is like comparing lamps to the sun: however wonderful the lamp, it will always come up short). The second is that of the over five thousand waka left behind, many of them were written as she studied how to write under the tutelage of a teacher. We thus have a nearly complete record of her progress as a poet, from neophyte to craftsman. Nevertheless, her early poems are clearly the poems of a neophyte, and to some degree they may lower the reputation of her other, more accomplished poems. And the final reason is that her poetry is viewed as being primarily derivative from the Kokinwakashū.

The Kokinwakashū, or Kokinshū for short, was one of the first of the great Japanese imperial anthologies of poetry, and was written roughly a thousand years before Ichiyō wrote. Its grip on Japanese poetic aesthetics held strong all that time. Only in the early twentieth century, with publications like Yosano Akiko's "Midaregami", did it begin to fade. "Midaregami" was wild and passionately individual, owing less to the proper traditions of waka than the poetry that had come before it, and if a style of poetry could be said to have defined an era, "Midaregami" defined its era.

But there is something one must understand about Japanese poetry: it is meant to be derivative. In the course of my studies at a Japanese university, I often take part in a graduate-level seminar on the Kokinshū composed of myself, a graduate student, and four very learned professors of literature. In a similar seminar of English poetry, one might expect to spend much of the time in discussion of the subtleties of meaning and overall consequences of theme, but I will tell you that in this seminar, a great amount of time is spent discussing issues of precedent.

The professors never cease to amaze me, with their incredible knowledge of poetic tradition and precedent.

Professor A: 'In this poem, the unknown author has written "on a bridge of autumn leaves" (紅葉の橋に), whereas the normally accepted term would be "on the boat of an autumn leaf" (紅葉の船に), wouldn't it?'

Professor B: 'Quite right. I believe it was from the Ise Monogatari, wasn't it?'

Professor C: 'Yes, but it seems that even before that, "the boat of an autumn leaf" was a term coined from Chinese poetry and brought over here at some uncertain point. So it's technically a Chinese term that was adopted by our people.'

Professor A: 'Ah, I see...so in that case this "bridge of autumn leaves" is an attempt to identify it as more uniquely Japanese, perhaps? Still, the precedent lies with "boat" rather than "bridge", so this is very strange.'

Professor C: 'Some later editions emend "bridge" to "boat", no doubt in light of that. And if in fact it were "boat", we might presume this unknown author to be Ki no Tsurayuki, because it is written that such things were talked about at "The Fortuitous Poetic Gathering at X River", where we know Tsurayuki to have attended.'

...and so forth. Nearly all of the great Japanese poems have derived in part from other poems or phrases in the past, and understanding which prior works they are linked to is a key to understanding the meaning of the poem at times. We might read one poem, and feel that the meaning is unclear, but then see that it derives from so-and-so poem a hundred years prior, in which such-and-such means this, and from that we can understand the meaning of the first.

Ichiyō's poetry is no exception to this. She had an encylcopædic knowledge of the ancient classics, and her short stories especially are replete with scattered references to them; but so are her poems. Like the poems in the Kokinshū, one can see where she derives her meaning, and the bonds of tradition that link her writings to the past. For example, in one poem, she refers to 'leaves from the moonlight' (月のかげより木の葉), and we determined this phrase to be a reference to a Chinese legend that a great tree grows on the moon.

This sense of derivation does not carry with it the negative connotations that might hold in English if we were to call a poem derivative. It is unfortunate that Ichiyō's poetry has been overshadowed by her other talents and by the Japanese equivalent of the great vers libre revolution, yet there is a proper and ancient value to be found in the derivative functions of her poetry, and that of the Kokinshū. It is not dissimilar to the common law principle of stare decisis. And it is at the very heart of traditional Japanese poetry.

日記：潰されし蟷螂、枯れがれの花

一昨日、家を出たら宝石のようにきらきらと光っていた物があった。
下を向けば、きれいな赤色の花だった。
その時、「今度、写真を撮ろう」と思った。

今日又家を出ると例の花を見る。
しかし今度は、枯れがれな姿を表す。
悲しく思い、家に帰ろうとすると、更に道路の真ん中に、車に潰されてしまった蟷螂の亡骸がある。

その花に、そしてその虫に、何と言う儚い命だった。
我々も孰れ死の橋を渉れば、その時自分の事を同じく思うだろう。

Diary:  A Crushed Mantis, a Withered Flower

The day before yesterday, I saw something glittering like a jewel when I left my house.  When I looked down, there was a beautiful red flower.

At that time, I thought, 'Next time, I'll take a picture.'

Today I left my house again, and saw the flower.

But this time, its form was bare and withered.

Thinking sadly to myself, I went to return home, and came across the dead husk of a praying mantis, crushed in the street by a car.

For that flower, and for that insect, how transient indeed was life.

When we too one day cross the bridge of death, will we not think the same thing of ourselves?

On the Vulgar in Literature, Part I

I write today about the vulgar in literature, from the etymological meaning of vulgar, that is to say, common. By vulgar, then, I mean the common effects of the body as represented within literature: sexuality, functions of the toilet, and such like. I have noticed a great shift in modern times toward, rather than away from, the representation of these things, and would rather like to spend some time on the topic.

I am myself from a somewhat older school of literary thought that included Tolkien, Tennyson, Gibran, and others; which held that such lower functions of the body, while undeniably a part of the human experience, need not be given a place within serious literature. No doubt this school was somewhat influenced by the morality of religion, which tends broadly to discriminate against such earthly functions, but the deeper philosophical premise was that the inclusion of vulgarity into literature detracted from meaning.

From both sides of our English literary heritage this vein of thought has been handed down. Marcus Aurelius wrote to us:

'Hoc quicquid tandem sum, caruncula est et animula et animi principatus. Missos fac libros: noli amplius distrahi; sed ut jam moriens carunculam contemne: cruor est ossicula et reticulum, ex nervis, venulis et arteriis contextus.'

'Whatever this is that I am, it is a little flesh and breath, and the ruling part; reason. Throw away thy books; no longer distract thyself: it is not allowed; but as if thou wast now dying, despise the flesh; it is blood and bones and a network, a contexture of nerves, veins, and arteries.'

The Anglo-Saxons, too, despite being of a ribald and exceedingly earthy culture, found fit to publish, in the works of Cynewulf and others like "Beowulf" and "The Battle of Maldon", poems and stories that dwelt not on these things, but on the moral fortitude of Christianity, the glory of war, and the transience of man.

Thus we in the English tradition have come down through the ages seeing the more common functions of the body treated with a measure of disdain, or at the least, a lack of interest, in our literature. And there is a simple reason for it, to my mind, which is simply this: the purpose of literature is to excite the imagination to morality. No more, no less. There is a wide breadth of morality represented in the literature of our keeping, but each author has held forth on his or her moral vision nonetheless. Even Tolkien’s so-called ‘cordial dislike’ of allegory in deference to the purity of history does not disclaim a moralistic interpretation of history, but merely the allegorical dictation to the reader of what that moral ought to be.

The common or vulgar functions of the body may therefore be taken for granted, and, according to this school of thought, holding little relevance to issues of reason, philosophy, or morals, ought not to be lingered over in works that hold forth on such things. I believe that much of the shift in modern times can be attributed to a shift toward a philosophical understanding grounded more in emotion than in reason, and this is something I will discuss at length later on. Primarily, however, it makes sense that while the presence of sexuality in a work may be necessary, the need to dwell at length upon that sexuality is unnecessary and therefore frivolous, unless the author feels that a lengthy exploration of the physical qualities of sex promotes the moral, and not simply the entertaining, qualities of his or her text.

But what, the reader may ask, about "The Canterbury Tales", or other such bawdy and vulgar works? There is a difference between serious literature and comedic literature that is vitally important to distinguish. The former, as I have indicated, excites the imagination to morality; the latter may also do so through irony and satire, but its primary focus is to reveal the vulgar and thus mock it. “The Canterbury Tales” may be a serious work of literature, but it is hardly serious literature. Sonnets, while they have a reputation today as being 'love poems', were often quite sexual in meaning, though skilled poets from Shakespeare to Wyatt hid such meaning behind puns and obscurities. Dryden, Pope, and Swift are three examples of more modern authors who used vulgarity to satirical effect.

Interestingly enough, the Japanese literary tradition does not discriminate so clearly against the vulgar; "Genji Monogatari", the most famous of early works of Japanese fiction, is as much a chronicle of young Genji's sexual conquests as it is of the moralistic feelings of love contained therein. The lover leaving at morning after a nighttime tryst is an ubiquitous trope in the literary and especially poetic canon, though in poetry, it is not until the last century or so, with the publication of Yosano Akiko's "Midaregami" (Tangled Hair), that overt sexuality gained a place.

Buddhism, foreign to Japan though it is, declares that 'Desire is the root of all evil', and while the meaning of that statement is broad indeed, it is easily understandable to be applicable to sexuality, among other things. Confucius likewise held forth on morality and propriety, and both of these philosophies were carried to Japan over time and grew, like two vines intertwined about the pillar of Shintoism upon which the nation's morals were founded. Thus, in "Saiyuki" (The Journey to the West), which while a Chinese work has had a deep impact on the Japanese literary tradition, Chu Wu-neng's porcine delight in gluttony and lewdness is well chronicled but generally frowned upon by the monk Hsüan-tsang's gentle but firm instruction.

In Yoshikawa Eiji's "Miyamoto Musashi", the young Takuan Soho freely urinates off a cliff whilst expressing his Buddhist delight; we are thus reminded that such quotidian or vulgar actions may indeed have a place in serious literature dependent upon the morality one is trying to express, in this case, the Zen dogma of mushin, or mindlessness.

Do you have an opinion on this? Next time, I will continue the discussion with an eye for how more modern works of literature, in both the English and Japanese canons, have changed the conversation about the vulgar in literature.

日記：岡雨

朝徒歩で、大学へ。
途中で麦畑を通り掛る。
出川を渉ったら、毎朝の白鷺がいる。
目礼して進んで、時半に着く。

『徒然草』を読めば、下記の文があった。

「牛を売る者あり。買ふ人、明日（あす）その価（あたひ）をやりて牛を取らんといふ。夜（よ）の間（ま）に牛死にぬ。買はんとする人に利あり。売らんとする人に損あり。」と語る人あり。それを聞きて、かたへなる者のいはく、「牛の主（ぬし）まことに損ありといへども、また大きなる利あり。その故は、生あるもの、死の近き事を知らざる事、牛すでに然（しか）なり。人また同じ。はからざるに牛は死し、はからざるに主は存（ぞん）ぜり。一日（いちにち）のいのち、万金（ばんきん）よりも重し。牛のあたひ、鵝毛（がもう）よりも軽（かろ）し。万金（ばんきん）を得て一銭を失はん人、損ありといふべからず。」

「兼好のやつ、一葉のようにきれいに書いてくれたなあ」と思った私。
実際、兼好のようにきれいに書いてくれた一葉。

今日より柔道部に入部する私。
本日の練習大抵見習うものの、一応先輩と手合わせをしてみる。
一回負け、そして又一回勝つ。
私の腕、やはり錆びたかと。

帰り道に雨が降り注ぐ。

Diary:  Hillside Rain

In the morning, I set out on foot for school.

Midway, I passed by fields of wheat.

As I crossed the Degawa River, the crane I see each morning was there.

I nodded to him and continued on, and arrived at the half-hour.

Reading the "Tsurezuregusa", I came across the following passage.

There was a person who said, 'A man was selling his ox.  The buyer was to come in the morning, pay the agreed-upon sum, and take the ox.  The ox died in the night.  He who would have bought it was fortunate; he who would have sold it was unfortunate.'  Hearing this, another replied, 'Though it is true indeed that the owner of the ox was unfortunate, he was also very fortunate.  What I mean by that is this: those things that have life live unaware of their nearness to death, and the ox was so.  Men are the same.  By chance the ox died, and by chance the owner lived.  The life of a single day is heavier than a fortune in gold; the price of an ox is lighter than a down feather.  He who would lose a fortune for the sake of a pittance is unfortunate indeed.'

I thought, 'That Kenkō fellow wrote beautifully in the manner of Ichiyō.'

Actually, it is Ichiyō who wrote beautifully in the manner of Kenkō.

The rain poured down upon my homeward path.

The Beginning

You seem to have found your way to my parlour; have a seat.  Welcome, as it were, to a beginning: the beginning of this journal, Ya'in Suigetsu.  The title, roughly translated, means 'The Dark of Night and the Reflection of the Watery Moon'.

For those of you who know me, you can expect to find, from time to time, anecdotes about my life here in Kasugai and descriptions of the daily goings-on, but the primary purpose of this journal is not to tell you who I am.  Come and read; in time, you will learn who I am.  The primary purpose of this journal is to have a discussion about those things that matter in life: politics, religion, literature, art, morals, philosophy, and the like.

I mean for it to be a civil discussion but a spirited one.  I would be delighted if you comment to express your point of view and put forth a case for your agreement or disagreement.  Come and read; take a while and relax, take a while and think about the world.  If you would like to discuss a particular topic, any topic, let me know.  We can talk about it.  We can go forward together.

Come and read; you may learn who you are.