酷我-北美枫

[ericcoliu]

From Text to Context: A New Reading of Basho’s Frog Haiku


(For the purposes of communication, I follow the popular acceptance of the literary term, haiku, for the Japanese autonomous, 17-syllable hokku, which was originally the opening verse of haikai composed by Basho and his contemporaries. Basho was a haikai poet. He never wrote any hokku separately and knew nothing about so-called “haiku.” In his day, hokku was part of a linked-verse called haikai, and never assumed an independent status. For further information on clarifying these misused terms and misconceived ideas regarding haiku and hokku, please read my another piece on haiku, which is entitled Debunking the “Haiku” Myth: Washing off an Old Poem)


Challenging Question: Basho’s Frog Jumping into an Old Pond, the Big Deal?


For any English-speaking person who claims to be a lover of haiku or who views himself as a haiku poet or practitioner, I believe he can memorize at least one English version of Matsuo Basho’s ever-famous frog haiku:

The English translation

The old pond;
A frog jumps in —
The sound of the water.

-- Translated by R.H. Blyth, who was one of the most important figures in popularizing Modern English Haiku.

I’ve once met a haiku poet who could recite at least ten different English versions of Basho's frog haiku and who has a copy of One Hundred Frogs, but when I asked him, “what makes Basho's haiku so great that is worthy of more than a hundred different translations published in book form?” He stared at me, yelling, “Oh, man, this is Basho’s haiku. Don’t you know who Basho was?”

I answered calmly, “Yes, I know who Basho was and have read some of his poetry and prose. But my question is: what makes his haiku so great? How could there be significant meaning in such a simple haiku, which describes merely a frog jumping into an old pond? If I replace his name with mine or yours, will you still think it is a good haiku? Or if I replace “frog” with any other amphibian animal, is it still considered to be great?” I got no good answers from him at the time, but a few days later, I received a lengthy email from him, in which he gave me a list of books or websites on Basho’s frog haiku. One of them was an often-quoted website page entitled Matsuo Bashô: Frog Haiku: Thirty-one Translations and One Commentary.

I didn’t satisfy any answers from his sources because of their Western-influenced, “de-contextualized” interpretations of Basho’ haiku. More importantly, they didn’t help answer my question.

Therefore, I write this piece, seeking for your viewpoints of this ever-famous frog haiku.

Before answering any of my questions, let’s just wipe your “knowledge of haiku and perception of divine Basho” off your mind, and read his “unrhymed tercet poem” at least twice.

Be honest with me, will you still think this is a good poem which is worthy of more than a hundred different English translations.
If so, tell me why?

For anyone who claims to be a lover of haiku or who views himself a haiku poet or practitioner, I think this is the most important question needed to be honestly answered.

I’m waiting for your honest answer …


(Note: before reading the summary piece below, please read all of posts related to the Challenging Question)



Contextualized Reading: A New Reading of Basho’s Frog Haiku

Read in the socio-literary context of Basho’s day, his frog haiku was imaginatively startling because the frog had always been an aural image employed by numerous Japanese poets across time and space, an image in which the season word is embedded and which implies the resonant croaking in summer. Basho was the first poet to present the frog that is not singing on a lily pad as it had been for hundreds of years in thousands of traditional haikus. His frog dares to take a plunge and get dirty. This slippery creature is caught is the act of disappearing while at the same time creating lasting ripples on the minds of haiku readers. Unlike its forefathers, it does not sing on a lily pad, and thus becomes soundless while at the time leaving “the sound of water” heard by generations of haiku readers to come.

One of the key reasons Basho’s portrayed his frog from a totally different perspective is that

“My frog is going to disappear from all these frog poems that have been with us too long. He is leaving. Now we can write about other things.”

Decades later after Basho’s death, Yosa Buson, one of haiku’s Great Three, responded to his haiku:

jumping in
and washing off an old poem –
a frog

Almost two hundred years after Buson’s death, Bernard Einbond, a New York-based haiku poet, alluded to Basho’s frog haiku:

frog pond...
a leaf falls in
without a sound

This haiku deservedly won the Japan Airlines First Prize, in which there was something like 40,000 entries.

Without understanding the poetic essence and tradition of Japanese haiku and read from Western “de-contextualized,” “Buddhist-influenced” aesthetic perspective, Basho’s frog haiku is just an average “unrhymed tercet poem; ”therefore it is not worthy of more than a hundred different translations published in book form.
_________________
Time is nothing but a disquiet of the soul

[[ericcoliu]]

From Text to Context: A New Reading of Basho’s Frog Haiku


(For the purposes of communication, I follow the popular acceptance of the literary term, haiku, for the Japanese autonomous, 17-syllable hokku, which was originally the opening verse of haikai composed by Basho and his contemporaries. Basho was a haikai poet. He never wrote any hokku separately and knew nothing about so-called “haiku.” In his day, hokku was part of a linked-verse called haikai, and never assumed an independent status. For further information on clarifying these misused terms and misconceived ideas regarding haiku and hokku, please read my another piece on haiku, which is entitled Debunking the “Haiku” Myth: Washing off an Old Poem)


Challenging Question: Basho’s Frog Jumping into an Old Pond, the Big Deal?


For any English-speaking person who claims to be a lover of haiku or who views himself as a haiku poet or practitioner, I believe he can memorize at least one English version of Matsuo Basho’s ever-famous frog haiku:

The English translation

The old pond;
A frog jumps in —
The sound of the water.

-- Translated by R.H. Blyth, who was one of the most important figures in popularizing Modern English Haiku.

I’ve once met a haiku poet who could recite at least ten different English versions of Basho's frog haiku and who has a copy of One Hundred Frogs, but when I asked him, “what makes Basho's haiku so great that is worthy of more than a hundred different translations published in book form?” He stared at me, yelling, “Oh, man, this is Basho’s haiku. Don’t you know who Basho was?”

I answered calmly, “Yes, I know who Basho was and have read some of his poetry and prose. But my question is: what makes his haiku so great? How could there be significant meaning in such a simple haiku, which describes merely a frog jumping into an old pond? If I replace his name with mine or yours, will you still think it is a good haiku? Or if I replace “frog” with any other amphibian animal, is it still considered to be great?” I got no good answers from him at the time, but a few days later, I received a lengthy email from him, in which he gave me a list of books or websites on Basho’s frog haiku. One of them was an often-quoted website page entitled Matsuo Bashô: Frog Haiku: Thirty-one Translations and One Commentary.

I didn’t satisfy any answers from his sources because of their Western-influenced, “de-contextualized” interpretations of Basho’ haiku. More importantly, they didn’t help answer my question.

Therefore, I write this piece, seeking for your viewpoints of this ever-famous frog haiku.

Before answering any of my questions, let’s just wipe your “knowledge of haiku and perception of divine Basho” off your mind, and read his “unrhymed tercet poem” at least twice.

Be honest with me, will you still think this is a good poem which is worthy of more than a hundred different English translations.
If so, tell me why?

For anyone who claims to be a lover of haiku or who views himself a haiku poet or practitioner, I think this is the most important question needed to be honestly answered.

I’m waiting for your honest answer …


(Note: before reading the summary piece below, please read all of posts related to the Challenging Question)



Contextualized Reading: A New Reading of Basho’s Frog Haiku

Read in the socio-literary context of Basho’s day, his frog haiku was imaginatively startling because the frog had always been an aural image employed by numerous Japanese poets across time and space, an image in which the season word is embedded and which implies the resonant croaking in summer. Basho was the first poet to present the frog that is not singing on a lily pad as it had been for hundreds of years in thousands of traditional haikus. His frog dares to take a plunge and get dirty. This slippery creature is caught is the act of disappearing while at the same time creating lasting ripples on the minds of haiku readers. Unlike its forefathers, it does not sing on a lily pad, and thus becomes soundless while at the time leaving “the sound of water” heard by generations of haiku readers to come.

One of the key reasons Basho’s portrayed his frog from a totally different perspective is that

“My frog is going to disappear from all these frog poems that have been with us too long. He is leaving. Now we can write about other things.”

Decades later after Basho’s death, Yosa Buson, one of haiku’s Great Three, responded to his haiku:

jumping in
and washing off an old poem –
a frog

Almost two hundred years after Buson’s death, Bernard Einbond, a New York-based haiku poet, alluded to Basho’s frog haiku:

frog pond...
a leaf falls in
without a sound

This haiku deservedly won the Japan Airlines First Prize, in which there was something like 40,000 entries.

Without understanding the poetic essence and tradition of Japanese haiku and read from Western “de-contextualized,” “Buddhist-influenced” aesthetic perspective, Basho’s frog haiku is just an average “unrhymed tercet poem; ”therefore it is not worthy of more than a hundred different translations published in book form.
_________________
Time is nothing but a disquiet of the soul

[ericcoliu]

Clarifying the Misused Terms and Misconceived Ideas Concerning Haiku:

Generally speaking, I think it is fair to claim that haiku, a modern term for the 20th century Japanese autonomous, 17-syllable hokku, is not only a principal verse form practiced in Japan, but also a well-established one in North America, one which has been being practiced in public schools to teach children to write poetry, or at least, to know how to count syllables. Therefore, it has become common knowledge that haiku is a “traditional Japanese verse form” made up three lines with five, seven, and five syllables. Unfortunately, this common knowledge is not accurate.


To clarify these misused terms and misconceived ideas about haiku or hokku, first of all, we need go back in time to classical Japanese poetry. Renga, a linked-verse with multiple, alternating stanzas, was one of the predominant verse forms in the medieval period (1186-1600). A variant form developed out of it, called haikai no renga (hereafter haikai for short), became popular in the 17 century, during which one of the most important Japanese poets, Matsuo Basho (1644-94), was born. Basho merged haiki with a renewed poetic depth found in classical Japanese and Chinese poetries and the spiritual wisdom of Buddhism and Taoism, elevating haikai to the level of high art. With his continued effort to refine the poetic essence of haikai, the opening stanza of a haikai, called hokku, gradually took on increasing importance to haikai poets. During his days, hokku was part of haikai, and never assumed an independent status.
Two centuries after Basho’s death, Japan was confronted and compounded by its decades-long struggle with how to keep a balanced relationship between retaining its cultural pasts and modernizing, mainly meaning Westernizing, its shaky present. A great and Western-minded poet Masao Shiki (1867-1902) launched a scathing attack on Basho in “Chat on Basho,” claiming that “hokku is literature. Renga and haikai are not.” He made a great effort to establish hokku as a new form that stands by itself, and renamed it to haiku. When the West first got to know Basho and his poetry, the term haiku was anachronistically applied to his poetry. Moreover, Modern English Haiku, which had been deeply shaped by modern Japanese haiku poets, the Imagist movement, the 1960s Eastern Buddhist-laden counter-cultural movements, and, more importantly, the North American haiku movement, has been developing a different approach to Basho’s poetry and bearing little resemblance to the poetic essence of his haikai while has claiming its literary status as the loyal descent of Basho’s “haiku.”
_________________
Time is nothing but a disquiet of the soul

[[ericcoliu]]

Clarifying the Misused Terms and Misconceived Ideas Concerning Haiku:

Generally speaking, I think it is fair to claim that haiku, a modern term for the 20th century Japanese autonomous, 17-syllable hokku, is not only a principal verse form practiced in Japan, but also a well-established one in North America, one which has been being practiced in public schools to teach children to write poetry, or at least, to know how to count syllables. Therefore, it has become common knowledge that haiku is a “traditional Japanese verse form” made up three lines with five, seven, and five syllables. Unfortunately, this common knowledge is not accurate.


To clarify these misused terms and misconceived ideas about haiku or hokku, first of all, we need go back in time to classical Japanese poetry. Renga, a linked-verse with multiple, alternating stanzas, was one of the predominant verse forms in the medieval period (1186-1600). A variant form developed out of it, called haikai no renga (hereafter haikai for short), became popular in the 17 century, during which one of the most important Japanese poets, Matsuo Basho (1644-94), was born. Basho merged haiki with a renewed poetic depth found in classical Japanese and Chinese poetries and the spiritual wisdom of Buddhism and Taoism, elevating haikai to the level of high art. With his continued effort to refine the poetic essence of haikai, the opening stanza of a haikai, called hokku, gradually took on increasing importance to haikai poets. During his days, hokku was part of haikai, and never assumed an independent status.
Two centuries after Basho’s death, Japan was confronted and compounded by its decades-long struggle with how to keep a balanced relationship between retaining its cultural pasts and modernizing, mainly meaning Westernizing, its shaky present. A great and Western-minded poet Masao Shiki (1867-1902) launched a scathing attack on Basho in “Chat on Basho,” claiming that “hokku is literature. Renga and haikai are not.” He made a great effort to establish hokku as a new form that stands by itself, and renamed it to haiku. When the West first got to know Basho and his poetry, the term haiku was anachronistically applied to his poetry. Moreover, Modern English Haiku, which had been deeply shaped by modern Japanese haiku poets, the Imagist movement, the 1960s Eastern Buddhist-laden counter-cultural movements, and, more importantly, the North American haiku movement, has been developing a different approach to Basho’s poetry and bearing little resemblance to the poetic essence of his haikai while has claiming its literary status as the loyal descent of Basho’s “haiku.”
_________________
Time is nothing but a disquiet of the soul

[ericcoliu]

[[ericcoliu]]

[ericcoliu]

Decades later after Basho’s death, Yosa Buson responded to his hokku:

jumping in
and washing off an old poem –
a frog
_________________
Time is nothing but a disquiet of the soul

[[ericcoliu]]

Decades later after Basho’s death, Yosa Buson responded to his hokku:

jumping in
and washing off an old poem –
a frog
_________________
Time is nothing but a disquiet of the soul

[浴恩福]

[[浴恩福]]

[ericcoliu]

[[ericcoliu]]

[浴恩福]

[[浴恩福]]

[fanfan]

[[FFFFFF]]

[ericcoliu]

[[ericcoliu]]

[温暖的水獸]

[[温暖的水獸]]

[ericcoliu]

[[ericcoliu]]

[fanfan]

Definitely NO.

Below is an excerpt from my piece entitled Speak of This to No One: Rexroth-esque understanding of Asian Poetries:

This conception results in a new understanding of imagery in particular and of literary devices in general for reading and writing poetry. This new understanding is so-called “Buddhist suchness”: things are not seen as concepts, images, or even singular perceptions; they are experienced directly as relationships in flux. In his view, “It isn't an image of / Something. It isn't a symbol of / Something else.” The things portrayed in the poem are “things” themselves and stand for nothing else. “It is just an / Almond tree, in the night, by / the house, in the woods, by / A vineyard, under the setting / Half moon, in Provence, in the / Beginning of another Spring.”

His Buddhist-influenced critique of imagery and symbols, which fails to consider contextual factors, has been widely used by his fellow poets and readers. As one of the first poets in the United States to explore Japanese haiku, Rexroth helped “de-contextualize” its reading and understanding. This is one of the main reasons why Basho’s frog haiku is much loved and yet little understood by haiku readers.
_________________
Don't imitate me;
it's as boring
as the two halves of a melon.

[[FFFFFF]]

Definitely NO.

Below is an excerpt from my piece entitled Speak of This to No One: Rexroth-esque understanding of Asian Poetries:

This conception results in a new understanding of imagery in particular and of literary devices in general for reading and writing poetry. This new understanding is so-called “Buddhist suchness”: things are not seen as concepts, images, or even singular perceptions; they are experienced directly as relationships in flux. In his view, “It isn't an image of / Something. It isn't a symbol of / Something else.” The things portrayed in the poem are “things” themselves and stand for nothing else. “It is just an / Almond tree, in the night, by / the house, in the woods, by / A vineyard, under the setting / Half moon, in Provence, in the / Beginning of another Spring.”

His Buddhist-influenced critique of imagery and symbols, which fails to consider contextual factors, has been widely used by his fellow poets and readers. As one of the first poets in the United States to explore Japanese haiku, Rexroth helped “de-contextualize” its reading and understanding. This is one of the main reasons why Basho’s frog haiku is much loved and yet little understood by haiku readers.
_________________
Don't imitate me;
it's as boring
as the two halves of a melon.

[温暖的水獸]

[[温暖的水獸]]

[ericcoliu]

I've expanded my piece and answered your question in its second part.
_________________
Time is nothing but a disquiet of the soul

[[ericcoliu]]

I've expanded my piece and answered your question in its second part.
_________________
Time is nothing but a disquiet of the soul

[浴恩福]

[[浴恩福]]