A program teaching haiku poetry drifts from the car radio.
Apparently, it’s about the works of the “Shōmon Jittetsu” (Ten Disciples of Bashō)*.
My knowledge of haiku is limited to its 5-7-5 structure and the inclusion of seasonal words.
Humbled by my ignorance, I look up “haiku” in the dictionary.

*Shōmon Jittetsu: A term referring to the ten most outstanding disciples of Matsuo Bashō.

Quoting the Dictionary (Kōjien)

Haiku: hai-ku 【俳句】
①A witty or satirical poem.
②A short poem composed in a fixed 5-7-5 syllable structure.
Derived from the opening verse of linked-verse poetry (renga), it traditionally incorporates seasonal themes and cutting words (kireji).
The term became widespread during the Meiji Period following Masaoka Shiki’s reform movement, but it also refers to pre-Edo hokku.
Together with tanka, it forms one of Japan’s two streams of short-form poetry. While traditional haiku adhere to form and seasonal themes, some modern haiku reject these conventions.

A Parody and a Haiku Digression
Speaking of Bashō, I recall reading Chihayafuru Oku no Hosomichi by Nobuhiko Kobayashi long ago.
While parodies may not suit everyone, I found it entertaining. Worth a read if you’re curious.

Back to Haiku

Let’s turn our attention to Ozaki Hōsai (1885–1926), a poet known for his free-style haiku. Here are a few of his works:

　　Lying down, writing a letter – the chicken watches.

　　Dog, wagging its tail like it’ll snap right off.

　　A shop of booze and smokes, now a familiar place.

　　Slapping a midday mosquito, reading the old paper.

　　No container – I receive with my bare hands.

　　

　　ねそべつて書いて居る手紙を鶏に覗かれる

　　犬よちぎれるほど尾をふつてくれる

　　酒もうる煙草もうる店となじみになつた

　　昼の蚊たたいて古新聞よんで　

　　入れものが無い両手で受ける

Lonely, for no particular reason.
Hōsai spent his final days on Shōdoshima, drawn to the sea. Nature never rejected him. It seems he passed away to the sound of waves, embraced by the sea.

　　A small window with a glimpse of the sea.
　　Smoke rises from behind the spring mountain.

　　海が少し見える小さい窓一つもつ
　　春の山のうしろから烟が出だした

Another Poet: Taneda Santōka
Another contemporary poet with the same mentor, Taneda Santōka (1882–1940), also left behind notable works:

　　I press on, yet blue mountains press on endlessly.

　　This journey, a journey with no end – cicadas cry.

　　Exhausted heart; mountains, sea – too beautiful.

　　Sleepless night, trimming my nails.

　　A straight road, lonely.

　　分け入つても分け入つても青い山

　　この旅、果もない旅のつくつくぼうし

　　こころつかれて山が海がうつくしすぎる

　　どうしてもねむれないよるの爪を切る

　　まつすぐな道でさみしい

Browsing through Santōka’s journals on Aozora Bunko, I stumbled upon a treasure. Having only read his poetry collections, the diary offered a fresh perspective. Its earnestness, gravity, and humor absorbed me into the night. Here are a few excerpts:

Morning Drink and Morning Bath:
Morning sake tastes exquisite – every drop, every sip permeates my entire being.
Morning bath, morning sake, radiant skies. I feel keenly my indolence and the joy of solitude.

・朝酒と朝湯の礼賛
『朝酒はほんたうにうまい、一滴一杯が五臓六腑にしみわたるやうである。』

『朝湯朝酒、うらゝかな。ナマケモノであることをひし／＼感じる。一人であることのよろしさ。』

Struggles with Alcohol:
At drinking gatherings, I’m acutely aware of my contradictions, my fractured self.
A battle between the me that wants to get drunk and the me resisting intoxication – a clash of fire and water, a war of god and devil in the depths of my belly.
In the end, my body succumbs, my soul weeps, and I sink into a restless nightmare.

・酒に飲まれる苦悩
～私は酒席に於て最も強く自己の矛盾を意識する、自我の分裂、内部の破綻をまざまざと見せつけられる。
酔いたいと思う私と酔うまいとする私とが、火と水とが叫ぶように、また神と悪魔とが戦うように、
私の腹のどん底で噛み合い押し合い啀いがみ合うている。
そして最後には、私の肉は虐げられ私の魂は泣き濡れて、遣瀬ない悪夢に沈んでしまうのである。～

Even when he resolves to stop, he ends up drunk. Why can’t life be lived with such ease?

The Fatigue of Mendicancy:
I grew weary. Weary of walking, yes, but more so of the contradictions of mendicancy.
Hiding behind a priest’s robe, reciting fake sutras, employing the art of begging without the worthiness to receive offerings.

・行乞　偽僧侶？の托鉢生活に疲弊して
『私は労れた。歩くことにも労れたが、それよりも行乞の矛盾を繰り返すことに労れた。
袈裟のかげに隠れる、嘘の経文を読む、貰いの技巧を弄する、――応供の資格なくして供養を受ける苦脳には堪えきれなくなったのである。』

On Writing Haiku:
Do not compose without emotion. A true haiku can be clumsy, but a false one, no matter how skillful, is worthless.

・俳句作りに関する１節
『感動なくして制作するなかれ。ホントウの句は下手でもよろしいが、ウソの句は上手でも駄目。
多作寡作は素質により、その場その時の事情により、慣習によるでせう。句作より前に詩精神の涵養が大切。』

Santōka’s life was an extraordinary journey, a relentless quest for haiku.

On Death:
My wishes are but two. Just two.
One is to create haiku that are truly my own.
The other is to achieve a peaceful death – to pass away without prolonged suffering, without becoming a burden to others, and to meet a joyous end.
I believe I shall die suddenly, from a heart attack or a stroke.

・死について
『私の念願は二つ。ただ二つある。ほんとうの自分の句を作りあげることがその一つ。
そして他の一つはころり往生である。病んでも長く苦しまないで、あれこれと厄介をかけないで、めでたい死を遂げたいのである。
――私は心臓麻痺か脳溢血で無造作に往生すると信じている。』

Clumsy in Life, Yet Resolute in Spirit

Though clumsy and unable to navigate life smoothly, he spent his days facing himself, wandering and struggling, until his life came to an end.
True to his wish, he passed away peacefully from a stroke, a sudden and quiet departure.

His entire life was an intense and extraordinary journey in pursuit of haiku.

　　
　　Under the exposure of nature, the wind pierces this fragile body (Bashō).　　

　　野ざらしを心に風のしむ身哉　（芭蕉）

Both Hōsai and Santōka were endearing yet flawed men, alcoholics who struggled with the practicalities of life.
Their purity made them ill-suited for economic endeavors, leaving their families exasperated while others saw them as lovable figures.
Well, life isn’t easy for anyone.

Inspired by Haiku
Having written this far, I realize I’ve never composed a haiku myself, but I feel like giving it a try.
Though I can’t match the intensity of those who poured their souls into their work, perhaps I can play with ideas for fun.
No rules, no structure – just free-form creations.

　　

　　Such a fine moon – I sleep alone beneath its light (Hōsai).　　

　　こんなよい月を一人で見て寝る　（放哉）

　　

　　Even for one alone, the moon still shines (Inspired by Hōsai).　　

　　独りにも照らす月ある　（放哉に和して）

　　

　　Coughing, alone (Hōsai).

　　せきをしてもひとり　（放哉）

　　

　　A coughing fit – but no one to mind (Inspired by Hōsai).　　

　　せきこんで気兼ねなきひとり　（放哉に和して）

（On the Death of a Pet）

　　A dog passes peacefully – I see it off.

　　コロリ往生する犬見送る

　　

　　Sutras read for the dog at a Zen temple.

　　禅寺で経読まれる犬

　　

　　A grave marker bears its name in katakana.　　

　　卒塔婆にもカタカナの名

　　

　　Rebirth awaits – a dog’s story in film.　　

　　生まれ変わりたどり着く犬の映画あり

　　

　　In the dog’s domain, buried bones – and now tomatoes planted.　　

　　骨うまる犬の領地にトマト植え

　　

　　Absentmindedly, I try howling myself.

　　うっかり遠吠えをまねてみる

（During the Stay-Home Era）

　　One soliloquy piled upon another.

　　ひとりごとにひとりごとかぶせる

　　

　　The long afternoons of pandemic holidays.

　　ころなの休日長い午後をしる

　　

　　Without people gathering, connections and days cannot begin.

　　人、あつまらないとはじまらない縁、日

Composing haiku turns out to be surprisingly fun. Immersed in my self-indulgence, I find it hard to stop.
Perhaps it’s fine to simply express what comes to mind freely. (Or is that wrong?)

During these stay-home times, wouldn’t it be wonderful to enjoy haiku with your family?
A family haiku gathering could brighten long afternoons at home.

Composing haiku turns out to be surprisingly fun. Immersed in my self-indulgence, I find it hard to stop.
Perhaps it’s fine to simply express what comes to mind freely. (Or is that wrong?)

During these stay-home times, wouldn’t it be wonderful to enjoy haiku with your family?
A family haiku gathering could brighten long afternoons at home.

A Final Reflection: Treasuring Things

Lastly, let me share a complete excerpt from Santōka’s essay The Heart that Respects Things on Aozora Bunko.
It stands as proof of his sincere wish to live simply and authentically:

The heart that treasures things nurtures life, fostering a world shared with the divine, and guiding us toward unity with the Buddha.

Santōka’s words and life remain a testament to his pure and sensitive approach to existenceach to existence.

———————————————————————————————————–
The Heart That Treasures Things
By Taneda Santōka

The heart that treasures things is the fertile ground that nurtures and sustains life.
It naturally leads us to a world shared with the divine, guiding us toward the realm where we merge with the Buddha.

Some years ago, while on a begging pilgrimage through the sacred sites of Shikoku, I unexpectedly became a traveling companion to an old pilgrim named H.
He was a seasoned man of hardship, a so-called “professional pilgrim” (as opposed to a pilgrim driven by pure faith). Yet, he carried himself with dignity, both in body and spirit.
He never spoke of the circumstances that had brought him to this life, nor did I pry.
Having undertaken the pilgrimage several times, he was well-versed in Shikoku’s geography and customs.
From how much one might receive when begging, to the pace of the journey, to the quality of lodgings—he taught me many things.

Each day, we would walk, one following the other.
Each night, we stayed at the same inn, shared meals, and slept side by side, growing a bond of familiarity.
One day, as we followed the route from Awa to Tosa and into Iyo, we sat on a roadside rock to rest.
Taking out our tobacco pouches, we engaged in casual conversation, momentarily forgetting the fatigue of our journey.

I noticed H. striking matches repeatedly—one, two, five, six matches for a single smoke.

“Quite a lot of matches you’re using,” I remarked.

“Yes,” he replied. “I’ve been given so many matches, they pile up endlessly. I can’t sell them for much, so I’m just using them up like this.”

Hearing this, I felt an uncomfortable pang.

It was clear that his faith was insincere, and I realized he was not worthy of being a companion on this journey.
A surge of disdain and frustration rose within me, but I suppressed it and stayed silent.
After all, he was not the type to listen to criticism, and I lacked the confidence to lecture him.

For several more days, I traveled with him, burdened by an uneasy feeling.
Eventually, I could no longer bear it and subtly distanced myself from him.

I wonder what became of him after that. Is he still alive, or has he passed away?
I often think of him and pray for his happiness. Yet, unless he repents, I cannot help but doubt the fortune of his end.

To treasure a single matchstick is to appreciate the blessings of the sun.
Those who understand the preciousness of sunlight cannot treat even a single matchstick carelessly.

A Modern Household

Mrs. S was an intellectual woman. She was skilled in social settings and adequate at household management.
At first glance, she seemed like a perfect lady, but alas, she had not experienced the baptism of poverty.

One evening, I witnessed a shocking sight in her home.
The maid, engaged in some task, had left the water tap running.
Water flowed endlessly, wastefully, as Mrs. S sat there, indifferent.

The ignorance of the maid could be pitied, but the arrogance of the mistress was infuriating.
The sanctity of water, its preciousness, its irreplacable value… I, timid as I was, said nothing and quietly withdrew.

She, too, was guilty of sacrilege.
She knew the price of things but not their true worth.
She didn’t understand that even a large diamond could be worthless compared to a single rice ball in certain circumstances.

On the Value of Things

From the perspective of the greater universe, all is unchanging—neither increasing nor decreasing, neither created nor destroyed. There is no waste, no frugality, no usefulness, nor futility.

But as human beings, wastefulness is inexcusable. In human society, we must eliminate waste.
We must honor the value of things and respect the labor that produces them.
This applies in all times and circumstances, regardless of status or wealth.

To savor the inherent worth of things is to truly live.
Where the innate virtues of things are brought forth, there lies the manifestation of Buddha-nature.

To elevate the virtues of things—that is the duty of humanity.

In reflecting on my experiences, I realize my words may have been harsh toward both Mr. H and Mrs. S.
But all those admonitions were ultimately meant for myself, to remind me of the path I must follow.
———————————————————————————————————————-

(Hiroshima Teiyu, September 1938)

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