In 1970, I was very interested in the wandering poets Santoka and Issa. Although Issa is not usually considered a wandering poet, I was especially drawn to him. Even now I like him more than Basho, Buson, and Shiki. When I tried to see what drew me to him, I found an indescribable accessibility in his poetry. I do not want to use the term "mass appeal," but his haiku are so easy to understand.

Both are easy to understand and wonderful haiku. Two requirements of haiku are artistic quality and general appeal. Isn't it enough for a haiku to possess these two elements? Depending on how these two elements are joined, haiku can be compared with other forms of poetry.

Since that time, I have tried to learn how to accept these two elements of quality and appeal. As a result, my haiku have changed a great deal. Plainly stated, I wanted to create haiku that all could understand and love by all. My poems do not necessarily have to be loved, but I want them to be understood. With this in mind, I have continued trying to find my way. I used to think that quality mattered more than popularity, and that it was all right to write as I pleased. But I changed after the seventies. As a result, I fumbled about in various ways on my own. Some years ago, I asked some friends to show me some haiku loved by everybody and possessed of artistic merit. I wondered what would they come up with.

We settled on three examples. Basho's "An old pond/ a frog jumps in/ the sound of water" was the first chosen. Another was Shiki's "Eating a persimmon/ the sound of a bell/ Horyu Temple." And the third was Kusatao's "Snow is falling/ Meiji/ so far away."

Later, I went over them and tried to find out why they had been chosen and if they possessed something in common. One thing, of course, was the five/seven/five rhythm. I grew up near Mt. Chichibu, and from childhood could hear the folk songs during the year, and even joined in the dances myself. The folk songs had a seven/seven/seven/five beat, which still clings to me. Even now, I feel very happy when I hear the five/seven/five rhythm of haiku.

Lately, I have been saying that haiku is folk poetry and that haiku is a national folk art. This means that it is both popular and artistic. Calling it folk art means that the whole nation loves it. They are proud of it as poetry. This shortest poetic form has great power and popularity. We feel great affection and familiarity towards it. That is what makes haiku great.

Of the three poems mentioned above, I would like to speak a little about the one by Basho. When he wrote "the sound of water," Basho did something new. Until then, Japanese poets had only written about the croaking of frogs. Basho's use of the sound made when the frog entered the water was revolutionary. Indeed, we can call it a present to the world of haiku. In this haiku, the pond - "the old pond" - occupies the most important part. How prosaic it would have been if he had written "the old swamp." And I don't know if anything like "the old sea" exists. Therefore, "the old pond" is a very fitting expression.

By the way, foreigners usually look at the old pond in the poem very philosophically. I don't agree. The old pond is muddy, filled with algae, the water in it hardly ever moving. Not clear, it reflects the sunshine, and there are bugs jumping in it. That is what the "old pond" is like. I insist that with such an old pond, I can hear the splash of a frog. It jumped in somewhere. When I hear this sound, I imagine the old pond. The combination of these two - the old pond and the sound made by the splash - forms the world of the haiku. After this, each reader receives his own image.

The reason this haiku interests me so much is because I perceive animism here. "Animism" is a dangerous expression, but I have followed the dictionary's meaning. I think that Basho feels that each living thing is important and that it possesses a soul. Indeed, Basho's animism appears in "the old pond." Frankly, I want to emphasize his sensitivity toward living creatures.

What about seasonal words? In 1931, the haiku poet Kyoshi talked about the beauties of nature. He thought that the use of seasonal words would enable us to commune with nature. My attitude toward seasonal words is that they are important, but there are many other expressions besides. Seasonal words are very important, but I recognize other expressions as well.

After World War II, women haiku writers, in particular, wanted to feel free so they did not like being tied down by seasonal words. They wanted to write haiku without them. This tendency became more widespread. During the seventies, some people adhered strictly to the rules involving old and new seasonal words, while others did without them and wrote from their feelings. These two ways of thinking overlapped and have been continuing until now. They have produced today's haiku.

(A summary of a speech made at the Fifteenth HIA Meeting on May 26, 2004 in Tokyo)
(Translated into English by Richard, Kinuko. Jambor)