Too Tired for Gratitude
よそごとに涙こぼれぬある時の
ありのすさびにひきあはせつつ
Something reminds me
And tears flow
I am
Too tired for gratitude
When Akiko wrote this tanka, she was near a low point in her life. The year was 1911, she was 33 years old. Her husband Hiroshi had been flirting with (and most likely sleeping with) another woman, who happened to be a mutual friend. Hiroshi was depressed because his reputation as a poet and intellectual was waning. Akiko had given birth to six children in quick succession. She and her baby daughter Sahoko were both sickly. Now she was pregnant again, with twins this time (one would not survive delivery). As Hiroshi’s literary fortunes declined, Akiko’s seemed only to strengthen, and this must have contributed to tension between them. Hiroshi’s productivity declined with his confidence, and household finances—always tight—reached a crisis point. Akiko routinely worked through the night to meet writing deadlines. She was emotionally and physically exhausted.
And yet, Akiko being Akiko, she reached deep into classical literature for words to express her feelings. The phrase “ari-no-susabi” is drawn from the Kokin-shū, a collection of poems compiled around the 10th century A.D. Ari-no-susabi is now an archaic phrase found only in specialized dictionaries. According to the Gakuken Kenyaku Kōgo Jiten, it means, “Becoming so accustomed to life, one ceases to feel gratitude.”[1] The phrase that comes to my mind in English is “world weary”, but I don’t think that is a perfect fit.
The Kokinshu reference goes like this:
「ある時はありのすさびに語らはで」
“Aru toki wa ari-no-susabi ni katarahade”
According to the dictionary’s modern Japanese translation, it means something like, “Please don’t talk to me. I have become so accustomed to life, I have ceased to feel thankful.”
I am drawn to Akiko in part because of her almost super-human strength in overcoming difficult circumstances without resorting to shortcuts or allowing the quality of her poems to decline. She and her husband were committed to sincerity in their poems, so her life was in many ways an open book. However, I don’t want to over-emphasize the biographical aspects of her poems. Particularly in modern English translation, her tanka must have current relevance or they are reduced to historical curiosities.
This one has modern currency for me. It touches on a familiar set of emotions. Perhaps you recognize it too. You are going about your day, doing what needs to be done, when there is a reminder (some call it a ‘trigger’) of a traumatic experience in your past—a song, an article of clothing, a familiar smell. Suddenly, standing in the kitchen or commuting to work, you are awash with grief. I recognize that in Akiko’s tanka. I have been in that emotional place.
This tanka also gestures toward to something that is larger than a bout of grief. It imagines a loss of joy and gratitude for everyday things.
Here’s an example: one of my favorite everyday joys is my morning coffee. For almost twenty years now, every morning that we are together at home, my husband makes me a lovely cup of cappuccino. He has a high-end machine, and in his own uniquely over-the-top way, he weighs out coffee beans, grinds them carefully, and draws two beautiful cups of coffee. He steams milk and gently pours a leaf or a heart shape in the foam on top. At the table, I shake cinnamon while he shakes cocoa onto our creamy artwork. The foamy micro-bubbles wink in the morning sunlight. We raise our glasses and touching them together, say ‘cheers’. It is a daily gesture of love.
I am a naturally upbeat person and only recall being truly depressed a handful of times in my life. If, by some cataclysm, my morning coffee were taken from me, what a sad thing it would be. Of course, that would imply losing my husband too, which I don’t want to do even in a thought experiment. But stay with me for a moment. I might experience waves of grief over what I had lost for the rest of my life. What could be worse? What if I lost my love for those moments, even as they persisted? What if my husband brought me my morning cappuccino every day, and every day I shook a bit of cocoa on it, and watched the winking bubbles, and clinked glasses with him, but felt no joy? Would that be worse?
[1] https://kobun.weblio.jp/content/ありのすさび
