Don't imitate me too much!
Look, what's the use of such a resemblance?
Two halves of a melon. For students
I want at least once
Go to the market on holidays
Buy tobacco
"Autumn has already arrived!"
The wind whispered in my ear
Creeping up to my pillow.
One hundred times more noble
Who does not say at the flash of lightning:
"This is our life!"
All the worries, all the sadness
Of my troubled heart
Give it to the flexible willow.
What freshness blows
From this melon in drops of dew,
With sticky wet earth!
In the garden where the irises opened,
Chat with an old friend,
What a reward for a traveler!
Cold mountain spring.
I did not have time to scoop up a handful of water,
How the teeth are already broken
Here's a connoisseur's quirk!
On a flower without fragrance
The moth dropped.
Come on, friends!
Let's go wandering through the first snow,
Until we fall off our feet.
Evening bindweed
I'm captured... Still
I am in oblivion.
Frost hid him
The wind makes his bed...
Abandoned child.
There is such a moon in the sky
Like a tree cut down at the root:
White fresh cut.
The yellow leaf floats.
Which coast, cicada,
Do you suddenly wake up?
How the river overflowed!
The heron wanders on short legs
Knee-deep in water.
Like a banana moaning in the wind,
How drops fall into a tub,
I hear all night long. In a thatched hut
Willow leaned over and sleeps.
And it seems to me, a nightingale on a branch ...
This is her soul.
Top-top is my horse.
I see myself in the picture -
In the expanse of summer meadows.
You hear suddenly "shorch-shorch".
Sadness stirs in my heart...
Bamboo on a frosty night.
Butterflies flying
Wakes up a quiet meadow
In the rays of the sun
How the autumn wind whistles!
Then only understand my poems,
When you spend the night in the field.
And I want to live in autumn
To this butterfly: drinks hastily
Dew from the chrysanthemum.
Flowers withered.
Seeds are falling, falling
Like tears...
gusty sheet
Hid in a bamboo grove
And gradually calmed down.
Take a close look!
Shepherd's purse flowers
You will see under the fence.
Oh, wake up, wake up!
Become my friend
Sleeping moth!
They fly to the ground
Going back to old roots...
Separation of flowers! In memory of a friend
Old pond.
The frog jumped into the water.
A surge in silence.
Autumn Moon Festival.
Around the pond and around again
All night long!
That's all I'm rich in!
Light as my life
Pumpkin gourd. Grain storage jug
First snow in the morning.
He barely covered
Narcissus leaves.
The water is so cold!
Seagull can't sleep
Ride on the wave.
The pitcher burst with a crash:
At night, the water in it froze.
I woke up suddenly.
Moon or morning snow...
Admiring the beautiful, I lived as I wanted.
This is how I end the year.
Clouds of cherry blossoms!
The ringing of the bells floated ... From Ueno
Or Asakusa?
In a flower cup
A bumblebee is napping. Don't touch him
Sparrow friend!
Stork nest in the wind.
And under it - beyond the storm -
Cherries are a calm color.
Long day to fly
Sings - and does not get drunk
Lark in spring.
Over the expanse of fields -
Not tied to the ground
The lark calls.
May rains pour down.
What's this? Has the rim burst on the barrel?
The sound of an obscure night ...
Pure spring!
Up ran down my leg
Little crab.
It's been a clear day.
But where do the drops come from?
A patch of clouds in the sky.
As if taken in hand
Lightning when in the dark
You lit a candle. In praise of the poet Rick
How fast the moon flies!
On fixed branches
Drops of rain hung.
important steps
Heron on fresh stubble.
Autumn in the village.
Dropped for a moment
Threshing rice peasant,
Looks at the moon.
In a glass of wine
Swallows, don't drop
Clay lump.
There used to be a castle here...
Let me be the first to tell about it
A spring flowing in an old well.
How thick the grass is in summer!
And only one-leaf
One single sheet.
Oh no ready
I can't find a comparison for you
Three day month!
hanging motionless
Dark cloud in the sky...
It can be seen that lightning is waiting.
Oh, how many of them are in the fields!
But everyone blooms in their own way -
This is the highest feat of a flower!
Wrapped his life
around the suspension bridge
This wild ivy.
Blanket for one.
And icy black
Winter night... Oh, sadness! Poet Rika mourns his wife
Spring is leaving.
The birds are crying. The eyes of fish
Full of tears.
The distant call of the cuckoo
Sounded right. After all, these days
The poets have moved.
A thin tongue of fire, -
The oil in the lamp has frozen.
Wake up... What sadness! in a foreign land
West East -
Everywhere the same trouble
The wind is still cold. To a friend who went to the West
Even a white flower on the fence
Near the house where the mistress was gone,
Cold covered me. Orphaned friend
Broke off a branch
Wind running through the pines?
How cool is the splash of water!
Here in drunkenness
To fall asleep on these river stones,
Overgrown with cloves...
Get up off the ground again
Fading in the mist, chrysanthemums,
Crushed by heavy rain.
Pray for happy days!
On a winter plum tree
Be like your heart.
Visiting cherry blossoms
I have been neither more nor less -
Twenty happy days.
Under the shade of cherry blossoms
I'm like an old drama hero,
At night lay down to sleep.
Garden and mountain in the distance
Trembling, moving, entering
In a summer open house.
Driver! lead the horse
Over there, across the field!
There is a cuckoo singing.
May rains
The waterfall was buried -
Filled with water.
summer herbs
Where the heroes have disappeared
Like a dream. On the old battlefield
Islands... Islands...
And crushed into hundreds of fragments
Summer day sea.
What a blessing!
Cool green rice field...
The murmur of water...
Silence around.
Penetrate into the heart of the rocks
Voices of cicadas.
Gate of the Tide.
Washes the heron up to the chest
Cool sea.
Drying small perches
On the branches of a willow... What a coolness!
Fishing huts on the shore.
Wooden pestle.
Was he ever a willow
Was it a camellia?
Celebration of the meeting of two stars.
Even the night before is so different
For a normal night! On the eve of Tashibam holiday
Raging sea space!
Far away, to the island of Sado,
The Milky Way creeps.
With me under the same roof
Two girls... Hagi branches in bloom
And a lonely month In hotel
What does ripe rice smell like?
I was walking through the field, and suddenly -
To the right is the Gulf of Ariso.
Tremble, oh hill!
Autumn wind in the field -
My lonely moan. In front of the grave mound of the early deceased poet Isse
Red-red sun
In the desert distance ... But it freezes
Ruthless autumn wind.
Pines... Nice name!
Leaning towards the pines in the wind
Bushes and autumn grasses. A place called Sosenki
Musashi Plain around.
None will touch the cloud
Your travel hat.
Wet, walking in the rain
But this traveler is also worthy of a song,
Not only hagi in bloom.
O merciless rock!
Under this glorious helmet
Now the cricket is ringing.
Whiter than white rocks
On the slopes of the stone mountain
This autumn whirlwind!
Farewell verses
On the fan I wanted to write -
It broke in his hands. Breaking up with a friend
Where are you, moon, now?
Like a sunken bell
Hidden at the bottom of the sea. In Tsuruga Bay, where the bell once sank
Butterfly never
He won't be... Shaking in vain
Worm in the autumn wind.
A house in seclusion.
Moon ... Chrysanthemums ... In addition to them
A piece of a small field.
Cold rain without end.
This is how a chilled monkey looks,
As if asking for a straw cloak.
Winter night in the garden.
With a thin thread - and a month in the sky,
And cicadas barely audible ringing.
Nuns story
About the former service at the court ...
Deep snow all around. In a mountain village
Children, who is faster?
We'll catch up with the balls
Ice cereal. I play with children in the mountains
Tell me what for
Oh raven, to the bustling city
Are you flying from here?
How tender are the young leaves
Even here in the weeds
At the forgotten house.
Camellia petals...
Maybe the nightingale dropped
Flower hat?
Ivy leaves...
For some reason their smoky purple
He talks about the past.
Mossy gravestone.
Under it - is it in reality or in a dream? -
A voice whispers prayers.
Everything is spinning dragonfly ...
Can't get caught
For stalks of flexible grass.
Do not think with contempt:
"What small seeds!"
It's red pepper.
First left the grass...
Then he left the trees...
Lark flight.
The bell is silent in the distance,
But the scent of evening flowers
Its echo floats.
The cobwebs tremble a little.
fine strands of saiko grass
They tremble in the twilight.
dropping petals,
Suddenly spilled a handful of water
Camellia flower.
The stream is slightly visible.
Float through the thicket of bamboo
Camellia petals.
May rain is endless.
Mallows are reaching somewhere
Looking for the path of the sun.
Weak orange flavor.
Where?.. When?.. In what fields, cuckoo,
Did I hear your flying cry?
Falling down with a leaf...
No, look! Halfway
The firefly fluttered.
And who could say
Why do they have such a short life!
The silent sound of cicadas.
Fisherman's hut.
Messed up in a pile of shrimp
Lone cricket.
White hair fell.
Under my headboard
The cricket does not stop.
Ill go down goose
On the field on a cold night.
Sleep lonely on the way.
Even a wild boar
Will swirl, take away with it
This winter whirlwind of the field!
It's the end of autumn
But believe in the future
Green tangerine.
Portable hearth.
So, the heart of wanderings, and for you
There is no rest anywhere. At the road hotel
The cold came along the way.
At the bird's scarecrow, or something,
In debt to ask for sleeves?
Seaweed stalks.
The sand creaked on my teeth...
And I remembered that I was getting old.
Manzai came late
To a mountain village.
The plums are already blooming.
Why all of a sudden such laziness?
They just woke me up today...
Noisy spring rain.
sad me
Drink more sadness
Cuckoos distant call!
I clapped my hands.
And where the echo sounded
The summer moon is blazing.
A friend sent me a gift
Risu, and I invited him
Visit the moon itself. On a full moon night
deep antiquity
A breeze ... Garden near the temple
Covered with dead leaves.
So easy-easy
Came out - and in the cloud
The moon thought.
Quail scream.
It must be evening.
The eye of the hawk faded.
Together with the owner of the house
I listen silently to the evening bells.
Willow leaves are falling.
White fungus in the forest.
Some unfamiliar leaf
Sticking to his hat.
What sadness!
Suspended in a small cage
Captive cricket.
Night silence.
Just behind the picture on the wall
The cricket is ringing.
Glittering dewdrops.
But they have a taste of sadness,
Don't forget!
That's right, this cicada
Is it all out of foam? -
One shell remained.
Fallen leaves.
The whole world is one color.
Only the wind hums.
Rocks among cryptomeria!
How to sharpen their teeth
Winter cold wind!
Planted trees in the garden.
Quiet, quiet, to encourage them,
Whispering autumn rain.
So that a cold whirlwind
To drink the aroma, they opened again
Late autumn flowers.
Everything was covered in snow.
Lonely old woman
In the forest hut.
Ugly raven -
And he's beautiful on the first snow
On a winter morning!
Like soot sweeps away
Cryptomerium tops treplet
A rising storm.
Fish and birds
I don't envy anymore... I'll forget
All the sorrows of the year Under the new year
Nightingales sing everywhere.
There - behind the bamboo grove,
Here - in front of the river willow.
From branch to branch
Quietly running drops ...
Spring rain.
Through the hedge
How many times have they fluttered
Butterfly wings!
Closed her mouth tightly
Sea shell.
Unbearable heat!
Only the breeze dies -
Willow branch to branch
The butterfly will flutter.
The winter hearth is getting along.
How old the familiar stove-maker has aged!
Whitened strands of hair.
Year after year, the same
Monkey amuses the crowd
In a monkey mask.
Didn't take my hands off
Like a spring breeze
Settled in a green sprout. planting rice
Rain follows rain
And the heart is no longer disturbed
Sprouts in the rice fields.
Stayed and left
Bright moon... Remained
Table with four corners. In memory of the poet Tojun
First fungus!
Still, autumn dews,
He didn't count you.
perched a boy
On the saddle, and the horse is waiting.
Collect radish.
The duck crouched down on the ground.
Covered with a dress of wings
Your bare feet...
Sweep the soot.
For myself this time
The carpenter gets along well. Before New Year
O spring rain!
Streams run from the roof
Along wasp nests.
Under an open umbrella
I make my way through the branches.
Willows in the first fluff.
From the sky of their peaks
Only river willows
Still pouring rain.
Hillock next to the road.
To replace the extinguished rainbow -
Azaleas in the sunset light.
Lightning at night in darkness.
Lakes expanse of water
Sparks flared up suddenly.
Waves run across the lake.
Some regret the heat
Sunset clouds.
The ground is slipping from under your feet.
I grab onto a light ear ...
The moment of parting has come. Saying goodbye to friends
My whole life is on the way!
Like I'm digging up a little field
I wander back and forth.
transparent waterfall...
Fell into the light
Pine needle.
Hanging in the sun
Cloud ... Randomly on it -
Migratory birds.
Buckwheat did not ripen
But they treat the field in flowers
A guest in a mountain village.
End of autumn days.
Already raising his hands
Shell chestnut.
What do people eat there?
House stuck to the ground
Under the autumn willows.
Chrysanthemum scent...
In the temples of ancient Nara
Dark buddha statues.
Autumn mist
Broke and drives away
Friends conversation.
Oh this long way!
The autumn dusk is falling,
And not a soul around.
Why am I so strong
Did you smell old age this fall?
Clouds and birds.
Late autumn.
I'm alone thinking
"And how does my neighbor live?"
On the way, I fell ill.
And everything is running, circling my dream
Through the scorched fields. death song
* * *
Poems from travel diaries
Maybe my bones
The wind will whiten - It is in the heart
I breathed cold. Going on the road
You are sad, listening to the cry of the monkeys!
Do you know how a child cries
Abandoned in the autumn wind?
Moonless night. Darkness.
With millennial cryptomeria
Grabbed into an embrace whirlwind.
The ivy leaf is quivering.
In a small bamboo grove
The first storm rumbles.
You stand indestructible, pine tree!
And how many monks have lived here,
How many bindweeds have faded... In the garden of the old monastery
Drops dewdrops - current-current -
Source, as in previous years ...
Wash away the worldly dirt! The source sung by the Saigyo
Twilight over the sea.
Only the cries of wild ducks in the distance
Blurred white.
Spring morning.
Over every nameless hill
Transparent haze.
I am walking along the mountain path.
Suddenly it became easy for me.
Violets in dense grass.
From the heart of a peony
The bee crawls slowly...
Oh, with what reluctance! Leaving a hospitable home
young horse
Chewing merrily ears of corn.
Rest on the way.
To the capital - there, far away -
Only half of the sky remains...
Snow clouds. On the mountain pass
Winter day sun
My shadow is freezing
On the horse's back.
She is only nine days old.
But they know both fields and mountains:
Spring has come again.
Cobwebs in the sky.
I see the image of the Buddha again
At the foot of the empty. Where the statue of Buddha once stood
Let's hit the road! I'll show you
Like cherry blossoms in distant Yoshino,
My old hat.
As soon as I got well,
Exhausted, until the night ...
And suddenly - wisteria flowers!
Soaring larks above
I sat down in the sky to rest -
On the crest of the pass.
Cherries at the waterfall...
For those who love good wine,
I'll take down the branch as a gift. Waterfall "Dragon Gate"
Like spring rain
Runs under a canopy of branches...
The spring softly whispers. Stream near the hut where Saigyo lived
Gone spring
In the distant harbor of Waka
I finally caught up.
On Buddha's birthday
He was born into the world
Little deer.
I saw before
In the rays of dawn the face of a fisherman,
And then - a blooming poppy.
Where it flies
The cry of the dawn cuckoo,
What's there? - A remote island.
Japanese culture is often classified as a "closed" culture. The originality of Japanese aesthetics, the unusual charm of Japanese customs and the beauty of Japanese art monuments are revealed to a European not immediately, not from the first acquaintance. Haiku, or haiku, as you like, is a national Japanese form of poetry, a genre of poetic miniature, simply, concisely, succinctly and reliably depicting nature and man in their indissoluble unity. Once you open a haiku collection, you will forever remain a prisoner of Japanese poetry.
I barely got better
Exhausted, until the night ...
And suddenly - wisteria flowers!
Basho
Just three lines. Few words. And the reader's imagination has already painted a picture: a tired traveler who has been on the road for many days. He is hungry, exhausted, and finally, lodging for the night! But our hero is in no hurry to enter, because suddenly, in an instant, he forgot about all the hardships in the world: he admires the flowers of wisteria.
From the heart of a peony
The bee slowly creeps out...
Oh, with what reluctance!
Basho
This is how sensitively the Japanese treats nature, reverently enjoys its beauty, absorbs it.
Perhaps the reason for this attitude should be sought in the ancient religion of the Japanese people - Shintoism? Shinto preaches: be grateful to nature. She is ruthless and harsh, but more often - generous and affectionate. It was the Shinto faith that instilled in the Japanese sensitivity to nature, the ability to enjoy its endless changeability. Shinto was replaced by Buddhism, just as Christianity replaced paganism in Rus'. Shinto and Buddhism are a stark contrast. On the one hand, there is a sacred attitude to nature, veneration of ancestors, on the other hand, a complex oriental philosophy. Paradoxically, these two religions coexist peacefully in the Land of the Rising Sun. A modern Japanese will admire the cherry blossoms, cherries, autumn maples blazing with fire.
Fearfully tremble in the evenings
Cherry beauties.
Issa
Japan is very fond of flowers, and they prefer simple, field ones with their timid and discreet beauty. A tiny garden or flower bed is often planted near Japanese houses. An expert on this country, V. Ovchinnikov, writes that one must see the Japanese islands in order to understand why their inhabitants consider nature to be the measure of beauty.
Japan is a country of green mountains and sea bays, mosaic rice fields, gloomy volcanic lakes, picturesque pine trees on the rocks. Here you can see something unusual: bamboo, bowed under the weight of snow, is a symbol of the fact that north and south are adjacent in Japan.
The Japanese subordinate the rhythm of their lives to events in nature. Family celebrations are timed to coincide with the cherry blossoms, the autumn full moon. Spring on the islands is not quite like our European one, with melting snow, ice drifts, floods. It starts with a wild burst of flowering. Pink sakura blossoms delight the Japanese not only with their abundance, but also with their fragility. The petals are so loosely held in the inflorescences that at the slightest breath of a breeze a pink waterfall flows to the ground. On such days, everyone rushes out of town, to the parks. Listen to how the lyrical hero punishes himself for breaking the branch of a flowering tree:
Throw a stone at me.
Plum blossom branch
I'm broken now.
Kikaku
The first snow is also a holiday.
In Japan, it doesn't happen often. But when he walks, it becomes very cold in the houses, since the houses of the Japanese are light gazebos. And yet the first snow is a holiday. The windows open and, sitting at the small braziers, the Japanese drinks sake, admires the snow flakes that fall on the paws of the pines, on the bushes in the garden.
First snow.
I would pour it on a tray
Everything would look and look.
Kikaku
Maple trees blazed with autumn foliage - in Japan, a holiday of admiring the crimson foliage of maples.
Oh, maple leaves.
Wings you burn
Flying birds.
Siko
All haiku is conversion. To whom?
To the leaves. Why does the poet refer to maple leaves? He loves their bright colors: yellow, red - even burning the wings of birds. Imagine for a moment that a poetic invocation was addressed to oak leaves. Then a completely different image would have been born - an image of stamina, endurance, because the leaves of oaks cling tightly to the twigs until winter frosts.
In the classical three-verse, some season should be reflected. Here Issa spoke about autumn:
Peasant in the field.
And showed me the way
Picked radish.
About the transience of a sad winter day, Issa will say:
open your beak,
The wren did not have time to sing.
The day is over.
And here you, no doubt, remember the hot summer:
flocked together
To the sleeping mosquitoes.
Dinner time.
Issa
Think about who's in for dinner. Of course, mosquitoes. What an irony.
A traditional Japanese haiku is a 17-complex poem written in one hieroglyphic column (line) and consisting of three rhythmic parts of 5-7-5 syllables, the first of which is the thesis, the second is the antithesis, the third is catharsis, or insight. Translations of haiku written in other languages are usually written in three lines. However, not all three-verses, in translation, have such a clear construction (5 + 7 + 5). Why? The translator must convey the author's idea and at the same time maintain a strict form. This does not always succeed, and in this case he sacrifices form.
sazaregani asi hainoboru shimizu kanna
little crab
Ran on the leg.
Pure water.
Basho
This genre chooses the means of artistic expression extremely sparingly: there are few epithets and metaphors. There is no rhyme, no strict rhythm is observed. How does the author manage to create an image in a few words, with stingy means. It turns out that the poet works a miracle: he awakens the imagination of the reader himself. The art of haiku is the ability to say a lot in a few lines. After reading a poem, you imagine a picture, an image, you experience it, you rethink, you think out, you create.
Willow leaned over and sleeps.
And it seems to me, a nightingale on a branch -
This is her soul.
Basho
Japanese art is eloquent in the language of innuendo. Important principles of haiku poetry are understatement or "yugen", ambiguity and afterfeeling. Beauty is in the depths of things. To be able to notice it, you need a delicate taste.
The author of a haiku does not name the feeling, but evokes it, pushing the reader to unfold his chain of associations. At the same time, the created image itself must resonate with the consciousness (or subconscious) of the reader, without explanation and chewing. The effect caused by a haiku is comparable (according to Alexei Andreev) to the effect of an unfinished bridge: you can cross it to the "opposite shore" only by completing it in your imagination.
The Japanese don't like symmetry. If the vase on the table is in the middle, it will automatically move to the edge of the table. Why? Symmetry as completeness, as completeness, as repetition, is uninteresting. So, for example, dishes on a Japanese table (service) will necessarily have a different pattern, different colors.
Often, ellipsis appears in the haiku finale. This is not an accident, but a tradition, a principle of Japanese art. For a resident of the Land of the Rising Sun, the thought is important and close: the world is forever changing, therefore there can be no completeness in art, there can be no peak - a point of balance and peace. The Japanese even have a catchphrase: "Empty spaces on a scroll are more meaningful than the brush has drawn on it."
The highest manifestation of the concept of "yugen" is a philosophical garden. It is a poem of stone and sand. American tourists see it as a "tennis court" - a rectangle covered with white gravel, where stones are scattered in disorder. What does the Japanese think about, peering into these stones? V. Ovchinnikov writes that words cannot convey the philosophical meaning of the rock garden, for the Japanese it is an expression of the world in its endless variability.
But back to literature. The great Japanese poet Matsuo Basho raised the genre to an unsurpassed height. Every Japanese knows his poems by heart.
Basho was born into a poor samurai family in the province of Iga, which is called the cradle of old Japanese culture. These are incredibly beautiful places. The poet's relatives were educated people, and Basho himself began to write poetry as a child. His life path is unusual. He took tonsure, but did not become a real monk. Basho settled in a small house near the city of Edo. This hut is sung in his poems.
IN A THINGED HUT
Like a banana moaning in the wind,
How drops fall into a tub,
I hear all night long.
In 1682, a misfortune happened - Basho's hut burned down. And he began a long journey through Japan. His fame grew, and many disciples appeared throughout Japan. Basho was a wise teacher, he did not just pass on the secrets of his skill, he encouraged those who were looking for their own path. The true style of haiku was born in controversy. These were disputes of people truly dedicated to their work. Bonte, Kerai, Ransetsu, Shiko are the students of the famous master. Each of them had his own handwriting, sometimes very different from the handwriting of the teacher.
One of the poet's greatest poems is "The Old Pond". This is a milestone in the history of Japanese poetry.
furuike i
kawazu tobikomu
mizu no oto
* * *
Old pond!
The frog jumped.
Water splash.
(Translated by T. P. Grigorieva)
Not only the complete impeccability of this poem from the point of view of the numerous prescriptions of this shortest and most concise form of poetry (although someone, but Basho, was never afraid to violate them), but also a deep meaning, the quintessence of the beauty of Nature, calmness and harmony of the soul of the poet and the world around , make this haiku a great work of art. This is not the place to talk about the wordplay traditional for Japanese poetry, which allows creating two, three, or even four semantic layers in 17 or 31 syllables, which can be deciphered only by connoisseurs, or even only by the author himself. Moreover, Basho did not really like this traditional technique - marukekatombo. The poem is fine without it. Numerous comments on the "Old Pond" occupy more than one volume. But the essence of avare - "sad charm and unity with Nature" was expressed by the great poet in this way.
Wanderer! - This word
Will become my name.
Long autumn rain...
Basho walked the roads of Japan bringing poetry to the people. In his poems - peasants, fishermen, tea pickers, the whole life of Japan with its bazaars, taverns on the roads ...
Dropped for a moment
Threshing rice peasant,
Looks at the moon.
"Every poem I've ever written in my life is my last poem." Matsuo Basho
During one of his travels, Basho died. Before his death, he created the "Dying Song":
On the way I got sick
And everything is running, circling my dream
Through scorched meadows.
And haiku lines are always the way to the reader's own creativity, that is, to your personal inner solution to the topic proposed to you. The poem ends, and here the poetic comprehension of the theme begins ...
Matsuo Basho. Engraving by Tsukioka Yoshitoshi from the 101 Views of the Moon series. 1891 The Library of Congress
Genre haiku originated from another classical genre - five-line tank in 31 syllables, known since the 8th century. There was a caesura in the tanka, at this point it “broke” into two parts, resulting in a three-line with 17 syllables and a couplet with 14 syllables - a kind of dialogue that was often composed by two authors. This original three-verse was called haiku, which literally means "initial stanzas". Then, when the tercet received an independent meaning, became a genre with its own complex laws, they began to call it haiku.
The Japanese genius finds itself in brevity. Three-verse haiku is the most concise genre of Japanese poetry: only 17 syllables of 5-7-5 mor mora- a unit of measure for the number (longitude) of a foot. Mora is the time required to pronounce a short syllable. in line. There are only three or four significant words in a 17-complex poem. In Japanese, haiku is written in one line from top to bottom. In European languages, haiku is written in three lines. Japanese poetry does not know rhymes; by the 9th century, the phonetics of the Japanese language had developed, including only 5 vowels (a, i, y, e, o) and 10 consonants (except for voiced ones). With such phonetic poverty, no interesting rhyme is possible. Formally, the poem is based on the count of syllables.
Until the 17th century, haiku writing was viewed as a game. Hai-ku became a serious genre with the appearance of the poet Matsuo Basho on the literary scene. In 1681, he wrote the famous poem about the crow and completely changed the world of haiku:
On a dead branch
Raven blackens.
Autumn evening. Translation by Konstantin Balmont.
Note that the Russian symbolist of the older generation Konstantin Balmont in this translation replaced the “dry” branch with a “dead” one, unnecessarily, according to the laws of Japanese versification, dramatizing this poem. In translation, it turns out that the rule of avoiding evaluative words, definitions in general, except for the most ordinary ones, is violated. "Haiku Words" ( haigo) should be distinguished by deliberate, precisely adjusted simplicity, difficult to achieve, but clearly felt insipidity. Nevertheless, this translation correctly conveys the atmosphere created by Basho in this haiku, which has become a classic, the longing of loneliness, the universal sadness.
There is another translation of this poem:
Here the translator added the word "lonely", which is not in the Japanese text, but its inclusion is justified, since "sad loneliness on an autumn evening" is the main theme of this haiku. Both translations are highly acclaimed by critics.
However, it is obvious that the poem is even simpler than it was presented by the translators. If you give it a literal translation and place it in one line, as the Japanese write haiku, then you get the following extremely brief statement:
枯れ枝にからすのとまりけるや秋の暮れ
On a dry branch / a raven sits / autumn twilight
As we can see, the word "black" is missing in the original, it is only implied. The image of a “frozen raven on a bare tree” is Chinese in origin. "Autumn Twilight" aki no kure) can be interpreted both as “late autumn” and as “autumn evening”. Monochrome is a quality highly valued in the art of haiku; the time of day and year is depicted, erasing all colors.
Haiku is least of all a description. It is necessary not to describe, the classics said, but to name things (literally “give names to things” - down the hole) in extremely simple words and as if calling them for the first time.
Raven on a winter branch. Engraving by Watanabe Seitei. Around 1900 ukiyo-e.org Haiku are not miniatures, as they have long been called in Europe. The greatest haiku poet of the late 19th and early 20th centuries, who died early from tuberculosis, Masaoka Shiki, wrote that haiku contains the whole world: the raging ocean, earthquakes, typhoons, the sky and stars - the whole earth with the highest peaks and the deepest sea depressions. The haiku space is immeasurable, infinite. In addition, haiku tends to be combined into cycles, into poetic diaries - and often life-long, so that brevity of haiku can turn into its opposite: into the longest works - collections of poems (albeit of a discrete, interrupted nature ).
But the passage of time, past and future X aiku does not depict, haiku is a brief moment of the present - and nothing more. Here is an example of Issa's haiku, perhaps the most beloved poet in Japan:
How the cherry blossoms!
She drove off the horse
And the proud prince.
Transience is an immanent property of life in the understanding of the Japanese; without it, life has no value and meaning. Transience is so beautiful and sad because its nature is impermanent, changeable.
An important place in haiku poetry is associated with the four seasons - autumn, winter, spring and summer. The sages said: "He who has seen the seasons has seen everything." That is, I saw birth, growing up, love, new birth and death. Therefore, in classical haiku, the necessary element is the “seasonal word” ( kigo), which connects the poem with the seasons. Sometimes these words are hard to recognize by foreigners, but the Japanese know them all. Detailed databases of kigo are now being searched on Japanese networks, some with thousands of words.
In the above haiku about the crow, the seasonal word is very simple - "autumn". The coloring of this poem is very dark, accentuated by the atmosphere of an autumn evening, literally “autumn twilight,” that is, black against the background of gathering twilight.
See how gracefully Basho introduces the obligatory sign of the season into the parting poem:
For a spike of barley
I grabbed, looking for support ...
How difficult is the moment of separation!
"Spikelet of barley" directly indicates the end of summer.
Or in a tragic poem by the poetess Chiyo-ni on the death of her little son:
O my dragonfly hunter!
Where in an unknown country
Are you running today?
"Dragonfly" is a seasonal word for summer.
Another "summer" poem by Basho:
Summer herbs!
Here they are, the fallen warriors
Dreams of fame...
Basho is called the poet of wanderings: he wandered around Japan a lot in search of true haiku, and, going on a journey, he did not care about food, lodging for the night, vagabonds, and the vicissitudes of the journey in the remote mountains. On the way he was accompanied by the fear of death. The sign of this fear was the image of "Bones Whitening in the Field" - that was the title of the first book of his poetic diary, written in the genre haibun("haiku-style prose"):
Maybe my bones
The wind will whiten ... He is in the heart
I breathed cold.
After Basho, the theme of "death on the way" became canonical. Here is his last poem, "The Death Song":
On the way I got sick
And everything is running, circling my dream
Through the scorched fields.
Imitating Basho, haiku poets always composed "the last stanzas" before they died.
"True" ( makoto no) the poems of Basho, Buson, Issa are close to our contemporaries. The historical distance seems to be removed in them due to the immutability of the haiku language, its formulaic nature, which has been preserved throughout the history of the genre from the 15th century to the present day.
The main thing in the worldview of a haikaist is a keen personal interest in the form of things, their essence, connections. Let's remember the words of Basho: "Learn from the pine, what is the pine, learn from the bamboo, what is the bamboo." Japanese poets cultivated a meditative contemplation of nature, peering into the objects surrounding a person in the world, into the endless cycle of things in nature, into its bodily, sensual features. The goal of the poet is to observe nature and intuitively perceive its connections with the human world; Haikaists rejected ugliness, non-objectivity, utilitarianism, abstraction.
Basho created not only haiku poetry and haibun prose, but also the image of a wandering poet - a noble man, outwardly ascetic, in a poor dress, far from everything worldly, but also aware of the sad involvement in everything that happens in the world, preaching conscious "simplification". The haiku poet is characterized by an obsession with wanderings, the Zen Buddhist ability to embody the great in the small, awareness of the frailty of the world, the fragility and variability of life, the loneliness of man in the universe, the astringent bitterness of being, the feeling of the inseparability of nature and man, hypersensitivity to all natural phenomena and the change of seasons. .
The ideal of such a person is poverty, simplicity, sincerity, a state of spiritual concentration necessary to comprehend things, but also lightness, transparency of verse, the ability to depict the eternal in the current.
At the end of these notes, we will cite two poems by Issa, a poet who tenderly treated everything small, fragile, defenseless:
Quietly, quietly crawl
Snail, on the slope of Fuji,
Up to the very heights!Hiding under the bridge
Sleeping on a snowy winter night
Homeless child.
A few years ago, the Russian Wildlife Conservation Center held an unexpected competition in support of the March for Parks campaign - children were invited to try their hand at writing haiku - Japanese three-line poems that reflect the diversity and beauty of wildlife and illustrate the relationship between nature and man. 330 schoolchildren from various regions of Russia took part in the competition. In our review, a selection of poems of the winners of the competition. And in order to give an idea of classical haiku, we present the works of famous Japanese poets of the 17th-19th centuries that are the closest in terms of subject matter, translated by Markova.
Classic Japanese haiku
Cut reeds for the roof.
On forgotten stems
Light snow is falling.
I am walking along the mountain path.
Suddenly it became easy for me.
Violets in dense grass.
Long day all the way
Sings - and does not get drunk
Lark in spring.
Hey shepherd boy!
Leave some plum branches,
Cutting whips.
Oh, how many of them are in the fields!
But everyone blooms in their own way -
This is the highest feat of a flower!
Planted trees in the garden.
Quiet, quiet, to encourage them,
Whispering autumn rain.
In a flower cup
A bumblebee is napping. Don't touch him
Sparrow friend!
On a bare branch
Raven sits alone.
Autumn evening.
Competitive haiku of Russian schoolchildren
By the lake in the mountains
Black-capped marmot.
He is well.
Violeta Bagdanova, 9 years old, Kamchatka region
Sleep-grass blooms
Like a blue flame
Under the spring sun.
Ekaterina Antonyuk, 12 years old, Ryazan region
Tulips are sad
Waiting for the smile of the sun
The whole steppe will blaze.
Elmira Dibirova, 14 years old, Republic of Kalmykia
blood field,
But there was no battle.
The sardines have blossomed.
Violetta Zasimova, 15 years old, Republic of Sakha (Yakutia)
Little flower.
Little bee.
We are glad to each other.
Serezha Stremnov, 9 years old, Krasnoyarsk Territory
Lily of the valley
Grows, pleases, heals.
Miracle.
Yana Saleeva, 9 years old, Khabarovsk Territory
Horseflies bite an elk.
He gives them
A life full of joy.
Dmitry Chubov, 11th grade, Moscow
Sad picture:
Wounded deer
The brave hunter finishes.
Maxim Novitsky, 14 years old, Republic of Karelia
Tractor, wait
A nest in the thick grass!
Let the chicks fly!
Anastasia Skvortsova, 8 years old, Tokyo
small ant
So much useful did Tom,
who crushed him.
Yulia Salmanova, 13 years old, Republic of Altai
The Japanese, as you know, have their own special view on many things. Including fashion. To that confirmation.
Japanese three-line haiku for schoolchildren
Japanese three-line haiku
Japanese culture is often classified as a "closed" culture. The originality of Japanese aesthetics, the unusual charm of Japanese
customs and beauty of the monuments of Japanese art. One of the manifestations of the "mysterious Japanese soul" - haiku poetry - is introduced to us in her material by the lecturer-methodist Svetlana Viktorovna Samykina, Samara.
As soon as I got well,
Exhausted, until the night ...
And suddenly - wisteria flowers!
Basho
Just three lines. Few words. And the reader's imagination has already painted a picture: a tired traveler who has been on the road for many days. He is hungry, exhausted, and finally, lodging for the night! But our hero is in no hurry to enter, because suddenly, in an instant, he forgot about all the hardships in the world: he admires the flowers of wisteria.
Haiku, or haiku. How do you like. Homeland - Japan. Date of birth - Middle Ages. Once you open a haiku collection, you will forever remain a prisoner of Japanese poetry. What is the secret of this unusual genre?
From the heart of a peony
The bee slowly creeps out...
Oh, with what reluctance!
Basho
This is how sensitively the Japanese treats nature, reverently enjoys its beauty, absorbs it.
Perhaps the reason for this attitude should be sought in the ancient religion of the Japanese people - Shintoism? Shinto preaches: be grateful to nature. She is ruthless and harsh, but more often - generous and affectionate. It was the Shinto faith that instilled in the Japanese sensitivity to nature, the ability to enjoy its endless changeability. Shinto was replaced by Buddhism, just as Christianity replaced paganism in Rus'. Shinto and Buddhism are a stark contrast. On the one hand, there is a sacred attitude to nature, veneration of ancestors, on the other hand, a complex oriental philosophy. Paradoxically, these two religions coexist peacefully in the Land of the Rising Sun. The modern Japanese will admire the cherry blossoms, cherries, autumn maples blazing with fire.
From human voices
Fearfully tremble in the evenings
Cherry beauties.
Issa
In Japan, flowers are very fond of, and they prefer simple, field flowers with their timid and discreet beauty. A tiny garden or flower bed is often planted near Japanese houses. An expert on this country, V. Ovchinnikov, writes that one must see the Japanese islands in order to understand why their inhabitants consider nature to be the measure of beauty.
Japan is a country of green mountains and sea bays, mosaic rice fields, gloomy volcanic lakes, picturesque pine trees on the rocks. Here you can see something unusual: bamboo, bowed under the weight of snow, is a symbol of the fact that north and south adjoin in Japan.
The Japanese subordinate the rhythm of their lives to events in nature. Family celebrations are timed to coincide with the cherry blossoms, the autumn full moon. Spring on the islands is not quite like our European one, with melting snow, ice drifts, floods. It starts with a wild burst of flowering. Pink sakura blossoms delight the Japanese not only with their abundance, but also with their fragility. The petals are so loosely held in the inflorescences that at the slightest breath of a breeze a pink waterfall flows to the ground. On such days, everyone rushes out of town, to the parks. Listen to how the lyrical hero punishes himself for breaking the branch of a flowering tree:
Throw a stone at me.
Plum blossom branch
I'm broken now.
Kikaku
The first snow is also a holiday.
In Japan, it doesn't happen often. But when he walks, it becomes very cold in the houses, since the houses of the Japanese are light gazebos. And yet the first snow is a holiday. The windows open and, sitting at the small braziers, the Japanese drinks sake, admires the snow flakes that fall on the paws of the pines, on the bushes in the garden.
First snow.
I would pour it on a tray
Everyone would look and look.
Kikaku
Maple trees blazed with autumn foliage - in Japan, a holiday of admiring the crimson foliage of maples.
Oh, maple leaves.
Wings you burn
Flying birds.
Siko
All haiku is conversion. To whom?
To the leaves. Why does the poet refer to maple leaves? He loves their bright colors: yellow, red - burning even the wings of birds. Imagine for a moment that a poetic invocation was addressed to oak leaves. Then a completely different image would have been born - an image of stamina, endurance, because the leaves of oaks cling tightly to the twigs until winter frosts.
In the classic three-line, some season should be reflected. Here Issa spoke about autumn:
Peasant in the field.
And showed me the way
Picked radish.
About the transience of a sad winter day, Issa will say:
open your beak,
The wren did not have time to sing.
The day is over.
And here you, no doubt, remember the hot summer:
flocked together
To the sleeping mosquitoes.
Dinner time.
Issa
Think about who's in for dinner. Of course, mosquitoes. The author is ironic.
Let's see what the structure of haiku is like. What are the laws of this genre? Its formula is simple: 5 7 5. What do these numbers mean? We can invite children to explore this problem, and they will certainly find that the numbers above indicate the number of syllables in each line. If we carefully look at the collection of haiku, we will notice that not all three-verse lines have such a clear construction (5 7 5). Why? The children themselves will answer this question. The fact is that we read Japanese haiku in translation. The translator must convey the author's idea and at the same time maintain a strict form. This is not always possible, and in this case he sacrifices form.
This genre chooses the means of artistic expression extremely sparingly: there are few epithets and metaphors. There is no rhyme, no strict rhythm is observed. How does the author manage to create an image in a few words, with stingy means. It turns out that the poet works a miracle: he awakens the imagination of the reader himself. The art of haiku is the ability to say a lot in a few lines. In a sense, each three-verse ends with an ellipsis. After reading a poem, you imagine a picture, an image, you experience it, you rethink, you think out, you create. That is why we are working for the first time in the second grade with the concept of "artistic image" on the material of Japanese three-verses.
Willow leaned over and sleeps.
And it seems to me, a nightingale on a branch -
This is her soul.
Basho
We discuss the poem.
Remember how we usually see willow?
This is a tree with silver-green leaves, bent by the water, by the road. All willow branches are sadly lowered down. No wonder in poetry willow is a symbol of sadness, sadness, longing. Remember the poem by L. Druskin “There is a willow ...” (see the textbook by V. Sviridova “Literary reading”, grade 1) or Basho:
All the worries, all the sadness
Of my troubled heart
Give it to the flexible willow.
Sadness, longing is not your way, the poet tells us, give this load to the willow, because it is all the personification of sadness.
What can you say about the nightingale?
This bird is inconspicuous, gray, but how it sings!
Why is the nightingale the soul of the sad willow?
Apparently, we learned about the thoughts, dreams, hopes of the tree from the song of the nightingale. He told us about her soul, mysterious and beautiful.
Do you think the nightingale sings or is silent?
This question (as is often the case in a literature lesson) can have several correct answers, because everyone has their own image. Some will say that the nightingale, of course, sings, otherwise how would we know about the soul of the willow? Others will think that the nightingale is silent, because it is night, and everything in the world is sleeping. Each reader will see his picture, create his own image.
Japanese art is eloquent in the language of innuendo. Understatement, or yugen, is one of his principles. Beauty is in the depths of things. Be able to notice it, and for this you need a delicate taste. The Japanese don't like symmetry. If the vase on the table is in the middle, it will automatically move to the edge of the table. Why? Symmetry as completeness, as completeness, as repetition, is uninteresting. So, for example, dishes on a Japanese table (service) will necessarily have a different pattern, different colors.
Often, ellipsis appears in the haiku finale. This is not an accident, but a tradition, a principle of Japanese art. For a resident of the Land of the Rising Sun, the thought is important and close: the world is forever changing, therefore there can be no completeness in art, there can be no peak - a point of balance and peace. The Japanese even have a catchphrase: "Empty places on a scroll are full of more meaning than the brush has drawn on it."
The highest manifestation of the concept of "yugen" is a philosophical garden. It is a poem of stone and sand. American tourists see it as a "tennis court" - a rectangle covered with white gravel, where stones are scattered in disorder. What does the Japanese think about, peering into these stones? V. Ovchinnikov writes that words cannot convey the philosophical meaning of the rock garden, for the Japanese it is an expression of the world in its endless variability.
But back to literature. The great Japanese poet Matsuo Basho raised the genre to an unsurpassed height. Every Japanese knows his poems by heart.
Basho was born into a poor samurai family in the province of Iga, which is called the cradle of old Japanese culture. These are incredibly beautiful places. The poet's relatives were educated people, and Basho himself began to write poetry as a child. His life path is unusual. He took tonsure, but did not become a real monk. Basho settled in a small house near the city of Edo. This hut is sung in his poems.
IN A THINGED HUT
Like a banana moaning in the wind,
How drops fall into a tub,
I hear all night long.
In 1682, a misfortune happened - Basho's hut burned down. And he began a long journey through Japan. His fame grew, and many disciples appeared throughout Japan. Basho was a wise teacher, he did not just pass on the secrets of his skill, he encouraged those who were looking for their own path. The true style of haiku was born in controversy. These were disputes of people truly dedicated to their work. Bonte, Kerai, Ransetsu, Shiko are the students of the famous master. Each of them had his own handwriting, sometimes very different from the handwriting of the teacher.
Basho walked the roads of Japan bringing poetry to the people. In his poems - peasants, fishermen, tea pickers, the whole life of Japan with its bazaars, taverns on the roads ...
Dropped for a moment
Threshing rice peasant,
Looks at the moon.
During one of his travels, Basho died. Before his death, he created the "Dying Song":
On the way I got sick
And everything is running, circling my dream
Through scorched meadows.
Another famous name is Kobayashi Issa. Often his voice is sad:
Our life is a dewdrop.
Let only a drop of dew
Our life is still...
This poem was written on the death of his little daughter. Buddhism teaches not to worry about the departure of loved ones, because life is a dewdrop ... But listen to the poet's voice, how much inescapable grief there is in this "and yet ..."
Issa wrote not only on high philosophical topics. Own life, fate was reflected in the work of the poet. Issa was born in 1763 into a peasant family. The father dreamed of his son becoming a successful merchant. To do this, he sends him to study in the city. But Issa became a poet and, like his brothers in the poetic guild, he walked around the villages, earning a living by composing haiku. Issa got married at the age of 50. Beloved wife, 5 children. Happiness was fleeting. Issa loses all loved ones.
Maybe that's why he is sad even in the sunny time of flowering:
Sad world!
Even when the cherry blossoms...
Even then…
That's right, in a former life
You were my sister
Sad cuckoo…
He marries two more times, and the only child who continued his family will be born after the death of the poet in 1827.
Issa found his way in poetry. If Basho cognized the world, penetrating into its innermost depths, looking for connections between individual phenomena, then Issa in his poems sought to capture accurately and completely the reality surrounding him and his own feelings.
Spring again.
New stupidity is coming
Replace the old one.
cool wind,
Crouched to the ground, contrived
Get me too.
Shh... just for a moment
Shut up, meadow crickets.
It's starting to rain.
Issa makes the subject of poetry everything that his predecessors diligently avoided mentioning in poetry. He connects the low and the high, arguing that every little thing, every creature in this world should be valued on an equal footing with a person.
Light pearl
The new year shone for this
Little louse.
Roofer.
Ass wraps around him
Spring wind.
Interest in the work of Issa in Japan is great today. The hockey genre itself is alive and dearly loved. Until now, in mid-January, a traditional poetry competition is held. Tens of thousands of poems on a given topic enter this competition. Such a championship has been held annually since the fourteenth century.
Our compatriots on Internet sites create their own, Russian haiku. Sometimes these are absolutely amazing images, for example, of autumn:
New autumn
Opened the season
Toccata of rain.
And gray rain
Long fingers weave
Long autumn...
And "Russian" haiku make the reader think, build an image, listen to the ellipsis. Sometimes these are mischievous, ironic lines. When the Russian team lost the football championship, this haiku appeared on the Internet:
Even in football
You have to be able to do something.
Too bad we didn't know...
There are also "ladies'" haiku:
There's nowhere to go
Shorten skirt:
The legs are gone.
Forgot who I am.
We haven't fought in such a long time.
Remind me, honey.
And here are the more serious ones:
I'll hide it securely
Pain and resentment.
I flash a smile.
Do not say anything.
Just stay with me.
Just love.
Sometimes "Russian" haiku echo well-known plots and motifs:
The barn is not on fire.
Quietly the horse sleeps in the stable.
What is a grandmother to do?
Of course, you caught the roll call with Nekrasov.
Tanya-chan lost her face
Crying about the ball rolling into the pond.
Get a grip, daughter of the samurai.
Eneke and Beneke ate sushi.
Whatever the child amuses, if only
Didn't drink sake.
And haiku lines are always the way to the reader's own creativity, that is, to your personal inner solution to the topic proposed to you. The poem ends, and here the poetic comprehension of the theme begins.
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This article is part of a group of manuals from the cycle “Thematic planning for textbooks by V.Yu. Sviridova and N.A. Churakova "Literary reading" grades 1-4.
