![[For Seniors] Summer kigo: A list of famous seasonal words to enjoy while savoring their elegance](https://i.ytimg.com/vi_webp/o5SxZC87vMo/maxresdefault.webp)
[For Seniors] Summer kigo: A list of famous seasonal words to enjoy while savoring their elegance
In summer, when the heat truly sets in, it’s a season that brings to mind uniquely Japanese scenes like sunflowers, rice planting, fireflies, and cicadas.
When you feature summer kigo (seasonal words) in haiku or senryu activities, they connect with each person’s memories and experiences, making conversations expand naturally.
This article introduces a wide range of summer kigo that are familiar and accessible for older adults.
Incorporating them into recreational activities at senior facilities may let participants enjoy discoveries like, “I didn’t know this word was a kigo too!” Why not find a favorite kigo and compose an original verse?
[For Seniors] Summer Season Words: A List of Famous Kigo to Enjoy with a Sense of Elegance (1–10)
Early summer rainNEW!
One of the tricky—and fascinating—things about Japanese is that although samidare literally reads as “May rain,” it doesn’t refer to rain that falls in May.
In terms of the modern calendar, it means the rains from early June to early July—that is, the rainy season.
Likewise, the term satsuki-bare originally referred to clear weather during the rainy season, but today it’s also used to mean fine weather in May.
Many of you will know the famous line from Bashō’s The Narrow Road to the Deep North: “Gathering the early-summer rains, how swift the Mogami River.” It’s a seasonal word that pairs well with grand landscapes.
sunflowerNEW!
Himawari is read as “himawari.” For people who don’t do haiku, it might count as a hard-to-read kanji.
As an aside, I love those variety show segments where they go through difficult kanji readings.
How about you? Sunflowers are often said to follow the sun, but actually that only happens when the flower is young.
It’s rare for a fully grown sunflower to change the direction of its bloom.
That, too, feels kind of mysterious, doesn’t it? One of the flower meanings of the sunflower is “I’m gazing only at you.” It might be nice to compose a poem with that kind of single-minded feeling in mind.
summer seaNEW!
In the opening of Toei films, you see that scene of rough waves together with their logo, right? As it happens, that’s actually Cape Inubō in Chiba Prefecture.
I’ve heard the rough seas are a Toei tradition, but those crashing waves are now created entirely with CGI.
I’ve gone on a tangent, but anyway—“the summer sea.” Soseki Natsume himself left a slightly philosophical haiku: “Summer sea—how far must I go before I can swim?” Since modern times, the seaside has been a lively leisure spot every year, but if you’re making a haiku, perhaps it’s better to approach it from an angle that contemplates solitude instead.
When composing a haiku, hold back feelings like “The summer sea is so much fun!”
sunset glowNEW!
There’s a senryu that says, “The sunset brings tomorrow’s weather.” People have long said that the day after a beautiful sunset will be fair, and apparently that’s scientifically reasonable too.
It has to do with the Earth’s rotation—well, let’s leave the complicated stuff there and turn to the seasonal word “yūyake.” When written as “yūyake” (evening glow/sunset glow), it also carries a touch of nostalgia.
“Cracking open the first can with the sunset as my snack” is another delightful senryu—capturing the pleasure of that post-work beer.
Like these senryu, it’s nice once in a while to write a verse without consciously focusing on the seasonal word.
sweatNEW!
Sweat that appears as the body lowers a temperature that has risen too high.
Even when we simply say “sweat,” there are many situations: sweat when you’re ill, sweat in a sauna, sweat from running.
And when it’s summer sweat, you end up damp just by standing there doing nothing…
I find it amazing that haiku can discover evocative scenery even in such sweat.
Masaoka Shiki’s “The beauty of those who work covered in sweat” is a physical, almost animalistic line that perfectly captures summer sweat.
How about approaching sweat as a seasonal word from a perspective other than “a by-product of heat?”
scorching summer heatNEW!
Literally, it means “a sky under a blazing, burning sun,” and by extension it came to signify unbearable heat.
It’s not the clammy, humid heat that makes sweat trickle, but a dry heat that sizzles the skin.
Nakamura Kusatao, who wrote “En-ten no tōki ho ya mo waga kokoro” (“Distant sails under a blazing sky—so too my heart”), set that heat against his inner world—his solitude and passion—within a single verse.
That’s the mark of a true master.
In haiku, the fact that it’s hot is already understood, so, like Kusatao, I’d hope to add an extra layer of emotion.
rice plantingNEW!
Japan stretches long from north to south.
Even when we say “rice planting,” in Okinawa it’s apparently common to do it around April.
Of course, in Tohoku and Hokkaido it’s an early-summer tradition.
Since it’s established as a season word, it does feel a bit curious, doesn’t it? Rice planting has existed long before haiku were born.
In the Edo period, Kobayashi Issa wrote, “Saotome—there isn’t a face untinged by mud,” and in modern times Ryuta Iida wrote, “Stepping down from the rice-planting machine, I stand in the wind of this world.” “The wind of this world” is a turn of phrase that’s not easy to pull off, is it? There are also many words related to rice planting, such as sanae (young rice seedlings), sanaeburi (the act/style of planting seedlings), and saotome (rice-planting maidens).
If you focus on the finer movements, you may be able to compose good haiku.
fireworksNEW!
Fireworks have served as a motif for a wide range of artists—film directors, singers, and visual artists alike.
Whether it’s the large aerial fireworks you see at festivals or the flickering sparks of handheld senko hanabi, the time spent enjoying fireworks always has a certain poignancy.
I’m also fond of Masaoka Shiki’s line, “One by one they go out—how lonely, the distant fireworks.” There are many seasonal words related to fireworks as well: tō-hanabi (distant fireworks), te-hanabi (handheld fireworks), uchiage-hanabi (aerial fireworks), and hanabi-kuzu (spent fireworks), among others.
To avoid falling into stereotypical haiku, it’s important to cherish a sensibility like “the scene I want to depict + fireworks.”
fireflyNEW!
“A single firefly dims the tatami” is by Masajo Suzuki.
“When I die, I’ll set down my chopsticks—like a firefly” is by Awa no Seihō.
“One goes out, and the darkness deepens—fireflies” is by the master Ryūta Iida.
Beloved by many haiku poets because of their fleeting, fragile lives, fireflies are also a popular summer kigo.
Their distinctive courtship—lighting up their tails—and the way that light, conversely, draws out the darkness, is poetry unique to haiku.
From their pale glow and brief lives, one can project meditations on life and death to create richly flavored verse.
It’s also lovely to render the scene itself, with the dampness of the night air and the murmur of the river.
cicadaNEW!
When you hear “insects that symbolize summer,” what comes to mind? Fireflies, rhinoceros beetles—there are many possibilities, but surely the first thing most people think of is the cicada.
Basho Matsuo’s “Silence— the cicadas’ cries sink into the rocks,” which you’ll find in just about any textbook, is a verse known even to those not particularly interested in haiku.
ところで、冒頭の語「閑さや」は「shizukesa ya」と読みます。
The min-min cicada is the sound of midsummer, the higurashi marks summer evenings, and the tsukutsukuboshi is famous for heralding the end of summer.