Monday, February 17, 2020

Tanka, the muse and the male muse

This is an article that was originally published in Presence Issue 62, November 2018

I would like to begin by making clear that this essay is a personal perspective on the nature of tanka and sources of inspiration for it, offered in the hope that others may take something of interest or use from it. It does not mean that I think this is the only approach that is valid, or that I am not open to other approaches in my editorial role. In that role I see it as my responsibility to provide an opportunity for a diverse range of quality work to be showcased as part of the ongoing exploration that tanka writers are collaboratively involved in.

What I would like to suggest in this essay is that the concept of the muse is especially relevant to tanka. Also that the concept of the male muse may be more fruitful for women writers than the traditional idea of the female muse. I would encourage everyone to consider what their own muse, if they feel the need for one, looks like: the traditional female version, the male muse, or some other variant. After all, your relationship with your muse, or other source of inspiration, is an individual and personal thing.

Tanka and the muse

The concept of the muse is of inspiration personified. It has it's origins in Greek mythology but inspiration is a universal concept. Ishikawa Takuboku, a Japanese tanka poet discussed in Ueda's 'Modern Japanese Poets and the Nature of Literature' has outlined three sources of inspiration: external stimulus through observation of the world around us, internal creative impulses that arise unbidden, and tanka group writing sessions where topics and requirements are set out in advance. The second of these would appear to be the closest to the idea of the muse as something that visits capriciously and enables the poet to produce work of a higher standard than he or she would usually be capable of.

Tanka has a long and complex history which I am not going to attempt to cover in detail, but I would like to pick out what I see as a key element in that history and some of the enduring features of the form.

In its early days tanka was used as a form of communication between lovers, the poems connecting the lovers after the pair had parted company. It is generally lyrical and imagistic and expresses feelings with emotional authenticity. It is not unusual for tanka, even when not explicitly taking the form of love poems, to be addressed to a particular unnamed other: the 'you' so frequently appealed to, accused, embraced or rejected.

There is often a sense of duality: two voices, two parts, or two elements with an internal tension between them. Sometimes this takes the form of a 'call and response' format with a break in syntax between the parts, and sometimes more subtly in a change of point of view or tone or some almost imperceptible shift, similar to the shift found in the linked forms that developed from tanka. There is something lacking, for me, in tanka that lack that internal tension, that are too much all of one piece.

The essence of tanka, for me, is an attempt at a resolution of opposites, dichotomies, contradictions and conflicts within myself, in my relationships and in my environment. When I am writing tanka I am unlikely to take the attitude, very often at the heart of haiku, of observing what is, simply as it is. It is a more subjective process, a personal response to my situation in the world.

Having a muse, I find, helps to provide an 'other' to engage with and contend with in a way that echoes the tension between the parted lovers. This seems to me to be highly appropriate to the form as a way of stimulating inspiration.

This does not mean that I see tanka as restricted in terms of subject matter to love poetry, it is capable of dealing with a wide range of topics from personal issues to social conflict and even political divisions and international relations. For those interested in the diversity of subject matter and expression in Japanese tanka I would highly recommend Ueda's 'Modern Japanese Tanka' which provides a comprehensive overview along with biographical background for significant tanka poets.

The male muse

The muse has traditionally been seen as a seductive and elusive female, a fickle goddess or playful nymph who inspires a writer or artist, or withholds that inspiration, at her whim.

The notion of a male muse for the female writer or artist is not a new one, although it is much less commonly referenced. I encountered it first in Clare Pollard's essay 'The Female Poet and the Male Muse' in Magma Poetry. I found the concept fascinating but her discussion of the male muse in terms of his role as an inspiration for love poetry seems to me to be unnecessarily limiting. The female muse, while often represented as seductive, has never been limited to inspiring only romantic or erotic art, she is seen as inspiration itself personified.

My personal concept of the male muse is based on my understanding of the Jungian psychological concept of the animus: the potential masculinity that exists within a woman. (The equivalent for men is known as the anima.) This 'seed of the opposite', as represented by the dot within each part of the yin/yang symbol, helps to create both balance and flow. Our relationship with this seed within us develops over time and getting to know this otherness within ourselves is, in Jungian terms, the path to psychological wholeness.

How you go about developing your animus is well beyond the scope of this essay but one of the first steps is to recognise that there is within you something that you initially recoil from. To begin with I experienced what I think of as my animus/muse as rough, harsh and rather crude, a bit of a 'cave-man'. Over time though I realised that there were qualities there that I could benefit from integrating: groundedness, self-confidence and the willingness to fight back when attacked, for example. My animus/muse has evolved from cave-man to something more like a mentor, who protects and encourages my creative side and contributes some of the darker imagery. Very rarely he has appeared in person in my writing, this haiku, where I had projected him onto a man I did not know, being perhaps the clearest example.

storm clouds—
the deep red of the rose
in his tattoo

It is almost impossible to resist the temptation to project the animus onto actual men. All the men in a woman's life can, to a greater or lesser extent, embody the animus for her. If there is one who very closely fits her expectation of the role then this person is likely to be fascinating to her: a lover, close friend, father figure, mentor or, when it takes an unhealthy form, an abuser. If we can turn our animus into our muse, whether that is projected onto an actual man or kept within our own psyche, we have a wonderful source of inspiration.

For some women writing tanka I think that the concept of a male muse with all of his 'otherness' may be more helpful than the traditional concept of the female muse. It can be useful to give some solidity to an amorphous concept, whether this concept is animus or muse, and so I would encourage any woman engaged in writing tanka to consider whether the male muse might be of value, while also being aware that no man can ever totally fulfill the role and that the true source of inspiration is to be found within herself.

References

Pollard, Clare. The Female Poet and the Male Muse. Magma Poetry. Issue 37.https://magmapoetry.com/archive/magma-37-2/articles/the-female-poet-and-the-male-muse/

Ueda, Makoto. Modern Japanese Poets and the Nature of Literature. New York. Columbia University Press. 1983.

Ueda, Makoto. Modern Japanese Tanka: an anthology. New York. Columbia University Press. 1996.


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