Romantic Poetry Forum: Winter, January 2023

English translation of the prose

AI-assisted English translation of the prose; quoted poems remain in Japanese. The Japanese original remains authoritative.

Originally published: 28 January 2023.

A historical report from the Japanese website. Dates and descriptions reflect the time of writing. Quoted poems remain in Japanese.

Japan Romantic Poetry Forum: Winter, Mutsuki

28 January 2023
Record and commentary: 河内裕二, Japan Romanticism Society

For several days Japan has been enveloped in this winter’s coldest air. Continuous snow in western Japan and along the Sea of Japan has affected transport. Miura, where our gathering takes place, was sunny and calm. Sagami Bay, visible from Moroiso Port directly before the venue, was a beautiful cobalt blue. There were anglers on the wave-breaking blocks a little farther out. It was a pity that clouds hid Mount Fuji.

The gathering began at 13:30 on 28 January at the Deguchiso guesthouse. Present were 三宅尚道, president of the Miura Tanka Association, 嘉山光枝, 嶋田弘子, 羽床員子, Seishu Hamano, president of the Japan Romanticism Society, 岩間滿美子, and 河内裕二. 加藤由良子 and 清水和子 of the Miura association, and Kato’s friend 田所晴美, also sent poems.

押し詰まる都心のホテルの二十階

　　　　　昼の月見つ無心で泳ぐ　由良子

The poet is 加藤由良子, absent today. While swimming in a hotel pool in daylight, she saw the moon through the windows and made that experience into a poem. The skillful description makes readers feel present themselves. Much information is packed into thirty-one syllables, arranged for maximum effect. Few would imagine a pool on a high hotel floor. The surprise and impact when we finally discover the pool add another layer of flavor.

四十年わたしの傍（そば）にはコーヒーの木

　　　　　夜半に目覚めて共に息する　和子

A poem by 清水和子, also absent. When she moved from Tokyo to her present residence, she brought a coffee plant. Since it comes from a warm climate, she grows it indoors. Living alone, she probably regards it as family sharing her home. An animal pet could not share forty years with her. That is something a long-lived plant permits, and choosing a coffee plant is characteristic of the stylish Shimizu.

年始め奏でるリズムは軽やかに

　　　　　軒の干し柿かぜに踊りて　裕二

My poem. I returned to my hometown for New Year again. Dried persimmons hung at the family home; when I asked, I learned that my father had made them. New Year naturally brings a festive feeling. Hoping for a good year, I wrote with the wish to enjoy family time at least on New Year’s Day. I made the poem itself as light as its subject.

二年ぶり娘と共に映画見る

　　　　　ひと時なれど気分転換　光枝

The poet is 嘉山光枝. She likes going to films with her daughter and often did so, but the pandemic kept them away. Recently they went for the first time in two years, and she wrote of that feeling. The film was the animation Suzume, which moved her to tears. Mentioning the film would be one possibility, but she chiefly wants to convey feeling refreshed by going out with her daughter, so states that directly. She wondered whether the closing 気分転換, a change of mood, was too direct and should be replaced. Yet it can feel admirably straightforward. It is certainly an ordinary phrase, but one can understand it as using ordinary words to express regaining ordinary possibilities after the pandemic prevented them.

新春（にひはる）を寿ぐ賀状を断りて

　　　　　友よ咲く花いかに愛しも　成秋

A poem by President Seishu Hamano. Recently, New Year cards sometimes arrive saying that this will be the last. “I will no longer send them” also means “please do not send them to me.” Why should the other person decide whether I send a card? New Year cards are not merely an exchange of postcards but an exchange of hearts. That is especially true after many years. What does it mean suddenly to end this unilaterally?

The second half is strikingly apt: if one finds spring flowers beautiful, one should understand the wish to celebrate the New Year. It is not “just a card.” If one rejects even this, can one truly be called a friend? The sender may have reasons, but it is sad that the recipient’s feelings were not considered. What matters is the heart.

遊女らの身投げせしとう八景原の

　　　　　彼方に風車が静かに回る　員子

The poet is 羽床員子. Hakkeibara is a sheer-cliff area at the tip of the Miura Peninsula, above a rocky shore with rough waves. Locally it is known as a place where Misaki courtesans and people wishing to die threw themselves down. It now seems inaccessible because of overgrown vegetation. Kayama, who has visited, says its height would make a fall certainly fatal. Two large wind turbines stand a little beyond it. The word Hakkeibara brings together a sad history and turbines, symbols of renewable energy now attracting attention. The pairing of the dead and windmills recalls Bodai-ji at Mount Osore in Aomori. In the grounds of that temple, on one of Japan’s three great sacred mountains, pinwheels turn in the wind as memorial offerings for the dead.

初春に良しと思ひしことあれど

　　　　　尚求めては思ひ煩ふ　滿美子

The poet is 岩間滿美子, writing her own feelings. Human desires have no limit. Everyone can agree, but I did not read the poem very negatively. Desire, for example, is necessary for the wish to improve. Being able to compose this shows that the poet can observe herself objectively and exercise restraint. In content and language alike, it is a completed poem.

寒中といえどいくらか暖かし

　　　　　取り残したる里芋を掘る　尚道

A poem by 三宅尚道, a sketch from life. The soil in his field is poor, so vegetables do not grow well. Potatoes still manage, but taro grows badly. He had left the taro unharvested beyond its season and recently dug it up when the weather became slightly warmer.

The vegetable here is taro, indispensable in New Year simmered dishes. Even if it really was what he dug, the poet knows that nothing could better suit a January gathering. His unobtrusive handling shows his skill.

二人から始めたかけっこ五十年

　　　　　今十五人よーいどんそれ！　弘子

The poet is 嶋田弘子. At first this sounds like a group of jogging enthusiasts, but fifty years seems too long to imagine the situation easily. In fact, it concerns her family. At New Year they hired an entire gymnasium to exercise together. Counting those in their relay gave fifteen people. This family began with just Shimada and her husband, who will celebrate fifty years of marriage next year. Hearing the explanation made everything clear.

Words such as かけっこ and よーいどんそれ！ vividly convey everyone running energetically, down to the small grandchildren. Happiness overflows.

鯵を焼く昨日も今日も鯵を焼く

　　　　　友の笑顔に一味そえて　晴美

A work by 田所晴美, a friend of 加藤由良子. The friend in the poem is Kato. Tadokoro eats the dried horse mackerel from Misaki that Kato sent her, day after day. The first half is slightly comic; the second reveals their wonderful friendship and makes it heartwarming. The light verbal rhythm also expresses their relationship and suggests that its goodness has endured and will continue.

After the gathering we moved to another room for the eagerly awaited New Year party. The entirely handmade dishes, using local ingredients, impress me every time. The menu was almost the same as last year, and that too was pleasing. After a year, memories of taste fade a little; each bite brings back “yes, that flavor.” This is another pleasure. Delicious food and enjoyable conversation made a fulfilling occasion, ending with both stomach and heart satisfied.

Leaving Deguchiso, we visited 羽床’s business, 羽床総本店, touring its workshop and shop while hearing explanations. Carefully selected ingredients and meticulous handwork go into fish marinated in miso and sake lees. Founded in 1923, it is a long-established business continuing for a hundred years.

Passing something on is difficult. Thinking of the tanka that brought us together, the Man’yoshu was compiled in the seventh and eighth centuries, so the tradition has continued for roughly thirteen hundred years.