Romaji Diary and Sad Toys

by Takuboku Ishikawa

  56. Though Takuboku liked choosing poems for his tanka column in the Tokyo Asahi, he sometimes disliked his dull job of proofreading. Kaeru usually means "to go back home," but for Takuboku the pleasures of family life were quite limited.

  Naru o is formal, as is hatarakeri. Their colloquial forms are Naru no o and hataraita.

  57. At this time in his life Takuboku's ideas on socialism became stronger, but in those days such an ideology was dangerous, so he had to be careful. Takuboku was certainly a loner, an outsider, as he sat with the older men who did proofreading for the Asahi. These men, while learned in Chinese characters, were prosaic individuals; at least Takuboku refers to them in this way in his diary. All the people in his section, with the exception of the office boys, were his superiors since he was the youngest; furthermore, his job required little talent. Sometimes he was unable to fathom what these elderly proofreaders thought about him, nor did he know the attitudes of reporters and other employees, so he played it safe or he might have lost his job. It must have been trying for a proud and bellicose man like Takuboku to subordinate himself.

  58. Takuboku is not thinking of monetary gain but of newspaper policy. He would probably have progressive opinions on the editorial page, and he would perhaps reevaluate the literary section. He might have been concerned about the question of formal and/or colloquial styles.

  The choice of the pronoun ore is significant. The use of / is not a polite or neutral choice, for it has some connotation of swaggering. In Meiji Japan, journalists had a great deal of pride in considering themselves leaders of public opinion. In many cases they had something of the braggart about them. In the moment referred to in this tanka, Takuboku's self-confidence as an editor must have been revived. For a short time he had been the successful editor of the Kushiro Shinbun (see Introduction). While working as a proofreader, he must have sometimes looked at the Asahi with a critic's eye and dreamed of the many changes he would have liked to make. Now that he is nearly overwhelmed by poverty and poor health, he recalls somewhat bitterly his former ambitions.

  59. An entry from Takuboku's diary of January 16, 1911: "The butter sent from Chieko-san in Sorachi arrived." Chieko Kitamura, née Tachibana, was at the time the happy bride of a dairy farmer in Hokkaido. Takuboku had met her as a colleague in 1907 when he was appointed a substitute teacher at Yayoi Primary School in Hakodate. A pretty girl of eighteen, she was loved by her colleagues for her gentleness and good nature. Takuboku seems to have conceived a platonic love for her, but he had few opportunities to talk to her. When he was leaving Hakodate for Sapporo, he visited her for the first time and gave her a copy of his first book of poems, Akogare, on the title page of which he wrote, "On parting, the author dedicates this to Miss Tachibana. September 12, 1907." A Handful of Sand has a series of twenty-two love poems obviously written with her in mind. A few examples follow:

  The memory of my love—

  Soft spring sunshine

  On cool clean marble

  Were I to confess

  I wished to see you before I died,

  Would you give me the slightest nod?

  O the years have increased

  Since we parted,

  Yet the dearer you are with each spring.

  Butter is not only an unusual subject for tanka, but butter itself was not as appealing in those days as it is today. It was salty and had a pungent odor in the cans it was packed in. Obviously the butter in this tanka was quite fresh, sent as it had been in the winter months from Sorachi, a district in Hokkaido.

  During the Meiji period, Japan was divided into one dō (Hokkaido), three fu (Tokyofu, Kyotofu, and Osakafu), and forty-three ken (prefectures). The dō and fu and ken were subdivided into gun or kōri. Next in order came city, town, and village, the difference among these latter being chiefly one of population. Gun does not exist today as an administrative unit, but persists as a geographical unit. Sorachi-gōri in this tanka is in the central and western part of Hokkaido facing the Sea of Japan.

  The simple flowing rhythm of the Japanese in this tanka is memorable. The naive quality of this poem, without flourish or sentimentality, comes from the nature of Takuboku's feelings about this girl. He once wrote to a friend: "But, mind you... I don't want carnal relations with a woman if I love her ever so slightly. Not only that. I want us to love one another in secret, without confessing our love to each other, talking only about ordinary things when we meet. I'd like to be loved until I die without being told of that love..." (July 7, 1911). To have received Chieko's gift when he was ill must have given rise to the simple flowing rhythm of this tanka.

  60. A kind of diary moment. Along a midnight street in winter the poet stopped, thinking the voice he heard (not necessarily a woman's) resembled that of someone he knew. The experience is common and typical, but Takuboku created a poetic atmosphere.

  Most probably the poet was in kimono, and the cloak was a tonbi, a Japanese version of the Inverness coat which could be worn over a kimono. The cloak was called tonbi (kite) because the flaps on both sides looked like the wings of a kite. This modified inverness coat could be worn over a kimono. In Meiji and Taishō, there were many kinds of modified Western coats, but the type varied according to class and occupation. Students liked mantles; the cloaks worn by some shopkeepers and some workers had square sleeves fitted to the kimono shape; tonbi, however, were worn mostly by professional people and rich men dressed in kimono.

  61. Some of Takuboku's diaries are lost, but of those extant no entries contain, as far as we know, the initial Y. Takuboku rarely used initials, so this person must have had some important connection to him.

  The words ano hito create something of a problem. Should the initial Y stand for a man or a woman? Ano hito—literally "that person" —when used for a man connotes slight respect or some aloofness. If the man is younger than the speaker or writer or if the man is a friend, the term ano hito would not be used, for ano otoko would. Ano hito might be used for a woman, though the words suggest some kind of familiarity. On the other hand, she might be a woman for whom the speaker once cherished some affection. In using this expression for a woman, the man reveals a kind of aloofness—he may like her, though no love for her is intended, or she might have once been an object of his love, though she is no longer. However, some slight degree of respect is hinted at. Certainly the woman is not a geisha, for in speaking of her, the man would say ano ko or ano onna. We conclude with two possibilities for the Y of this tanka: the person was older than the poet and was a man the poet respected or was not very familiar with; on the other hand, Takuboku might have been referring to a woman for whom he once had tender feelings. In his diaries Takuboku always wrote names in full, so the initial implies Takuboku did not want to reveal the identity of the person he had undoubtedly mentioned in a diary.

  62. Many critics cite this bleak tanka as one of Takuboku's socialist poems. The tanka may be interpreted as showing his love for the peasants of any place and his sympathy for the poor. Clearly, beneath his sympathy for the hard lot of the peasants, there is anger at the inequality existing in the world. But whether he related the poverty of the peasants to the policy of the government is not clear from the poem itself. To the Japanese peasants sake used to be just about the only consolation in their hard lives. In the Tōhoku district (which includes Iwate Prefecture of Takuboku's early years), farming was especially rigorous. The climate was cold, and rice required tropical temperatures, as it still does. Because of the geographical location of the region, its inhabitants frequently had a bad crop in those days, and even today crop failures are not rare. Only technological advances have enabled the peasants to grow rice in this district.

  Farmers had to buy sake—it was against the law to ferment it themselves. Because of their difficult life and the severe cold of winter, these peasants were especially hard drinkers. Indirectly Takuboku may be venting his wrath against the government and society for permitting such poverty.

  63. The poet had thought he was
inured to the miseries of the world, but the item in the newspaper brought tears to his eyes. Takuboku had been sensitive to the miseries of mankind, but while living a life of poverty in Tokyo, he thought he had lost some of his sensitivity toward the poor and wretched, absorbed as he was in his own economic distress and unhappy home life. Yet at this moment of waking, his mind was fresh, not tired. His old sympathy for the downtrodden was momentarily revived. To feel sympathy for other men was a rare experience for him in those days, so this tanka reveals his joy over this "terrible" event. The poem suggests Takuboku's inward fear that the life he was leading was eroding his humanity.

  We remember, too, that Takuboku's father deserted the family.

  64. This tanka complements tanka 63. In the previous tanka the poet refers to his state of mind after he woke and looked at the newspaper. In tanka 64, the poet has awakened early and has time, therefore, to reflect on his own character, his life. Self-reflection had been a marked characteristic of the poet, yet this tanka shows that such moments of self-reflection had become rare due to his daily struggle against poverty and ill health.

  The word hito in this tanka does not refer to one's family members but to others. If Takuboku were referring to his family, he would use such words as tsuma (wife), oya (parent), or ko (child).

  This tanka offers another instance of Takuboku's revising many of the poems before he set them down in his notebook. This poem had appeared earlier in the February 1911 issue of Sōsaku at which time the second line was Tsugō waruki (inconvenient) instead of his final choice Tekisezaru, the latter expression more literary, closer to the more complicated formal style; the earlier choice is colloquial usage made slightly literary by its ending.

  65. A casual, diary-like poem, though completely formal. Perhaps the poet was reading an article in a newspaper or magazine and felt a momentary reassurance that his ideas were not as eccentric as he had thought. The psychology in this almost-too-trivial poem is nevertheless honest and accurate and universal.

  66. Another tanka of Takuboku's self-scorn. He is disgusted with himself because it is foolish to exhaust oneself by "talking big" half a day, especially since the listener was a younger man. That the listener was younger is the key implication for a Japanese. An older man ought to know better, of course. Age is an especially important element in Oriental culture. It is easy for an older man to talk big to a younger. The young man must listen more out of respect for age than for any other reason. Should the young man talk big to his elders, that at least would be a sign of courage, of boldness, of contempt for tradition. But it was the older Takuboku who followed the usual pattern of age, forgetting perhaps that it was equally foolhardy to devote so much energy to a younger man forced by convention and courtesy to listen.

  67. The psychology of this tanka is similar to that of tanka 63. For the historical event to which this tanka may be connected, see note 113. Takuboku is once more glad he can really be socially serious, that he can feel for others.

  Today the Japanese Diet is divided into two houses—the House of Representatives and the House of Councillors (in Takuboku's time the Diet consisted of the House of Representatives and the House of Peers). The prime minister must appear in both houses to conduct government business and debate.

  68. A humorous tanka. The miniature plum tree is usually placed in the alcove during the New Year holidays. If the bonsai blooms on New Year's Day, the Japanese are delighted. Takuboku tried to hurry the process but failed. The naivete of the poem is intentional. One can see beneath the humor the philosophy of Orientals—knowledge of the futility of going against nature.

  The plum tree (prunus mume) comes from China. It is a symbol of nobility, for it blossoms in the very cold season and its smell is considered pure. Cherry blossoms have no real odor, but that of plum blossoms, especially in the dark, is one any Japanese would immediately recognize and delight in. Usually plum trees blossom in Tokyo in February, but greenhouse bonsai can bloom in January in time for the holidays.

  Pink plum blossoms are considered feminine and slightly erotic, the smell not so strong. White plum blossoms are masculine and pure.

  Akiko Yosano's poems on plum blossoms in Midaregami:

  In the darkling

  Bamboo grass

  Around the graves of my lover's parents,

  Immaculate

  My offering of white plum.

  Pink morning mist

  Over the valley

  Of blossoming plum,

  O the beauty of those hills,

  O this beautiful me!

  [See Tangled Hair, tanka 69 and 143]

  69. To a man of Takuboku's disposition, this trivial event is especially meaningful. For a long time the speaker had thought about destruction —his life style, his reactions to society, and his lack of literary success made him feel frustrated, dissatisfied, and he could do nothing to change his situation. One morning he accidentally broke his teacup or rice bowl (chawan can be either), and he suddenly realized how pleasant it was to destroy something, anything, even an article as small and valueless as a chawan. The psychology here is not too far removed from Dostoyevsky's underground man or Yukio Mishima's destructive acolyte in The Temple of the Golden Pavilion.

  70. A humorous and innocent tanka. The child, of course, is Takuboku's daughter, Kyōko.

  In English cats "meow," in Japanese nyan, but to get the right number of syllables, Takuboku wrote nya. The tanka is mostly colloquial, Bikkuri shite yorokobu markedly so. Hipparite is partly colloquial, the stem that and the ending formal. The purely colloquial form is hippatte, the purely formal hikite. That the grammar of our translation is not correct adds, we hope, to the childish and innocent quality.

  71. A poem of self-disgust. The poet needed money but was reluctant to go out to borrow some, so he chided himself for his weakness, for his reluctance. On the surface this tanka deals with the speaker's inability to act. But the deeper layer of meaning lies in the poet's use of Naze kōka. This expression is vague, yet characteristically Japanese. To the Japanese mind this vague expression (literally "Why am I like this?") is perfectly clear. The situation is of course vague (the poet may have wasted his money and now needs it for rent or other household expenses—he would not reprimand himself if he hesitated because he wanted to borrow funds to meet a prostitute), but the emotional reaction is clear. The poet knows he is basically incompetent in money matters, in being responsible, in following his best interests. We feel in this moving moment of self-realization the lament of a man who is saddened by what he is, what he has become. Takuboku did not ask Naze kō yowai ka? (Why am I afraid to borrow?) That would have made the tanka too simple, too restricted. He wanted some deeper meaning with which to question his entire personality and inner world.

  72. A bittersweet moment of remembrance. The poet noticed his desk and recalled a crucial day in his past. Though hito can mean a man or a woman (see note 61), it seems more natural to think the person the poet expected was a woman. Did the poet change the position of his desk while waiting or after he had waited an excessively long time and had realized the woman would not turn up? Or did he change its position before the appointed hour? It seems he changed it much later during the interval of his waiting. He was disappointed and irritated, so much so that he could not read or create any poems; consequently, to change his mood and refresh his mind, he moved his desk.

  Western readers may be surprised to learn that a Japanese desk is very small, its top not too far from the straw mats of the room. The desk is light and can easily be carried to any part of the room. Often, though, it is placed near a window. A Chinese saying is Meisō jōki (Light window, tidy desk). Desks were made from hardwood or paulownia. The desk did not have to be large, for earlier Japanese books were thin and lightweight, several easily encased in a small cardboard box which was sometimes bound with cloth.

  Here is an example of Takuboku's revision even of punctuation before he entered these tanka in his gray notebook; in the Waseda Bungaku maga
zine of March 1911, in which this tanka first appeared, a dash was used at the end of the second line.

  73. The Japanese usually save newspapers to wrap things in, and on one such occasion the poet was wrapping something in an old newspaper when he suddenly noticed his name in the poetry column (newspapers in those days had a column on literature [bungeiran] which reviewed the stories and poems published during the month). In this tanka we feel the poet's pride, though a sensitive pride. The poet treats the discovery as trivial and casual, but actually he is proud his tanka were praised, if even in a few lines. The psychology is that despite the fact that he is now poor and despised by others as a poet and man, he had once been praised.

  Furu-shinbun refers to old newspapers, not clippings (kiri-nuki).

  In this tanka Takuboku uses ji-amari (more than the traditional thirty-one syllables). He deliberately broke the rhythm to achieve a more casual or colloquial flavor. Only naredo (instead of dakeredo) and ari are formal in the last two lines. The use of the exclamation mark was new in tanka—as was Takuboku's occasional use of the dash. In A Handful of Sand, he did not use such marks. This tanka is a good example of the mixture of old and new forms.

  In the Waseda Bungaku of March 1911, where this tanka first appeared, Takuboku used a comma after Oya in the second line and a dash at the end of this line, another illustration of Takuboku's punctuation revision before entering these poems in his gray notebook.

  74. Tanka as diary. Perhaps tanka 73 was part of the same moving-day (Takuboku first moved in June 1909 from his lodging house in Tokyo to two rooms upstairs over a barbershop; then, on August 7, 1911, to a small rented house). Since the photograph was suddenly discovered at his feet, he may have remembered an actual situation of a woman throwing herself at his feet. Since he had forgotten the photograph (one the woman herself may have sent him), she was probably not so important to him. The poet is only slightly nostalgic—casual in spite of the surprise of discovery.