Masaoka ShikiBesprekingen

Elegantly beautiful

Masaoka Shiki es es uno de los autores más cruciales en la historia del haiku, pues marca un panorama de novedad entre el haiku clásico y el contemporáneo. Shiki nos ha legado un amor impenitente al pincel, con el que dibujó y escribió. Tanto su prosa como su poesía nos hacen ver en él una figura clave para entender la nueva aurora estética de Japón a en las primeras décadas del siglo XX.

El haiku es una forma de poesía tradicional japonesa de 17 sílabas organizadas en un esquema de tres versos (5-7-5). No tiene título ni rima pues pretende, con la máxima sencillez, transmitir una apreciación de la realidad espiritualizándola y elevándola por encima de su pequeña trascendencia. El haiku, que ha permanecido durante siglos íntimamente ligado con la cultura tradicional japonesa, actualmente se ha universalizado de tal manera que podemos considerarlo finalmente, patrimonio del ser humano.

Masaoka Shiki (1867-1902) es una de las figuras centrales en la tradición japonesa del haiku y quien, precisamente, ideó el nombre con el que hoy conocemos esta forma poética. Entre sus recomendaciones, acaso la más importante fue la siguiente: «Los haikus no son proposiciones lógicas, y ningún proceso de razonamiento debe aflorar a la superficie». Versiones de Andrés Sánchez Robayna y Masafumi Yamamoto.

Masaoka Shiki (1867-1902), fallecido a los 34 años de tuberculosis, fue a pesar de su corta vida, el más grande de los poetas japoneses de haiku, según los especialistas en el género. Todo arte tradicional, y el haiku lo es, requiere el respeto a los maestros anteriores, pero también capacidad de innovación a partir de lo aprendido. Shiki supo avanzar desde la senda de Buson, aceptando lo mejor de Bashô, y rescatar el género de la decadencia en la que se encontraba a fines del XIX. La sequedad límite del aware en Shiki va a ser, una vez se consolida su propuesta estética en Japón, el ejemplo futuro de cómo hay que expresar la emoción en clave de haiku.

Guillermo Sánchez de Molina, con la colaboración de Kawakami Aya y de Vicente Haya, ha traducido directamente desde el japonés medio millar de haikus que no se habían traducido antes al castellano, y ha seleccionado los 158 mejores para conformar la antología Jardín de Escarcha.

Masaoka Shiki is one of the four greatest masters of haiku. I have long been a fan of Basho, the second of the four masters. Masaoka was born in Matsuyama, Iyo Province in 1867. His father died when he was about 5 years old. He entered a University Prep School in 1884, and 5 years later, he developed tuberculosis. In 1891, he began work on Classified Collection of Haiku. In 1892 he withdrew from school and became the haiku editor of Nippon and began his quest to organize poetry. In 1895, his illness worsened, and he went to stay with Natsume Sōseki, a Japanese writer I greatly admire. He died at home on September 19th, 1902. As far as I know, Masaoka Shiki: Collected Poems> his only translated book of his poetry.

The slim and exquisite volume includes an interesting introduction by Burton Watson, one of the world’s best translators of Chinese and Japanese. He writes, “Japanese knowledge of Western literature was extremely limited” (1). After the Meiji Restoration in 1868, “some Japanese writers began trying their hand at the new forms” 91). “Some went so far as to opine that traditional Japanese literary forms […] were now obsolete and before long would pass out of existence” (1). Masaoka also experimented with these new forms, but he was determined to devote “most of his creative energy to reinvigorating the native haiku and tank forms” (1). It is believed he wrote over 2,000 poems in his brief life. I have selected a number of my favorites for your reading pleasure.

These first are from the summer of 1891. “Hydrangea -- / and rain beating down / on the crumbled wall” (17). “In cleft on cleft, / on rock face after rock face -- / wild azaleas” (17). Summer 1892: “Slipping out / the back way, / cooling off by the river” (18). “From the firefly / in my hands, / cold light” (18). Autumn 1892: “Singing somewhere / back of the shoe closet -- / a katydid” (19). New year’s 1893: “Deep in the mountains -- / New year’s decorations on the gate / of a house where no one calls” (21). Winter 1893: “Lonely sound -- / simmering in the fire pit, / wood chips with snow on them” (21).

These poems are deceptively simple, but the sounds, the images, they carry bring to mind images of our own experiences. These thoughtful little nuggets of a brilliant mind, give us plenty to muse over on any day of the year.

Here are some pieces from later in his career. Summer 1895: “My summer jacket / wants to get rid of me / and fly away” (37). “I toss in two coins, / borrow the temple porch / to cool off on” (37). Winter 1895: “Buddhas -- / a thousand years’ grime on them / and no one wipes it off” (44). “Sawing hunks of charcoal, / my little sister’s hands / are all black!” (45). Autumn 1899: “With the help of a cane / I actually stood up -- / bush clover blossoms” (75). “Winter moon – / above the bare trees / the morning star” (77). New year’s 1900: “Blank sheets stitched together -- / my poetry notebook // for the year ahead” (79). Autumn 1902: “A purple so deep / it’s almost black – the grapes” (89). This is the last of the haiku poems Watson lists.

I could re-do this list with dozens of poems every bit as beautiful, stirring, and emotional as these. Masaoka Shiki: Selected Poems are a wonderful way to while away the hours with a cup of tea reflecting on the images and the words. 5 stars

Poem selection is average. Aesthetically, the translations are merely passable. (At one point he quote's Amy Lowell's version of a Buson poem, which only has the unintended consequence of making his appear inferior.) But the real problem here are the notes.

Whether it requires it or not, each poem is accompanied by a paragraph or more of only marginally useful notes. Well, notes is probably not entirely correct, as that would suggest that they help to explain the meaning of obscure terms or references. Sometimes, perhaps even the majority of the time, they do. (His note on Basho's famous helmet/cricket poem is an example of a good one, for instance.) But a decent amount of the time they serve as little more than an excuse for the author to meander off on whatever tangent the poem has reminded him of — his travels, his life, what he thinks the poet was feeling at the time. Often this is interwoven into the insightful bits, but sometimes the notes serve no purpose but this meandering stream of consciousness.

Eventually, somewhere in the section on Issa, I just stopped reading them. My enjoyment of the collection went up after that.

My final verdict? Find another anthology instead.

A very pretty little book