English translation of the prose
AI-assisted English translation of the prose; quoted poems remain in Japanese. The Japanese original remains authoritative.
Originally published: 22 August 2023.
A historical report from the Japanese website. Discussion of COVID-19, rules, and events reflects the time of writing. Quoted poems remain in Japanese.
Japan Romantic Poetry Forum: Spring, Satsuki
27 May 2023
Record and commentary: 河内裕二, Japan Romanticism Society
From the eighth of this month, COVID-19 was placed in the same category as seasonal influenza. Cases have surely decreased compared with the period when it raged, but the virus itself has not weakened. Infection could spread rapidly again, and the risk of severe illness is not zero. Recently, someone at my workplace had an infected family member, prompting discussion of what to do. Until very recently, such a person was called a “close contact” and avoided meeting others for a while. Now, we were told, the concept no longer exists, so thinking about it is itself meaningless. Frankly, the abrupt change felt strange, though logically that may be so. In any case, I hope infections do not spread again.
The gathering took place at 11:00 on 27 May at Miura Workers’ Civic Center. Participants were 三宅尚道, president of the Miura Tanka Association, 加藤由良子, 嘉山光枝, 嶋田弘子, 羽床員子, Seishu Hamano, president of the Japan Romanticism Society, and 河内裕二. 清水和子 of the Miura Tanka Association also sent poems.
ノートルダムは聖母マリアと聞かされし
再建進むとテレビのニュースに 由良子
The poet is 加藤由良子. About twenty years ago she visited Paris with her husband. At Notre-Dame Cathedral, their guide explained that Notre-Dame referred to the Virgin Mary. The cathedral burned several years ago and is now being rebuilt. Seeing its present state in the news brought back both the trip and the fire, and she made them into a poem.
孟夏の日風吹きよせて掌（て）の若葉
見えなくなりしそれもまたよし 弘子
The poet is 嶋田弘子. In early summer, a leaf resting in her palm is blown far away. It appears to describe an actual scene, but she explains that it is a metaphor for her child. They had been extremely close. Around the time young leaves turn green, something happened that felt as though the child had gone far away, leaving her unbearably lonely. Yet she had once experienced something similar with her own mother. Parents and children must eventually separate, and she tried to accept the event as something good in its own right.
The young leaf in her palm was the child who had remained within her hand and under her control, suddenly leaving the parental nest. Expressing directly how hard it is to let go, without metaphor, would not only be less poetic; perhaps she also felt slightly embarrassed to have that fact known.
農婦より採れたばかりの貰い物
朝露のつく春キャベツ二個 光枝
A poem by 嘉山光枝. Miura’s spring cabbage is famous, and the scene comes before one’s eyes. Many fields surround her home. Farmers work early, and when she happens to meet them in the morning they sometimes give her freshly harvested vegetables. Spring cabbages, just picked and still bearing morning dew: could their freshness and deliciousness be expressed better?
愛されし料理レシピのしみ見れば
幼なき子らのざわめきがする 和子
A poem by 清水和子, absent today. She apparently hesitated between 愛されし, beloved, and 好評な, well received, for the opening. I think the former is better. “Beloved dishes” means dishes the children liked, but the parent’s use of “love” for the children’s response simultaneously conveys parental affection. The repeated shi sounds in 愛されし, レシピ, and しみ also create pleasing resonance and rhythm.
Recipes—the taste of a household—are special to a family. It is enjoyable to imagine which dishes the children loved.
自刃せし三浦一族守りたる
旗立て巌に霊気漂う 員子
The poet is 羽床員子. Visiting the Iwama residence, venue of last month’s gathering, she saw Hata-tate Rock in the garden and composed while reflecting on the Miura clan’s history. The gathering was held in bright sunshine and did not feel particularly spectral, but perhaps she sensed something.
ひさびさに狸来たりぬ子を連れて
毛は抜け落ちて体ハゲハゲ 尚道
The poet is 三宅尚道. Apparently the scene was exactly as written. The raccoon dog looked painful to see, perhaps malnourished for lack of food. Former woodland is now fields; animals lose their places to live and appear in farmland and homes. They are sometimes culled for damaging crops, but reportedly only introduced species such as raccoons are targeted. Even the remaining satoyama becomes degraded and uninhabitable for animals if left without conservation and management. Seemingly only a sketch of a raccoon dog, the poem can also be read as criticism of human conduct.
札（ふだ）入れは学歴いつはる乱れ籠
天空黄砂も人為ぞ若葉よ 成秋
The poet is President Seishu Hamano. In an assembly election, the top-polling candidate falsified an educational record, yet the assembly makes no attempt to denounce it: a deplorable situation. The gap between the images of words such as 乱れ籠 and 天空 and the poem’s subject further emphasizes anger, sadness, and helplessness. I read the poet as unable to remain silent, even having to say it through tanka.
空青し海また青し夏の日に
火球の奪ひしあまたの命 裕二
My own poem. The G7 summit was held in Hiroshima about a week ago. With the world watching, I hoped that the devastation of the atomic bombing and survivors’ unending suffering would be communicated worldwide, raising awareness of nuclear abolition even a little. But Ukrainian President Zelenskyy’s surprise visit shifted the focus of coverage. I do not understand why a president at war was brought all the way to Japan amid such danger. I can only feel that the summit was a show, requiring a surprise to enliven it, and that leaves me cold. What did the leaders think when they visited the atomic bomb museum? The bomb needs few words. Lost lives do not return. That is all.
What should one attend to when interpreting a poem? There are many clues. In Shimada’s poem, it is of course acceptable to judge by the written words and interpret an actual scene. Yet this time I missed something important and therefore failed to read her feelings. I considered the poem only in isolation.
At gatherings we first read and interpret with the author concealed, so that is unavoidable at the beginning. Once the author is known, however, matters change. I have read many of Shimada’s poems. Many concern her family. Had I recalled even that simple fact, I might have interpreted this poem as a metaphor for family, especially a child leaving her. I lacked the determination never to overlook any clue.
Original wording, author credits, notes and source materials are preserved there.