During the New Year holidays, the Japanese play this game and others, for example, kite-flying and a kind of backgammon. One of the most famous games is the hyakunin isshu (poems of one hundred poets). These one hundred poems representing one hundred famous poets are said to have been selected by Fujiwara no Teika (1162-1241), one of the most widely known poets of his time. As he lived at Ogurayama, this selection of poems is known by the name Ogura Hyakunin Isshu. A reader recites the upper half of a tanka (the 5-7-5, the kami no ku), and the players, each with a share of the one hundred cards face up, try to find the card corresponding to the second half of the tanka (the 7-7, the shimo no ku). Sometimes only the first syllable by the reader is enough to identify the poem. The player identifying the most poems, that is, grabbing the most cards with the 7-7 lines, wins. Other card games are played during the New Year holidays as well.
38. The Japanese want January 1 to be weather-perfect. The climate of Tokyo, while not warm, is nevertheless fairly pleasant. The Japanese wish the three festival days of the New Year to be quiet and bright. This tanka is a good example of traditional feeling on the New Year.
Tanka 38 maintains its tanka rhythm while being exceedingly colloquial except for aru gotoshi and nashi.
39. A yawn is an unusual subject for tanka. The poet is quiet and relaxed, but the yawn is free, unrestrained. New Year's Day in Japan is usually boring. All one can do is eat and drink. In the morning, a special kind of sake flavored with herbs is served. The drink is considered medicinal, and it is drunk or sipped after the participant prays for longevity. Some Japanese pay calls; some get up late after perhaps having worked at bill-collecting until midnight or having gone to a shrine. Homage to the shrine is offered for two years in this one visit which occurs shortly before midnight and lasts until after the midnight hour.
Most people have worked hard on New Year's Eve bustling about, getting ready, paying off debts. Housewives are quite busy at the year-end, cleaning the house for the New Year, decorating the guest and living rooms, cooking New Year dishes. To compensate for this labor and for their year-long household chores, the three days of the New Year are a real holiday for them. It is taboo to clean the house or launder on New Year's Day. Dishes prepared at the year-end are served during the three-day interval, though warmed if necessary—all to give rest to the housewife. This food for three days is placed in the jūbako, a lacquered, tiered box beautifully decorated. The well-cooked food has had extra salt and sugar added as preservatives.
40. The uta in this humorous New Year poem are tanka. The humor is difficult to catch in the English, for in order to make the first half of the second line in Japanese into seven syllables (Nitayona uta o), Takuboku wrote the yo in nitayōna short instead of long. The added punch is revealed by the fact that in popular songs, in which rhythm is all-important, yō was shortened to yo to form a line of seven syllables, usually composed of words of four and three syllables, a frequent combination in Japanese. Thus the implication is that the tanka of Takuboku's friend were dull, commonplace.
The custom of sending greeting cards instead of making the traditional New Year visit became quite popular from Taishō on (beginning 1912). In a diary entry for January 1911, Takuboku writes: "I received 20 New Year letters, sent three." On January 4, he received fifteen cards; on January 5, eight. During the Meiji period, fewer cards were sent; nowadays the greeting card industry is booming. Postmen deliver thick bundles of New Year cards on the morning of January 1. Today few people compose poems on these cards.
41. The simplicity, brevity, and humor of this tanka appeal, yet a serious element is also suggested. While most New Year cards are now neatly tied in large bundles for postal delivery to individual families on the morning of January 1, letters and cards continue to trickle in for over a week during this period. Many of these New Year cards serve as once-a-year greetings. While it is true that the sending of these cards is a formality, many Japanese write them to inform friends of being alive and well, in addition to apologizing for a long silence. When the expected cards are in the pack, the recipient feels reassured, but when he misses some, he worries and speculates.
42. In this pessimistic poem, the speaker knows his weakness. Most Japanese reflect on the past year and then make New Year resolutions. Takuboku realizes it is too late for him to change his impractical ways. The question posed is mostly rhetorical.
43. A figurative tanka. It is characteristic of the Japanese to conform and to obey the authorities, represented earlier by the emperor and today by the government and, in some cases, unions or political parties. In one sense, Takuboku ridicules such mass automatism, but the tanka also suggests the sorrow of the outsider. The satire is not completely genuine, mixed as it is with a kind of inferiority complex which the speaker has. On another level, however, poets usually feel they are outside the main current.
To make Takuboku's first line (which is quite colloquial) formal, the line would have to read Hito no mina or Hito wa mina. The second line is also colloquial. Yoko yori in the third line is formal; Yoko kara would make the expression colloquial.
44. In Japanese homes, drawings and calligraphy are hung on walls for decoration. These decorations are mounted on silk or paper. If they are scrolls and hung vertically, they are called kakemono. The place to hang these kakemono is the tokonoma (alcove), though today any convenient spot on the wall is used because alcoves take up too much space. Sometimes the calligraphy or mounted pictures have lacquered frames and are hung horizontally (usually facing east or south) on the walls above the level of the lintel. These horizontal decorations are called kakegaku or simply gaku. Kakemono and kakegaku contain drawings or calligraphy or both, but, comparatively speaking, kakemono are more often drawings and kakegaku calligraphy. The texts of calligraphy are sometimes taken from contemporary poets, but usually from Chinese and Japanese classics.
The kakemono is usually changed seasonally, especially so at the time of the New Year, the drawing in a kakemono matching the season. The gaku is not so easy to change; in most houses the same gaku remains on the wall throughout the year. The gaku have increased the Japanese fascination for calligraphy.
This tanka is the poet's indirect way of criticizing himself. It is a poem of self-scorn. The gaku, which the poet has grown tired of observing, is an indication of his lazy mind. He is bored with the written text, yet he does not take down the gaku. The moment is symbolic of the poet's laziness and dull routine, which, in spite of realizing he must change at this season of the New Year, he does not attempt to alter.
45. The poet had been irritated, for he wanted the New Year to start. The day preceding January 1 is one of tremendous anxiety, especially for the man in debt. When we look at a candle, we do not notice the wax is decreasing, but after some time we realize how much shorter the candle has become. The kana exclamation shows the poet's relief after what seemed an endless wait. Takuboku probably could not gain the necessary funds to pay off his debts. His habit of asking for his salary in advance made this New Year commitment an impossibility. So he must have felt an enormous relief once the midnight temple bells were heard, for no more dunning occurs after that period. Still, the feeling of impatience expressed in this tanka is complex. On one level, the poet is impatiently waiting for the passing of the day. On another, he is impatient with himself who, shiftless in money matters, can do nothing but sit at home. On still another level, he is angry he has to spend the day wastefully without doing any literary work.
The word jirijiri is effective. One meaning of the word is "slowly but steadily" (the way a candle burns); the other meaning is "impatient."
The Japanese call New Year's Eve ōmisoka: ō means "big" or "great"; misoka, "thirtieth day" or "end of the month."
46. If this poem was written on New Year's Eve, as seems likely, the poet apparently had nothing to do. The moment of quiet came unexpectedly, and he was enjoying it. For a short interlude he regretted that time would move on, unable to stand still. If such a quiet moment
could last forever, the poet's mind would remain tranquil, but he knows time's wingèd chariot.
Japanese blue (ao) is sometimes greenish-blue. The Japanese word for the green traffic light is, for example, ao-shingō.
The hibachi of blue porcelain referred to in the poem is not too expensive. Takuboku's brazier, in which charcoal is fired to keep a person's hands warm, was the popular kind, its shape round. Elegant braziers are made of glazed white porcelain or bronze or fine wood, for example kiri (paulownia).
47. This poem does not necessarily refer to the New Year, but the feeling it expresses is apt to occur on this day when the mind is relaxed. During the New Year holidays, all Japanese try to feel relaxed. The poet knows, however, that he cannot expect his luck to change. It is foolish to hope; he must work, make an effort, distrust his dreams. He must begin to work seriously the very next day. That his problems will take care of themselves is facile and unrealistic.
48. It is New Year's Day, and the poet can spend it without doing any work. Yet he feels quite drowsy. So he wonders if the drowsiness is due to the accumulated fatigue of the past year. Actually, however, it is because he is liberated from tension. On New Year's Day, many Japanese remain at home—they eat and drink and play a few games. The relaxation of the day itself makes one feel drowsy; the toso (sake with herbs thought to be medicinal) also causes one to feel sleepy. But the poet realizes his exhaustion is greater than that of the average person. His attempt to account for his drowsiness makes him wonder if it is due to the exhaustion that has piled up during the year. But the sleepiness is probably due to the pressures at the end of the year. The line of thought that his drowsiness may be due to the accumulated fatigue of the past year rather than from the relaxation of the poet makes us realize how hard-pressed Takuboku was at the end of the year.
49. The poet realizes his drowsiness is somewhat different from that of most people, that it is due to the mental fatigue of the past year. At the back of his mind is the thought that he should be lively and energetic at the beginning of the New Year. He is irritated not to be doing something significant, but he has been in ill health and his economic difficulties have exhausted him. Much of his exhaustion came from the pressures of knowing he had to pay his debts by midnight of December 31, debts he was probably unable to erase. Instead of the fresh start he anticipated, he perhaps felt deadlocked by a lack of creative power.
50. The mikan in the poem is the Japanese tangerine. In those days it was eaten from early winter to the beginning of February, so this tanka may rightly belong among the New Year poems of Sad Toys.
The poet thinks he ought to be doing something, but his poverty prevents him from doing anything. Though Takuboku wanted to ease the situation between his mother and wife, he could not. In the poignant moment of this tanka, he is totally helpless and despondent. His staring at his nails signifies his utter helplessness.
Patients confined to their beds a long time are apt to look at their fingers and nails. They try to guess the state of their health from the color and gloss of the skin and nails or from the size of the crescent-shaped white part at the root of the nail. A patient near death may frequently look at his hands.
51. In earlier times a Japanese clapped his hands to summon a servant at home or at a restaurant or inn, a custom which is today obsolete. Often no one appeared for a long time, but finally a tired voice responded. The long wait, however, often caused one to feel irritated.
Takuboku felt this same kind of impatience with his life. He wanted to write poems and stories, but ill health and the struggle for a livelihood gnawed at him and kept him from his creative tasks.
The key word in this tanka is modokashisa (irritation or impatience). This last word in the tanka is preceded by the long simile that makes up the rest of the poem, the word modokashisa repeated in the simile itself. It is a rather awkward word to pronounce, so repeating the word in the same line makes the rhythm stagnant and enhances the effect of irritation.
52. The Zemu in this tanka was a kind of fragrant and refreshing pill sold for breath and heartburn (during Meiji and Taishō). Zemu means "gem." Today the Japanese use Jintan for this purpose, a very small pearl-like pellet silver in color.
A strange tanka. Perhaps subconsciously the poet did not want to perform the important task he had set out to do. Because of the breath pellet he claims he forgot the important errand he was on the way to perform. The tanka reveals Takuboku's restlessness in those days. Usually taking a pill does not make one forget some important task. Something trivial, however, made him forget something essential because the poet's mind at this moment was unstable. The errand must have been a delicate one so that he had to summon up courage to perform it. Subconsciously he wanted to escape the task, so he perhaps felt uneasy and irritable. To calm himself, he put the pellet into his mouth and was diverted. He tried to justify his forgetfulness because of the Zemu, but it is difficult to believe he was not aware of his reluctance to proceed.
53. Takuboku was conscious of the weakness in his personality. In his Romaji Diary for Saturday, April 10, 1909, he writes: "I'm a weakling. I'm a weakling even though I have a sword sharper than anybody else's." The solitary antic described in this tanka must have been performed during a moment of desperation. The action was a kind of escape. Another form of escape was to wear a mask figuratively, to wear it at those moments he acutely felt the pain of humiliation. As he was in arrears with his board and lodging, the servants at the boardinghouse he stayed at in Tokyo snubbed him. On these occasions he almost never revealed anger but offered a smile without saying anything.
In his Romaji Diary entry for Thursday, April 8, he writes that it was not his generosity that kept him from showing his anger; rather his silence actually hid what he felt was a cruel desire. On the same day he accidentally met a friend on a streetcar. His friend was dressed in a brand-new Western-style suit. Takuboku himself was in a threadbare kimono with frayed sleeves. He was acutely conscious of the contrast, and he was unable to ignore it. Characteristically he affably accosted his friend but uttered an irony which he knew his friend would not catch. Moreover, Takuboku said rude things about old women, his voice loud enough for some elderly women to hear as they sat across the aisle from him, the action done merely to embarrass his friend.
Alone at home, Takuboku could show his defiance of the world, his despair and derision. The psychology in this tanka is morbid, but there is more pathos in the childlike figure huddling and performing a kind of futile revenge. One finds in Takuboku an inordinate pride combined with an inferiority complex. In this tanka that rings with the psychology of the underdog, the grown man's childish act is understandable and moving when done in private.
The poem is mostly colloquial except for the formal dashite minu. Futon means the mattress and quilts, but obviously only the latter are referred to in this tanka.
54. In a diary entry for January 4, 1911, Takuboku writes: "I have returned to my routine. This was what I felt today. I went to the office as usual and came back as usual."
This tanka reveals the poet's reluctance and dissatisfaction. He suddenly realizes the holidays are over, and he now has to return to the rut of earning a living. During the New Year period he was freed from monetary worries and could devote his mind to other matters which he considered more worthy, at this time (January 18) to the inquiry into the sensational trial of Kōtoku and his comrades. But with the holidays ended, Takuboku has first to consider the support of his family, so he must return to the routine of a job which does not satisfy him. Of course, most Japanese gird themselves after the New Year holidays to return to the necessary routines, but not so with the speaker in this tanka.
Itsushika is the old-style diction for "before one realizes it," today's expression being itsunomanika. While the Japanese usually take three days off for the New Year period, it is actually a seven-day affair, especially in the villages. The official holiday is three days, but during the nanakusa (the seven-day period from January 1), the New
Year mood continues.
55. In one of Takuboku's letters dated March 2, 1911, while he was in the hospital, he wrote to Miyazaki, who had married Setsuko's sister:
This was a poem I wrote before I was hospitalized. The dream was one of numberless ones which my disgruntled internal organs, suffering under pressure since my abdomen began to swell, brewed every night. It went something like this: A crowd of police suddenly surrounded my house and hauled me before a god. The god, who was like an aged Ainu, had a long white beard reaching to his kness. Standing on a platform, he ordered me to do something, a shining rod wielded in his hand. I didn't understand what I had been ordered to do. Someone by me said, "Now that things have come to this, you'd better accept his order obediently." The man seemed to be one of my intimate friends, but it wasn't clear to me who he was. I didn't answer the god, but shedding hot tears, I argued with him. I kept protesting for a long time. At last the god, who'd been listening to me with folded arms, stood up and coming to me patted me on the head and said like a primary school teacher, "There! There! Stop crying." When I woke up, I was in a sweat. I clearly remembered the words I kept telling him: "What I seek is a rational life—a life in which nothing but reason has the right to give orders!"
A famous proverb in Japanese: Yume wa go-zō no tsukare (Dreams come from the fatigue of the five internal organs). Yume in this proverb chiefly refers to unpleasant dreams. That is, we have unpleasant dreams when there is some internal disorder in the body; in good health one does not dream such dreams. According to old Chinese medicine, there are five internal organs: the heart, the liver, the kidney, the lungs, and the spleen. The stomach, together with the great intestine, the small intestine, the gall, the bladder, and the sansho, for which we have no corresponding name today, forms the roppu (the six fu or entrails).
Romaji Diary and Sad Toys Page 20