100 haijin after Shiki

Susumu Takiguchi

PART SEVEN

Kubota Mantaro (1889-1963)

Masaoka Shiki (1867-1902) famously predicted that haiku could become extinct

by the end of the Meiji Era (1868-1912). How wrong he was! And how delighted

we are that he was wrong, without being unkind to him! This is indeed a cause

for celebration.

One way of celebrating it could be to choose at random one hundred Japanese

haiku poets who have helped to prove him wrong. If we chose one hundred best

the case would be strong. But if we chose randomly, and not necessarily the best,

one hundred from among, say, about five hundred who have been leading figures

in the modern history of haiku in Japan, the case would be even stronger.

With this in mind, I would like to serialise my narratives in World Haiku Review

about the one hundred Japanese haijin whom I shall choose at random and talk

about. There is no particular reason why the number should be one hundred. It

could be two hundred or fifty. Just over one hundred years have passed since the

end of the Meiji Era, and a little bit longer since Shiki died. So, the number one

hundred would not be bad. To write about more than one hundred haijin could

be exhausting. If the number was fifty, the endeavour could be unsatisfactory and

frustrating as more would surely be desired to be introduced. One thing which is

certain is that it is not really intended to follow the fashion to use the number one

hundred in haiku books, originally emanating from the ancient waka anthology

Hyaku-Nin-Isshu (one poem each by one hundred poets). Being a heso-magari

(contrarian) I would in fact have liked to avoid this cliché.

Kubota Mantaro (1889-1963)

POPULAR ROMANTICIST

Kubota (surname) Mantaro (given name)*

7 November 1889 ~ 6 May 1963

*Following the academic convention of Japanese studies, Japanese full names are written in

the order of the country’s practice, i.e. surname followed by given name.

There is a famous episode about this author. It relates to how he died rather than

how he lived. It also speaks volumes about what his personality was like.

One early summer evening Kubota was invited to a dinner party by a famous

Japanese painter, Umehara Ryuzaburo, sometimes called the Japanese Renoir,

at the artist’s home in Shinjuku, the west of Tokyo. Kubota, apart from being a

well-established novelist, dramatist and haiku master, was also renowned as a

difficult-to-please gourmet. He was therefore reputed to enjoy fine food and

drink. However, there was one thing which he avoided eating. It was a shell fish

called akagai, (blood clam, or ark shell: Scapharca broughtonii) which was

popular among gourmet. And the reason for avoiding akagai was that it was too

hard for Kubota to bite or chew easily.

Unfortunately for Kubota, this was exactly the item spread for the evening in the

form of nigiri-sushi. It was carefully chosen especially for him by the host Umehar

a because of its high rating as a delicacy. Thus Kubota was at once put in an

excruciatingly difficult position where he had to choose either to tell the host the

truth and not eat it, or to eat it in order not to offend him. He chose the latter.

No sooner he put the delicacy into his mouth than he developed dysphagia and

soon after was literally choked to death. He must have decided to swallow the

shell fish whole in the good old kamikaze spirit without attempting to chew it.

(There are some who mention that he died of food poisoning, which seems to be

false.)

He was taken to the Hospital of Keio University of which he was an alumnus but

was already in the state of what in Japan is called shin-pai-teishi

(cardiopulmonary arrest) which means in plain English he was dead. In Japan,

only doctors can legally pronounce anybody dead, which in the case of Kubota

was done at 18:25 hours.

It was later found that his strict code of courtesy dictated him not to tell the host

or any other guests what crisis he was unexpectedly faced with. Once outside the

banquet room he tried to rescue himself in the toilet but sadly collapsed in front

of its door. This was in 1963 (Showa 38) and Kubota was 73 years and 6 months

old. A heart attack or stroke was obviously suspected in the first place. But post-

mortem revealed nothing wrong with his heart, brains or any other organs.

Puzzled, the doctors cut through the windpipe and found a rolled-up blood clam

tightly blocking the air.

湯豆腐やいのちのはてのうすあかり

yudofu ya inochi no hate no usu-akari

boiled tofu;

at the end of one’s life…

a dim light

季語：湯豆腐ー冬 出典：流寓抄以後 年代：昭和３８年

（1963年：74才位）

This haiku was written some five weeks before his death. It has therefore often

been regarded as his death poem, or at least one which was written with his being

conscious of his old age and therefore of the not-too-distant future of its ending.

That may be reading too much into it, though certainly a great deal of feelings of

pathos are put into it about his life which was in the twilight years.

In his life, he had more than his fair share of losing his nearest and dearest by

death. His first wife had committed suicide because of his philandering. His

second marriage had broken down and the couple were living separately. The

third woman he dearly loved had also had a sudden death a year before this haiku

was written. Moreover, his beloved son died at 36.

As if these were not enough, he had to endure other misfortunes. His home was

destroyed twice: once by the Great Kanto Earthquake in 1923 and twice after the

American air raid in 1945 which obliged him to move to Kamakura. Earlier in the

same year, both of his parents died one after another. So, it would be unnatural

to think that he did not have his own death in mind when composing this haiku.

Yudofu is the kigo for winter. It is one of the typical Japanese dishes called

nabemono. Basically, you boil various things in a large flat pot which is placed on

the table in front of you and each person helps him/herself to whatever becomes

cooked which he/she wants, dip it in a sauce and eat it. Typically, meat or fish is

the main ingredient with vegetables always to accompany, but tofu is often used

as the main ingredient in its own right, or in addition to other main ingredient.

One assumes that there are few Japanese who do not like yudofu very much.

The saving grace is the sense of humour and detachment which haiku could

provide him with. Tofu was his favourite food and consequently there are quite a

few haiku written about it, which is in itself humorous. Tofu can be said to be a

comfort food for the Japanese because it is nice and soft. It is nutritious without

being expensive or extravagant. It is easy to eat whether cooked or not. It is our

‘friend’. The contrast between tofu as such and the grave matter of death is

striking and gives out a slight sense of humour.

The puzzle, or a key question, is the dim light in shimo-go (the third line). Did

Kubota mean a fading light (diminishing hope or optimism)? Or, did he mean a

light was still a light however faint it might be, a symbol of lingering optimism?

Fading light could also mean his own life approaching its end. The irony is that

it was composed at a bonen-kukai held in Ginza, Tokyo. “Bonen” means trying to

forget the passing year, but it can also mean forgetting one’s age.

神田川祭の中をながれけり

kanda-gawa/matsuri no naka wo/nagare keri

the River Kanda,

running through

the festival

季語：祭ー夏 出典：道芝 年代：大正１４年

（1925年：36才位）

Kubota is often referred to as a kissui no Edokko, or a native of the downtown

(of Tokyo through and through. Edoof course is the old name of Tokyo, and was

famous for its distinct culture apart from many other things. The downtown, like

cockney of East London, still preserves many features of that culture to this day.

As Tokyo has become a melting pot of all manner of people from many different

regions of Japan, those who are born and bred there have become few and far

between and have come to be distinguished as “genuine” Tokyoites.

Kubota was born right in the middle of the downtown, Asakusa, which is today

one of the most popular international tourist traps in Tokyo. His parents were

running quite a sizeable business of making and selling tabisocks, employing

about 15 skilled workers. He went to a local elementary school, after which he

entered the Tokyo Third Junior High school which was also situated not too far

from home and to which another famous writer, Akutagawa Ryunosuke, enrolled

a year later. After some delay on account of his failure in mathematics exam, he

went to study literature at the University of Keio. There he met two heavy weights

in Japan’s literary world, Mori Ogai and Nagai Kafu, who were teaching at the

Literature Faculty. This encounter more or less determined his future.

People in the downtown loved matsuri (festivals) and still do. This one is a

summer festival. They are like the carnival in Rio de Janeiro, with elaborate and

shiny floats carried by young men in traditional attire, loud music with flutes,

drums and metal instruments, dancing of young women in festival costume, all

cheered by thousands of spectators who fill the streets where the matsuri

procession take place. The beauty of this haiku lies in its skilful depiction that

there are so many people present in the scene that it looks as though the river

seems to be flowing amidst the matsuri throng. Some commentators say that this

is a relatively small festival and that the river is flowing just as usual as if to say it

has nothing to do with it. I do not agree.

まゆ玉や一度こじれし夫婦仲

mayudama ya/ichido kojireshi/fufu-naka

mayudama decoration;

once it began going awry…

our marriage

This haiku has a maegaki, which says, “Welcoming the New Year in” (1956).

Kubota was 67 years old. He and his wife had moved back to Tokyo the previous

year, leaving Kamakura where they lived for over ten years. So, it was for them

the first New Year in the new residence which was located in the district. The

feeling was that everything was new. This should have included their perception

of the married life. Something new, something fresh. However, their relationship

had been marred by his infidelity and the strain is almost palpable in this all-too-

honest haiku. The uplifting New Year’s celebrations are contrasted to the piquancy

of self-mocking confession, presenting a fine example of toriawase. This poignant

image of the haiku looks as if it has been extracted from the pages of some of his

novels. It is even more moving if one thinks of his tragedy 21 years earlier,

whereby his previous wife killed herself.

Mayudama is a kigo for the New Year. It refers to the traditional practice of

hanging on 15 January a branch of certain trees such as a lacquer tree (Rhus

verniciflua), Poison tree (Toxicodendron vernicifluum) or a willow tree from the

ceiling, with a lot of decorations attached to it like a Christmas tree. The

decorations range from mochi rice cake sliced in the shape of a cocoon

(mayudama in Japanese), gold coins (token), ears of rice crop, models of treasure

ships and confectionery. The practice is to pray for a good harvest, commercial

successes, and happiness generally. Mayudama was originally to pray for good

crops of cocoons. Few people practice this feature at home now but it is commonly as a decoration in businesses to attract custom.

鮟鱇もわが身の業も煮ゆるかな

anko mo waga mi no go mo niyuru kana

monkfish and

the karma of my life

both bubbling

季語：鮟鱇ー冬 出典：流寓抄以後 年代：昭和３８年

（1963年：73才）

This famous haiku was written in 1963, the year when Kubota died at 73. The

death occurred in early summer on 6 May. So, it must have been during the

previous winter (the haiku was created in March) when the monkfish stew was

eaten because it is normally a winter dish. Every bit of a monkfish can be and is

eaten, which begot the phrase,nanatsu-dogu (or the seven tools) of the monkfish,

such as flesh, skin, liver and fins, i.e. everything except for bones.

There are many Japanese words derived from Buddhism and go is one of them.

It is the Japanese translation of the Sanskrit word, karman. It is obvious that

Kubota was looking back his whole life and thought about good deeds and bad

deeds that he had done, especially the latter. Monkfish is famed for its ugly looks

more than for its delicioustaste. The ugliness has an association with negative

side of things, in this case bad things which Kubota had done in his life. Therefore,

the monkfish stew must have looked to Kubota like a summing-up of what came

to pass in his entire life. Topmost on his mind must have been Misumi Kazuko,

his mistress, who died in December of the previous year, only about 4 months

before this haiku was composed.

Kubota had forsaken his wife and moved out of the married home to live in hiding

with his mistress Kazuko in an obscure corner at Akasaka. This was in 1957 when

Kubota was 68 and Kazuko 54, i.e. five years before his death. They met when

Kazuko was still a geisha at the famous pleasure quarter, Yoshiwara. In February

that year his beloved son, Koichi, died, which devastated him.

Career-wise, it was a memorable year as in November he was awarded the most

prestigious medal in Japan in the literary and cultural field, the Cultural Medal.

Glittering professionally, Kubota was suffering from tragedy in his family and

from his broken marriage. Kazuko, presumably, was his only solace. Faced with

Kazuko’s death, Kubota left us with a poignant haiku with wry humour:

死んでゆくものうらやまし冬ごもり(shin de yuku mono urayamashi

fuyu gomori: those who die/I do envy/winter hibernation).

もち古りし夫婦の箸や冷奴

mochi furi shi fufu no hashi ya hiya-yakko

long-time possession…

man-and-wife chopsticks,

eating chilled tofu

Thus it was that Kubota’s life was one of philandering, of more than a fair share

of deaths of his loved ones and of a brilliant career as a leading literary figure.

Leaving aside his earlier love-life, the beginning was love at first sight, which

happened in 1919 when he was 30, and married a girl who was staying with a

friend of his as an apprentice being trained to be a bride, which was a common

practice in Japan at that time.

She was a geisha called Konryu. Her real name was Kyo. And she became a

devoted wife. She bore him a baby boy, Koichi. It was supposed to be a happy

marriage, but 16 year later Kyo committed suicide by overdose. This was in 1935

when he was 46. The reason was his infidelity. In the previous year he met a new

woman, Kuroki Haru, a waitress at a café, which was the direct cause of his wife’s

despair. Haru gave birth to a baby girl a month after Kyo’s suicide. More

surprisingly, he and this newly-found lover parted the following year.

In 1946 when he was 57 he remarried to Mita Kimi, about whom we have already

discussed. Let me just add that she was 24 years younger than him and was a

successful business woman, running a hotel. The marriage was full of happiness

at first but soon turned sour. He disliked her so much that he wrote a haiku:

蝙蝠（こうもり）に口ぎたなきがやまひかなkomori ni kuchigitanaki ga yamai

kana (on the bats…/she has a foul mouth/that’s her illness).

Kubota always maintained that for him haiku was no more than a pastime. This

caused quite a controversy. He spent a great deal of his time and passion on haiku. More of his

haiku were published in haiku magazines than the so-called professional haiku

poets. He was even the editor of the prestigious haiku magazine called Shuntō.

Some criticised, saying that it was a posture to make him look different from his

ranks. Some even went so far as to say that he was hypocritical. However, Kubota

was only doing his own thing, being an independent-minded person. He knew the adage: All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy. For him, haiku was a bit of a play, relaxation

and an escape even.