Cluster Twelve:
Suma Poetics

Until not so long ago, Suma bay, west of Kobe, was one of the most famous scenic spots in ancient Japan, a landscape characterized by pine trees and white sandy beaches. Suma is already an important poetic subject in the 8th century Manyoshu anthology and is also the name of a chapter in the Genji Monogatari. Since the Heian-period, the beach has been poetically associated with the full moon of autumn. Apparently, it was quite a lonely place that inspired susceptible visitors to a melancholy mood. On top of that, Suma was the location of a dramatic battle of the Taira-Minamoto wars of 1180-85, later celebrated in the Heike Monogatari. Basho traveled here in 1688 in search of those poetic allusions and was followed by Buson, Shiki and Hosai. Sumadera, not far from the coast, is an old, esoteric temple that still attracts a flourishing folklore of religious customs. The grounds are graced by many haiku stones as well as tanka poems. More kuhi can be found in Suma-ura Park, which is perhaps the closest one can get to the beach that has now been buried under a highway.

Basho gives a description of Suma in the last part of his travel diary 'Manuscript in my Knapsack' (Oi no kobumi). The essence of Suma Bay, its sadness and loneliness, was to be appreciated most of all in autumn. Suma was famous for the moon of that season. Basho visited Suma in summer and although he viewed the moon, it was not the famous, full moon of autumn. Therefore, a very important aspect was lacking, as if there was no moon at all. In a humorous tribute to the locus genii of Suma, Basho wrote:

the moon is present
but seems absent
summer in Suma

There were other things not quite right in Suma, too. The disappointment of modern travelers (Suma has long since lost its allure to highways and factories) seems already foreshadowed in Basho's haiku. In ancient poetry, centuries before Basho's time, the beach of Suma had been celebrated for its salt making (by boiling sea water in pots), but this custom had apparently disappeared. He found that there was no distinctive local trade left in the villages on the coast. On the contrary, the conduct of the fishermen of Suma was rather rude, and different from the poetic reputation of the place:

at the arrowhead
of the Suma fishermen
a cuckoo's cry?

The fishermen would catch small fish in their nets and dry them on the beach, where the catch could easily become the prey of crows. The fishermen used to scare away the crows by shooting arrows at them. Basho was shocked at this rude practice: killing birds was not what fishermen were supposed to do. Perhaps, he muses, it was a remnant of the bloody wars between the Genji and Heike that had taken place here in the past.

At an overnight stop in nearby Akashi Basho wrote one of his greatest haiku:

octopus pots -
fleeting dreams
under the summer moon

Octopus pots are earthenware traps used for catching octopus. Caught in the pot at the bottom of the sea, the octopus enjoys a brief, pleasant dream, without realizing his pending fate. The summer moon shines innocently over the whole scene - an apt comparison for the human condition.

Let's have a look at the dream that once was Suma...

First I visit Suma-ura Park with its crooked pine trees to see what Basho and Buson have to say about Suma's geographical features. Perhaps somewhat disappointing, in the poem on the haiku stone in the park Basho does not address the human condition nor the historical links of the place. He has written a playful poem about its location, right on the border of Settsu and Harima provinces, also called Suma and Akashi, and at the same time uses it to display his classical erudition.

Basho probably watched the provincial border from Mt. Hachibuse, a hill of just under 250 meters, which is now accessible by a ropeway. A snail crossing the border line is half in Settsu (Kobe-Suma) and half in Harima (Himeji area), jokes Basho. In the 'Manuscript in my Knapsack,' Basho does not quote this haiku, but he alludes to the situation by saying that 'a hill divided the beach of Suma on the left and that of Akashi on the right,' reminding him of a similar scene on the border of the old states of Wu and Chu in China. The snail probably makes its appearance because the chapter called Suma in the Genji Monogatari says that Suma and Akashi are so close that one can "crawl" from one to the other.

As stated above, Suma used to be famous for its scenic coastline, but today not much is left of that much-praised beauty. The coast has been developed in a roughshod way and the beach has fallen prey to a provincial highway and a railway line. There are still some pine trees, but these have been recently planted in the Suma-ura Park and on Hachibuse Hill. The hill itself is crowned with a pleasure park and there is nothing left of the melancholy mood. The Suma of today is bright and gaudy, and it is doubtful whether it is still a fit place for enjoying the moon.

That was still different when Buson came here, following in the footsteps of Basho, although he choose to write about the sea on a spring day rather than the melancholy moon. Buson twice traced the haiku master's foot steps, in 1766 and 1778. The above haiku, written during his first visit, aptly conveys the impression of the sea in spring, its light waves falling softly on the beach.

That sea is still the same when I visit on a soft and hazy day in late May. I stand on the hill, high above the bustle, and for a while am back in Buson's enchanted world of the softly undulating spring sea. Notari notari...

Suma temple is one of the oldest temples in the Kobe area and still very popular with worshipers. It belongs to Shingon Buddhism and is dedicated to Kannon, the Goddess of Mercy. The extensive grounds are full to the brim with monuments, from haiku stones to quaint Buddhas and Jizos, modern memorials and statues. It is veritable storehouse of historical, literary and popular religious lore and I come here after seeing the kuhi in Suma-ura Park.

Not far from Suma temple is Ichinotani, the site of a famous battle that took place in 1184, during the civil strife between the Genji and Heike. Coming from Suma beach, Basho has to walk over a narrow ridge, skirting fearful precipices. Ichinotani is the valley where the Heike forces had made quarter, thinking themselves safely enclosed by its steep ridges. However, the Genji commander Yoshitsune performed the incredible feat of leading a small band of riders in a surprise attack down the vertical cliff walls. By this bold tactic, he annihilated the numerically superior Heike forces. In his 'Manuscript in my Knapsack' Basho paints a scene of great confusion: to escape the onslaught, the courtly Heike scramble to their boats on the beach.

Many other, smaller battles were also fought and Basho's haiku alludes to the most famous of these. Kumagai Jiro Naozane (1141-1208), a Genji warrior, sees the fleeing Heike run to their boats. Riding on the beach, he is eager to challenge one of their generals. He then spots a fine-looking warrior who is about to urge his horse into the sea toward one of the boats. Naozane attacks and in the ensuing fight, he finally manages to wrestle his strong adversary to the ground and remove the helmet to cut off his head.

To his surprise, he sees a sixteen year old boy before him, and thinking about his own son, hesitates to deal the final blow. The young courtier refuses to give his name. Just when Naozane is about to spare him, a band of his comrades comes riding along and now he has no choice anymore. Suppressing his tears, he strikes off the young boy's head. Naozane is so unnerved at the necessary cruelty of war, that he later renounces the world and becomes a Buddhist priest.

After Naozane has wrapped the head in a cloth, he finds a flute tucked in the boy's sash. He has indeed heard the sound of a flute from the Heike camp and wondered at the gentleness of these courtiers - in contrast, he himself, like the other Genji warriors, is from rough-and-ready provincial samurai stock. Later he learns that the young warrior he has killed is Taira no Atsumori (1169-1184); the flute was a prized family possession, originally a gift from Emperor Toba.

The small museum of Suma Temple exhibits this very flute. Atsumori's flute later became the subject of a tanka poem containing the conceit that the flute, though not being played anymore, can still be heard through the ages. Basho deftly uses this conceit in his own haiku.

Buson follows Basho here by also writing a haiku about the flute of Atsumori and thereby hinting at the tragedy of the hero's premature death. But Buson's poem is very different from Basho's, where a soundless flute plays on through the ages.

Buson in his turn aptly pulls various other themes concerning Suma together. Besides the flute, he mentions the waves of the sea, who come near, presumably to listen to the flute (reminding us of the spring sea in his other Suma haiku); thus he hints at Suma's beautiful beach; and finally he mentions autumn, the season of the famous moon of Suma (that also does not make an actual appearance). In short, moon, sea and romantic legend are woven into one harmonious whole.

In the summer of 1895, Masaoka Shiki (1867-1902) stayed for a month in Suma, to seek a cure for his tuberculosis. This illness had already plagued him since 1889, but had become severe in 1895 when Shiki traveled to China as a correspondent for the Sino-Japanese War. To recover, Shiki stayed at Suma Hoyoin, a kind of hospital. The mosquito net from which he views the bay with its white sails is therefore located not in a villa or hotel, but in his hospital room. Still, the haiku aptly conveys he atmosphere of Suma that in the Meiji period had become a fashionable resort. Thanks to his stay of one month, Suma appears frequently in Shiki's poems.

Shiki was an essayist and poet of samurai stock who in his short life managed the enormous feat of revitalizing and modernizing the traditional poetic forms of haiku and tanka. From 1895, his stay in Suma, onwards, he was almost an invalid, but he kept up a high production of poems and essays. Shiki advocated poems written after reality, presenting real life in everyday language. The poems and essays he wrote about his illness are remarkably devoid of self-pity. Standing in Suma, we see Shiki on his hospital bed, himself like a ship sailing by all too quickly...

Ozaki Hosai (1885 - 1926) was the first Japanese poet to write free form haiku in a colloquial style. His subjects are found in his daily life, his poverty, and nature around him. His work is also permeated by a sense of loneliness. Viewing the moon alone, without the company usual at such occasions, there is nothing left but to go to bed soon.

Hosai had several jobs (beginning as an insurance salesman), but quit them all, or was expelled because of his dissolute lifestyle and heavy drinking. In his last years he lived alone as a caretaker in a temple, first in Kyoto, then Suma, Fukui and finally on Shodo Island. He lived in Suma Temple for 9 months in 1924, and there the present haiku was written.