On a spring day, 200 or so years ago.
有明や鶯が鳴く綸が鳴る
ariake ya uguisu ga naku rin ga naru [1]
dawn!
a bush warbler sings
an altar bell rings
—Issa[2]
The altar bell he is talking about is a small Buddhist bell, called rin (磬/鈴) in Japanese, often found as part of a home altar or temple. In the West we wouldn’t call it a bell at all, but rather a singing bowl, the kind that is seating on a tiny cushion and is struck and allowed to sound until the vibration runs out. Bell is the more direct translation, but using the Western name might help you picture the scene better.
With that in mind, an alternative translation might read:
dawn!
a bush warbler cries out
a singing bowl rings
I would change “bush warbler sings” to “cries out” to avoid repeating that word twice; while it does kind of sound ok leaving it as “sings”, it’s a little too “Dr Seuss” to my ears.
Anyway, Issa is giving us a nice picturesque scene here. This is a scene you can easily picture at the beginning of a movie or TV show to set the scene. Beyond the nice image, there is a repeating theme of beginnings. The day begins, spring begins—signified by the bush warbler’s cry, a sound that everyone in Japan associates with the coming of spring—and a Buddhist ritual of some sort also begins.
Like I said, it’s a nice scene. But, a little too nice. While this kind of neat and tidy layered theme is cute, it does somewhat go against the classical idea of haiku. Bashō would not have approved. He would have only directly stated one of those “beginnings”, replaced one of the others with something unexpected or ambiguous, and indirectly hinted at the other (if not dropping it entirely).
Does that make it a bad haiku? Judging it by Bashō’s standard, yes, but Issa often was a bit more direct and he also maintained a childlike clarity that gave rise to more straightforward style.
That’s why I share this haiku. I like both styles. Though I often lean toward Bashō’s more Zen-like style, I sometimes appreciate Issa’s playfulness and find myself drawn in that direction in my own haiku writing. Hmm… like I said, I like both styles. It is a nice scene—a good, though not a great haiku—but it also is a great example of how two of the people considered the greatest haiku masters in history differed.
If Bashō sought “the beauty of what is left unsaid,” Issa often found charm in “the beauty of saying it anyway.”