Here is my periodic disclaimer:
I do not teach modern haiku, which, as it exists today, has virtually nothing to do with the old hokku written by Bashō, Onitsura, Gyōdai, Taigi, and all the others who wrote up until the end of the 19th century. It is inaccurate, anachronistic, and a mistake to confuse hokku with haiku, and the latter term should never be used to describe the former.
I have nothing to do with the modern haiku community, its practices or its goals, which are very different from those of the old writers of hokku.
Having gotten that out of the way, let’s look at another verse by Yaha.
Yesterday we discussed the significance of one thing versus many in hokku, and we looked at two verses, the latter by Yaha:
A single umbrella
The snowy evening.
Yaha also wrote:
Hitogoe no yowa wo suguru samusa kana
Person-voice ‘s night-half wo pass cold kana
Passing at midnight;
Yesterday I said that in hokku, one thing has more perceived significance than many things, and I used the “single” umbrella of Yaha in contrast to “many umbrellas” as an example. Yet today there is this hokku in which I translate “people” and “voice” as a plural.
In hokku we must beware of rigid dogmatism. Hokku reflects Nature, which is a living, changing thing, and our verses and our practice must be in keeping with that.
As I have said, Japanese had no distinction between plural and singular. so when we see hitogoe (hito-koe), we could just as easily translate thus:
Passes at midnight;
We must use common sense, however, combined with the aesthetics of hokku. People generally do not wander about outside at midnight talking to themselves (well, they may in my city, but there are lots of strange people in cities!); further, the sense that there are at least two people passing outside, conversing in low tones, adds to the sense of contrast and solitude in the verse. You will remember that Winter is a time of extremes, so verses that mix activity with passiveness, Yang with Yin, are particularly effective.
Having conversing people passing (Yang) outside at midnight (deep Yin), then, is effective precisely because of the contrast between the voices outside and the solitude of the writer and the time of night — and becoming, as readers, that person awake at midnight — listening to the voices passing by outside — we feel the cold all the more deeply in our solitude.