- Dave Lowry
- Aug 13
- 4 min read
Senryu are not as familiar to Westerners as the more popular haiku.
Senryu look much like haiku, but they don’t usually contain a seasonal word and they’re often more like aphorisms. They’re little bits of doggerel that often contain truths hidden in humor or quiet commentaries on the human condition.
There are several senryu that address the life and culture of the samurai class and its martial arts. It’s revealing to look at them because they give us an idea of how the samurai and their arts were perceived in their age. Given the unchanging elements of human nature, these senryu also have some intriguing applications for today’s martial artist.
The Samurai in a Rainstorm / Not Running to Shelter
This senryu expresses the dignity that was characteristic of the warrior class. In this beautiful word picture, we can imagine other classes, as the thunderstorm breaks overhead and starts splattering big drops, beginning to scurry, to scramble for shelter.
The samurai, though, continues to walk on placidly.
In Japanese, this calm, composed walk is called shizo-shizo. It isn’t arrogance. It isn’t haughtiness. It’s a kind of dignity that doesn’t crumble under circumstances.
Becoming Strong / The Young Lord Becomes Vulgar
“Young lord” is the translation of wakatono. It could describe the son of a daimyo, or feudal lord. We can see the young man, privileged, accustomed to others waiting on him, who quickly grows to take these advantages for granted.
He becomes self-centered and thoughtless, expecting others to overlook his rude behavior. If you’ve ever seen any of the conceited “champions” in a dojo — people who, because of their skills or tournament success, are treated preferentially — this senryu will seem like it was written yesterday rather than 300 years ago.
Because They Are Fond of Him / They Teach Him How to Cut His Belly
This senryu expresses the attitude seniors and mentors should have toward the son of their master. It seems very cruel. Hara wo kiru is the phrase here; it’s better understood as hara-kiri.
To be able to kill oneself if necessary was a skill the warrior needed in some periods of Japanese history. It could be ordered by one’s lord, one might do it to prevent dishonor, or it might be decreed as a matter of law for some crimes. Hara-kiri was legal only for the samurai class.
If the young warrior was to grow into a real samurai, his elders, because they cared for him, would teach him to do it correctly. It’s ironic, but it was a way of life.
Because of Her Reputation as a Naginata Practitioner / No Man Came to Court Her
This one expresses a timeless sentiment. If a woman becomes too physically competent or skillful, a lot of men will be intimidated. If you’re a guy, ask some of the women in your dojo about the accuracy of this notion.
There are some interesting historical clues in this verse. First, the naginata, a long-bladed polearm, was not originally thought of as a woman’s weapon. Women didn’t become the predominant practitioners of naginata-jutsu until rather late, well into the late 18th century.
By then, after more than a century of peace, the samurai class had devolved. They were, for the most part, no longer warriors, just bureaucrats or playboys, and often had no martial spirit at all. We can easily imagine the weak, effeminate young men of the Tenmei era being nervous about even approaching a skilled female martial artist.
Senryu were most often composed by townspeople, merchants, and non-samurai. Since senryu were frequently comic, it was natural that the samurai were sometimes the objects of derision.
Samurai Quarrels Don’t End / Until There Are Two Widows
These words poke fun at the warrior’s sense of self-importance and his delicate ego that wouldn’t allow him to back down, even when the dispute was silly and inconsequential.
A Last Resort / The Samurai Takes His Soul to the Pawn Shop
This senryu sneers at the samurai’s presumably elevated sense of integrity, one in which his sword was his soul. We can see the townsmen quietly laughing at the proud samurai who, reduced to poverty, is forced to sell his most precious treasure to afford a bowl of soup.
Senryu also could celebrate the romantic image of the warrior class, however.
Cherry Blossoms and Chrysanthemums / Both Can Teach Us How to Die
Cherry blossoms are inextricably connected with the samurai. The blossoms come into perfect bloom, then the petals scatter and fall. The samurai were supposed to live the same way — living fully and beautifully, then dying while still perfect.
Chrysanthemums, on the other hand, wither and fade slowly, giving up their lives reluctantly. The nobility of a “good death” is obviously preferred in this senryu.
The best example of samurai poetry, however, eschews this romantic nonsense and looks at life much more realistically. One captures the uncertainty of life, the foolishness of thinking we can control fate, particularly when the rising and falling tides of war wash in and out across a country like ancient Japan.
There’s an almost comic fatalism in this senryu, one that exposes how fragile and imaginary our plans can be:
