In the previous article, I wrote about flowers and what those kigo symbolize for me. This time, I will touch upon birds and four-legged animals.
As a life-long city dweller, my encounters with birds have been rather limited. But wings and what wings may represent are one of the subjects I often return to.
noki tsubame kosho urishi hi wa umi e yuku
swallow under eaves
the day I sell my books
I go to the beach
Shuji Terayama
A Japanese friend told me that she drove to the beach in Santa Cruz on Thanksgiving Day right after her divorce. It was her first Thanksgiving alone and she cried watching the waves. She said she regretted almost everything that day; coming to the U.S., getting married here, even having children. But after a while, she noticed sea gulls flying slowly and gracefully above her head. She felt lighter and regained her confidence. Since then, like a swallow that comes back to the same spot every year, going to that beach in Santa Cruz has become her tradition on Thanksgiving. On alternate years, she now goes there with her two sons.
hototogisu asu wa ano yama koete ikō
a cuckoo
tomorrow I walk over
that mountain
Santoka Taneda
Since ancient times, cuckoos have been one of the favorite subjects for Japanese poets. Every spring, my friend in Tokyo sends me e-mail, excitedly telling me he has heard the first cuckoo of the year. I am most drawn to cuckoos when they practicing their famous singing. Perhaps I prefer the process of completing something to the finished art. It is very rewarding to find the most suitable kigo to represent my mood.
kawasemi satte yubi ni yubiwa no nokoru nomi
a kingfisher left—
on my finger
only the ring remains
Kusatao Nakamura
When I read the above haiku by Kusatao Nakamura, the song I heard when I was a child comes back to me. I do not know if a kingfisher sounds like a laughing human being, but the lyrics go like this:
don't tell this to
a laughing kingfisher
crackle, crackle, crackle
it will make a loud noise
It is rather strange that I remember this song. Kusatao's work is calm and quiet. I have a tendency toward dramatic haiku. Did I consciously warn myself not to reveal too much of my inner self?
mina ōki fukuro o oeri kari wataru
every one of them carries
a big bag on their backs—
migrating geese
Sanki Saito wrote this haiku shortly after World War II. These people might have been at a train station in Tokyo just coming back from a rural area with precious food. A big bag can be a metaphor for the burden, hopelessness, or anger they felt after the war. Sometimes I feel that haiku poets should be aware of the time we are living in. I am not suggesting we write with more anti-war, save-whatever themes in mind. I do not like when people write about something they saw on TV. Haiku, I believe, should be about the poets, their lives, how they see the world around them. Keen observation of nature is one important element in haiku. At the same time, we can reflect the contemporary world around us.
New Year's Eve bath—
I failed to become
a swan
Fay Aoyagi
Technically speaking, this haiku has two winter kigo: New Year's Eve and swan. I
use them intentionally because this is an allusion to a haiku written by Sumio Mori.
joya no tsuma hakuchō no goto yuami ori
my wife on New Year's Eve
taking a bath
as though she is a swan
You may not realize what I failed to become. On the surface, what I wanted to write about was my failure of finding Mr. Right that year again. Still, I am taking a bath on New Year's Eve like the beloved wife of Sumio Mori. I may not be a swan, but I am a bird that has strong wings to fly.
Approximately four hundred kigo are listed in Kiyose, a Japanese saijiki. But you will find very few four-legged animals there except under winter. In the spring section, I only found animals that were in heat, pregnant, just born, or in infancy.
cats in love
the tug of my comb
through tangled hair
Ebba Story
Cat, neko in Japanese, is not itself a kigo, but there are several cat-related kigo. "Cats in love" is a spring kigo. Kajike (shivering with cold) neko, kamado (kitchen stove) neko and hai (ash) neko are winter kigo. I must assure cat lovers; kamado neko and hai neko are not cats burned in the stove nor have they become ash. In the past, wood or charcoal was used for cooking. Long after the fire was extinguished, cats sought out the warmth still in the ashes in the kitchen stove.
In Kiyose, you can find "frog" in the spring animal section and "snake" and "bat" in the summer animal section.
hebi no me ni mirarete uzuku ashi no kizu
eyes of a snake
being stared at by them
the scar on my leg aches
Chiyoko Kato
This haiku by Chiyoko Kato as well as Ebba Story's, make me think about a woman's point of view. I sense the contour of the body of us, females. Haiku can be square and haiku can be round.
Though I do not like snakes in real life, I like "snake" as a kigo. They shed their skins, they go underground to hibernate. Have you ever desired to change your personality or to coil up in the darkness oblivious to your surroundings?
Animals used in the three haiku below are not kigo, but they are the essence of haiku.
Unlike snakes, dogs have the reputation for being our best companions. You may want to try writing haiku from a dog's point of view. Those limpid eyes will see the world differently from us.
Indian summer—
the Golden Retriever
shaking off the river
Garry Gay
Garry Gay is a professional photographer. When I read his haiku, I can visualize
what he presents clearly. It is different from a boring picture postcard haiku.
chichi o tarite bogyū no ayumi fuyu hi kana
dripping milk
mother cow walks—
winter day
Dakotsu Iida (1885-1962) went back to his home village at the age of 25 in the middle of his schooling in Tokyo. He wrote about the mountains and fields surrounding him and about his life as the oldest son of a wealthy farmer. More than once I wished I had "turf" like Dakotsu. I am trying to write about the places I live or had lived with the passion and tenderness that he showed in his haiku.
morning twilight ...
horse asleep in the pasture
covered with frost
Lee Gurga writes about the place he lives. As in Dakotsu's haiku, I often feel masculinity, in an affectionate way, from his haiku. When I visited his house in Lincoln, IL, I told him I could order a cab to go back to the airport. He and his wife laughed so hard. "This is not Chikago or New York! Cabs are very hard to find around here," they said. I thought San Francisco is a place where one has a hard time finding a cab compared with Tokyo and New York, two other places I once called home.
The next article will be about insects. Stay tuned.
All Japanese translation by Fay Aoyagi
https://fayaoyagi.wordpress.com/essay/
