Hasegawa Kai (1954.2 - )

Hasegawa Kai was born in Kumamoto Prefecture in 1954. ‘Kai’, meaning oar, is a haigô or pen-name chosen by the poet. He graduated from the Law Department of Tokyo University, and at first worked for a large newspaper, the Yomiuri shimbun, later resigning when he became more deeply involved in haiku.

Kai studied haiku first with Hirai Shôbin (1931 - 2003), and then with Ameyama Minoru (1926-2000). He published his first collection of haiku, Koshi, in 1985, and established a magazine of that name in 1993. ‘Koshi’ is the old name for Niigata Prefecture, where many of the haiku in the poet’s first book were written, and also invokes classical tradition. He was awarded the Kusatao Prize for his fourth collection, Kokû (The Void), from which a selection of verses has been translated here. The ‘void’ of the title suggests not only the empty sky, and the emptiness of loss, but also the Great Void of Buddhism in which all of existence is contained. Further references in the poems to ‘this world’ support such an interpretation. Kai’s haiku are deeply grounded in classical tradition. The prize, however, recognises not only the author’s poetry, but also his growing importance as a commentator and selector.

Haiku no uchû (The Space of Haiku), a book of essays that he published in 1989, received a special recommendation from the Haiku Poets’ Association, and later a Suntory Award. Originating in a series of articles that he wrote under the title ‘Haiku no “ba”’, these essays explain how the ‘place’ or ground of haiku, established in the work of Bashô and extended in the work of Buson and other poets, has shifted or been lost in modern times. This ‘ba’ is not only the haiku’s subject matter, but its whole circumstances, the life of the society in which it was composed, the very ground of its composition, including that society’s relationship to nature. Instead of being an integral part of the life of a community, and closely understood, haiku has now separated out, and become merely one of the ‘arts’. This, says the poet, is what haiku writers nowadays need to think seriously about. It is the point at which Shiki’s reforms began, and the matter is still critical and unresolved today. The author makes much in his discussion of the work done by Takahama Kyoshi, the more conservative of Shiki’s disciples. Among the most significant aspects of haiku that need to be rethought, he says, are seasonal references and the use of cutting-words.

If a number of the haiku translated here have an elegiac tone, then that is because the poet experienced several important personal losses during the time he that composed them. The most notable of these losses was clearly the passing of the poet’s mentor, Ameyama-sensei. But other recollected persons include the author’s great-grandfather, who was forced into exile for political reasons after the collapse of the Katsura cabinet at the beginning of the Taisho period (1912-1926). It is a feature of life in the modern world that, for all his deep involvement in traditional haiku practice, Kai should remember his great-grandfather while visiting New York.

Kai's haiku

３月16日深夜、飴山實先生の訃報を受く。折りしも入浴中、季語も取りあへず
Late at night on March 16, I received word of the passing of my teacher, Ameyama Minoru.  I was bathing at the time.  Without a thought of season words…

裸にて死の知らせ受く電話口

hadaka nite shi no shirase uku denwaguchi

still naked
to receive the news of a death
on the telephone

山口にて葬儀
The funeral, in Yamaguchi

鶴引きし大いなる空あるばかり

tsuru hikishi ôinaru sora aru bakari  

the cranes withdrawn…
the great void of the sky
all that remains

なきがらや大朝寝しておはすかに

nakigara ya ôasane shite owasuka ni

his lifeless body…
sleeping so long
into the morning

機中にて火葬のさまを想ふ
Aboard the plane, I imagine his body consumed by fire

屍いま大陽炎となりゐたり

kabane ima ôkagerô to nariitari

the body now
transforming into
great waves of heat

なきがらを霞の底に埋めけり

nakigara o kasumi no soko ni uzume keri

his remains interred
rest underneath
the spring haze

春空を飛び交ふ塵となられけん

shunkû o tobikau chiri to narareken

in the spring sky
surely must be floating
particles of dust

越の禅師より文あり。「飴山先生逝去の知らせ頂きし後、ひとり庭に出て茫然と空を眺めてあれば、竹薮、山嵐に騒ぎ、雲間よりまどかなる月現れぬ。先生は西行法師の願ひしごとく如月の望月に逝かれけり」とぞしたためる。「ねがはくは花の下にて春死なんそのきさらぎの望月の頃」といふ西行の歌おのづから口を突きて

Letter from a Buddhist priest in Koshi, Niigata. "Upon receiving the news of the passing of Ameyama-sensei, I stepped out into the garden alone and looked up at the sky in a daze, the bamboo grove rustling in gusts of mountain wind, when the round moon appeared between the clouds. Ameyama-sensei passed away as Saigyô wished to die, on the night of the full moon in kisaragi."  Saigyô's poem came at once to mind

 It is my wish
That I might die
Under the cherry blossoms
 In the light of the full moon
Of early spring

 きさらぎの望月のころ實の忌

kisaragi no mochizuki no koro minoru no ki

When the moon is full
in Kisaragi
Minoru recalled

大阪に住まはれし時分、若き人々とあちらこちらへ句を詠みに出かけられしこと、思い出されて

Remembering the time Ameyama-sensei lived in Osaka, and took his young friends out to various places, composing haiku.

春の月大阪のこと京のこと

haru no tsuki ôsaka no koto kyô no koto

the spring moon —
memories of Osaka
memories of Kyoto

飴山先生、ニュージーランドを旅されし折り、とある町の河辺にて定家葛の花を見つけられたり。居合わせし人々「かかるところにて定家葛とは先生の修羅垣間見し心地せり」と語り合ひけり。この話、心に残りて

Ameyama-sensei once traveled to New Zealand and happened to find flowers of the Teika vine by the side of the river in one city. People with him said to each other, " That he should find the Teika vine even here gives us a glimpse in this connect in his heart."  This story stayed with me

虚空より定家葛の花かをる

kokû yori teika kazura no hana kaoru

out of the void
comes the fragrance of flowers
of the Teika vine

先生亡き後、寂々と世を渡るに
With my teacher gone, making my way through the world alone

高きよりこの世へ影し今年竹

takaki yori kono yo e kage shi kotoshitake

from high above
casting a shadow onto this world —
the young bamboo

自問自答
Dialogue with myself

籠枕骨身にひびく何々ぞ

kagomakura honemi ni hibiku naninani zo

bamboo pillow  —
what is it that cuts me
right to the bone?

はかなさが骨身にこたへ籠枕

hakanasa ga honemi ni kotae kagomakura

evanescence
cuts me to the bone —
the bamboo pillow

ありし日の先生は
Ameyama-sensei recollected

おほらかにこの世にありて団扇かな

ôraka ni konoyo ni arite uchiwa kana

great-heartedly
living in this world —
a circular fan

籐寝椅子その俤のよこたはる

tôneisu sono omokage no yokotawaru

a rattan couch —
the semblance of him still
recumbent on it

日深く差し入るところ夏炉かな

hi fukaku sashiiru tokoro natsuro kana

rays of sunlight
reaching deep inside
the summer hearth

跡もなく灰となりたるもの涼し

ato mo naku hai to naritaru mono suzushi

without a trace
turned into ashes —
how cool it is

梅雨の頃より地震きりなし
Since the rainy season, continual earthquakes …

音たててこの世揺れをり氷水

oto tatete konoyo yureori kôrimizu

reverberation
from the trembling of this world —
iced water

大地ごと揺れゐる家に昼寝かな

daichi goto yureiru ie ni hirune kana

an afternoon nap
inside a house that shudders
with the whole earth

生き死を俳諧の種籠枕

ikishini o haikai no tane kagomakura

life and death
the seeds of haikai —
pillow of bamboo

ニューヨークは曽祖父、亡命の地なり。大正4年初夏、46歳にして妻子を日本に残せしまま、この街の人となりぬ。以来20年ここに住みにき。セントラル･パークの南西端、今はコロンバス･サークルとなれる辺りと伝ふ。60余年の後、その跡をとぶらへば夏まさに衰へんとす

New York is the place my great-grandfather ended his life in exile. In the early summer of 1915, at the age of 46, he abandoned his wife and children in Japan to settle in this city.  He lived here for 20 years.  I was told he lived on the southwest side of Central Park, near what is now Columbus Circle.  Sixty years later, on a visit to that spot, summer begins to decline…       

俤は麻の背広を着て歩む

omokage wa asa no sebiro o kite ayumu

the specter of him
in a linen suit
goes walking past

籐寝椅子瞑想録をかたはらに

tôneisu meisôroku o katawara ni

a rattan couch —
Marcus’s Meditations
laid to one side

大西洋
The Atlantic

昼寝覚この世の涯は波白く

hirunezame konoyo no hate wa nami shiroku

woken from a nap
on the edge of this world —
waves breaking white

 晩涼や海の洗へる街の涯

banryô ya umi no awaeru machi no hate

 
late summer coolness —
the sea washes out
the edge of the city

地下鉄は青き火花を夜の秋

chikatetsu wa aoki hibana o yoru no aki

blue sparks shooting
from the subway train —
autumn at night

 
地下鉄は街の腸秋暑し

chikatetsu wa machi no harawata aki atsushi

      
the subway system
the city’s entrails —
autumn heat

摩天楼の頂に秋来てゐたり

matenrô no itadaki ni aki kite itari

right to the top
of the skyscraper
autumn has come

秋近き頃、岳父逝く
At the approach of autumn, my father-in-law passes on

夏草や死はことごとく奪ひ去る

natsukusa ya shi wa kotogotoku ubaisaru

summer grasses —
how death removes
everything we have

死いまや蟻のごとくに群がれる

shi ima ya ari no gotoku ni muragareru

deaths come now
like ants
swarming around

幾万の蝉死に絶えて風の音

ikuman no semi shinitaete kaze no oto

tens of thousands of cicadas
annihilated —
sound of the wind

この年、親しき人、次々と身罷るに
This year, people close to me have departed this life one after another

 
悲しさの底踏み抜いて昼寝かな

kanashisa no soko fuminuite hirune kana

stepping through
the fragile base of sorrow —
an afternoon nap

Notes;

‘the cranes withdrawn’: The birds have flown back to the north, after spending the winter in Japan.

‘Echigo’: The former name for what is now Niigata Prefecture.

‘Saigyô’: The medieval poet Saigyô (1118-1190) lived in seclusion in a hermitage on Mount Yoshino after retiring from court life in Kyoto at a young age. His meditative poems had an important influence on Bashô

‘kisaragi’: The name for the second month on the lunar calendar, now equivalent to March.

 ‘Teika vine’: A vine or creeper named after the medieval poet Fujiwara no Teika (1162-1241), who is reputed to have been in love with Shikishi Naishinno (d. 1201), or Princess Shikishi, who was also a poet. Legend has it that when she died, his spirit turned into a vine and wrapped itself around her gravestone. This fanciful story is the subject of a noh play. The evergreen plant is a variety of rosebay or oleander (Nerium oleander), and produces fragrant white flowers in the summer.

‘bamboo pillow’: A wickerwork pillow, used for coolness in the summer.

‘summer hearth’: An open hearth in the middle of the floor. A fire would be lit in summer high in the mountains, or in the far north.

‘Marcus’s Meditations’:  The book of reflections by the Roman emperor Marcus Aurelius (AD 121-180)

‘autumn at night’: A season-word for late summer, when it becomes cooler in the evening and the approach of autumn can be felt.

 Translators: David Burleigh, Kimiyo Tanaka (Kim Komurasaki, the Shiki team)

This section presents a selection of excerpts from "21st Century Ehime Haiku Prizes", Ehime Culture Foundation, 2003; 
P32-P42.The Nakamura Kusatao Prize of the 21st Century Ehime Haiku Prizes was given
to Hasegawa Kai in 2002.