Photo/Illutration Buds of "myoga" Japanese ginger (Asahi Shimbun file photo)

In the damp, heavy air of the rainy season, I try to revive both body and spirit with meals generously garnished with aromatic condiments: “oba,” the broad leaf of green perilla; “negi,” slender green onions; and fresh ginger.

Among them, “myoga” (Japanese ginger) stands out for its crisp texture and refreshing aroma. Soon, at the base of its slender stalks, its plump buds will begin to emerge.

“Slicing myoga/ Futures I cast off/ What and what?”

While reading the complete haiku collection of Shuson Kato (1905-1993), who would have turned 120 this May, I came across this enigmatic poem.

A leading figure of the “Ningen Tankyu-ha” (school of human inquiry)—a group of haiku poets who sought to probe the inner depths of human existence—Kato left behind many verses that resist easy interpretation and invite multiple readings.

Yet, it is precisely this ambiguity that opens the door to the quiet joy of free and personal reflection.

The poem brought to mind the old saying, “Eating too much myoga makes you forgetful.” Perhaps the poet was reflecting on things he wished to forget as he chopped the myoga.

Yet, since the poem speaks not of the past but of the future, it may not be about forgetting at all—but rather about letting go. There is no trace of resignation in the verse; instead, it carries a subtle, almost playful sense of humor.

According to “Yasai Monogatari” ("The tale of vegetables") by Kanji Namikawa, the belief that myoga causes forgetfulness has no scientific basis.

In fact, the notion is said to originate from an old Indian legend: one of the Buddha’s disciples was so forgetful that he couldn’t even remember his own name and had to wear a name tag around his neck. A plant that later sprouted from his grave was named myoga.

As it grows, myoga takes on three distinct seasonal identities, each captured in a different “kigo,” or seasonal word used in haiku. In spring, the tender young shoots known as “myoga-dake” are prized as a delicacy.

In summer, the buds—“myoga no ko” (literally "myoga children")—are harvested and used as a fragrant garnish. And in autumn, when the buds bloom into “myoga no hana,” or myoga flowers, they mark the turning of the season once more. This quiet progression seems to reflect Shuson’s own life.

Until his death at the age of 88, he continued to evolve his poetic style, eventually reaching a creative realm entirely his own. His final haiku reads:

“The green things/ Things so far away/ Growing ever more distant”

It was written in the season of the rains.

—The Asahi Shimbun, June 11

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Vox Populi, Vox Dei is a popular daily column that takes up a wide range of topics, including culture, arts and social trends and developments. Written by veteran Asahi Shimbun writers, the column provides useful perspectives on and insights into contemporary Japan and its culture.

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