One Hundred Haijin part 3

WHR June 2016

ONE HUNDRED HAIJIN AFTER SHIKI

By

Susumu Takiguchi

PART THREE

Suzuki Masajo (1906-2003)

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.

Suzuki Masajo (1906 - 2003)

FIRE, BEAUTY AND HAIKU

- Life, Love and Poetry of Suzuki Masajo

by Susumu Takiguchi

(Reproduced from the August 2001 issue of World Haiku Review)

After the grand celebration party in down-town Tokyo of the Tamamo School, commemorating the 800th issue of its haiku magazine, I was swiftly escorted out of the banquet hall and ushered into a huge white Mercedes. The elegant lady behind the wheel, attired in a gorgeous kimono, was a favourite disciple of the most revered and loved female haijin in Japan - Suzuki Masajo. The powerful vehicle proceeded quietly and smoothly through the throng of nocturnal passers-by, large shining cars and the silhouettes of bicycles into an exclusive corner of the already exclusive Ginza. The exquisite ride came to an abrupt end several corners too soon. Three dark figures waiting on the pavement, opened the car door for me, leading me through a narrow laneinto a small koryohriya (traditional Japanese restaurant cum watering place). Suddenly, I was standing in front of a figure who had been somebody I could admire only in magazines and books. It was Masajo.

usumono ya hito kanashimasu koi o shite (Masajo)

light silk kimono –

having an affair that makes

someone else unhappy (version by ST, the same hereinafter)

Masajo is synonymous with romance, or using a Japanese expression, the fire of love. She is an embodiment of love, beauty and haiku. Her early elopement as a married woman with a young naval officer, seven years younger than herself, is legendary and if my memory serves me aright was made into a film. A woman of exceptional beauty, during her second marriage, she travelled some eight hundred miles westward to meet her sweetheart even though she did not know if he had received her telegraph telling him of her coming. Her destination was a small provincial seacoast town called Ohmura, just north of Nagasaki. This small castle town, Ohmura, is nowhere else than my own hometown. Although my ancestral samurai house is now in ruins, the inn where Masajo stayed with her lover can be found to this day, still prospering.

renjoh ni uchikachi-gataki hitoe kana (Masajo)

thin summer kimono –

ah, I cannot for the life of me resist:

this burning love for him

Masajo, now in her ninety-second year, smiled at me, gently pushing me into one of about eight stools in the restaurant. Only the luckiest can sit on them and “perch” onto a bar in order to have the rare pleasure of savouring her exquisite food and drinking her choicest sake. Her restaurant is called “unami”, a summer haiku kigo which either refers to rape fields rippling like waves in the early summer wind , or more commonly to waves in the sea or rivers in early summer. Either way, it is a symbol of beauty. Ten minutes before, Masajo had been treated like senior British royalty by top leaders in the strictly hierarchical Japanese haiku world. Now, Masajo, clad in her apron, was serving her clients and looking after me.

To my surprise, Masajo seated herself next to me. To my even bigger surprise, she poured sake, the legendary “Haku-taka” (white hawk), into my “o-choko” (sake cup). “So, you come from the town where I eloped?” Masajo was totally uninhibited, which made me bashful. She looked at me, smiling at my blush. The details of her elopement which she recalled, an event of sixty years past, were astonishing. Embraced in the cosy warmth, merry voices and delicious aroma of “unami” restaurant, it seemed, almost, that I had found myself in a dream world. More than once did I feel as if I had become a character in her film. Not playing a big part, but deeply moved, I found it difficult either to look at this beautiful ninety-two year old, drink her heavenly sake or eat her gourmet food without feeling captivated by her being.

tohki koi sake no nukumi ka aki no kure (Ryuseki=ST)

love from a distant past –

or the warmth of her sake?

autumn is ending

Masajo had once remarked, “I shall not commit ‘dual-suicide’ with haiku. If I were to choose between haiku and love, I would drop haiku.” She dropped neither.

yuku haru ya kaze no oto sae kikenu roji (Masajo)

spring passing –

a small lane where even the sound

of wind cannot be heard

In such a small lane in Ginza, Masajo started her tiny restaurant, having given up family hotel business in her hometown of Kamogawa, on the coast in Chiba prefecture. She was brought up with the sound of waves, one of the most favourite themes of her haiku. As we have already seen, the name of her little restaurant “unami” itself is a name for early summer waves. Moreover, while her haigo, Masajo, comes from her real name, Masa, in terms of pronunciation, its meaning, as is given by the Chinese characters chosen, was derived from the word "masago", meaning fine and beautiful sands on a beach; a perfect fit for someone who loves the sound of waves and the sensation of being at the mercy of them, sensual, erotic and dreamlike.

arutoki wa fune yori takaki unami kana (Masajo)

now and again

higher than the boat –

summer waves

Masajo was born on 24 November 1906 to an old “ryokan” (inn) business family. The ryokan, called Yoshida-ya, had a long history spanning 300 years (it is still in business under the new name of Kamogawa Grand Hotel). Their clientele included writers such as Okakura Tenshin, businessmen such as Iwasaki, and the Japanese Emperor.

Her long and even tragic life began with the early death of her mother (27 years old) when Masajo was only five years old. Two years later, her father remarried. Her stepmother, a beautiful and kind lady of the same age as Masajo’s own mother, was a geisha. When, at the age of 14, Masajo wanted to become a geisha she asked her for advice. Although her stepmother supported her, this wish was quashed by her father and sisters.

Masajo was the youngest of three daughters. The eldest, Ryu, was also a fine haiku poet with a haigo of “Ryujo”. Ryu’s literary talent blossomed early and she started to write haiku in earnest when she was only fifteen. However, Ryu died at the age of 33, leaving three daughters and a son behind, all still in their primary school and kindergarten days. It was December 1935 and Masajo was 29. Grief adding to grief, in January of that same year, Masajo had experienced another devastation. Her husband, a wholesaler of general merchandise, suddenly ran away as a consequence of huge gambling losses. He became a missing person. Six years previously, after a passionate romance, she had married the man, remarking, “if you become a beggar, I shall be one too with you”.

The family conference ruled that she be returned to her own family but that her only daughter’s custody be with her husband’s family (Her first baby was still born). Thus, in a matter of two months, she suddenly and virtually lost the very two persons she loved most.

Masajo’s unhappiness was greatly augmented when she was “persuaded” to marry her brother-in-law only four months after the elder sister’s death, fourteen months after she lost her own husband. She felt the age difference was too big (it was actually ten years). This marriage meant that Masajo now became the owner of the family inn, Yoshida-ya. In spite of her new role of responsibility and authority, she was not even allowed to go to Tokyo alone to meet her own daughter, as she herself had become stepmother to four children.

Hito-mawari chigau fufu ya koromo-gae (Masajo)

Ah, our big

age difference! change to

summer clothes

The following year, Masajo experienced yet another tragedy. Her father whom she adored died at the age of only 62. The depth of her unhappiness was such that she drifted into a love affair with a young, handsome naval officer seven years her junior, who was stationed at a nearby base.

hotaru-bi ya on-na no michi wo fumi-hazushi (1957, Masajo)

light of fireflies –

I have fallen from grace

of woman’s way

Many more sad things followed in her long life, but one which was a blessing in disguise happened in 1955, when she was 49. While she was on a visit to Tokyo to fetch the copies of her first haiku anthology, her Ryokan, Yoshida-ya, went up in flame, burning to ashes. The business and family fortune were lost.

oh-yuyake wagaya yakitaru hi no iro ni (1955, Masajo)

great sunset glow –

in the colour of the fire that

burnt down our house

utsu-semi ya kono mi hitotsu ni ku wo atsume (1955, Masajo)

a cicada’s shell –

in this single body

pains accumulate

Utsu-semi is a cast-off skin of a cicada but it is also a homonym for another word which means “this world of ours”, or “we human beings living in this world”. Utsu-semi is also a “makura-kotoba” (pillow word) which leads to “mi” (my body, or myself). My interpretation is that Masajo was lamenting that so many painful things had occurred so often to her, that they accumulated and filled the empty shell that she had become. What a very sad and melancholic haiku this is!

Masajo’s haiku friends and others who loved her rallied around to help rebuild the inn and resurrect the business. Within just under a year, a brand new building was completed. Her business re-opened in April 1956, her 50th year. Her feelings, however, were mixed. The joy and pride of turning her misfortune around were obviously felt, but she had a void in her heart which could not be filled by material resurrection. And so she visited Tokyo often. It was to see her lover:

sumire-no ni tsumi aru gotoku kite futari (1956, Masajo)

to a field of violets,

coming like sinful persons

two of us

In January 1957, Masajo went to see a play in which her daughter was acting. During the intermission, she was suddenly called. It was her husband. A sick man, he cornered her with an ultimatum: She should choose to commit to nurse him or to leave him altogether. She chose the latter. A week later, she left husband and inn, taking only her futon and the wardrobe which her dear father had given as a wedding present on her first marriage.

on-na sangai ni ie naki yuki no tsumori keri (1957, p. 332)

alone in this world –

a woman without a home;

snow settling

Again, Masajo’s friends came to her rescue. They lent her two million yen without interest or time limit for repayment. Within two months after having been kicked out of her own house, she used this money to buy and open “unami”, her restaurant in Ginza.

And as they say, “the rest is history”…

As I went on enjoying Masajo’s sake, fine meal and her hospitality, I became aware that autumn was ending and the evening itself, too. The warmth of “unami” restaurant and its gracious proprietor/head waitress had also warmed my body and soul. I was ready to face the coming winter. It was with mixed joy and sadness that I thanked this eternal beauty as we bid farewell, perhaps for the last time.

Now, not being “chaperoned” in a Mercedes or Rolls Royce, but walking alone against the autumn wind down the quiet, abandoned night-streets of Ginza, I tried to remember other of the love haiku written by that special someone who had been conversing with me until only a few minutes ago. Just so that I could convince myself that it was not a dream, I recited some of them loudly, seeing that there was no one around to be alarmed.

hito koishi aoki konomi wo te ni nukume (1958, Masajo)

longing for my beloved –

I warm a green berry

in the palm of my hand

koi shita ya ichigo hito-tsubu kuchi ni ire (1961, Masajo)

wishing to fall in love,

I pop a strawberry

into my mouth

futokoro ni tegami kakushite hinata-boko (1951, Masajo)

deep inside the kimono

I have hidden his love letter –

sun-bathing

tare yori mo kono hito ga suki karekusa ni (1958, Masajo)

more than anyone else

this person do I love;

on withered grass

hitasura ni hito wo aiseshi kako ya kan (Masajo)

with all my heart

I loved a man – such a past!

early February cold

koi wo ete hotaru wa kusa ni shizumi-keri (Masajo)

fresh in love –

two fireflies have sunk deep

into grass

sae-kaeru sumajiki monono naka ni koi (1966, Masajo)

soul-chilling cold –

among things one mustn’t do

is a love affair!

biiru kumu dakaruru koto no naki hito to (1960, Masajo)

pouring each other beer,

these men with whom I shall never

make love

Mozu-takane on-na no tsukusu makoto kana (1963, Masajo)

the shrill of a shrike –

what true hearts with which

women care for men!

kare-kusa no hito omou toki kon-jiki ni (1962, Masajo)

withered grass,

when I think of my sweetheart,

turns golden

waga koi ya akikaze wataru naka ni ari (Masajo)

my love affair

lies in the passing

autumn wind

kabi no yado ikutose koi no yado to shite (Masajo)

mouldy dwelling –

how many years now

as a love abode?

nyotai hiyu shiireshi uo no sore yorimo (1972, Masajo)

woman’s body gets cold,

colder than the body

of the fish I bought

on-na no aki kami some-agete ura-ganashi (1972, Masajo)

autumn for woman –

having dyed my hair,

I feel sad, somewhat

nani wo motte akujo to iu ya hitorimushi (Masajo)

on what ground

do they call me a bad girl?

a moth –

hito wa nusumedo mono wa nusumazu sudare maku (1973, Masajo)

I may have stolen men,

but I have never stolen a thing –

winding up the rattan blind

sono mukashi koi no hamabe ya kani hashiru (1968, Masajo)

once upon a time,

on the beach of our love

crabs scuttled

tohki tohki koi ga miyuru yo fuyu no nami (Masajo)

I could just see them,

my love affairs of long long past

in the waves of winter

aki no me ya mizumizushiki wa koi no kao (1973, Masajo)

buds in the autumn!

as fresh as the face of

a woman in love

tohnoku wa ai nomi narazu yuu-botaru (Masajo)

what goes away

is not limited to love –

an evening firefly

houtaru no shi ya sanzun no kago no naka (Masajo)

the death of a firefly –

occurred in the cage of

three inches