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This is Your Haiku Life - Hoshino Tsubaki

 

 

Sea Grass and Wild Flowers at Kamakura and Hakone DW Bender FL, USA

mizu-oto wo soko ni hisome-te dai-hanano

water's sound...
hidden below vast wetlands
of wild flowers

Tsubaki

(English version by ST and DWB)

When planning for the trip to Japan for WHF2002, I found myself weighing options. At first it had appeared that I would not be able to participate in any part of the trip. But on receiving a generous haiku scholarship from haiku friends around the world to fund a portion of the travel, my prospects changed. I had less than a month to plan and gather further resources. One leg of the trip I wished to attend most of all was the Kamakura option, as there a was a slim possibility that Hoshino Tsubaki or her son, Hoshino Takashi might participate in the Kamakura Conference. I had heard much about Kyoshi's granddaughter and great-grandson from Susumu, who is a member of their Tamamo ("pearly sea grass") haiku group. Tamamo's famous organization, with its substantial haiku magazine by the same name, is a great legacy passed on to Tsubaki from her mother, Tatsuko, the second daughter of Kyoshi. To my joy, a few days before departure from my home in Florida, Susumu wrote to say that we were invited to a ginko (haiku walk) and kukai (haiku meeting) with Tamamo at the foot of Mt. Fuji. Kamakura was definitely in the plan.

September 8, the morning of the ginko and kukai, four of us, early birds to Japan, climbed aboard a train to Hakone. My anticipation ever mounted with the wheel-clacking climb toward the famed volcano, which we would not see. Low-lying clouds and floating mists traveled with us all the way, and so we were in good company with haiku master, Basho, who had written long before us:

kirishigure Fuji wo minu hi zo omoshiroki

in the misty rain
Mount Fuji is veiled all day--
how intriguing!

(From Makoto Ueda, Basho and His Interpreters: Selected Hokku with Commentary [Stanford University Press, 1991] p. 102.)

From the station, we hailed a taxi, touring along the way past Lake Ashi-no-ko to the botanical garden where the ginko was to be held. Alas, we were late and Tamamo had already come and gone. We would have to make a quick run through the gardens to make it to the kukai -- a ten-minute hop, skip and jump down wooden boardwalks, over old ponds and lotus, under yet-green momiji, through strolling crowds and past darting red dragonflies.

Dashing back to the cab, we hurried to join Tamamo, which had just assembled in a large room made available for such haiku meetings. When Susumu poked his head through the door, sounds of recognition, welcome, talk and laughter could be heard through the corridor where the rest of us waited. Soon, we were pulled in and greeted by the Hoshino’s and the rest of the group as if we were all old friends. Introductions made, we were ushered to seats. The first WHC haiku anthology, Wild Flowers, New Leaves was announced and passed around the room.

In due time, Tamamo members began to circulate their ginko haiku, written anonymously on little strips of paper. From table to table, hand to hand, participants recorded their favorites. While I'd participated in ginko in England through WHC, and later, on Earth Day with several WHC friends in Florida, this would be my first experience being in a haiku organization's kukai meeting. How privileged I feel that it should take place in Japan at the foot of the cloud-veiled Mt. Fuji with the Hoshino’s and members of Tamamo. I was surprised at how young Tsubaki was. Somehow, I'd been expecting her to be older. Her black hair was cut stylishly short, and she was dressed casually in slacks and a black and pink blouse topped with a modest string of pearls. I thought of the lovely meaning of Tamamo: "pearly sea grass". As she sat at the head of the four encircled tables between Takashi and Susumu, her warm, calm friendliness emanated throughout the room. A natural, true leader, she was at ease and in her element, as was also Takashi.

While I couldn’t understand the Japanese words flying about the room, I enjoyed the camaraderie and serious fun while viewing the proceedings. The Tamamo members who were participating in this event were enjoying themselves immensely. Tsubuki, the haiku poet, Ishikawa Seisuijo and Susumu interpreted for me from time to time, or leant over to tell me what was going on. A young woman who spoke English and French interpreted for my fellow traveler, Deborah Russell, who was scribbling mysterious things in her notebook. In due time, tallies were made to determine the poems which had received the most points. As the selected poems were read aloud, authors raised their hands to acknowledge their own, to the applause and comments of all. Deborah and I were each gifted with calligraphy brushes which are used for writing haiku. I had to draw a few pictures to try mine out. As the haiku were selected, Susumu and I worked at translating several into English, including the one of Tsubaki's on this page. After the selections were complete, the Hoshino’s took turns speaking to the circle as the members listened with full attention, many taking notes.

How I wished I could understand these haiku-talks, which sounded rich and thoroughly well presented. I had the feeling that Tsubaki takes great delight in doing what she does, that she enjoys people and loves haiku. I suppose that one of my strongest impressions of her is her genuineness. In this world of terrible political conflicts and strife, would that all haiku poets, all people might be like Tsubaki in word, attitude and deed.

The meeting lasted for a quite awhile, but it seemed to have passed all to quickly when it had ended. As farewells were made, the Hoshino’s invited our visiting group to the Kamakura Kyoshi and Tatsuko Commemorative Museum of Haiku on the following day for lunch. As our taxi took us sailing away past the lake beyond which Mt. Fuji remained cloud-hid, I turned to gaze at the red torii gate of the Hakone-jinja shrine until it disappeared around a curve scattered with wild hydrangea.

The museum was not far from our hotel. Next day, we wound our way into the green hills and through the lovely neighborhood to the contemporary two-story house converted to museum. Tsubaki greeted us at the door, taking our walking shoes as we stepped into colorful, comfy cotton Japanese-style house-slippers; Deborah’s feet sporting red, Brian’s remaining in his pair of red socks only, Susumu’s as well as mine clad in spring-green and Tsubaki-san’s in plaid.

The museum retains the functional rooms of the modern home it was, prior to its conversion, complete with foyer, tokonoma, living room, dining area, kitchen, baths, bedrooms, office and closets. Large windows look out over an enclosed back garden where stones set among the flowers and plants display poetry of Kyoshi, Tatsuko and the family. We were ushered into this immaculate, comfortable place where natural light from large windows gleamed across polished wood floors. Though guests and foreigners, we were made to feel at home by Tsubaki, who graciously put us right at ease and freely gave us her friendship. What a great comfort this was for me -- I, who had been in such a state of nervousness about traveling to a foreign country, not knowing the language or culture. I sank into the big green leather sectional at the window. Enjoying a steamy bowl of tea, I finally was able to relax from the inside out. After a rest and chat, we were led to the tatami-matted tokonoma area. We sat on our knees on cushions to admire the displayed items. A photographer who had been at the Tamamo meeting the day before took group pictures.

As we talked and relaxed, I enjoyed viewing the fresh, late-summer flower arrangement in the living area. From the window view during our train ride to Hakone, I recognized the silvery grass called susuki. And I was surprised to see the long, purple-berried stems known in the US as “beauty berries,” which grow wild in the woodlands of Florida. In Japan, it's murasaki, meaning, "purple", Tsubaki told us, as in the name of Murasaki Shikibu, the famous Japanese woman of the Heian period who wrote The Tale of the Genji.

Tsubaki and Susumu spoke English for the benefit for the rest of us, often breaking into Nihongo together as their own conversation became animated. We spoke of WHC, plans for the Oku-no-hosomichi to Akita and WHF2002. Later, Englishman, Brian Selby and American, Deborah Russell took some time to stroll about the garden and write poetry. Tsubaki is a natural encourager. “You are a poet!” she exclaimed when Deborah read several haiku for us from her notebook. In the conversations, I learned how very busy the Hoshino’s are with their work. They are in constant demand for speaking engagements and poetry events. Tsubaki attends several Tamamo ginko and kukai each month, and with her son, Takashi, edits Tamamo’s magazine. She told me she is also a grandmother. That she made time to meet with and entertain us was especially kind and generous. Throughout the day's conversations, it was evident that she has great depth of insight into people and situations. How one can be so buoyantly alive, balanced and positive-minded while busy with so many activities is a mystery I wish to know and learn.

Soon, a huge platter of sushi and sashimi was placed on the dining table, served with drinks of orange soda, green tea, sake and beer. What a beautiful feast was set before us! Our chopsticks were set on little lacquered origami bows which were gifted to us. After the delicious and leisurely meal, Tsubaki showed us through the museum. Upstairs, we viewed letters, poems and photographs of her parents and grandparents. An elegant, petite navy-blue kimono which had belonged to her mother, Tatsuko, hung against a wall. Love and respect for her family showed in the way the objects were displayed, and in her voice and face as she spoke. In some rooms, anonymous haiku, hand-written on small, uniform strips of paper from kukai were displayed together. I couldn't help but muse on what it would have been like to be living in those days among these haiku poets.

In and out of our slippers, Japanese-style, we padded through each room. Tsubaki's sense of humor was evident, and talk was often punctuated with happy laughter, as well as serious reflection. In one airy room, she reminded Susumu that he had once slept overnight on the tatami during a visit not long ago, just before the museum had been opened. In Japan, the haiku poet, Basho is so revered that statues and memorial stones in his honor are to be found everywhere he had stepped foot; and so, we made Susumu blush when someone suggested a commemorative sign, "Susumu Takiguchi slept here" should be hung on the wall for him in the manner of some inns in the United States, “George Washington slept here” or “Elvis dined here.”

The afternoon was growing late. Soon it would be time to leave. I lingered a moment in the last room, taking in the atmosphere as the others went on. Hesitantly slipping into the pair of plaid slippers left at the doorway, I slowly made my way down the stairs to join the group as they entered the large office beyond a conference area. I thought about how much dedication has been put into the work of Tamamo by Tsubaki, her family and many others. The pursuit of excellence in their work is as evident as is their care for people. In the office, a young man was working, seated at a computer. A portrait of Kyoshi graces a wall, and Deborah noted how much Takashi resembled his great-grandfather. I admired the framed fan papers with haiku, hand-written in beautiful calligraphy, and for the last time took in the beauty and atmosphere of this place. Deborah was chatting with the man at the computer, Brian had stepped outside, and Susumu and Tsubaki were deep in conversation. She handed him a copy of the recent Tamamo magazine as we made our way to the front door for good-byes, exchanging cloth house-slippers for our walking shoes.

Once outside, we noticed chunks of volcanic rock piled at one corner of the driveway. I picked one up, running my fingers over the rough, cool exterior. Deborah lamented how we had not seen Mt. Fuji, nor set foot on its slopes. Holding up a chunk, I tried some cheer, saying “Well, though I was unable to walk on Mt. Fuji, I am now holding Mt. Fuji in my hands!”  “There is a haiku somewhere,” Susumu-san laughed. Tsubaki-san urged us to each take a lava-rock home. After transporting a tiny ant from my bit back to the pile, I tucked little Mt. Fuji, now inhabited by a wonderful memory, into my purse -- a stone of remembrance to accompany me through my Japan travels and then, home. With many thanks and waves goodbye, our small troupe of poets headed down the shady lane to catch a late-afternoon bus back into town. We would see Tsubaki-san briefly, just one more time, with her friend and fellow-haijin from Tamamo, Ishikawa Seisuijo, at WHC’s Kamakura Conference.

Tamamo & WHC at Hakone kukai, 8 September 02
l-r: Hoshino Takashi, Hoshino Tsubaki
Susumu Takiguchi, Debi Bender

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Read: Hoshino Tsubaki: A Shining Example of Excellence and Modesty by Susumu Takiguchi

Read: Tasting Vintage Haiku: The Poetry of Hoshino Tsubaki

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