FOURTH HOSHI-TO-MORI INTERNATIONAL TANKA CONTEST -- 2002 Commentary by James Kirkup 　To my delight, this fourth crop of Tanka Contest entries maintains the gradual increase in quality and range of tanka which has been such a notable feature of the event in the past two years. Perhaps it is this year's theme of "The Sea" which has inspired the contestants. From the early days of the Ancient Greeks and Homer's famous "wine-dark sea" to the present day, poets including "the Greeks of the Orient" the sea-going adventurers of Japan have loved, worshipped and feared the sea in all its manifestations. It is a vast and noble poetic subject, and the many entries showed all the various aspects of the sea in all its moods. As I studied the entries, I could not help remembering these lines from William Wordsworth's great sonnet -- our English tanka that classeic from might be called: ... The gentleness of heaven broods o'er the Sea; Listen! the mighty Being is awake, And doth with his eternal motion make A sound like thunder -- everlastingly... I wonder how many of the contestants "got into training" by reading great poems about the sea? Such poetic preparation is invaluable to the amateur or the beginner. Several contestants wrote about stormy oceans, tragic drawnings and memories of childhood by the sea. Others saw the sea as a great mother cherishing the drowned and the tempest-tossed ships. It was a great challenge to accomodate such an enormous natural force to such a brief poetic form as the tanka. So few writers managed to suggest the awesome grandeur of the subject in a convincing way. Yet the tanka, so short, is a wonderfully adaptable form, as we find when reading the works of ancient Japanese poets, who often wrote tanka about the sea as well as about love and the beauty of flowers and bird song. The tanka is compact, yet delicate, and the secret of writing a good tanka is to make it sound as natural as speech. It should have a subtle rhythmical flow, and a pure simplicity of thought, expressed with musical feeling. It was ovious that some writers -- both Japanese and non-Japanese -- could not count their syllables correctly. Of course, even professionals sometimes take liberties with the strict tanka form, and we tolerate a lost syllable or an extra one now and then. That is because professionals do not usually count syllables on their fingers: they know so well the length of the tanka, they can nearly always write it instinctively with the correct number of syllables. I recently published a book called In Thickets of Memory (Miwa Shobo) an anthology of some of the best 700 tanka by the veteran tanka poet Saito Fumi, who died this year at 93 years of age. She is a genius of tanka, and often uses a rather relaxed form if it fits her thought and imagery better. But as her faithful translator, I felt it was my duty to respect the correct 31-syllable form, because she is a genius, and I am an amateur by comparison. So I hope future contestants will follow my example, and not allow themselves to write incorrectly-counted lines! After all, the fine classic shape of a 310syllable tanka is treasure of litterature, that we must respect and endeavour to emulate as best we can. Though the standard of entries is getting higher year by year, I reluctantly decided that none deserved the Grand Prize. I look forward to that happy day when I can award such a great honour for the first time! Here is my choice of the best five, with brief comments on each one: First: No. 22 The smell of the sea in the streets of my hometown exactly the same in this place far from my home where no person knows my name 　This tanka is very touching in its nostalgia for home, awakened by the universal scent we all recognize, wherever we are. The last line is particularly touching with its sense of loneliness and desolation. 　Second: No. 10 Late in bed tonight homesick for the coast -- husband murmurs "It's like surf" that soft throbbing distant roar of traffic from the city 　This tanka has a pleasant, homely charm, and also has that touch of nostalgia for the sea. The last line comes as a surprise, and a revelation. Third: No. 13 Some summer evenings the Angelus bells still ring from the rich city, which the sea once swallowed up many cnturies ago. 　There is a feeling of ancient history and legend in this haunting sound of the Angelus bell, reminding us of Claude Debussy's La Cathedrale engloutie. Fourth: No. 33 Waves slowly erode clifftops where we used to play as carefree children. I sit by your grave and hear seagulls calling with your voice. 　A very moving evocation of childhood by the sea, and of the sorrows the sea can bring in later life. Fifth: No. 8 A grown-up once said reflected colour of sky makes the deep so blue. But I do not believe it. The deep is bluer than sky. 　I was at once attracted and charmed by this simple-seeming tanka, because of its honesty and child-like freshness of vision. I admire the writer for sticking to his own opinion, in the face of all scientific adult logic. And it proves that a tanka can also be witty! signature of James Kirkup Andorra. Go to the award of the 4th contest Go to the top Copyright(C)2001 Hoshi-to-Mori, All Rights Reserved.