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Awe and Anxiety -
ikutabi mo yuki no fukasa wo tazune keri

On-line Joint Translation Project of Masaoka Shiki Haiku Poems
Compiled and Edited by John E. Carley
Pennines, UK

 

 

If two graphologists will express three opinions on the execution of a single character, and four etymologists insist on seven derivations of the same word, how many versions of any given poem can a score of poets pen before breakfast?

The 26th of July 2001, from the set of poems "snow seen while sick", Susumu Takiguchi posted another of Shiki’s most renowned haiku. Previous experience had taught the group to value "the ambiguities of translation" (- Dina E Cox) and that the English language must needs be "open-ended as the Japanese original" (- Eiko Yachimoto), but surely with such a straightforward little poem as this...

 

ikutabi mo yuki no fukasa wo tazune keri

Masaoka Shiki, 01 or 02/1896

 

ikutabi - many times
mo - emphasis or exclamatory particle
yuki - snow
no - possessive particle
fukasa - depth, thickness
wo - object particle
tazune - verb stem, inquire, ask
keri - past or exclamation adverb

time and again,
about the thickness of the snow
have I inquired!

(version by Susumu Takiguchi)

Oh, how many times
I have asked how thick
the snow is!

(alternative version by Susumu Takiguchi)

again and again
I ask how high
the snow is

(translation by Janine Beichman)

Susumu quotes Janine Beichman here from Masaoka Shiki (Twayne Publishers, Boston, 1982). His own versions, he was quick to point out, should be regarded as "approximations" or even "approximate equivalents". Other members, too, were reaching for the bookshelf, finding inspiration firstly in Blyth (from History of Haiku Vol II, Hokuseido Press, Tokyo 1964):

How many, many times
I asked about it,
The deepness of the snow!

 

(translation by R. H. Blyth)

And then the delightfully unceremonious Burton Watson (from Masaoka Shiki: Selected Poems, Columbia University Press, New York 1997):

I keep asking
how deep
the snow's gotten

(translation by Burton Watson)

Original work, too, was on offer. chibi, a keen student of Japanese, mused on potential inflections of the compound word ikutabi – specifically if the first element iku carried connotations of "awe". Childhood memories played their part here, too:

 

“i remember dreaming of snowfalls, living in a place that had very little regular snowfall... so... when it did have any accumulation: i was always asking "how deep is it now?"  

i wonder again...
how deep the snow
is now!?

 

(version by Chibi aka Dennis Holmes)

The comments though carried a postscript:

 

“perhaps i am reading too much of my experience into Shiki's words”

 

Ito was also cautious, aware that his proposed text involved a major rearrangement of the original word order:

 

“but having seen dozens of versions of Basho's frog haiku, i guess it's fair game, as long as the context is within the meaning of the haiku”

snowing falling...
many times i ask
how deep

 

(version by Ito aka Juanito Escareal)

      “snow is a magical phenomenon isn't it? It speaks to and excites the child within us”

This from Sheila Windsor, who, responding to the question of how far a reader might bring their own experience to a poem observed:

“to some extent that must be inevitable I think: we are bound to bring what we are, know, feel etc to our reading of any poetry  […] I'm thinking: what a beautiful haiku - it tells us that near the end of his life, with disability and broken health and all the frustrations involved in that … [Shiki] was still capable of childlike excitement”

fresh snowfall   each step the first

(responsive haiku from Sheila Windsor)

The element of excitement too was something that Paul Conneally readily identified.

 

"we are there in bed with Shiki - excited to know about the snow and if it's
 any deeper yet. […] Yes, it must be piling up now, even as i write!”

 

Indeed, many contributors pointed out that for Shiki, coming from Matsuyama, a heavy snowfall would be relatively uncommon, but Susumu Takiguchi had serious reservations about the precise nature of the emotion in question. Referring to Chibi’s earlier question about the colour of the word ikutabi:

 

"[it is] a set phrase or compound noun […] ‘iku’ in it can mean only ‘how   many’, or ‘many’; ‘tabi’ means frequency […] ’mo’, as an emphasis/repetition particle makes the meaning stronger. Hence, ‘how many times’, or ‘so many times’. He was actually asking his mother and sister many times about the depth of the snow."

 

If not pure wonderment then, what? Mary Lee McClure offered an answer:

 

“I can feel in my bones the frustration he had to be feeling at his inability
to get up and walk a few steps to look out the window and see for himself the
growing depth of snow”

again I ask them
the snow--
how deep now?

(version by Mary Lee McClure)

Penelope Greenwell evoked a similar mood of tension, adopting a slightly different construction of the principal verb...

so often
I have asked "how deep?" -
the snow

(version by Penelope Greenwell)

...whereas Eiko Yachimoto, working with and awareness of 'teikei' - set format
and set syllable counts - chose to work closer to the 5, 7, 5, pattern. Like
Blyth, she adopted the past simple:

 

every so often
I couldn't help but ask how deep
the snow has amassed

(version by Eiko Yachimoto)

Something of a consensus was emerging on this note of anxiety. The question of tense usage, though, remained an issue. In the context of his earlier offering, Ito questioned if it might not be more properly amended thus:

snowing falling...
many times i asked
how deep

“[however] if a haiku is to be constructed briefly and with a sense of ‘immediacy’, i would say Janine Beichman's translation below…

again and again
I ask how high
the snow is

… gives me a sense of urgency without the punctuation, and the second and third lines flow smoothly. also, the first line allows the use of the verb ‘ask’ in the present tense.”

Sheila Windsor though had noted that if. And had something to say about it:

“Are we sure that haiku must necessarily be constructed with a sense of ‘immediacy’? Is it possible that this piece of received wisdom, which most of us have read or heard somewhere and pretty much accepted, could be based on a fallacy?”

One might add, in passing, that English translation seems to oblige the "intrusion" of the first person pronoun, and that the text would appear to comprise a single image. Debra Woolard Bender, though, argued for a subtle juxtaposition:

“he inquires, over and over, many times, just like the many particles of snow falling again and again …] I'll be experimental here, and make a word picture out of it with text […] in the way, as an artist, I might want also to make the textual words to represent snowfall and depth of snow.”

over and over! the snow... "how deep?!" I have inquired (version by Debra Woolard Bender)

James Karkowski had further precise observations to make about any comparison between snow and poet. Firstly, that the poet was not so much bedridden, in the occidental sense, but, being on a futon, "floor-ridden" – so that the poet would conceive of the snow as being higher off the ground than he. And secondly, as the poem was written in the period before patrons donated a set of glass windows for Shiki's sickroom, the snow would be perceived as very near, but also occluded, and unknowable. A further twist to the sense of anxiety.

Lastly James examined the use of the modifier keri:

“One of the explanations of the uses of ‘keri’ as a verb modifier is that it is used to indicate the surprise of consciously realizing something which was unknown before. I think it is a pretty safe to say that [Shiki has] the suddenly realization […] that he has been asking this questions about the snowfall many times.

Over and
over again,
I've been
asking about the
accumulation of the snow!

  (version by James Karkoski)

As ever, the On-line Joint Translation Project was proving its worth as a stimulus to in-depth discussion and analysis of Shiki’s legacy. And the collegiate nature of the enterprise yielding its particular benefits. So, the last word in this segment goes to a piece written as a response to earlier postings in the strand.

First, however, an instinctive reaction from Susumu Takiguchi:

“This sounds like, no, IS, a good one! Reading it made me feel as if I were in Shiki's mind and reciting the poem […] i.e. I didn't feel it was written in a different language, a fact which may be one of the highest tributes to a good translation.”

Indeed. And the poem?

I've asked and asked how thick is this snow (version by James Turner)

---

ikutabi mo yuki no fukasa wo tazune keri

Masaoka Shiki, 01 or 02/1896

The members' versions:

time and again,
about the thickness of the snow
have I inquired!

Susumu Takiguchi 1

Oh, how many times
I have asked how thick
the snow is!

Susumu Takiguchi 2

i wonder again...
how deep the snow
is now!?

chibi (Denis Holmes)

snowing falling...
many times i've asked
how deep

ito (Juanito Escareal)

every so often
I couldn't help but ask how deep
the snow has amassed

eiko yachimoto

over
and
over!
the snow...
"how deep?!"
I have inquired

Debra Woolard Bender

I've asked
and asked
how thick is this snow

James Turner

so often
I have asked "how deep?" -
the snow

Penelope Greenwell

again I ask them
the snow--
how deep now?

Mary Lee McClure

Over and
over again,
I've been
asking about the
accumulation of the snow!

James Karkoski

I have asked and asked...repeatedly
...................how deep...this fall of snow

jec (John E. Carley)