A traditional Japanese haiku is a three-line poem with seventeen syllables, written in a 5/7/5 syllable

count. Often focusing on images from nature, haiku emphasizes simplicity, intensity, and directness of
expression.

History of the Haiku Form

Haiku began in thirteenth-century Japan as the opening phrase of renga, an oral poem, generally a
hundred stanzas long, which was also composed syllabically. The much shorter haiku broke away from
renga in the sixteenth century and was mastered a century later by Matsuo Basho, who wrote this
classic haiku:

An old pond!

A frog jumps in—

the sound of water.

As the form has evolved, many of its regular traits—including its famous syllabic pattern—have been
routinely broken. However, the philosophy of haiku has been preserved: the focus on a brief moment in
time; a use of provocative, colorful images; an ability to be read in one breath; and a sense of sudden
enlightenment.

This philosophy influenced the American poet Ezra Pound, who noted the power of haiku's brevity and
juxtaposed images. He wrote, "The image itself is speech. The image is the word beyond formulated
language." The influence of haiku on Pound is most evident in his poem "In a Station of the Metro,"
which began as a thirty-line poem, but was eventually pared down to two:

The apparition of these faces in the crowd;

Petals on a wet, black bough.

Other examples of haiku include "The light of a candle" by Yosa Buson; "Haiku Ambulance" by Richard
Brautigan; and "5 & 7 & 5" by Anselm Hollo. Also read the essay "The Haiga: Haiku, Calligraphy, and
Painting" to learn more about the history of haiku and how it has impacted visual art.

A renga is a form written by multiple collaborating poets. To create a renga, one poet writes the first
stanza, which is three lines long with a total of seventeen syllables. The next poet adds the second
stanza, a couplet with seven syllables per line. The third stanza repeats the structure of the first and the
fourth repeats the second, alternating in this pattern until the poem’s end.

More about the Renga

Renga, meaning "linked poem," began over seven hundred years ago in Japan to encourage the
collaborative composition of poems. Poets worked in pairs or small groups, taking turns composing the
alternating three-line and two-line stanzas. Linked together, renga were often hundreds of lines long,
though the favored length was a 36-line form called a kasen.

The light of a candle

is transferred to another candle—

spring twilight.

A piece of green pepper

fell

off the wooden salad bowl:

so what?
Haiku

Definition of Haiku

A haiku poem has three lines, where the first and last lines have five moras, and the middle line has
seven. The pattern in this Japanese genre is 5-7-5. The mora is another name for a sound unit, which is
like a syllable, though there is a difference. As the moras cannot be translated into English, they are
modified, and syllables are used instead. The lines of such poems rarely rhyme with each other.

Haiku became popular as tanka poems in Japan during the 9th and 12th centuries. Initially, it was called
“hokku” and Basho, Buson, and Issa were the first three masters of the haiku genre. Haiku poetry is also
full of metaphors and personifications. However, this has often been argued against, since haikus are
supposed to be written on objective experiences, rather than subjective ones. In English, several
experiments were made in this genre as given below.

“Autumn moonlight—

a worm digs silently

into the chestnut.”

(Autumn Moonlight, by Basho)

Features of Haiku

It contains three lines.

It has five moras (syllables) in the first line, seven in the second, and five in the last line.

It contains 17 syllables in total.

A Haiku poem does not rhyme.

Haiku poems frequently have a kigo, or seasonal reference.

Haiku poems are usually about nature or natural phenomena.

The poem has two juxtaposed subjects that are divided into two contrasting parts.
In English, this division between two parts can be shown by a colon or a dash.

Examples of Haiku in Literature

Example #1: Old Pond (By Basho)

Old pond

a frog jumps

the sound of water

In this example, we can clearly see two contrasting parts of the poem; one is about a frog that is
jumping, and second is about the sound of water. The syllable pattern is also following a 5-7-5 format.

Example #2: Book of Haikus (By Jack Kerouac)

Snow in my shoe—

Abandoned

Sparrow’s nest

This haiku is presenting an image in the first part of “snow in my shoe.” In addition, there are two
contrasting ideas that mingle with one another as the second part is about nature. The pattern of
syllables is 5-7-5. The poet has tried to present a little story in this haiku.

Example #3: Dust of Summers (By Multiple Poets)

Calling home—

the color of mother’s voice

before her words

(By Hilary Tann)

Twilight…

his voice

deep purple

(By Ludmila Balabanova)

In these haikus, figurative device such as metaphors have been used to present an insight of the world.
Through this technique, multiple senses are used to gather sensory information.

Example #4: Thirds (By Jeffrey Winke)

Song birds

at the train yard’s edge

two cars coupling

Personification is also a definite trait of haiku poetry. This is to assign a human quality or qualities to
nonhuman things, though this is less prevalent in haiku as compared to metaphors. In this poem,
personification is very well done, hence allowing the poem to speak for itself.

Example #5: To a Leg of Heron (By Basho)

To a leg of a heron

Adding a long shank

Of a pheasant.
The theme of this poem is to laugh at ones self. This is a perfect example of haiku poetry, as it is
perfectly following the pattern of syllable counts. It is also giving an amusing and ironic touch, since
reality is the major aspect of this form of poetry.

Example #6: Selected Haiku (By Nick Virgilio)

Lily:

out of the water…

out of itself

Bass

Picking bugs

off the moon

Nick Virgilio is an American poet who is a great supporter of Japanese haiku. He has written 5-7-5
syllable-style poems when translated in Japanese. These examples of haiku poems are natural, mystical,
and refined.

Function of Haiku

Haikus are short poems written on topics and things that the readers can identify with easily. For
example, seasons and animals are readily recognizable topics to readers. Generally, haiku is written for
realistic and objective reasons; however, haikus are also written for children. Sometimes it presents two
juxtaposed ideas to express meanings through internal comparison.

Haiku is a Japanese poem. In the traditional form, it consist 3 lines and 17 syllables - 1st line has 5
syllables, 2nd line has 7 syllables, and 3rd line has 5 syllables. A haiku don't have titles, don't use
abstract noun don't rhyme, always in present tense, use adjectives sparingly, and are implicit. Most of
the haiku poems are the observations of the writers about nature, love, etc. But writing a haiku about
nature is easier. Admire the beauty of nature! Like me, I wrote haikus about nature that I had
experienced or observed wherever I go.
Matsuo Bashō (松尾 芭蕉, 1644–1694), born 松尾 金作, then Matsuo Chūemon Munefusa (松尾 忠右
衛門 宗房),[2][3] was the most famous poet of the Edo period in Japan. During his lifetime, Bashō was
recognized for his works in the collaborative haikai no renga form; today, after centuries of commentary,
he is recognized as the greatest master of haiku (then called hokku). Matsuo Bashō's poetry is
internationally renowned; and, in Japan, many of his poems are reproduced on monuments and
traditional sites. Although Bashō is justifiably famous in the West for his hokku, he himself believed his
best work lay in leading and participating in renku. He is quoted as saying, "Many of my followers can
write hokku as well as I can. Where I show who I really am is in linking haikai verses.

Born

Matsuo Kinsaku (松尾 金作)

1644

Near Ueno, Iga Province

Died

November 28, 1694 (aged 50)

Osaka[1]

Pen name

Sōbō (宗房)

Tōsē (桃青)

Bashō (芭蕉)

Bashō was introduced to poetry at a young age, and after integrating himself into the intellectual scene
of Edo (modern Tokyo) he quickly became well known throughout Japan. He made a living as a teacher;
but then renounced the social, urban life of the literary circles and was inclined to wander throughout
the country, heading west, east, and far into the northern wilderness to gain inspiration for his writing.
His poems were influenced by his firsthand experience of the world around him, often encapsulating the
feeling of a scene in a few simple elements.

Matsuo Bashō was born in 1644, near Ueno, in Iga Province.[5][6] The Matsuo family was of samurai
descent, and his father was probably a musokunin (無足人), a class of landowning peasants granted
certain privileges of samurai.[7][8]
Little is known of his childhood. In his late teens, Bashō became a servant to Tōdō Yoshitada (藤堂 良忠)
probably in some humble capacity,[5][9] and probably not promoted to full samurai class.[10] It is
claimed he served as cook or a kitchen worker in some near-contemporaneous accounts,[12] but there
is no conclusive proof.[5] A later hypothesis is that he was chosen to serve as page (koshō [ja]) to
Yoshitada, with alternative documentary evidence suggesting he started serving at a younger age.[13]

Matsuo Basho (1644-1694) made about 1000 haiku poems in his lifetime with the jouney around Japan.
His writing “The Narrow Road to the Deep North” is the most famous haiku collection in Japan.

Among them, I would like to introduce you the 10 famous examples of his “Sabi” works including about
old pond and frog, cicada and his death poem

The door of thatched hut

Also changed the owner.

At the Doll’s Festival.

*Basho gave his house another before going on a journey. Apparently it seems that the new residents
were a family with girls.

Spring is passing.

The birds cry, and the fishes fill

With tears on their eyes.

*”Spring is passing” often means an eternal parting. The birds and the fishes mean Basho and his
friends.

Yosa no Buson (1716-1783) was one in a triumvirate of haikai immortals of the Edo era in Japan: before
him came the master, Matsuo Basho (1644-1694), and after him the “humanist” Kobayashi Issa (1763-
1826).

We know very little of the early life or parents of Buson, and perhaps that’s just as well. Chronicles of
youth are invariably dull. We do know that he was born at Kema, a village which has been swallowed up
by the present-day city of Osaka, but beyond that we have only rumor, anecdote, and supposition —
until suddenly, at the age of twenty-one, he pops up in Edo (Tokyo), apprenticed to the haikai master
Hayano Soa (also variously known as Hajin and the Master of Yahantei).

This apprenticeship, which included some practice of haiga, or painting, (an art form for which Buson is
now equally, if not better, known), lasted until the death of Soa in 1742. Thereafter began a period of
ten years of wandering — and it is here that for us the real life of the artist begins. At the end of the first
year he emerges from the pupal stage by symbolically changing his name from Saicho to Buson, a name
whose compounds mean “cease to be” and “ village.” And under that name he has given us more than
2500 haiku.

Yosa Buson (1716-1784) was a haiku poet in the Edo era and also active as a painter. Therefore, his
haiku has a feature that highlights a visual image clearly. Buson honored the great master of haiku
Matsuo Basho (1644-1694) and his style of the poetry.

The fading of spring.

The feeling of holding

Of the biwa.

The canola flowers.

The moon in the east.

The sun in the west.

Japanese poet Kobayashi Issa, also known as Kobayashi Yataro and Kobayashi Nobuyuki, was born in
Kashiwabara, Shinanao province. He eventually took the pen name Issa, which means “cup of tea” or,
according to poet Robert Hass, “a single bubble in steeping tea.”

Issa’s father was a farmer. His mother died when he was young, and he was raised by his grandmother.
His father remarried, and Issa did not get along well with his stepmother or stepbrother, eventually
becoming involved in disputes over his father’s property. When Issa was 14, he left home to study haiku
in Edo. He spent years traveling and working until returning to Kashiwabara in the early 1810s. In
Kashiwabara, his life was marked by sorrow— the death of his first wife and three children, an
unsuccessful second marriage, the burning down of his house, and a third marriage.

Issa’s haiku are as attentive to the small creatures of the world—mosquitoes, bats, cats—as they are
tinged with sorrow and an awareness of the nuances of human behavior. In addition to haiku, Issa wrote
pieces that intertwined prose and poetry, including Journal of My Father’s Last Days and The Year of My
Life.

The snow is melting

and the village is flooded

with children.

All the time I pray to Buddha

I keep on

killing mosquitoes.
Masaoka Shiki (1867-1902) put effort into poetry activities to bring about innovation in the haiku from
the Edo period. In the seven years of his later years, he kept making haiku while suffering from
tuberculosis.

In 1867, Masaoka Shiki was born in Iyo Province (today’s Ehime Prefecture). He was a son of the lower-
class samurai who died 40 years old in 1872. With the support of his mother, he entered the Iyo clan
school Jobankai. He began to learn haiku when he was 18. But Shiki got the illness which he suffered
from ever since. Tuberculosis was fatal disease at that time and 21 years young haiku poet vomited
blood for the first time. Shiki (子規, hototogisu) means little cuckoo in Japanese. He named own pen
name after the bird because a little cuckoo was described as a bird sing so much that it vomit blood.

He entered Tokyo Imperial University (today’s Tokyo University) in 1900 and gave the lessons of haiku
for Kawahigashi Hekigoto (1873-1937) and Takahama Kyoshi (1874-1959). Shiki gave up to graduate
from Tokyo Imperial University and started to work at Nippon Shinbun Newspaper. While working as a
journalist, he continued to publish haiku poems. During the Sino‐Japanese War (1894‐95) he went to the
front. But that made worse of tuberculosis and Shiki went home. He had been in ill bed and suffered in
his later years but he composed the jolly and creative haiku poems.

I got drunk, a sleep.

And wept on the dream.

A wild cherry blossoms

Flutteringly,

Floating in the breeze,

A single butterfly.

Natsume Sōseki (夏目 漱石, February 9, 1867 – December 9, 1916), born Natsume Kin'nosuke (夏目 金
之助), was a Japanese novelist. He is best known around the world for his novels Kokoro, Botchan, I Am
a Cat and his unfinished work Light and Darkness. He was also a scholar of British literature and
composer of haiku, kanshi, and fairy tales. From 1984 until 2004, his portrait appeared on the front of
the Japanese 1000 yen note. In Japan, he is often considered the greatest writer in modern Japanese
history.[1] He has had a profound effect on almost all important Japanese writers since.

Born in 1867 as Natsume Kinnosuke in the town of Babashita in the Edo region of Ushigome (present
Kikui, Shinjuku), Sōseki began his life as an unwanted child, born to his mother late in her life, forty years
old and his father then fifty-three.[2] When he was born, he already had five siblings. Having five
children and a toddler had created family insecurity and was in some ways a disgrace to the Natsume
family.[2] A childless couple, Shiobara Masanosuke and his wife, adopted him in 1868 and raised him
until the age of nine, when the couple divorced.[2] He returned to his family and was welcomed by his
mother although regarded as a nuisance by his father. His mother died when he was fourteen, and his
two eldest brothers died in 1887, intensifying his sense of insecurity

Sōseki attended the First Tokyo Middle School (now Hibiya High School),[3] where he became enamored
with Chinese literature, and fancied that he might someday become a writer. His desire to become an
author arose when he was about fifteen when he told his older brother about his interest in literature.
[2] However, his family disapproved strongly of this course of action, and when Sōseki entered the
Tokyo Imperial University in September 1884, it was with the intention of becoming an architect.
Although he preferred Chinese classics, he start studying English at that time, feeling that it might prove
useful to him in his future career, as English was a necessity in Japanese college

Over the wintry

forest, winds howl in rage

with no leaves to blow.

Over the wintry

forest, winds howl in rage

with no leaves to blow.

The tanka is a thirty-one-syllable poem, traditionally written in a single unbroken line. A form of waka,
Japanese song or verse, tanka translates as "short song," and is better known in its five-line, 5/7/5/7/7
syllable count form.

History of the Tanka Form

One of the oldest Japanese forms, tanka originated in the seventh century, and quickly became the
preferred verse form not only in the Japanese Imperial Court, where nobles competed in tanka contests,
but for women and men engaged in courtship. Tanka’s economy and suitability for emotional expression
made it ideal for intimate communication; lovers would often, after an evening spent together (often
clandestinely), dash off a tanka to give to the other the next morning as a gift of gratitude.

In many ways, the tanka resembles the sonnet, certainly in terms of treatment of subject. Like the
sonnet, the tanka employs a turn, known as a pivotal image, which marks the transition from the
examination of an image to the examination of the personal response. This turn is located within the
third line, connecting the kami-no-ku, or upper poem, with the shimo-no-ku, or lower poem.

Many of the great tanka poets were women, among them Lady Akazone Emon, Yosano Akiko, and Lady
Murasaki Shikibu, who wrote The Tale of Genji, a foundational Japanese prose text that includes over
400 tanka. English-language writers have not taken to the tanka form in the same way they have the
haiku, but there are several notable exceptions, including Amy Lowell, Kenneth Rexroth, Sam Hamill, Cid
Corman, and Carolyn Kizer.

There are many excellent anthologies of Japanese verse, most of which feature lengthy selections of
tanka. Rexroth's translations, which include One Hundred Poems from the Japanese and One Hundred
More Poems from the Japanese, are considered classics, and The Ink Dark Moon: Love Poems by Ono no
Komachi & Izumi Shikibu, translated by Jane Hirshfield with Mariko Aratani, continues this tradition.

The tanka is sometimes separated by the three “upper lines” (kami no ku) and the two “lower ones”
(shimo no ku). The upper unit is the origin of the haiku. The brevity of the poem and the turn from the
upper to the lower lines, which often signals a shift or expansion of subject matter, is one of the reasons
the tanka has been compared to the sonnet. There is a range of words, or engo (verbal associations),
that traditionally associate or bridge the sections. Like the sonnet, the tanka is also conducive to
sequences, such as the hyakushuuta, which consists of one hundred tankas.

The tanka, which comprised the majority of Japanese poetry from the ninth to the nineteenth century, is
possibly the central genre of Japanese literature. It has prototypes in communal song, in oral literature
dating back to the seventh century, or earlier. The earliest anthology of Japanese poetry, Man’yōshū
(Collection of Ten Thousand Leaves, ca. 759), contains more than forty-two hundred poems in the tanka
form. The form gradually developed into court poetry and became so popular that it marginalized all
other forms.
Tanka consist of five units (often treated as separate lines when romanized or translated) usually with
the following pattern of on (often treated as, roughly, the number of syllables per unit or line):

5-7-5-7-7.[4]

The 5-7-5 is called the kami-no-ku (上の句, "upper phrase"), and the 7-7 is called the shimo-no-ku (下の
句, "lower phrase").

Mokichi Saitō (斎藤 茂吉 Saitō Mokichi, May 14, 1882 – February 25, 1953) was a Japanese poet of the
Taishō period, a member of the Araragi school of tanka, and a psychiatrist.

The psychiatrist Shigeta Saitō (Japanese Wikipedia article) is his first son, the novelist Morio Kita is his
second son and the essayist Yuka Saitō is his granddaughter.

Mokichi was born in the village of Kanakame, now part of Kaminoyama, Yamagata in 1882.[1] He
attended Tokyo Imperial University Medical School and, upon graduation in 1911, joined the staff of
Sugamo Hospital where he began his study of psychiatry.[2] He later directed Aoyama Hospital, a
psychiatric facility.[3]

Mokichi studied tanka under Itō Sachio, a disciple of Masaoka Shiki and leader, after his master's death,
of the Negishi Tanka Society; Sachio also edited the society's official journal Ashibi.[4][5] This magazine,
due to Sachio's increasing commitment to other literary activities, was subsequently replaced by Araragi
in 1908.[6] The publication in 1913 of Mokichi's first collection of tanka, Shakkō ("Red Light") was an
immediate sensation with the broader public.[7][8] The first edition collected the poet's work from the
years 1905-1913 and included 50 tanka sequences (rensaku),[9] with the autobiographical "My Mother
is Dying" (死にたまふ母 Shinitamau haha) being perhaps the most celebrated sequence in the book.
[10][11]

Mokichi's career as a poet spanned almost 50 years. At the time of his death at the age of 70, he had
published seventeen poetry collections which include “14,200 or so poems,” the collected works being
overwhelmingly devoted to tanka.[12] In 1950 he received the inaugural Yomiuri Prize for poetry.[13] He
received the Order of Culture in 1951.
Mokichi was the family doctor of author Ryūnosuke Akutagawa and may have unknowingly played an
indirect role in the latter's suicide.[14] He also wrote philological essays on waka of Kakinomoto no
Hitomaro and of Minamoto no Sanetomo.

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Takuboku Ishikawa

1882–1912

Takuboku Ishikawa was born Hajime Ishikawa in Iwate Prefecture, Japan. He dropped out of school at
age 16 to become a poet and is recognized as a master of the tanka form. He published his first
collection, titled in English translation as Yearning, in 1905, when he was just 19. He moved to Tokyo in
1908 and joined the literary scene there. His second book, A Handful of Sand (1910), established
Ishikawa’s mastery of the tanka form; the poems were by turns intellectual, ironic, and intimate.
Ishikawa’s other poetry collections include Whistle and Flute (1912) and Sad Toys (1912), which was
published just two months after his death from tuberculosis.

Ishikawa’s personal life was turbulent, and he scraped out an existence for himself and his extended
family as a proofreader. His Romaji Diary, first published in 1954, detailed his complex emotional life and
intellectual pursuits. Ishikawa wrote it in Roman letters so that his wife couldn’t read it. Roger Pulvers
has noted that diaristic impulses inform Ishikawa’s poetry as well. “His tanka taken together also loosely
form a kind of diary of event, internal and external,” Pulvers writes. “Takuboku wrote that poetry itself
was a report in detail of changes in an individual’s emotions. His diaries and his poetry are permeated
with a sincere and searching self-examination.”

English translations of Ishikawa’s works include Poems to Eat (trans. Carl Sesar, 1966) and Romaji Diary
and Sad Toys (trans. Sanford Goldstein and Seishi Shinoda, 1985, reissued 2000). Donald Keene wrote a
full-length biography of Ishikawa, The First Modern Japanese (2016).

Ishikawa Takuboku, pseudonym of Ishikawa Hajime, (born Oct. 28, 1886, Hinoto, Iwate prefecture,
Japan—died April 13, 1912, Tokyo), Japanese poet, a master of tanka, a traditional Japanese verse form,
whose works enjoyed immediate popularity for their freshness and startling imagery.

Ishikawa Takuboku

JAPANESE POET

WRITTEN BY: The Editors of Encyclopaedia Britannica

LAST UPDATED: Oct 24, 2019 See Article History

Alternative Title: Ishikawa Hajime

Ishikawa Takuboku, pseudonym of Ishikawa Hajime, (born Oct. 28, 1886, Hinoto, Iwate prefecture,
Japan—died April 13, 1912, Tokyo), Japanese poet, a master of tanka, a traditional Japanese verse form,
whose works enjoyed immediate popularity for their freshness and startling imagery.

Ishikawa Takuboku

QUICK FACTS

BORN

October 28, 1886

Hinoto, Japan

DIED

April 13, 1912 (aged 25)

Tokyo, Japan

Although Takuboku failed to complete his education, through reading he acquired surprising familiarity
with both Japanese and Western literature. He published his first collection of poetry, Akogare
(“Yearning”), in 1905. In 1908 he settled in Tokyo, where, after associating with poets of the romantic
Myōjō group, he gradually shifted toward naturalism and eventually turned to politically oriented
writing.

In 1910 his first important collection, Ichiaku no suna (A Handful of Sand), appeared. The 551 poems
were written in the traditional tanka form but were expressed in vivid, untraditional language. The tanka
acquired with Takuboku an intellectual, often cynical, content, though he is also noted for the deeply
personal tone of his poetry.

In Tokyo he earned his living as a proofreader and poetry editor of the Asahi newspaper, enduring
financial hardship occasioned partly by his own improvidence. His life during this period is unforgettably
described in his diaries, particularly Rōmaji nikki (first published in full in 1954; “Romaji Diary”). In this
diary, which he wrote in Roman letters so that his wife could not read it, Takuboku recorded with
overpowering honesty his complex emotional and intellectual life.

Akutagawa Ryūnosuke, pseudonym Chōkōdō Shujin or Gaki, (born March 1, 1892, Tokyo, Japan—died
July 24, 1927, Tokyo), prolific Japanese writer known especially for his stories based on events in the
Japanese past and for his stylistic virtuosity.

As a boy Akutagawa was sickly and hypersensitive, but he excelled at school and was a voracious reader.
He began his literary career while attending Tokyo Imperial University (now the University of Tokyo),
where he studied English literature from 1913 to 1916.

Akutagawa Ryūnosuke

JAPANESE AUTHOR
WRITTEN BY: The Editors of Encyclopaedia Britannica

See Article History

Alternative Titles: Chōkōdō Shujin, Gaki

Akutagawa Ryūnosuke, pseudonym Chōkōdō Shujin or Gaki, (born March 1, 1892, Tokyo, Japan—died
July 24, 1927, Tokyo), prolific Japanese writer known especially for his stories based on events in the
Japanese past and for his stylistic virtuosity.

akutagawa ryunosuke

akutagawa ryunosuke

Akutagawa Ryunosuke.

National Diet Library

Akutagawa Ryūnosuke

QUICK FACTS

akutagawa ryunosuke

BORN

March 1, 1892

Tokyo, Japan

DIED

July 24, 1927 (aged 35)

Tokyo, Japan

NOTABLE WORKS

“Rashōmon”

“Kappa”

As a boy Akutagawa was sickly and hypersensitive, but he excelled at school and was a voracious reader.
He began his literary career while attending Tokyo Imperial University (now the University of Tokyo),
where he studied English literature from 1913 to 1916.
ADVERTISEMENT

The publication in 1915 of his short story “Rashōmon” led to his introduction to Natsume Sōseki, the
outstanding Japanese novelist of the day. With Sōseki’s encouragement he began to write a series of
stories derived largely from 12th- and 13th-century collections of Japanese tales but retold in the light of
modern psychology and in a highly individual style. He ranged wide in his choice of material, drawing
inspiration from such disparate sources as China, Japan’s 16th-century Christian community in Nagasaki,
and European contacts with 19th-century Japan. Many of his stories have a feverish intensity that is
well-suited to their often macabre themes.

Akutagawa is one of the most widely translated of all Japanese writers, and a number of his stories have
been made into films. The film classic Rashomon (1950), directed by Kurosawa Akira, is based on a
combination of Akutagawa’s story by that title and another story of his, “Yabu no naka” (1921; “In a
Grove”).

In a Grove" is one of the most popular of Akutagawa's short stories, having been adapted into a film in
1950 and also widely translated into many languages during the '90s. Whereas this version of the story
was translated over 50 years ago, Jay Rubin's recent translation of this text in Rashōmon and Seventeen
Stories provides a more modern understanding of the Japanese language, the biggest change being that
Masago doesn't truly confess in the way that we know the word. It is more akin to "repentance" or
"penitence" because of its religious connotations.

At a quick glance, it is easy to see that the three stories do not match up. In fact, Tajomaru, Masago, and
Takehiko each say that they killed Takehiko with their own hands. The things we can presume to know
are as follows: 1) Takehiko is dead, 2) Tajomaru raped Masago, 3) Tajomaru stole the arrows, quiver,
and horse, 4) Masago wishes Takehiko to be dead, 5) Masago and Tajomaru did not leave together.
There are many discrepancies between the various accounts and they vary vastly in significance. For the
woodcutter, who first discovered the body, mentions a comb that is never brought up again. He also
speculates about a "violent struggle" that trampled the leaves, which only occurs as a duel in Tajomaru's
story. When asked to describe the body, the woodcutter says that it wears a Kyōto-style headdress and
has a single fatal sword stroke across the chest. These two details are problematic because Masago's
mother specifically indicates that Takehiko is not from Kyōto and for the sword stroke, Masago and
Takehiko both blame a dagger that is thrust into the chest for his death, not a slash.

In the Buddhist priest's account, there were more than 20 arrows in Takehiko's quiver, but the hōmen
says there were only 17. No arrows were shot in the duration of the story. Whereas the Buddhist priest
says that Masago wore a lilac kimono, Masago says that Takehiko wears this lilac kimono. The
woodcutter says that Takehiko wore a blue kimono.

Tajomaru says nothing about how Masago's dagger disappeared from the grove, which is key to both
Masago and Takehiko's accounts of the murder. Masago also neglects to mention how Takehiko's sword
disappeared from the grove, though Tajomaru admits that he dropped it during his escape.

Masago omits any post-rape conversation and says that Takehiko hated Masago and found her
disgusting afterward. According to Takehiko, he is only enraged when she asks Tajomaru to kill him, and
according to Tajomaru, Takehiko still loves her so much that he duels for her love.

And lastly, Takehiko's account introduces the shadowy character that takes the dagger from his chest
just before he dies. In the film version (Rashomon, 1950), the woodcutter steals the dagger, but this is
slightly inconsistent with his account of the blood being already dried up at the scene. In Takehiko's
account, blood flowed up to his mouth as the dagger was released. In both Takehiko and Masago's
accounts, Tajomaru kicks Masago down after the rape. Of course, Tajomaru admits only to the duel that
follows the rape because he wants to make a wife of Masago.

In short, this story is tough to summarize because of its constant refutations, even in seemingly
insignificant details such as the Kyōto-style headdress and the colors of the kimonos. One may wonder
how it could be possible to have such varied accounts of the same incident - an incident in which the
very real evidence of a murdered man cannot be accounted for.
This brilliant story by Rynosuke Akutagawa brings into question the accuracy of the human perception
and fully illustrates our tendency to lie he excelled in examining the darker side of humanity in his
writings. But the thing about this story is Ryunosuke Akutagawa didn't really provide us with a
distinction between what the truths are and what are merely fabrications. What he did is provide us
with information, and it would be up to the readers to form the puzzle and make out the story for it to
be rational. This is a series of testimonials about a murder. And as you go on reading along, your former
belief of what really happened would be contradicted by another person's account...leaving the readers
to wonder what really happened after all.

The point is that it's impossible to know the truth of what happened. All facts are second hand,
everything is hearsay. In attempting to find out what the truth is, we find out just how murky the waters
of "truth" truly are. Here are the vital information taken from the testimonies of the characters.

The woodcutter says he found a body of a man wearing a blue silk kimono and Kyoto style hair. There
was no sword. He also mentions that there was a fight because there were fallen bamboo blades and
blood all around. Apparently this fight took place a while, because the blood dried up. He mentions a
comb, which no one else does. No horse. The body was found off the Yamashina road where there is
apparently a grove of cedars and bamboo.

The priest's story perplexes me, primarily because of the detail. He knows exactly how many arrows are
in the man's quiver. He claims not to notice the details of the woman, yet he does know her robes, her
veiled face, and her height. He encounters them around noon. The woman was riding a sorrel nag. They
were on the road from Sekiyama to Yamashina according to him.

The policeman finds a brigand Tajomaru with a sorrel horse and a plain sword, as well as a quiver of
arrows, and wearing a blue silk kimono. Notice the difference: seventeen arrows vs. twenty as
mentioned earlier. Also of note: the bow and arrows look like those belonging to the man, but we don't
know if they are. He also claims that apparently he had tried to arrest Tajomaru earlier, but he got away.
Tajomaru is a robber, and he is suspected have murdered a wife and a girl.

The old woman claims to be the mother (note: we don't know if she is or not) of the deceased's wife.
She's the only one who gives people names, so we can't confirm she even knows the corpse. Takehito
apparently left for Wakasa (don't know where that is in relation to either of the above locations). She
mentions Tajomaru, but since he was arrested and notorious by many accounts, we may assume she
heard rumors.

Tajomaru claims to have met the couple a little past noon. He makes no mention of the priest. The
woman was veiled. Tajomaru carries a sword that he used to kill. Tajomaru apparently lured the man
and his wife to the mountain with the promise of swords and mirrors. The man went in, the woman
stayed behind on the horse because the grove was too thick. The grove is made of bamboo and cedars.
The man was taken by surprise by Tajomaru, and bound by a rope Tajomaru had, and gagged with
bamboo leaves. He then lead the woman in. The woman drew a small sword and attempted to struggle,
but he overpowered her, and wrestled her sword away. He rapes her, and is about to leave, when the
woman stops him, asking him to kill her husband or kill himself. He is somehow persuaded out of a
desire to make her his wife, and so he unties the samurai and does battle. Both do battle, the man dies.
Tajomaru then finds the woman gone. He steals the sword, bow and arrows, and the horse, and
somehow between this moment and when he is arrested, manages to lose the sword.

The lady takes the story off from where her husband (or so she claims) is bound and she had been
raped. She identifies the robber as the man in the blue silk kimono. Trying to run to her husband, she is
struck and knocked unconscious. When she comes to, her husband is still there and the thief gone. The
husband looks at the wife with hatred and grief. Determined to kill the husband, she looks for a weapon,
but the only weapon left is her small sword. The man, out of contempt, accepts the death and so is
stabbed. The woman tries to kill herself in several ways, including stabbing her own throat with the
small sword.

The medium, and presumably the man, begins the story at the robber violating the wife. The samurai
confirms he was bound and gagged. The robber asks the woman to be his wife. The wife accepts, and
begs the robber to kill her. The robber knocks the wife down and asks the samurai whether or not he
should kill her. The wife, while the robber is distracted, manages to get away cleanly. The robber, taking
the sword and quiver, cuts the samurai's bonds and flees. The samurai kills himself with the small sword
left behind. Then someone removes the sword. Blood flows as a result.

The story is like a riddle without an answer. If you try to solve the story of the man and who murdered
him, you can't. It's impossible. But the point ISN'T who murdered the man. The point is to question just
what the manner of truth is. This is a very existentialist story. Note that EVERYTHING is second hand. We
don't know anything.

Among the things we don't know:

Whose body the woodcutter discovered. Both men were wearing blue silk kimonos.

Whether or not the woodcutter is describing the scene as he saw it. He could have stolen the small
sword. The blood might not have dried when he had gotten there. He may have even been an
accomplice.

If there was really a comb, and if so, what was it doing there?

What the Buddhist priest was doing on the road before and after he met the couple.

If the man responsible really was Tajomaru.

If the old woman really was the mother.

If the woman really was the wife.

Why the woman and medium's story begin at the raping, and omit all that happened previously.

If the medium is accurate. Even if she has the ability to see and communicate with the dead, is she
telling the story in full?

If the samurai killed himself, who took the sword? Could have been anyone. Maybe the woodcutter,
maybe someone else.

Most importantly, we're missing any kind of descriptions from two very important characters that you
may not realize at first are actual characters: The High Police Commissioner and the stenographer. Who
is this High Police Commissioner? He says one line, so we know that he's there and he's meant to be
thought of as an independent person from the reader. What's his story? What does he know? What
evidence does he have? What did he get from his investigation? Why doesn't he ask any other
questions? Who did he interview? Is this it? Is there more? More important even than him is the
stenographer. All of this is written transcription. Who wrote it? Moreover, what's the angle of the
person who did write it? Did it happen? All we have is the person's written account. We don't know if
that's what they said. We don't know if this case even existed.

Also, who's showing us this evidence? Where is it from? Is the sternographer giving it to us? Perhaps
another character is presenting this information? If so, is this all the testimonies? Were others
interviewed? Is there more to the interview? If so, why are we only given this? Through what manner
did we obtain what we're reading right now?

While certain details match up, we ultimately know absolutely nothing at all. It is said that truth is a
fragmented one, and that there exists no truth that is actually absolute. For whatever human reason
and for however these people involved in the story have twisted, covered up, extended, dramatized,
lied, or, however defeating may this appeal, told the reality of the actual story of the murder that had
happened, one thing here is tried to be buried in the mound yet is quite clear: "truth", and that it is a
matter of positioning. Where one must stand to wholly see where truth stands is an unknown space.
One must not rest on only one particular account of the truth; yet as what the short story likely is
portraying, seven accounts of some truth are not even enough still. Truth is a fragmented one, and the
fragments are unknown as to how many pieces. Twisting, covering up,extending, dramatizing, or lying
are not the ones that are the matter in the story, but is the manner of how truth is perceived. Some say,
one perceives truth in a manner one does for reasons like: immense probability that it might actually be
real true, or personal want or desire for it to be actually true; these, among many others. Those who
said those might be saying of the truth, but then again, they might not be as well.