by Hiroaki Sato (2018)

2024 reads, 14/22

On Haiku is a collection of previously written essays by Hiroaki Sato on the art and history of haiku. Although not straightforward nonfiction, the organization of these essays brings about a naturally flowing and cohesive text on one of the most famous and down-to-earth poetic forms.

“In simplest terms, haikai [the predecessor of haiku] meant rejection of poetic diction and adoption of language in daily use. Orthodox court poetry did not tolerate references to quotidian, down-to-earth things like shiru, "soup," and namasu, "fish salad," so incorporating daily elements was haikai.”

This is probably more of an “intermediate” text on Haiku… if such a thing even exists. There is really no introductory chapter or definitions to ground you as you read, and it feels like Sato assumes you are somewhat familiar with haiku masters, e.g., Bashō, Issa, and Shiki. Furthermore, he drops a lot of Eastern history and philosophy which can be daunting (especially as someone with a limited education on this topic). But nowhere does Sato come off as a know-it-all, in fact his tone is very conversational and light – albeit opinionated – as he shares his knowledge.

Sato not only analyzes haiku, renga, and haibun (among other Japanese literary forms), but discusses the historical and societal context in which they were written. This connection of haiku to other facets of Japanese culture enhances haiku analysis, such as in the essay Issa and Hokusai. Here, Sato compares haiku poet Issa to ukiyo-e artist Hokusai, creator of the collection Thirty-six Views of Mount Fuji (which contains the famous painting The Great Wave off Kanagawa). Both had a similar upbringing, and used that to exaggerate different perspectives in their work.

“O snail Climb Mount Fuji But slowly, slowly!”

- Issa While translated haiku are beautiful on their own, understanding the context of their translation generates a new appreciation, and I’m glad Sato spent time on it. I learned that many hiragana and kanji characters in Japanese are used for their double meaning, or almost pun-like function, in haiku – but someone who is unfamiliar with the language and culture (me) would not understand the poet’s intention behind the words. It’s not unlike having a joke explained to you, but in this case, none of the magic is lost. One of my favorite essays, Hearn, Bickerton, Hubbell: Translation and Definition, deals with this topic. Sato starts with five different translators’ versions of Bashō's famous frog-pond haiku:

“Old pond — frogs jumped in — sound of water”

“A lonely pond in age - old stillness sleeps . . . Apart, unstirred by sound or motion . . . till Suddenly into it a lithe frog leaps.”

“Into the calm old pond A frog plunged — then the splash.”

“Breaking the silence Of an ancient pond, A frog jumped into water — A deep resonance.”

“An old pond A frog jumping Sound of water”

How do five different translations come from the same written Japanese language? It’s really interesting stuff, and goes to show how translation between languages is itself an art.

Not only is this a collection of essays worth coming back to, but On Haiku is also a great reference book – not only are there a glossary of terms and a list of important people at the end, but each essay contains a wealth of information for further reading. Definitely worth reading if you are interested at all in haiku, or Japanese literature/history.

#readingyear2024 #poetry #history #physicallyowned

by Rainer Maria Rilke (1923)

2023 reads, 11.75/12 (Interlude II):

To finish my Gravity's Rainbow interlude, I read the final major work of Rilke I had yet to read, The Sonnets to Orpheus. These are a series of 55 sonnets, written in two linked cycles (representing life and death?), written in 1922 in the span of about three weeks.

These poems are described as religious, but I would instead broaden that to spiritual. Like, intensely spiritual. This mysticism is mixed with themes of solitude, life & death, and the arts. In Greek myth, Orpheus was a bard, so symbols of music (specifically a lyre) are interspersed throughout these poems. These symbols are used as a device to represent creating poetry, but I felt it applied to any creative endeavor.

“He alone who has known the roots of the willow can bend the willow-branch into a lyre.”

Like the Elegies, these poems are as deep as you want them to be. You can let the words flow over you, or you can do as much digging as you want, line-by-line, picking apart the allegories, personification, and symbolism throughout. However, I found them to be more readable on the surface than the Duino Elegies. If you are looking to get into Rilke, I would start here (or his Letters to a Young Poet).

“Oh unheard starry music! Isn’t your sound protected from all static by the ordinary business of our days?”

#readingyear2023 #poetry

by Rainer Maria Rilke (1929)

2023 reads, 11.5/12 (Interlude):

I just got to “Part 4: The Counterforce” in Gravity's Rainbow, which I heard is heavily influenced by the works of Rainer Maria Rilke, an early 20th-century German poet. Before continuing on, I figured I’d pause for a brief interlude and catch up a bit on his work (having read The Duino Elegies last year).

This is a collection of letters that Rilke sent to Franz Xaver Kappus, a student at a military academy who sent Rilke his own poems, asking for advice. They correspond over the course of six years, and this published collection contains Rilke’s ten letters to Kappus. These letters touch upon many of the themes in Rilke's work: most notably art, solitude, the difficulty of aligning with a religion. They alternate between down-to-earth passages (I laughed at “today writing is not going to be easy because I have had to write a good number of letters already and my hand is tired” – you didn’t have to write this sentence?) and highly profound statements – highly recommended for anyone wanting to get more into writing or poetry.

“We have already had to adjust our understanding of so many theories of planetary motion, and so too we shall gradually learn to recognize that what we call fate originates in ourselves, in humankind, and does not work on us from the outside.”

#readingyear2023 #poetry

edited and translated by Robert Hass (1994)

2023 reads, 9/12:

Poetry was really interesting when we learned about it in school, but it was never my favorite unit in lit class because it was taught with so many ‘rules’ (limericks, acrostics, triplets, etc.). However, the biggest ‘rule’ drilled into our heads was that haikus follow the 5-7-5 syllable structure. Reading these poems dating back to the ‘birth’ of haiku, with masters Bashō, Buson, and Issa, has further opened my mind to what a haiku can truly be. The journal entries from each of these masters were also super interesting, and ended up enriching their respective poetry.

#readingyear2023 #physicallyowned #poetry

by William J. Higginson (1958)

2023 reads, 8/12:

“This is the main lesson of haiku. When we compose a haiku we are saying, ‘It is hard to tell you how I am feeling. Perhaps if I share with you the event that made me aware of these feelings, you will have similar feelings of your own.’”

A great introduction to the art of haiku. Higginson covers famous poets throughout history, and discusses their inspirations by breaking down how each of them approached haiku differently. I now definitely have a better understanding of how to both compose haiku (and why it’s best not to limit yourself to the 5-7-5 syllable 'rule') and appreciate it. Recommended for anyone interested in haiku, and even poetry in general.

#readingyear2023 #poetry

by Rainer Maria Rilke (1923)

2022 reads, 14/20:

The Duino Elegies are a collection of ten deeply religious and spiritual poems written by Rainer Maria Rilke from 1912 to 1922, taking various breaks in between. They cover heavy (and even overwhelming) themes such as religion, life, and death.

This in the first lines of the first elegy, Rilke makes a call out to ‘the Angels,’ but quickly realizes that biblically-accurate angels would be too powerful for a human to comprehend, thus concluding ‘every Angel is terror.’ The elegies continue in this manner, further exploring themes of childhood, parenthood, and even love, with some beautiful lines weaving their way throughout the deeply existentialist stanzas.

“You see, we don’t love like flowers, the work of just one year; sap from time immemorial mounts in our arms when we love.”

The theme of death makes its way front and center in the final three elegies – Rilke expresses his anger towards death, acceptance of death, and finally imagines what death would be like. To me, these were the heaviest of the ten, but the most powerful.

I don’t read much poetry, so I’m not adept to take a deep dive into these poems and what Rilke might have been feeling at the time, I could only really enjoy the ride as I read. But don't be fooled: each elegy may only be 3-4 pages, but you really have to step back and take in what Rilke is saying.

#readingyear2022 #poetry