HAIKU CHARM AND THE DRAGONFLY TRILOGY

Bashō’s famous poem provides the titles of both my first series, Dragonfly Trilogy, and the series’ Book Two, Dragonfly Wings. I hope you’ll read on to discover the reason.

Japanese haiku charm many of us because they challenge us to dig under the poems’ commonplace descriptions in order to unearth insights and sensations. Often, we experience the poems’ settings in nature as though actually present there. (As a reminder, a haiku’s expected format is 5 syllables for the first line, seven for the second, and five again for the third. The waka and tanka poems are similar, but with different formatting rules.)

In the Dragonfly Trilogy, the daughter of a samurai named Sumi stars with John Cardiff, a New York merchant. Sumi appreciates the haiku classics and knows many by heart. Since much of the series’ setting is in Nagasaki, Japan, I included several haiku in each of the three novels.

Book One, The Year of the Barbarian, which gets its title from the opening of secluded Japan to the “barbaric” Westerners, has five haiku and one five-line waka poem. This one written by the poet Bonchō reflects Sumi’s anxiety at being betrothed to a distant stranger: A sound reverberates—Alone with no one around—The scarecrow tumbles. She even wonders if an unknown spirit could be seeking revenge, making her tumble.

Sumi thinks of a waka poem by Fujiwara-no-Yoshitsume as she empathizes with a wife whose husband has been arrested for merely keeping an ancestor’s cross. (Christianity was still illegal in Japan in the story’s setting of 1859.) A single cricket—Chirping in the chilly night—A mat, cold and white—Readied with a folded robe—How is it I sleep alone? The cricket may long for its missing mate too. Notice the sterile feeling of the mat because the robe is unused. So sad!

Sumi chose to quote this haiku by Sodō at her family’s celebration of the moon god’s festival: My shadow leads me—From the moon’s awesome splendor—To my waiting home. The poet is so awestruck by the moon that he turns toward his home’s familiarity. Then when a guest of Sumi’s family subtly criticizes Sumi’s clothing style, she slyly adds a haiku by Chiyo, a female poet: Whatever our clothes—We transform into beauty—When viewing the moon. Can you see the silvery luster cloaking Sumi and the guest’s frown?

 While frustrated by all she is learning and experiencing, Sumi sees a washbasin, in whose design the bold dragonflies must fly only in circles. She thinks of Issa’s haiku: From the first basin—To the final washbasin—Reflecting riddles. Must all of life be puzzling? Meaningless?

 As mentioned, Book Two, Dragonfly Wings, gets its title from Bashō’s haiku in the picture above. Scholars believe the poet was implying a Buddhist belief that everything has a common essence, but Sumi sees the poem as a reflection of her desire to soar above her confines like a dragonfly, and not remain like a pepper pod behind garden walls.When John Cardiff, the other main character, demonstrates bravery in a dangerous situation, Sumi thinks he is like Issa’s depiction of a dragonfly, admired by all Japanese warriors for its courage: Distant mountain peaks—Reflecting in the small eyes—Of the dragonfly. Note the the sizes of the goal and the eyes.

 Sumi decides a tanka poem by Tsurayuki accurately describes a man’s fickleness: The cherry blossom—Said to be most transient—Yet I disagree—More fleeting still: a man’s heart—Even with no breath of wind. Sumi’s grandfather tries to comfort her with another tanka, reminding her of their ancestral home’s lasting beauty: A heart is hidden—From people’s understanding—But in the old site—Blossoms from ancient eras—Give out their fragrance.

Two of Bashō’s haiku make Sumi think twice about dying: Struck ill journeying—My dreams are wandering still—Through the dried-up fields. Perhaps dying does not end the pain.Also, Summer field of grass—Of warriors’ glorious dreams—Only it remains. The first time this poem appears in the trilogy, it confirms Sumi’s ideas of life’s futility. But revisiting the haiku much later, she entertains new insights into what is truly lasting.

Book Three, Two Autumns, One Spring, also takes its title from a haiku, this one by Buson, expressing the sadness of two people forced to part from each other: For the one who goes—For the one who must remain—Exists two autumns. The withering leaves and approaching winter can cause a melancholy feeling, matching the sadness of a farewell. (But note there is “one spring” in the book’s title as well.)

When Sumi’s heart is torn, she gazes at the Milky Way, wishing she could move from star to star to reach her loved one. This brings to her mind another Bashō haiku: Wild sea billowing—Stretching toward Sado Island—River of heaven.All is turbulent below, but the stars are not disturbed.

One of the story’s villains writes his own death haiku in case he should die: The lone soul ascends—While left behind in the woods—The turtle-dove’s song.

 I’ve tried not to give story spoilers in this post, but this effort may have left you wondering about some of the poems’ meanings. Seeing the haiku in context while reading the stories can solve that problem. Of course, as the author, that is my hope (smiles)! Click on “My Books” in the menu above to learn more about these novels. They can be purchased as paperbacks and eBooks on Amazon.