Takako Arai: Received the 6th Ooka Makoto Prize

During high school, while thinking about my future path, I suddenly remembered that I liked writing poetry when I was in elementary school, and I decided to enter the Faculty of Letters. At Keio, I was impressed by Professor Wataru Miki's Islamic history class in my first year, and wanting to know about such a wide world, I proceeded to the Major in Asian History. At the time, it was a very small major with only four or five full-time professors and twelve students. So, the professors were very fond of us.

I wrote my graduation thesis on Chinese history and was greatly indebted to Professor Hiroaki Kani. Since people of that generation were a kind of cultural figures, Professor Miki also wrote novels when he was young and was well-versed in poetry; he found it interesting when I talked about literature.

I spent my university days like that, experiencing romance and heartbreak in my own way. That became the catalyst for me to start thinking, "I want to write some poetry." Also, during my master's course, a lecture on poetics by Gozo Yoshimasu and Takashi Tsujii was held, and I was stimulated by that class as well.

While my future outlook remained uncertain, I majored in folklore in graduate school. Thinking that if I could become a Japanese language teacher in the future, I could make a living even while conducting research, I also took the Japanese language teaching methodology course at the International Center.

Fortunately, it was an era of policies to expand the number of international students, and after finishing my master's, I was able to get several positions as a Japanese language instructor. At the same time, I started a small magazine with peers interested in creative writing and criticism, and the foundation of my current life—writing poetry while teaching Japanese to international students—began to take shape.

Students from Tama Art University who liked poetry also came to Mr. Yoshimasu's class, and together with them, we created a magazine called "Shimensoka" (Surrounded by Enemies). There were people who later became writers, doll makers, and potters, and Mr. Yoshimasu drank with us several times. Through that, I felt that my self who writes poetry was connected to the world.

That's right. Reaching this poetry collection, I think it was significant that I was able to objectively view from the outside what kind of history and characteristics the languages of the Japanese archipelago have. I think I naturally came to think about that while chatting with international students.

That's exactly right. Actually, the beginning of my interest in colloquial style is connected to being a Japanese teacher. About 30 years ago, when I was a novice, an international student told me, "I want to read Japanese novels." At that time, it was the era of Kenji Nakagami and Kenzaburo Oe. When I tried reading Nakagami's works from that perspective, I thought we could probably only read about 15 lines even if we spent 90 minutes in class. Both the sentence structure and vocabulary required a lot of explanation for international students.

However, from a certain point, I noticed that the language of novels became "flat" enough to be taught as-is in Japanese language education. As a teacher, I was grateful, but as a creator, I felt that something extraordinary was beginning to happen in the Japanese language space. I feel it's fair to say an era has arrived where it's taken for granted that literature is written in language leveled by modern Japanese education and its apparatus.

Around that time, I found a novel called "Tsugaru" written in Tsugaru dialect by Masahiro Kudo, a Russian literature scholar from Aomori Prefecture. Although I couldn't get used to it at first, as I read it persistently, I was sucked into its mysterious rhythm. And within the Tsugaru dialect, Kafka would enter, or a nuclear accident would enter like science fiction. I was moved that such expressions were possible in such language. And since I am from a rural area myself, born in Gunma Prefecture, I began to wonder if I could make an incision into the literary language that was becoming flat, using an angle of regional language—that is, a style based on local colloquialisms.

Both modern literature and modern education have the concept of "unification of spoken and written language" (genbun itchi) as a pillar. It's as if literary language—written language—became spoken language, but in reality, the colloquial language of the Japanese archipelago at that time was fertile, and diverse dialects were alive. However, in the post-war period as modernization and mass media progressed, they were covered by that written language system and headed toward homogenization. It might be better to say that spoken language became written language. Therefore, the fact that Nakagami was born in Kishu and brought up a thick local scent became a strength.

However, style is difficult. I tried writing based on the Kiryu dialect, but at first, it conversely became superficial, slippery poetry. The first time I was able to create a work I was satisfied with was "Wheels" in "Tamashii Dance" (2007), and I think it took about five years from the time I made up my mind. After that, I extended that and wrote "Bed and Loom" (2013), which made the textile factories of Kiryu a poetic topos.

Then, regarding the encounter with the "onba" (grandmas) of Ofunato, I actually wrote my master's thesis on the folklore of Miyako City, Iwate Prefecture. There was a bathhouse in Miyako where I often stayed during my research, but it was washed away by the tsunami of the Great East Japan Earthquake. When I visited to offer my sympathies after a while, the lady there said, "Taka-chan, are you writing poetry? Volunteers are holding classes in the Assembly Room of the temporary housing, so why don't you try being a poetry teacher?"

Since it was also a time when I wanted to think about the Tohoku dialect, I consulted with the Museum of Contemporary Japanese Poetry, Tanka and Haiku in Kitakami City, and they said they would cooperate. However, the location ended up being Ofunato City, which is commutable by car from Kitakami. With the help of the local grandmas, I spent three years compiling "Ishikawa Takuboku's Poems Translated by Tohoku Grandmas" (2017). I made the film because I wanted to deepen the connection further.

Yes, it is a foreign language. I thought the phrasing, of course, but also the musicality was completely different. The intonation of Kiryu dialect is close to Tokyo language, but for me, the language of Ofunato (Kesen dialect) feels like a minor chord if Joshu dialect is a major chord.

Just because I visited a dozen times over several years doesn't mean my Kesen dialect would become perfect. I feel my stance was close to a contemporary music composer absorbing folk songs. Precisely because I wasn't good at it, I could deform the structure and musicality of Kesen dialect, blend it with others, or approach the world of irony I learned from Juro Kara, another field of interest. Thus, creating my own style became a natural progression.

Since I have been continuing my own edited magazine "Mite" since my 30s, deadlines come regularly. However, there were times when I couldn't write with this. Because it's a different language world from usual, sometimes I couldn't enter it. Therefore, it took a long time to compile it into a poetry collection.

You mentioned the elements of sex, death, and taboos earlier, and I also think it's a world I could peer into because of this style. The minor-chord language covered in voiced consonants was like a mysterious lens to me.

In poetry, there is an effect where rhythm and phonology give birth to the next line, right? Even if you want to write something as a meaning, it can be twisted by the rhythm and go somewhere else. I think that's a very interesting part of poetry.

Thank you. Style really is like a kind of camera lens, and through it, I feel I was given something like nocturnal eyes to peer into the world of darkness that was invisible until now. So, rather than me writing, it's as if the deep resonance of the voiced consonants themselves is writing. Sometimes I re-read it later and think, "Oh, did I write this?"

First of all, I was moved that they can read poetry. I thought poets like Junzaburo Nishiwaki, Mitsuharu Kaneko, and Kazuko Shiraishi might be too difficult to convey, but when I ask for their impressions, they write things that leave me in awe.

Among them, happily, some people have come to like writing poetry and continue their poetic creation. Also, it is a joy to encounter a work where I think, "This person might not write again in the future, but this one piece is absolutely wonderful." That is something that poets, including myself, rather cannot write. Precisely because they are amateurs, it's as if they swung the bat and suddenly hit a home run, making me want to cheer. Poetry has an aspect where it can be written with instantaneous power, and it is also a vessel that draws out the rare brilliance of an amateur.

There are several people who have grown to the point of publishing poetry collections, but the straightforward youthfulness that isn't published in professional journals is an important attraction of "In-Colle Poetry."

In the end, I think poetry becomes a work precisely because every poet is looking for new words somewhere. I think everyone is doing that challenge in various ways.

In the case of this collection, I decided to keep holding onto the voiced consonants anyway, but each piece is a new journey, and in reality, the style is slightly different for each. Precisely because my power in Kesen dialect was lacking, there was an aspect where I could fiercely challenge toward a new language.

Thank you. I've always been interested in folk nature. That said, as a contemporary poet, there's no point in writing something heartwarming. Including the contemporaneity I carry as a city dweller, I also had a desire to dig up folklore.

I think literary language became pure written language after the Meiji era. For example, Waka poetry coexisted with the chanting voice.

In the magazine "Mite," Sadakazu Fujii, who also researches Orikuchi, was one of the founding members, and I also have a deep relationship with his ally, Hiroko Yamamoto. Therefore, I believe it is also the job of a modern Tokyoite to consider whether the light of the pre-modern era, where the voice of performing arts and literature were synergistic, can be critically brought into the present.

Actually, when writing these poems, I heard the voices of someone—mysterious voices of old women or children whose location I didn't know—and I felt like I was the one in charge of transcribing them.

No, if I were an Itako, I think I could write faster, but when I get stuck while writing poetry, I sleep.

Since I was a country child, I still like writing with a pencil at a writing desk. If it's a chair, you can't lie down without getting off it, but since I write sitting on my heels or sideways, I just fall asleep on the cushion (laughs). I'm often writing while dozing off.

The other day, when I asked Kunio Iwaya about Juro Kara and Surrealism, I was also able to hear about the characteristics of automatic writing. At that time, I felt like I could somehow understand it from my own experience.

But I think automatic writing has a sense of speed, whereas I am dull and slow.

Certainly, the first line I thought I would write in advance always fails. Thinking "it's not working again this time, what should I do?" is also a very painful thing, so I get sleepy like I'm throwing in the towel. Then I can write just a little bit.

Sometimes it goes well, and other times it ends in a swing and a miss (laughs). When I was little, my mother told me, "Takako is carefree," and I'm still the same way now.

Finally, are you thinking about any future prospects?

While writing the poems for this collection, I planned the Tohoku grandma book and film, and wrote the dramatic criticism "Juro Kara's Lines" (received the Hidekazu Yoshida Award). Come to think of it, those were also the engines for my poetic creation.

Therefore, as for what I want to do as my next critical activity, I want to read deeply into Kunio Yanagita and Shinobu Orikuchi. And I dream of being able to write my own theory of performing arts. While keeping such notes, I hope to find a new world and make it a guidepost for my next poetry collection.