Photo/Illutration A statue of poet Taneda Santoka stands at the Shinkansen entrance of Shin-Yamaguchi Station in Yamaguchi in 2014. (Asahi Shimbun file photo)

“Those most sensitive to the changing seasons are, among plants, grasses; among animals, insects; and among human beings, solitary people, travelers and the poor.”

This reflection appears in one of Taneda Santoka’s (1882–1940) essays, a glimpse into the sensibility of the beloved wandering poet who broke with convention to pioneer a stark, free-form haiku style.

One of his most distilled free-verse haiku captures both his voice and his worldview: “The hopeless, unfixable me is walking on.”

No sooner had the balmy spring passed, and no sooner had we heard that “rikka”—the first day of summer in the old lunisolar calendar—had arrived, than the scorching heat already seemed threateningly near.

Many parts of the Japanese archipelago saw midsummer-like temperatures topping 30 degrees on May 17.

A line from a poem about early summer heat by Chinese poet Yang Wanli (1127–1206) came to mind: “If only the fifth month is already like this, how can one bear what the sixth month will bring?”

Why do both the seasons that arrive and those that depart hurry past us so quickly? Feeling the early summer breeze on my cheeks and lingering wistfully over the spring that was slipping away, I walked through the streets.

The lush green trees gave off their soothing fragrance, and pale pink roses seemed to wear subtle smiles. In the park, children's buoyant voices rang out.

Squinting in the dazzling light, I looked up at a cloudless blue sky. I felt a little sweaty and thirsty. At a drinking fountain, I turned the tap on and drank in great, gulping swallows.

Perhaps I should respectfully borrow instead a line from Santoka as he described the way he savored water deeply, like a traveler unbound by anything: “hyo hyo to shite mizu wo ajiwau” (Drifting, unburdened, I taste the water.)

I stepped into the shade of a tree, caught my breath and ruminated on another line from the poet: “Such delicious water is overflowing everywhere.”

Refreshing season, bracing wind—please do not leave yet. Stay just a little longer. I found myself wishing for that, however vainly.

“I am a being like grass or an insect,” wrote the haiku poet who continued his journeys of mendicancy.

Gently, quietly, amid the turning seasons, people somehow go on living all the same.

“Yesterday I walked; today I walked; tomorrow I must walk; and the day after tomorrow, again.”

—The Asahi Shimbun, May 18

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Vox Populi, Vox Dei is a popular daily column that takes up a wide range of topics, including culture, arts and social trends and developments. Written by veteran Asahi Shimbun writers, the column provides useful perspectives on and insights into contemporary Japan and its culture.

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