English translation of the prose
AI-assisted English translation of the prose; quoted poems remain in Japanese. The Japanese original remains authoritative.
Japan Romanticism Poetry Circle — Autumn, November
Recorded November 27, 2021
Record and commentary: 河内裕二, Japan Romanticism Academia
Every December, Kiyomizu Temple announces the Chinese character that represents the year. In America, the major dictionary publisher Merriam-Webster announces its English “Word of the Year” during November. This year it was “vaccine.” Once told, one readily understands why. Last year's word was “pandemic,” a worldwide outbreak of infectious disease, so words associated with the novel coronavirus were chosen two years in succession. That is how great an impact COVID has had on the world. There are also many tanka on the subject. I hope that next year a brighter word will be selected.
This joint meeting of the Miura Tanka Society and Japan Romanticism Academia was held at the Miura Workers' Civic Center from 1:30 p.m. on November 27. From the Miura Tanka Society came its president, 三宅尚道, and the five members 加藤由良子, 嘉山光枝, 嶋田弘子, 清水和子, and 玉榮良江. From Japan Romanticism Academia came President Seishu Hamano and 河内裕二. 岩間節雄 and his wife 滿美子 joined as new members. 櫻井艶子 of the Miura Tanka Society also sent a poem.
サッカーのボール背負いて登り坂
脱兎のごとき少年の秋 由良子
A work by 加藤由良子. On the clear afternoon of November 3, Culture Day, she happened to see an elementary schoolboy energetically running up a steep slope with a football on his back. Watching him dash like a fleeing hare through the autumn sunlight shining down from the top of the slope, she envied a boy with his whole future before him. This poem records that scene.
Distinctive wording conveys his youthful vitality. The choice and order of words admirably organize the information while keeping the whole in balance.
小六の孫より電話声弾み
修学旅行「行けるんだよ」 光枝
The author is 嘉山光枝. Because of COVID, school events had all been postponed or canceled, and it was uncertain whether the school trip could go ahead. When it became possible, her grandchild telephoned to share the joy. As a sixth-grader, this would be the child's first school trip; having half given up hope, the delight was all the greater. That comes through in the poem. We almost hear the buoyant voice, and everyone wants to say, “I'm so glad for you!” Reading it leaves one feeling kindly.
秋空やセピアの記憶たゆとうて
ラインダンスの靴音高く 艶子
A poem by 櫻井艶子, who was absent today. According to 加藤, she actually used to do line dancing, so perhaps she composed while remembering it. To bring out the dance's energy, the opening offers a somewhat abstract, quiet image, while the latter part is concrete and dynamic. This leaves a strong impression and resonance.
父母の御影は怖し若きまま
今宵は何処と目が問ひ給ふ 成秋
A work by President Hamano. Its humor brightened the room. The eyes of his parents in their portraits seem to ask where he is going tonight, and the word 「怖し」 is effective. The fact that his parents in the photographs are younger than he now is, together with the impression that they see through his intention to go out for pleasure, creates a strange atmosphere in which their influence remains alive even after death. What comes through is family love: the author always thinks of his parents, and his departed parents always watch over him.
病床の父我を見たまなざしは
確かにあれは眼施と云うなり 弘子
The author is 嶋田弘子. She writes about her father in hospital. She visited him every day. Once, unable to speak after a tracheotomy, he looked at her with exceptional tenderness as she was leaving for home; she felt his eyes were saying “thank you.” She had never seen such a look from him before, and remembered it always. Later, reading a Buddhist book, she learned of gense, the gift of a kindly gaze, one of the “seven gifts requiring no wealth,” and felt that this was what her father's look had been. 三宅 explained that Buddhism speaks of seven forms of giving that require no material possessions. The first is gense: meeting others with gentle eyes.
謂れなに回り道せり黄昏の
われ迎へてや銀杏散り敷く 裕二
My own work. By chance I took a detour and found fallen ginkgo leaves making the road look as though it had been carpeted in gold. I composed on seeing that beautiful scene, but also laid my own life over it. 「謂れなに」 is intended to mean “for no reason,” although some thought it somewhat difficult to understand.
東名の高速道路は工事中
海老名ＳＡすでに渋滞 尚道
The author is 三宅尚道. Radio traffic reports had repeatedly mentioned roadworks on the expressway; when he went out on an errand, he found himself in congestion. He explained that although some tanka contain deep meanings, he thought it might also be all right to write one without any particular meaning.
ボタン穴一つ一つを見つめつつ
姉が手編みしカーデガン着る 和子
A poem by 清水和子. Her older sister, who liked knitting, made her a cardigan in which every buttonhole had been carefully worked. Looking at them, she feels that she is touching her sister's heart and keeps gazing at them. It is a moving poem composed with thoughts of her sister.
石蕗の花咲き始め故郷の
野路を想ふ祖母と歩みし 良江
The author is 玉榮良江. A beautiful scene comes to mind. There was discussion about the order of the fourth phrase, 「野路を想ふ」, and the final phrase, 「祖母と歩みし」. Arranging them in the order of association allows the reader to approach the author's feelings more closely. The fact that the companion on those walks was her grandmother fills one with warmth.
城跡をもとほり歩けば魂しぐれ
黒き裸枝吾に問ひかけ 滿美子
A poem by 岩間滿美子. She lives very close to Kinugasa Castle. Once, walking through the ruins, she felt rain begin to fall. Knowing the history of the battle at Kinugasa, she sensed it as the souls of the dead falling like a passing shower. Looking up, she saw the black branches, stripped of leaves, as though they were questioning her. This is a wonderful poem shaped by a sensibility distinctly her own.
After the meeting we moved to Café Key. We chatted for a while over tea; by the time we left, it was completely dark outside.
Encountering everyone's works again, I rediscovered the depth of tanka. I marveled that such individuality could emerge from each person's selection of a single moment in daily life. Different viewpoints and ideas always surprise me, while unfamiliar words, or words I have never used myself, leave an impression. 岩間's expressions 「魂しぐれ」 and 「黒き裸枝」 felt fresh. Hearing that the former was a coined expression reminded me of the lyrics of Yōsui Inoue's Shōnen Jidai, which had come up at the previous meeting. Near the beginning is the phrase 「風あざみ」. Knowing little about plants, I looked up what sort of thistle it might be and was surprised to learn that no such plant exists: Inoue had coined the word. Its imagery and sound are the very atmosphere of the song. Coining an expression is a highly advanced technique, but when it succeeds, the fresh language can enrich a poem beyond measure. I learned a great deal at this meeting too.
Original wording, author credits, notes and source materials are preserved there.