Romaji Diary and Sad Toys

by Takuboku Ishikawa

  Those parts of the stethoscope that enter the doctor's ears and that touch the patient's body were made of animal bone or ivory, the latter quite expensive. Since it is February or March, perhaps the poet anticipated the cold sensation of contact.

  106. This tanka, like others, can be variously interpreted. The question is why the poet wanted his illness to worsen. We feel he was lonely—it was not that he was receiving no attention or was being completely ignored at the hospital. Even though there were two other patients in room 18, Takuboku felt isolated, removed from real human contact, especially during the long hospital night. If a nurse stays with him through the night, there will be greater attention given to him, more kindness. As Takuboku was at first thought to have a contagious disease, he was in a smaller room. A brief glance at his diaries shows his wife visited him almost every day (for example, February 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 12, and 14); his daughter also visited him but less frequently. Obviously Takuboku did have visitors, but he wanted more contact, especially with some of the pretty nurses perhaps. Actually Takuboku does not really want to be ill but to be better cared for as a human being. A patient of his type who is not very ill and who can manage by himself is mostly left alone. Takuboku must have seen nurses diligently attending patients in serious condition.

  107. From the moment Takuboku came up to Tokyo in 1908, he underwent a series of hardships: poverty, frustration, dissatisfaction. After the family was reunited in June 1909, he had to endure the discord between his mother and wife, which led to the latter's running away from home. Towards the end of 1910, the premature death of Takuboku's son occurred. In spite of these troubles his literary activities in 1909 and 1910 were remarkable. He published many tanka, short stories, articles, and reviews, the culmination of his effort the appearance of his tanka collection A Handful of Sand.

  On the other hand, this period saw a sharp turn in his thought. After the so-called high treason trial of Shūsui Kōtoku and others was reported in the newspapers, his interest in socialism suddenly flared up. From the beginning of 1911 until he was hospitalized in February, he was very much engaged in investigating the Kōtoku case.

  Under these difficult circumstances it seems natural to imagine he was indifferent to his family. Temporarily cut off from troubles when he entered the hospital, he must have felt as if he were in a kind of suspension. This transient release from stress must have restored him to his former feelings toward his wife. This tanka, then, is a simple, honest confession. Outwardly Takuboku had a number of unpleasant characteristics—he was bellicose, stubborn, proud. But inwardly he was straightforward, honest. The irritability he felt toward his illness declined while he was in the hospital. There he became more resigned and had more time to reflect on his life. Zen Buddhism uses the words "the true self," but Makoto no ware is Takuboku's coinage.

  The first two lines are colloquial, the last line decidedly formal Japanese. Itsukushimu is an elegant (classical) word but can also be used in colloquial sentences.

  108. "To lie" is a human trait, but in Takuboku's make-up this trait was marked. He thought it a real failing. Often in his Romaji Diary, which was written only for himself, we see the vacillating quality of the poet. Should he or should he not drink, buy, borrow, spend money, and, as in this tanka, lie? Takuboku was to himself an imp of perverseness.

  109. Why did Takuboku shut his eyes? Because he was very much ashamed at that moment. When we feel ashamed, the cheeks are flushed. Takuboku could not bear the image of himself at that instant, an image of himself as a man who lied perpetually, so he shut his eyes. In his past he had told lies to get money, told lies to postpone payment of his debts, told lies to please others, told lies to ridicule others without their knowledge. A tanka of reflection and self-hatred.

  110. In a moment of extreme distress the poet tried to escape through make-believe, but it did not work. The bright mood promised by pretense failed to materialize. To the Japanese, such an attempt sounds feminine, and there was something of the Japanese female in Takuboku's personality. Yet one feels moved by the intensity of the pain the poet must have felt in reviewing his past life.

  Uso usually means "a lie," but in this instance it connotes "unreal" or "fabrication" or "invention."

  111. An element of sadness in Takuboku's remembering his childhood days. His father and mother had wanted him to become a priest and to inherit his father's incumbency. But now Takuboku's strength and vigor have declined, so there is an added element of regret in the remembrance. All boys in those days wanted to be one of two things: a general or a prime minister. The Sino-Japanese War of 1894 occurred when Takuboku was eight or nine. The school textbooks contained anecdotes on courage, and sometimes teachers talked about their own experiences in war. Takuboku no doubt shared the same aspirations of many of the boys of his generation, and he probably did not know, at the time, that this childhood romanticism was against his father's cherished desire. Having abandoned that boyish dream, Takuboku, poor in health, remembers the old days and sympathizes with his parents.

  112. Once more, as in tanka 111, we see Takuboku's nostalgia for his childhood years. That the man is riding a horse means he is an officer—being an officer, especially a general, was one of two ambitions schoolboys had when Takuboku attended school. It is doubtful if Takuboku feels any real regret in not choosing a heroic life, but the nostalgia is intense, real.

  A well-known child's song in Taishō:

  I like soldiers very much—

  When I grow up

  Decorations will hang from my chest

  And I'll wear a sword and ride a horse

  And cry "Giddyap!"

  113. Diary entry for February 17, 1911: "After reading the newspaper, I suddenly felt unwell. A Diet member by the name of Motozō Fujisawa, who was scheduled to address an interpellation concerning the question of the southern and northern dynasties, suddenly tendered his resignation and after giving an ambiguous farewell speech went into hiding. The news made me feel that the extent to which this damnable oppression by the government might go is almost beyond imagination.

  "The excitement I experienced was not pleasant, and I developed a slight fever."

  In the fourteenth century the Japanese imperial house was divided into two factions—the southern dynasty and the northern, and the civil war that followed lasted about half a century. Actually the struggle was between the southern dynasty and the newly risen military class. The military ultimately prevailed and assumed the reins of power, and the two dynasties were then united. This historical situation gave rise to the controversy Takuboku refers to in his tanka, a controversy over an event that had occurred five centuries earlier.

  In 1911, a dispute arose concerning the description of the two dynasties in the authorized history textbooks in the school system. Texts treated the northern dynasty as the legitimate line, but some scholars had asserted the southern line was the lawful one. The Katsura administration had decided the question, proclaiming the southern dynasty the rightful one. Diet member Fujisawa wanted to discuss this decision, but obviously pressure was asserted on him to prevent his speaking up on questions involving the imperial household. In those days such discussions were taboo. Though the question was purely academic, the authorities used their power for even that kind of triviality, so Takuboku, who had perpetually felt the restraining forces of society, family, friends, was outraged and looked upon Fujisawa as a fellow-sufferer.

  For Diet membership, a man had to be at least thirty, though most members were certainly older. That Takuboku refers to Fujisawa as his younger brother is a characteristic touch. Naite yarishi (Naite yatta for the colloquial form) means to have cried for someone who is of lower status than the person crying, so Takuboku deliberately uses this verb after noting the member of parliament was like a younger brother (younger brothers being of lower status than elder brothers).

  114. Takuboku was trained in the traditional ways of tanka. He tried to break away from the tradition through his choice of colloquial exp
ressions and other techniques (for example punctuation and line division), but he could not do so completely. We believe Takuboku felt the necessity of retaining some of the formal elements of tanka, or tanka itself would disappear. Some poets after him (Aika Toki and Yōkichi Nishimura) tried to create perfectly colloquial tanka, but they did not succeed as real poets. One of the techniques Takuboku consciously retained was the very formal ending of the tanka —in this poem that formality occurs in the words shite itaki kimochi kana.

  Colloquial Japanese easily falls into the 5-7-5-7-7 rhythm of tanka, but the effect of totally colloquial language is slightly different from tanka; still, that slightness makes all the difference. Perhaps the effect of totally colloquial language might be that of using no rhyme in the Shakespearean sonnet couplet "This thou perceiv'st, which makes thy love more strong,/ To love that well which thou must leave ere long," by substituting "shortly" for "ere long." Tanka is associated in the reader's mind with a long history of traditional models. Takuboku's attempt at transforming tanka was the limit he could go in breaking with tradition.

  This tanka reveals Takuboku in one of his diabolic moods. The man who feels trapped often wants to destroy, to break, or to smash things. Takuboku, however, did not succeed in the wish he expressed in this tanka, for ultimately he could not look on with nonchalance toward crime, pain, death, destruction.

  115. This kind of tanka, perhaps commonplace today, was new for Meiji and Taishō. The tone as a whole is quite colloquial, and like most of Takuboku's tanka in Sad Toys, the poet has decreased the formal element to its limit: yū ga gotoku ni is formal as is the final kana. The first line is what Japanese doctors actually do say to children or perhaps to all patients, who are as helpless as children when hospitalized.

  One reason we think this tanka is a hospital poem is that the cost would have been too much for Takuboku if a general practitioner were to visit him at home. If he had been better off financially, a doctor's house call would have been easily within his means. Of course when Takuboku was quite ill at home, doctors were summoned.

  In his notebook Takuboku begins the use of indentation from tanka 115. Tanka 1 and 2, though indented, were not in his notebook, for Toki had found them after Takuboku's death. They had been written on a slip of paper.

  116. The formal ending of the second half of the last line, hito o nikumeru, is bold and forceful.

  When a patient cannot sleep, he is often quite irritable. This tanka is typical of Takuboku's frustrated rebelliousness, a rebelliousness that must endure, that cannot lash out.

  In those days an animal bladder or rubber bag was used to hold ice. Even today the icebag is held in place by a gadget behind and above the patient's head.

  The fever may have been from a cold or perhaps from pleurisy. The diaries often note Takuboku had a high fever: February 25, 1911, he developed a high fever; February 26—104 degrees all day; February 27—from 100 to 101 degrees; March 1 until March 3—high fever.

  Hito in Japanese usually refers to some particular man; ningen is often used for "mankind in general." In our translation of tanka 116, we have preferred the more forceful word "man," but we should regard the moment in this tanka as only temporary, for Takuboku had too warm a heart for such a theoretical wholesale hatred of mankind.

  117. This tanka, a contrast with 116, which was strong and forceful, is conventional and sentimental. Haru no yuki (spring snow) means the end of winter and the coming of spring. During the spring the snow is wet and falls in large flakes. In midwinter the snow is fine, the flakes smaller. Falling spring snow is quite pleasant to behold. The flakes do not fall straight but flutter, dance, twist. It is not too cold at such moments.

  Spring is near, and that means the coming of the festive cherry blossom season, but the poet is confined to his bed because of a fever. Outer and inner, hot and cold, movement and confinement—all are working in this tanka.

  The tone of the tanka is formal. The first line in the Japanese is a traditional cliché; the last line, quite formal; and the middle line, colloquial.

  118. What the greatest sorrow represents is not clear. It may be death or the hopeless wait of lying on a hospital bed. The poet's illness must have been extremely bad at this moment. He may have felt he was going to die, waiting in bed only for that. To block out the pain of the thought or the vision, he closes his eyes. The eyes are not closed to hold back tears, for the poet is lying in darkness where no one can see him. The ambiguity of "greatest sorrow" effectively intensifies what it must be. The indentation of Kore ka to equally intensifies the line and the ambiguity of the pain.

  119. Perhaps this tanka was written at the same time as tanka 118. A pain in the chest is not from the lungs—but from pleurisy. And pleurisy is often attended by a high fever. At such moments the doctor is a patient's chief support. Seeing the doctor reassures one, even though little can be done. When we bear up under severe pain, the eyes are shut tight.

  An indented line attracts the reader's attention and thus intensifies the line. But when two lines are indented, either the first and last lines or the first two or last two, the remaining unindented line is emphasized. This is the general rule in Sad Toys, though in some cases the impact of indentation is not so clear.

  120. The poet's entire focus is on his doctor's face, trying to read it for signs. Is my condition serious or not? the poet wonders. He has doubts about the real nature of his illness. The poet feels doctors comfort and lie—mostly they console. Therefore, he is skeptical of words and looks for some hint on the doctor's face. Even in this very formal tanka, we feel the desperation of the speaker at this time as he hunts for some sign of truth on his doctor's face.

  121. Several of these later hospital poems reveal Takuboku's weakness as a man. When one is seriously ill, a spiritual weakness evolves as well, and the emotions work overtime. Even this proud man cannot escape the sentimental, but to an outsider the situation is also moving.

  Indentation of the first line intensifies it. The next two lines, except for the final ki in nakitaki, are rather colloquial.

  122. That the book one reads in bed becomes too heavy to hold is a common experience for the weak and ill. Takuboku often refers in his diaries to reading in bed. But ill in the hospital now, his body weak, he easily tires. Reading, in one sense, stops us from thinking; but when the patient stops reading, there is time for reflection—and reflection about the unpleasant. The formal tone of this tanka suggests exhaustion and illness and weight of thought.

  We must remember that Japanese books were often quite light in weight, especially when we contrast them with Western books. In the Meiji period, there were many books made of thin Japanese paper and bound in Japanese style, but those in use were mostly Chinese classics or books published during the Tokugawa period. Almost all books printed in Takuboku's day had a heavier Western look, but generally speaking, Japanese books, especially novels, weigh less than those published in the West. The fact that even this kind of Oriental book feels heavy underscores the poet's weakness. His strength has been sapped by disease in these later hospital poems, and there is no perverseness. The earlier hospital poems were more optimistic, but these poems during an attack of pleurisy show the poet's sadness. They are eloquent reflections on the nature of illness.

  123. Gold watches were not common in Japan in those days. An imported gold watch was, of course, a status symbol. Was it mere whim that made the hospitalized Takuboku desire one? At this moment his fever must have gone down. He probably felt much better. But there were many occasions in the hospital during which he was keenly conscious of his poverty, so this poem may be a reaction to that kind of mentality. The rich also entered the hospital, and they probably had better rooms. The complicated hospital world must have provided Takuboku with painful moments of social awareness.

  The tone of this tanka is colloquial, the last line containing only the formal hoshi to omoeri. Generally, when Takuboku wants to express some deep emotion, as in tanka 119 through 122, his poems
are formal. While this moment in tanka 123 is almost prosaic, that prosaic experience is made into a poem that carries with it the texture of a life of poverty and pain. That Takuboku speculates on such a prosaic desire provides the poetic element.

  124. This tanka was probably written while Takuboku was in the hospital or not long after he had left on March 15, 1911. Judging from his diary, we might conjecture he was comparatively well until the middle of April. He often went out for walks, visited friends, and once even viewed the cherry blossoms. The results of periodic examinations seem to have been fairly positive, and he was told the ointment for his abdomen was no longer necessary (April 10).

  This tanka represents one of those rare, precious moments in Takuboku's life. Thinking he is better, he can dream of the future, make plans, prepare for the publication of his book. The binding of literary books was of serious concern to Japanese authors. Even today in Japan, the author has some say about the design of his book, though covers are simpler. Sōseki's Kokoro (1914) was green and vermilion in its binding, its design copied from the cover of a book of sutras. Sōseki had a favorite painter do the design.

  Ordinarily there would be no comma between Itsu ka and zehi, but the fact that Takuboku put this rather awkward comma here shows he wanted to emphasize the words.

  125. The medicine would be in powdered form, and Takuboku, not used to taking medication, did not have the knack of swallowing the powder directly from its paper wrapper (it is best to put some water into the mouth first). Medicine in those days was also available in liquid form; tablets were quite rare. The poet's illness is not disappearing. He had thought he was cured, yet fresh pains occurred in his chest and made him feel a kind of desperation. His eyes closed from the pain, but he also shut them to keep out thoughts about his illness. The choking comes from the powdered medicine, but the poet's condition is more serious than that. Takuboku packs into the limited thirty-one syllables of this tanka a whole world of complexity.