31 mei 2020

Haiku Travels (6): Issa and Obuse


Haiku Travels

Obuse (Nagano)

nobody picks them up

these chestnuts

so splendid, so big


hirowarenu / kuri no migoto yo / okisa yo

拾われぬ栗の見事よ大きさよ

Issa

[Kuri no komichi in Obuse. Photo from Wikipedia]

Obuse is a delightful small town in northern Nagano prefecture, just to the east of Nagano City. Thanks to rows of old warehouses, it preserves a classical atmosphere and is nice to wander around in - everything can be seen on foot from the station and there are also bikes for hire. There is enough to see here to warrant a day excursion from Nagano (or even Tokyo...).

Nowadays, Obuse is perhaps most famous for the Hokusai Museum, which displays about 40 scrolls and screens painted by the master (rather than his ukiyo-e) as well as two large festival floats he decorated. Hokusai's connection with Obuse came about late in his long life, when in 1843 (when Hokusai was already 83 years old) the prosperous Obuse-merchant Takai Kozan invited him to come and stay. Nearby the Hokusai Museum is also the house of Kozan, with Hokusai's studio and also paintings of demons on display by Kozan himzelf. A third museum in the town is the modern Obuse Museum, which has a wing dedicated to modern Japanese-style painter Nakajima Chinami, who is famous for his meticulous renderings of cherry blossoms and cherry trees. And, finally, a fourth one is the Japanese Lamp and Lightning Museum, which houses a fascinating collection of lighting devices from the past. And then there the temples: Saishoji, Genshoji, Jokoji and especially Ganshoin - that last temple boasts an impressive painting by Hokusai on the ceiling of its Main hall: called “Phoenix Glaring in All Directions,” the eyes of the mythical bird follow you no matter where you stand. By the way, an added pleasure of a walk through Obuse is the fact that its citizens are very interested in gardening and have created a townscape with beautiful flowers in all seasons.

[Chestnuts from Obuse. Photo from Wikipedia]

The other thing Obuse is famous for is rather sweet: its production of chestnuts, as well as chestnut confectioneries (when you only know the roasted variety, it will blow your mind to see how many types of sweets can be devised from just chestnuts!). You will find factories in old storehouses and shops and restaurants throughout the town. Two famous names are Chikufudo and Obusedo.

Chestnuts are intimately linked to Obuse's history, as it was the Muromachi-period warlord Ogino Jorin who 600 years ago brought chestnut tress from Tanba and planted them in the Mabukawa Delta, a place with acid soil and therefore perfectly suited for this purpose. Chestnut trees flower in June and the chestnuts are harvested from mid-September to mid-October. Obuse chestnuts are famous for their large size and great flavor. In fact, these chestnuts are so good that in the past they were sent as presents to the shogun.

And that is where Issa's haiku comes in. In the Edo period Obuse was administered by the nearby Matsushiro daimyo and this Lord had to take his pick first before anyone else in Obuse was allowed to touch the chestnut harvest. He apparently wanted to be sure that only the very best specimens would be sent to the shogun in Edo. This meant that in the meantime the inhabitants of Obuse were not allowed to eat chestnuts (a custom called "ban on chestnuts" or "otome kuri"). Large, splendid chestnuts are lying right in front of them, but the people of Obuse are not allowed to touch them until the ban is lifted - Issa clearly wrote this haiku with a satirizing intent!

Haiku poet Issa (1763-1827) was born in a farming family in Kashiwabara, not far from Obuse. At the young age of 14 he went to Edo where he studied haiku, before starting the life of a poet-priest. Issa traveled all over Japan, and especially visited places in the Kansai area. In 1801, after the death if his father, he decided to settle in Kashiwabara. Issa's haiku style is characterized by down-to-earth language, the introduction of images of small and insignificant animals, and an obsession with poverty - but also a stance of humility and togetherness with all creation inspired by his Buddhist belief. In Japan, he is the most popular haiku poet after Basho, coming even before Buson.


 
Obuse lies 15 km north of Nagano and can be reached in about 35 minutes from Nagano Station via the Nagano Dentetsu Railway. The delightful day I spent there several years ago is still a fond memory. Unfortunately, I seem to have lost the digital photos I took that day, so I had to borrow a few from Wikipedia...
The present haiku has been carved on a stone which stands in front of Obuse Station,

Haiku of Kobayashi Issa: http://haikuguy.com/issa/

Dew on the Grass: The Life and Poetry of Kobayashi Issa (2004, Brill's Japanese Studies Library)

 





30 mei 2020

Haiku Travels (5): Basho and Kiyosumi Garden (Tokyo)

Haiku Travels

Kiyosumi Garden (Tokyo)

Old pond

frog jumps in:

sound of water


furu-ike ya / kawazu tobikomu / mizu no oto

古池や蛙飛びこむ水の音

Basho


[Kiyosumi Garden]

Basho's frog haiku is so famous that it has almost become banal. It is the haiku of haiku. Even the greatest haiku haters have heard the 'plop' of this jumping frog. It has attracted so many translators that a book has appeared carrying more than 100 different translations. There is no dearth of haiku stones, either, three of them alone in the vicinity of the Basho Museum (including the one I visit, in the Kiyosumi Garden) and many more in various locations in Japan. There seems to exist some confusion about where this haiku was written. Basho's birthplace, Iga-Ueno, and a temple in Shiga Prefecture are both contenders, but there could be as many all over Japan as there are old ponds.

For me, however, there is no doubt about the location. It must have been near Basho's hut on the left bank of the Sumida River. There is clear evidence for it, as we will see below. Moreover, Basho was given the Sumida cottage by his disciple-cum-patron Sugiyama Sanpu, a fish dealer who owned stock ponds in the same area. So Basho's cottage was surrounded by ponds where fish were reared for Edo's hungry markets, and there must have been whole armies of frogs, too. Those fish ponds of course do not exist anymore, but there is a large pond in the Kiyosumi Garden not far from the Basho Museum.


[Pine and pond, Kiyosumi Garden]

The Kiyosumi Garden is relatively modern as Japanese gardens go. Although the site is formed by a daimyo estate with an older garden (but not old enough to incorporate anything from Basho's time), it was laid out in 1885 by Iwasaki Yataro, the founder of the Mitsubishi conglomerate. The garden is centered on a large pond (in the past fed by the Sumida River), which contains a few islands and a pavilion built for the visit of a high-ranking foreign guest in 1907. One could call it the Meiji period equivalent of the Edo daimyo gardens. In 1932 the garden was donated to the City of Tokyo.

Characteristics of the garden are the big artificial hill ('Fujimiyama') and the stone steps ('isowatari') along part of the pond's shore. These provide strollers with an expansive view of the water. The garden has been planted lavishly with black pines, azaleas, hydrangeas and irises. But Kiyosumi's most striking feature are in the many natural stones of various colors and shapes that the Iwasaki family collected from all over Japan - there are 55 large stones in all. This, too, is a 'daimyo custom:' rare stones were expensive and difficult to move, so it was a sign of sure power to fill a whole garden with them.

[The haiku stone in Kiyosumi Garden]

Basho wrote the frog haiku in 1686. The circumstances under which this took place were recorded by his disciple Kagami Shiko (1665-1731), in Kuzu no Matsubara ('Pine Forest of Kuzu,' 1692), a book written to elucidate Basho's idea of haikai. This seems to be a reliable indication that the haiku was indeed written while Basho lived in his hut on the River Sumida bank, although it was not Shiko himself who was present, but Kikaku, another disciple.

Basho was sitting in his riverside hut. It was spring ("frog" is a kigo for spring). A soft drizzle fell and the smell of blossoms was in the air. Mountain roses were blooming at the edge of a pond in the garden. Enomoto Kikaku (1661-1707) kept Basho company, but master and disciple were both sitting quietly. Suddenly a frog jumped into the old pond, breaking the stillness with a watery plop. In Basho's mind, two phrases formed, the last part of a hokku:

frog jumps in
sound of water

Kikaku suggested yamabuki ya, 'mountain roses' for the first five syllables. In traditional poetry, this plant was associated with frogs. Basho pondered for a while and then decided to use instead a phrase uncommon in poetry: 'the old pond,' furu ike ya. This was a nice literary twist which added 'newness' and 'lightness' to the poem. It was also the utmost of simplicity.

Basho's frog was an experimental one. It was the first silent frog in Japanese poetry, which so far had been regaled with quaking choruses. Instead of this night music, Basho's frog exits with a soft plop, after which rings of water expand and die out. It is a bit lonely, just like Basho.


By the way, the frog can also be plural, as the Japanese language normally does not make numerical distinctions. But to have a whole army of frogs jump into the pond seems just too noisy. It does not fit the atmosphere of the poem, which is one of yugen, of stillness, symbolized in the pond that after all is an ancient one. This is something almost all translators agree on.

The "mizo no oto" or 'sound of water' is another matter. Many translators cannot resist the temptation to enliven this phrase by translating it as 'Plop,' 'Splash,' or even 'Kdang.' That is strictly speaking not correct, for Basho himself could also have used an onomatopoeic word. The Japanese language is very rich in them, more so than English, but Basho purposefully selected 'sound of water,' perhaps to emphasize the progression from stillness (no sound) to movement (sound) to stillness again. Zen-master and graphic artist Sengai (1751-1837) wrote a parody of the frog haiku (yes, already in Edo-times it was so popular that it invited parodies!) in which he creates a comic effect by using the onomatopoeic "pon to," resulting in a very different poem:

old pond
something "plop"
jumped in

furuike ya | naniyara pon to | tobikonda


[Inari Shrine where the frog sculpture was found]

The frog has even haunted the 20th century. In 1917, after a big tsunami, in the grounds of what is now a small Inari shrine close to the Basho Museum in Fukagawa, a strange black object was found. Now in the possession of that museum, it appeared to be a stone frog, and - I do not know on what grounds - it was assumed to be an object that had originally belonged to Basho. At the same time it was seen as proof that the old pond had once been in the grounds of the said shrine. Basho's frog has petrified over the ages, it has become a rather ugly curiosity, now resting in a glass case in the museum.

But the real frog lives on in the world's most famous haiku and continues to entice us with its silent leap in that mysterious pond.


Kiyosumi Garden is 5 min. from Kiyosumi-Shirakawa Station on the Oedo line or 7 min. from Morishita Station on the Shinjuku Subway line.

The frogs congregate in One Hundred Frogs, From Matsuo Basho to Allen Ginsberg by Hiroaki Sato (Weatherhill, 1995)

Kagami Shiko's account about the writing of the frog haiku is cited by Makoto Ueda in Basho and his Interpreters (Stanford University Press, 1992)

Translations and Studies of Basho
Basho's Haiku, 2 vols,  by Toshiharu Oseko (1990 & 1996, Maruzen): Basho and his Interpreters, Selected Hokku with Commentary, by Makoto Ueda (1992, Stanford U.P.); Traces of Dreams, Landscape, Cultural Memory, and the Poetry of Basho, by Haruo Shirane (1998, Stanford U.P.); Basho's Narrow Road, by Hiroaki Sato (1996, Stone Bridge Press); Basho's Journey, The Literary Prose of Matsuo Basho, by David Landis Bamhill (2005, State University of New York); Basho Yamatoji by Daiyasu Takashi considers Basho's travels in the Nara area and the haiku he wrote there (Izumi Shobo, 1994)

[The photos in this post are my own]





29 mei 2020

Haiku Travels (4): Buson and Hikone

Haiku Travels

Hikone (Shiga)

funazushi -

above Hikone Castle

appears a cloud


funazushi ya / hikone no jo ni / kumo kakaru

鮒ずしや 彦根の城に 雲かゝる

Buson

 
[Hikone Castle]

Hikone is a traditional town on the eastern shore of Lake Biwa, Japan's largest lake, shaped like a biwa-lute. It developed as a market town on the Nakasendo route and in 1603 became the castle town of the Ii family, who ruled here until the end of the Edo period. It is one of the few original castles left in Japan and its three storied keep has a very elegant design. The approach to the castle is via a wooden bridge that could be easily destroyed in case of an attack. The keep can be entered, but the stairs inside are rather steep - those that make it to the top floor can enjoy a grand view over the castle grounds, the city and Lake Biwa. Next to the castle stands the Hikone Castle Museum with an exhibition of the many treasures of the Ii lords and at the foot of the castle lies the daimyo garden, Genkyuen.

Funazushi are a local specialty of the area around Lake Biwa and are in fact an ancient form of sushi called "narezushi." Narezushi was a way of preserving fish rather than a dish in itself so it is very different from modern sushi! In Shiga prefecture, narezushi are made with funa, the wild goldfish found in Lake Biwa, a fish which lives 10 to 15 years and reaches a length of 40 cm. To make narezushi, in spring and early summer funa, heavy with roe, are caught, gutted and salted. After 6 months the salt is soaked out and the fish are packed between layers of cooked rice in large barrels. The lids of the barrels are weighed down with pickling stones and the mixture is allowed to ferment for about one year. Before eating, the rice is removed and discarded, and the fermented fish is thinly sliced. It can eaten as a tsumamimono with sake. But it is an acquired taste, as the smell is quite strong and the taste very sour!

[Funazushi - photo from Wikipedia]

Yosa Buson (1716-1784) was both a haiku poet and a painter in the literati style, and in both fields he is counted among the very best. He was born in a village close to Osaka, studied poetry in Edo and then spent many years traveling throughout Japan. At age 42 he settled down in Kyoto, where he lived for the rest of his years. One could say that by practicing both poetry and painting he aspired to the ideals of the literati from China. One of his most famous paintings involved a collaboration with Ike no Taiga on a landscape series based on Chinese poems, Ten Conveniences and Ten Pleasures (1771), now a National Treasure. As a haiku poet Buson played a central role in the revival movement "Back to Basho," but in fact his poetry is very different: it is rich in imagery and boasts wide landscapes, and it also displays sensitivity to human affairs and their stories - one could say Buson's haiku style was influenced by the fact that he was a painter. Buson helped canonize Basho as the "Saint of Haiku" and with his poetry group in 1776 built a Basho Hut for regular gatherings at Konpukuji Temple in Kyoto.

[The drawbridge of Hikone Castle]

The season of the above haiku is summer, when sometimes suddenly white clouds appear in the blue sky. Buson is enjoying funazushi in a teahouse at the shore of Lake Biwa in Hikone - the sour taste was considered to be refreshing in the hot summer weather. When he happens to look up from his dish, in the blue sky one white cloud has appeared, standing right above the keep of Hikone Castle. This haiku is indeed close to a painting, as argued above. (My picture of the castle was taken on a cloudless winter day).
 

Hikone is about 45 min by JR Special Rapid Service from Kyoto, When coming by Shinkansen from the direction of Tokyo, Maibara is convenient, but note that only a limited number of Shinkansen trains stop there. For practical information, see the Visit Hikone travel guide.
Information about funazushi gleaned from A Dictionary of Japanese Food by Richard Hosking, Tuttle Publishing, 1995

[The photos of Hikone Castle are my own, the photo of funazushi is from Wikipedia]

28 mei 2020

Haiku Travels (3): Hosai and Shodo Island

Haiku Travels

Shodo Island (Kagawa)

nothing to put it in

I receive with both hands


iremono ga nai / ryote de ukeru

いれものがない両手でうける

Hosai

 
[Angel Road, Shodoshima]

Shodoshima is a beautiful island of about 153 square kilometers (59 square miles) in the Seto Inland Sea, lying west of the larger Awaji Island and right between Kagawa prefecture on Shikoku and the eastern part of Okayama prefecture. It has a population of about 28,000 and is connected by ferries to Takamatsu, Himeji and Okayama, as well as (with lesser frequency) Osaka and Kobe.

Shodoshima is known as the setting for the novel Twenty-four Eyes (Nijuyon no hitomi) by Tsuboi Sakae - who was born on Shodoshima -, and its (more famous) film adaptation by director Kinoshita Keisuke. Set between 1928 and 1946, it is the chronicle of a teacher's dedication to her students, her profession and her values, which she tries to maintain in the face of an increasingly aggressive militaristic government. Free from a contrived plot, the film reflects life with great fidelity and shows how ideals are shattered and compromised. The film was shot on location and has Takamine Hideko in the main role of the teacher.. 

Something else the island is today well-known for are its olives, a tree not native to Japan. The first imported olive trees were planted in Kobe in 1878 for obtaining olive oil, but for various reasons (such as the expansion of the city) Kobe's Olive Garden which originally counted 3,000 trees, finally shut down in 1908. After that, olive trees were planted on several other locations in (mainly) western Japan, and from 1910 on Shodo Island became the major cultivation area - so much that it even has earned the name "Olive Island." Olives are now a popular tourist item, but Shodo Island also has a more traditional product in its soy sauce.

There is also a mini-course of the Shikoku Pilgrimage which attracts white-clad pilgrims and some great scenery at the coast (the Angel Road sandbar) as well as the famous Kankakei Gorge with its maple trees. And finally, Shodo Island was also where the haiku poet Hosai lived in the mid-1920s...

[Kankakei Gorge, Shodoshima]

Ozaki Hosai (1885-1926) was born in Tottori and although he first worked as an insurance executive (with a law degree from the University of Tokyo), at a young age became interested in haiku. His great example and later also mentor was the pioneer of free verse style haiku, Ogiwara Seisensui, who rejected the seventeen-syllable form and seasonal themes. Hosai worked in the insurance business in Tokyo and Osaka between 1911 and 1922, and then tried to find a job in the same field in Korea and Manchuria, but failed, also due to his heavy drinking. In 1923 he joined a nonsectarian religious commune in Kyoto, but could not cope with the monastic regime due to his physical frailty. After that he stayed at various Buddhist temples, as Sumadera in Kobe and Jokoin in Obama (Fukui prefecture). His last refuge was the Nangoan hermitage of Saikoji temple on Shodoshima - he was allowed to stay here thanks to the introduction of his haiku teacher Seisensui. Here he mainly composed haiku, besides reading the scriptures and offering candles to the Buddha. He lived extremely frugally on a diet of toasted rice and water, subsisting on the alms received from pilgrims, who mainly came by in the spring. He died in April 1926, only aged 41. His haiku and prose writings were posthumously published by Seisensui under the tile Daiku, "The Big Sky." Today, Hosai is regarded as one of the great free verse haiku poets and he is often coupled with Taneda Santoka, likewise a drinker and mendicant Zen priest. Hosai's colloquial haiku are permeated with loneliness, but also a sharp observation of everyday objects, which catches the essence of things.

The above haiku is extremely simple, but also a deep expression of Buddhist humility: lacking the customary begging bowl, the poet gratefully receives the alms offered to him in both hands. There is nothing that doesn't fit in your hands - even the world fits in them.

[Hosai's Nangoan hermitage now houses a small literature museum dedicated to him, the "Shodoshima Ozaki Hosai Kinenkan." In neighboring Saikoji is the poet's grave]


Information about Hosai gleaned from Right under the big sky, I don't wear a hat by Hiroaki Sato, Stone Bridge Press, 1993

[Photos in this post all via Wikipedia]





27 mei 2020

Haiku Travels (2): Shiki and Dogo Onsen

Haiku Travels

Dogo Onsen (Matsuyama)

those ten years of sweat:

wash them away

in the hot springs of Dogo


junen no / ase wo Dogo no / yu ni arae

十年の汗を道後の温泉に洗へ

Shiki

 
[Dogo Onsen]

Dogo Onsen, in the outskirts of Matsuyama City, is one of the oldest spas of Japan. The deity Okuninushi no Mikoto, in the far-away mythological age, is considered as one of the first bathers, as is the renowned but equally legendary Prince Shotoku. In historical times, the baths were visited by emperors and nobles and in the 17th c. the local daimyo, Matsudaira Sadayuki, remodeled Dogo and constructed all sorts of baths for various classes of people, such as samurai, priests, merchants and women. In more recent times, the baths knew literary dippers as Natsume Soseki (the baths figure in his famous novel Botchan) and Masaoka Shiki. The present Momoyama-style onsen building dates from the Meiji period and is rather impressive thanks to its layered, tiled roofs - note the heron sculpture on the pagoda-like turret, who was according to tradition the true discoverer of the spa, even before gods and emperors visited here. The baths consist of alkaline simple thermal water, which is good for stiff joints and obstinate nervous and digestive systems.

Masaoka Shiki (1867-1902) in his short life single-handedly brought the genres of haiku and tanka into modern age. He wrote 20,000 haiku and is regarded is one of the Great Four, together with Basho, Buson and Issa. Shiki was born in Matsuyama, but later moved to Tokyo. Shiki turned haiku into a legitimate literary genre and stressed that it should be judged accordingly.

[Shiki Memorial Museum, Dogo Onsen, Matsuyama]

The above haiku was written in 1896, when Shiki was 29. The season is summer. Shiki wrote it for his kohai (junior) and fellow townsman Ogawa Naoyoshi, who had completed his studies in Tokyo and was now about to return to Matsuyama. It is a farewell poem in which Shiki expresses appreciation for Ogawa's hard study (Ogawa would later become famous as a linguist). At the same time, Shiki reveals his own wish to visit his hometown after his long sojourn in Tokyo. However, his TB had gotten worse and Shiki was even unable to walk. Shiki wrote the haiku on a tanzaku (oblong piece of paper) which he gave to Ogawa. The haiku can today also be found carved on the bath tub in the Annex of Dogo Onsen called Tsubaki no Yu (Camellia Bath).

While in Matsuyama, don't forget to visit the castle (one of the very few original ones left in Japan), Ishiteji Temple (on the Shikoku Circuit of 88 Temples), the Shiki Memorial Museum, the Shikido Hall (where Shiki was born and grew up), Issoan (the hermitage where haiku poet Santoka spent his last days) and - of course - Dogo Onsen. For practical information in English, see the official Matsuyama Tourism website. As a "haiku town," you'll find countless haiku stones and haiku posts in Matsuyama.

Information about Dogo Onsen gleaned from A Guide to Japanese Hot Springs by Anne Hotta and Yoko Ishiguro, Kodansha International, 1986.

See about Shiki: Masaoka Shiki, Selected Poems, by Burton Watson (Columbia U.P.); The Winter Sun Shines in: A Life of Masaoka Shiki, by Donald Keene (Columbia U.P.); Masaoka Shiki: His Life and Works, by Janine Beichman (Kodansha International); If Someone Asks..., Masaoka Shiki's Life and Haiku, Matsuyama Municipal Shiki-Kinen Museum.

[The photos in this post are my own]





25 mei 2020

Haiku Travels (1) - Kyotai and Nihonmatsu

Haiku Travels

Nihonmatsu (Fukushima)

the Black Mound -

around the traveler

  swarms of black flies


Kurozuka ya  / buto tabijin wo / oimawaru

黒塚やぶと旅人を追いまわる

Kyotai(暁台)


[Kurozuka, the Black Mound, in Kanzeji Temple, Nihonmatsu]

Nihonmatsu, located in the central Nakadori section of Fukushima Prefecture between the cities of Fukushima and Koriyama, lies approximately 250 km from Tokyo. Its western boundary is marked by the Adatara Mountain Range (1,728 m), one of Japan's "Hyakumeizan" (100 famous mountains, as designated by mountaineer and author Fukuda Kyuya), while the Abukuma River flows through its eastern part.

Once part of the ancient Mutsu Province, Nihonmatsu flourished as a post station on the Oshu Kaido Highway and as the castle town of the Niwa family, holding a 100,700 koku domain during the Edo period. Though Nihonmatsu Castle, also known as Kasumigajo Castle, was razed during the Boshin Civil War in 1868, its grounds remain a cherished historical site. Renowned for cherry blossom viewing and the Chrysanthemum Doll Festival in the fall, the castle's main gate, Minowamon, has been reconstructed, offering breathtaking panoramic views from its hilltop donjon.

Nihonmatsu boasts a notable sake brewing tradition, with four prominent companies (Daishichi, Okunomatsu, Ninki, and Senkonari) contributing to its reputation. While not a bustling tourist hub, Nihonmatsu offers an enriching experience for those seeking off-the-beaten-path destinations. Its Lantern Festival (October 4 to 6) exudes an authentic local charm, distinct from typical tourist attractions.


[Nihonmatsu seen from the donjon of Kasumigajo castle]

Haiku poet Kato Kyotai (1732-1792), born in Nagoya, initially served the Owari-Tokugawa family before dedicating himself to haiku at the age of 27. Revered as a latter-day disciple of Basho within the Basho revival movement initiated by Buson in the 1760s, Kyotai endeavored to elevate haiku from the mundane to the sublime through keen observations of the world around him.

Kurozuka, or the Black Mound, situated on the premises of Kanzeji Temple just outside Nihonmatsu's center (near Adachi Station), is steeped in the legend of the Onibaba Goblin—a malevolent old woman who preyed upon unsuspecting travelers from her cave dwelling. According to the tale, a wandering priest, seeking refuge one evening, unwittingly stumbled upon the Onibaba's lair. Despite being warned not to venture into the back room, the priest's curiosity led him to a ghastly discovery: a mound of human bones. Fleeing in terror, the priest narrowly escaped the clutches of the Onibaba, who transformed into a fearsome monster in pursuit. Only through the intervention of the Bodhisattva Kannon, symbolized by a statue carried by the priest, was the goblin subdued, finding peace through the teachings of Buddha. The tragic backstory of the Onibaba—a former wet nurse driven to madness by a haunting realization—adds depth to the chilling legend.

She was originally a wet nurse in an aristocratic mansion in Kyoto. Unfortunately, the girl she cared for was born with an incurable disease and could not speak. A fortune teller told the nurse that the child she loved so much could be cured if she could get the liver from the fetus in the womb of a pregnant woman. So she set off for the faraway Mutsu province, where no one knew her, to obtain this so-called medicine by illegal means, leaving her own newborn daughter behind in Kyoto. After many years, one evening a young couple who had lost their way asked for shelter. The young woman was pregnant and went into labor at that moment. The husband went out to buy medicine. It was a perfect opportunity. The nurse took out a large knife and attacked the young woman, cutting the liver out of the fetus. At that moment, however, the murderer saw the protective amulet that the young woman was wearing. The woman she had just killed was none other than her own daughter, whom she had left behind in Kyoto! This was such a huge shock that she became mentally unbalanced and turned into the Onibaba Goblin, who lurked in her cave to attack travelers....

What a horrible story. Folk tales are often very gruesome. But that was not how Kyotai approached the subject. Fortunately, Kyotai's haiku is pure irony: instead of being pursued by the legendary old crone Onibaba when he visits Kurozuka, the poet is besieged by a swarm of large black flies!

Nihonmatsu stands as a testament to history, offering a serene and authentic atmosphere untouched by mass tourism. Easily accessible via the Tohoku Main Line, the town is a mere 25-minute train ride from both Koriyama and Fukushima. Visitors can explore notable attractions such as Kasumigajo Castle, renowned for its cherry blossoms, and Kanzeji Temple, where the haunting legend of the Onibaba unfolds. Local festivals, including the Lantern Festival and the Chrysanthemum Doll Festival, provide glimpses into Nihonmatsu's vibrant cultural heritage. Sake enthusiasts will delight in tours offered by the city's esteemed breweries (such as kimoto-brewer Daishichi), while nature lovers can unwind at Dake Onsen, nestled on the slopes of Mt. Adatara. For practical travel information, consult the Nihonmatsu Travel Guide provided by the municipality.




5 mei 2020

"The Name of the Rose" (1980) by Umberto Eco

The Name of the Rose (Il nome della rosa, 1980; English translation by William Weaver 1983) by Umberto Eco (1932-2016) is a typical postmodern novel: a pastiche of a detective novel and a mixture of high and low culture, it is also a historical novel written from a great familiarity with the Middle Ages, and a philosophical novel in which the plot mirrors the theological discussions of the age, such as the millenarian heresies (the interest in sects is characteristic of Eco, fully developed in his second novel Foucault's Pendulum). Numerous philosophers are referenced throughout the novel, some even anachronistically!

What is amazing about this novel is its immense popularity – despite the many Latin citations (usually left untranslated) and the arcane discussions and long descriptions, this book sold 50 million copies worldwide – a true sign of the mastery with which Umberto Eco wrote his first novel.

[Umberto Eco]

Eco provides more than only an imitation of the detective novel style: we also have a pastiche of Sherlock Holmes in the “hero,” William of Baskerville. Franciscan friar William of Baskerville and his Benedictine novice and scribe Adso of Melk (his young Watson, so to speak – likewise, Adso serves as the narrator) travel to a Benedictine monastery in Northern Italy to attend a theological dispute. As they arrive, the monastery is disturbed by a suicide (or murder?) and in the next days, more monks mysteriously die. William is asked by the abbot of the monastery to investigate the deaths. His exploration leads him to the labyrinthine library of the monastery where the clue to the mystery seems to be hidden.

There are various subplots, for example about heretical and rebellious religious movements and the Inquisition. Eco often translates these medieval religious controversies into modern terms. As a true postmodernist, Eco enjoys every opportunity for lengthy digressions and stories in stories. He also enjoys making lists of things, something in common between Medieval authors and postmodernists. Another strong characteristic of the novel is its intertextuality. As Eco says: "Books always speak of other books, and every story tells a story that has already been told." It is the postmodern ideal that texts refer to other texts, rather than external reality. The Name of the Rose contains references to several stories by Borges (such as “The Library of Babel,” “The Secret Miracle,” “Death and the Compass”), to Conan Doyle, to Aristotle (an intertextual reference to a lost text by this great philosopher!), and to countless medieval texts – the Inquisition trial in the novel, for example, paraphrases an Inquisition record. The “poisoned page” method used by the murderer, finally, appears in an apocryphal anecdote about the purported author of the Chinese novel Jinpingmei, Wang Shichen, but I am not sure Eco was aware of that (popular but unverifiable tradition attributes the Jinpingmei to the Confucian scholar Wang Shicheng, who is said to have dashed off the huge novel in just six weeks to get revenge on the decadent Yen Shifan, the son of the man he blamed for his father's death; Wang sent Yen the manuscript as a gift after rubbing grains of poison into the corner of each page so that Yen would ingest them when he wet his finger in his mouth to turn the pages).

[The monastery of San Michele formed the inspiration for Eco's fictional abbey]

These are the Middle Ages, but true to the scholastic method, William demonstrates the power of deductive reasoning, and does not believe in demons or the supernatural. He keeps an open mind and following his intuition, collects the necessary facts. By the way, the name “William” points to William of Ockham, who around the years in which the novel is set, put forward the principle known as "Ockham's Razor," that one should always accept as most-likely the simplest explanation that accounts for all the facts.

True to the postmodern sensibility, the solving of the murder mystery is also a metaphor for the reader's interpretation of the text. That solution interestingly hinges on the contents of Aristotle's Book on Comedy, of which no copy survives. Eco however plausibly describes it and skillfully mixes fact and scholarly conjecture. It is highly interesting that the murderer, a monk, had as motive that he wanted to keep this book and the subversive power of laughter out of the hands of others – the Church has never been fun-loving. By the way, despite his intricate reasoning, William discovers the murderer by accident – he was in fact misled by his theory that the murders are based on the Revelation of John, just as the detective in Borges' “Death and the Compass” was misled by his intellectual reasoning.

It is wonderful how everything in The Name of the Rose comes together in the form of texts and books: we have a postmodern novel with heaps of intertextuality, the largest library in the medieval world (a secret place, fitted out with mirrors and built of seemingly endless galleries), a book that is used as a tool for murder, and the same book that is also the cause of the crime (The Book on Comedy which had to be kept from the world). The detective, William of Baskerville, has read so many books that he needs glasses – here presented as a new-fangled invention – and the murderer, of course, is a blind librarian. To make the circle round, this librarian was based on Jorge Luis Borges, whose stories as mentioned above formed a major influence on Eco - Borges was blind during his later years and was also director of Argentina's national library.

Finally, Eco is also a semiotician, and that is how the title comes into focus. What does the name “rose” point at – how are name and reality linked? Eco gives an ambiguous Latin citation here, but could it not be from Shakespeare's Romeo and Juliet “A rose by any other name would smell as sweet,” - in other words, even when you change the name, the thing remains the same? This would then mean that any title for the novel will do, for ultimately the book itself remains the same. Or, as Eco writes in his Postscript, “the rose is a symbolic figure so rich in meanings that by now it hardly has any meaning left.”

The Name of the Rose was made into a film in 1986, directed by Jean-Jacques Annaud and starring Sean Connery as William of Baskerville and Christian Slater as Adso. Film and novel are different media, but I was pleasantly surprised at the faithfulness with which the novel was translated in filmic terms. There are some changes to the plot, but the basic set-up remains intact and the atmosphere of the monastery on the lonely mountain peak is skilfully realized. The only serious blot on the film is the miscasting of Sean Connery in the main role.

2 mei 2020

The Piano Sonata (1) - 18th & 19th c.

The solo-sonata for piano (or pianoforte, initially) was developed in the course of the 17th century, receiving its first stable form in the hands of CPE Bach and Joseph Haydn. After that, it was for more than 150 years one of the major forms of piano music. The piano sonata offers a frame for working with contrasting musical ideas and is often (but not always) divided into several movements. However, the theoretical concept of the piano sonata as in three or four movements (fast movement in sonata form, slow movement, optional scherzo and again a fast movement) is a later idealization. 

Also note that the term "sonata form" does not refer to the sonata as such, but to the way the first movement (the largest and most weighty part of the total sonata) is developed. Sonata form (also called first movement form or sonata-allegro form) developed in the 1730s and was born out of the need for contrast and repetition. It is usually in three sections called exposition, development and recapitulation. In the exposition the composer shows us the melodic material he will be working with, usually divided in a first subject group (in the home key) and a second subject group (contrasting mood - usually more lyrical - , different key). In the development he plays around with his material in a dramatic way, and in the recapitulation, he gives literally a "recap," usually a shortened version of the exposition, now with everything in the home key. 

The piano sonata as a genre reached its full flowering in the years between the 1770s and the 1820s. Not only were Haydn, Mozart and Beethoven as major classical composers active in the genre, other composers wrote countless piano sonatas as well. 

The rest of the 19th century saw a diminishing importance of the sonata. In the first place, because Beethoven had exhausted the development of the genre for many decades to go, in the second place because the then popular piano virtuosi preferred easier music such as opera potpourris, and also because the piano became an instrument for making music at home, where shorter and simpler pieces were more popular. Although classicism was continued in the Romantic period by such composers as Schumann and Brahms, they only wrote piano sonatas in their youth. The greatest sonata from this period was the comprehensive "three movements in one" Sonata in B minor by Liszt (drawing on the concept of thematic transformation first introduced by Schubert in his Wanderer Fantasie of 1822), which pointed the way to the 20th century. Both strands in fact came together in the large-scale sonatas written by various composers in the last decades of the century.

P.S. I make a difference between piano music and harpsichord music and only include the first. The harpsichord is basically a different instrument, because, where the piano can play both loud and soft (as its name, "piano-forte" indicates), the harpsichord - like the organ - always has the same volume.

[Earliest French Grand Piano from 1781 - Photo Wikipedia]

1. Carl Philip Emanuel Bach, Piano Sonata in G minor Wq 65/17 H47 (1746)
One of the three musical sons of Johann Sebastian Bach, C.P.E. Bach was one of the greatest keyboard composers of the 18th c. He produced some 150 sonatas and many shorter pieces, and made a clear distinction between the harpsichord and the pianoforte, living exactly at the time when the one instrument was being replaced by the other. As a performer, C.P.E. Bach was known for the intensity of his performances, which is evident from the slow movements of his sonatas, which are often quirky and unconventional. The Sonata in G minor starts with an explosive opening and the whole sonata is filled with eloquent declamatory flourishes. It covers the gamut of emotions, now expressed through lilting melodies, then again through free toccata style improvisation. This is truly "Sturm und Drang" - we can even hear in it the stirrings of a later Romantic imagination. Although played on the piano in the recording I listened to, Pletnev proves to be a very sensitive performer, making use of the piano's flexibility of tone sought after by C.P.E. Bach (whose preferred instrument was the clavichord, as its dynamics could be controlled by touch - the strings were struck like those of the piano), and playing with taste and virtuosity, always in the spirit of the composer.
[Recording listened to: Mikhail Pletnev on Deutsche Grammophon]

2. Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart, Piano Sonata No. 14 in C minor, K. 457 (1784)
As a performer Mozart was the first exponent of the then relatively new pianoforte. As a composer for the instrument, he loathed empty virtuosity - his solo piano works are all surprisingly simple. He wrote his first sonatas in 1774, inspired by Haydn, and would compose in total 18 piano sonatas. The later sonatas are melodically richer than the early ones, but all combine spareness and soberness with charm and elegance. Mozart's grandest solo work is the Sonata No 14 in C Minor, dedicated to Therese von Trattner, one of Mozart's pupils in Vienna. It is one of only two sonatas Mozart wrote in the minor key - he was extremely deliberate in choosing tonalities for his compositions and his choice of C minor for this sonata implies that it may have been a very personal work. The sonata begins with an ascending arpeggio figure, softly answered. The slow movement is an ornamented aria. The closing movement is full of drama again, with grit beneath the filigree surface. This sonata has been said to surpass all others by Mozart in its fire and passion, foreshadowing the piano music of Beethoven - it shares a similar overall plan with Beethoven's later "Pathétique" sonata. Seven months after completing the sonata, Mozart wrote a Fantasia that, thematically related to it, was meant to be played as an introduction to the sonata - it is usually recorded together with it. It is an intense work which shows us something of Mozart as a piano improviser.
[Recording listened to: Maria Joao Pires on Deutsche Grammophon]

3. Joseph Haydn, Piano Sonata in E-flat major, Hob. XVI/52, L. 62 (1794)
In all, Haydn wrote 51 sonatas for the piano and several other short pieces. However, most of these were written in his early years - he was not a pianist, and, as his career developed, he lost interest in the genre. He only wrote three sonatas in the last twenty years of his life. Haydn's piano music was strongly influenced by C.P.E. Bach; it possesses great expressiveness and occasional whimsicality. Haydn's piano sonatas also show a great deal of experimentation. The Sonata in E Flat, one of Haydn's three last sonatas, forms the peak of his achievements in the field of the piano. From the 1780s on, in the piano music of both Haydn and Mozart, we find two innovations: the heavy use of dynamics - often leading to orchestral timbres - , combined with the relaxed opera buffa style (a vocal articulation of phrases in the manner of operatic style). Although the pure sonata form was much rarer in the classical period than is often thought today, in the first movement of this sonata Haydn does indeed approach the mold of the sonata form: the first theme of the opening Allegro has an affirmative, powerful character and the second theme, in the upper register, is light and spirited. The second movement is an Adagio and the last movement a Presto. The sonata is quite expansive and full of unusual harmonies. Haydn wrote it for Therese Jansen, an outstanding pianist who lived in London at the time of Haydn's visits there in the 1790s (Haydn also dedicated the sonatas 50 and 51 to her, as well as three piano trios).
[Recording listened to: Christine Schornsheim on Capriccio - all Haydn sonatas on authentic instruments]


4. Jan Ladislav Dussek, Piano Sonata in A flat major "Le retour à Paris" Op. 64 (C. 221) (1807)
Jan Ladislav Dussek (1760-1812) was a Bohemian composer, whose piano sonatas belong to the most forward-looking compositions for the instrument at the turn of the 18th to the 19th century. The present sonata is Dussek's longest and perhaps best one. "Le retour á Paris" was composed in 1807, when Dussek returned to the French capital, where he resided until his death. Before that, Dussek had lived in England where - like Clementi and Field - he contributed to the development of a distinct "London" school of pianoforte composition. He also took advantage of the fact that English-manufactured pianofortes (such as the sonorous Broadwood grand) were more powerful and had a greater range. In all, Dussek composed 34 piano sonatas. Despite the technical challenges, virtuosity is never an object in itself. The opening movement of the present sonata is characterized by exotic harmonic coloring; this is followed by a luxuriant Molto adagio; next comes a restless and whimsical minuet; and the sonata is closed by a finale steeped in polka rhythms.
[Recording listened to: Andreas Staier on Deutsche Harmonia Mundi]

5. Carl Maria von Weber, Piano Sonata No 3 in D minor Op 49 (1816)
Weber was a fine pianist and central to his pianistic oeuvre are his four sonatas. Often regarded as the first truly Romantic sonatas, they had a great influence on subsequent composers as Mendelssohn and Schumann. All are large scale and virtuosic. Weber infused the classical sonata form with his own lyrical and dramatic, sometimes even theatrical, elements. The Piano Sonata No 3 in D minor was considered as "demonic" by Weber's contemporaries, and it is indeed his darkest sonata. It is a sonata full of orchestral sonorities and textures, and it also makes much use of counterpoint. Weber wrote it in just twenty days of feverish inspiration.
[Recording listened to: Alexander Paley on Naxos]

6. Johann Nepomuk Hummel, Piano Sonata No. 5 in F-sharp minor, Op. 81 (1819)
Hummel was one of the greatest pianists of his day, who as a direct pupil of Mozart carried the pianistic style of his great teacher into the 19th century. Hummel not only wrote a series of piano concertos, he also composed nine piano sonatas. The most radical of these is the fifth one in F sharp minor. Considered one of Hummel’s greatest works in his lifetime, this sonata is a highly demanding work to play. The initial Allegro starts with a roller-coaster ride full of cascading notes, built on an angular main theme. The movement is full of contrasts and surprises, sudden stops and starts. The Largo con molto espressione is demanding in its melting gentleness, anticipating Chopin's Nocturnes, and the Finale is a thrilling, wild Slavonic dance, technically very demanding. In this sonata, Hummel fully embraces the Romantic movement.
[Recording listened to: Stephen Hough on Hyperion]


7. Muzio Clementi, Piano Sonata in G minor, Op 50 No. 3 "Didone Abbandonata" (1821)
Clementi was not only a performer and composer, but also a teacher (most notably of John Field, inventor of the Nocturne) and a maker of fortepianos. He lived much of his life in London, but also traveled extensively throughout Europe. Clementi composed over one hundred piano sonatas. He inaugurated the three-movement structure, and also in his use of thematic development anticipated Beethoven's piano writing - in fact, Clementi was highly regarded by Beethoven. Clementi's early sonatas are rather light in character, but especially after the advent of the mature piano, his style changes and even foreshadows the music of Chopin. Clementi's last set of sonatas, Op 50, was composed in 1821. The final sonata of this set has the subtitle "Didone abbandonata," the only sonata to which Clementi applied a programmatic title. Queen Dido, left by the hero Aeneas, was a popular 18th c. opera subject. The first movement is indeed a very operatic tragic scene, expressing the feelings of Dido at the parting. The second movement is a rhapsodic Adagio dolente, and this leads directly into the final Allegro agitato, e con disperazione, the strongest movement of the piece. This sonata proves abundantly that Clementi could write fascinating music, and that he was much more than just a composer of educational pieces for piano students.
[Recording listened to: Howard Shelley on Hyperion]

8. Ludwig van Beethoven, Piano Sonata No. 32 in C minor, Op. 111 (1822)
Beethoven's 32nd and last piano sonata contains only two movements. The first movement is stormy and impassioned, as is usual for Beethoven's music in C minor. The second movement is a monumental set of variations on a beguilingly simple arietta melody. In Thomas Mann's Doctor Faustus, a novel much engaged with music, the question is raised why Beethoven didn't write a third movement, and the answer given is that the second movement has, as the Rough Guide to Classical Music paraphrases it, "effectively nailed the sonata form into its coffin." As the selection of sonatas in this post will show, that was not wholly true, although with Beethoven the development of the sonata form had indeed reached its limit for a long time (as had the string quartet). One could also more simply state that the balance between the two movements is such that it obviates the need for a third one. But it is true that these final "variations take us on a journey that ends in transfigured calm" (liner notes by Richard Osborne). The pianist Robert Taub has called the present sonata "a work of unmatched drama and transcendence ... the triumph of order over chaos, of optimism over anguish." Its two movements contrast on all levels: C minor vs. C major; Sturm und Drang vs. profound serenity; anguished diminished harmonies vs. tonic, dominant, and relative minor harmonies; a 4-meter vs. triple meter. There was no expressive need for Beethoven to compose any additional sonatas - Sonata Op. 111 is the apotheosis of Beethoven's music for the piano.
[Recording listened to: Maurizio Pollini on DG (The Late Piano Sonatas)]

9. Franz Schubert, Piano Sonata No. 20 in A major, D. 959 (1828)
This is Schubert's penultimate piano sonata, the middle panel of the triptych of his final sonatas, written about three months before his death at the age of 31 in September 1828. Schubert numbered the three sonatas sequentially, perhaps envisioning them as a cycle. After his death, Schubert’s brother sold the manuscript to the publisher Diabelli, but the sonatas were not actually published until 1839. In fact, during the whole 19th c. Schubert's piano music was neglected; that would change completely by the late 20th c., when Schubert's late sonatas were considered among the most important of the composer's mature masterpieces. They are now part of the core piano repertoire. One reason for the former neglect is that Schubert's sonatas were seen as structurally inferior to those of Beethoven. Musical analysis has however brought a mature, individual style to light, that makes use of such features as a cyclical formal and tonal design, chamber music textures, and a rare depth of emotional expression. In fact, Schubert has developed a new type of sonata form, different from that of Beethoven. The sonata in A major is in four movements, with a Scherzo in third position. The whole sonata is pervaded by a deep pessimism. The structure of the work seems to circle around its subjects without being able to come to rest, as if the conventional perception of linear time is suspended (Rough Guide to Classical Music). The sparse, lamenting Andantino is built on a melody that returns again and again to the same single note, until it is interrupted by a terrifying outburst in which no melody can be found.
[Recording listened to: Andreas Schiff on Decca]

10. Robert Schumann, Piano Sonata No. 1 in  F sharp minor "Grosse Sonate," Op 11 (1835)
This is an early work in Schumann's output, written when the composer was 23 years old - he had just begun his romance with the virtuoso pianist Clara Wieck, who would become his wife in 1840. The sonata, written by Schumann under his double nicknames Florestan and Eusebius (representing respectively the more turbulent and reflective sides of his character), was dedicated to Clara Wieck, but as her father forbade all contact with Schumann (not surprisingly as Clara was still a teenager), she could not openly acknowledge its receipt. The sonata is cast in four movements. The first movement begins with a lengthy introduction, marked Un poco adagio, before a fiery theme takes over, based on a "fandango" idea, in fact going back to a piece Schumann wrote in 1832; he mixes his own music here rather symbolically with music written by Clara Wieck, "Scène fantastique: Le ballet des revenants." The brief Aria is a song of great passion. The ensuing Scherzo works suitably quirky, but at its center stands a stately intermezzo. The finale is a rondo that alternates between the restless and the contemplative, between Florestan and Eusebius so to speak, before leading to a triumphant conclusion. In his own time Schumann was criticized for his mixing of keys and the fact that exposition, development and recapitulation are becoming difficult to distinguish from each other, but today that is rather seen as progress in his music. Schumann was a true Romantic.
[Performance listened to: Murray Perahia on Sony Classical]

11. Frédéric Chopin, Piano Sonata No 3 in B minor, Op 58 (1844)
The last of Chopin’s three piano sonatas, written during the years of his full maturity as a composer. Chopin wrote the third sonata when he was spending a happy summer with George Sand at her country estate - a crucial time in their long love affair. In contrast to the previous "Sonata funèbre" (so named after the funeral march it contains) it conforms closer to the structure of a classical sonata. It consists of four movements: the first movement, the most important of the four, is a sonata allegro, the last is a rondo, and the middle movements take the form of a scherzo with trio and a large-scale instrumental song. The first movement, Allegro maestoso, starts with a distinctive martial theme and has the character of a ballade. In this movement, Chopin has combined the statement and development of his ideas with such perfect fluency, that the convention of recapitulating them became superfluous. The short Scherzo has a contrasting but melodically related central section. The slow movement is in fact a slow-treading, elegiac Nocturne in three-part form, which has been called one of Chopin's happiest inspirations. The finale, Presto non tanto, is a brilliant and forceful movement in which the opening theme returns as in a rondo. It has been said to prefigure Wagner's Walkürenritt. The sonata closes with a magnificent coda. Liszt very much appreciated this sonata and played it to his pupils; the pianist and composer Kalkbrenner even sent his son to Paris so that he could study the sonata directly with its composer.
[Performance listened to: John Ogdon on MCA Classics]

12. Charles Valentin Alkan, Grande Sonate "Les quatre Âges de la vie," Op 33 (1847)
The French Romantic composer Alkan has been called "the Berlioz of the piano" - except some songs, chamber and organ music, his whole output was for that one instrument. Some of his music requires extreme technical virtuosity. But he only wrote one sonata, most of his music consists of small pieces like etudes, esquisses, etc. The present sonata is in four movements which, different from what was common in the classical sonata, become progressively slower. As the title of the sonata indicates, those four movements portray a human being at the ages of 20, 30, 40 and 50. The optimistic first movement, "20 ans," is of course played very fast, but it also marks the clumsiness of youth by sudden "wrong chords." This first movement is effectively a scherzo. The second movement "30 ans: Quasi-Faust" is the most substantial movement, a very extended sonata-form, and also the most difficult part of the entire sonata. This movement, a tone poem typifying the dual character of Faust, has to be played "satanically" and also contains a large fugue. "40 ans: Un heureux ménage" illustrates the happiness and peace of family life at middle-age and the meditations of a ripe human being. It is played "Lentement (slowly)." "50 ans: Prométhée enchaîné" (Prometheus Bound), played extremely slow, is dark and pessimistic in mood, and describes an aged person looking toward death. The sonata ends so to speak with the lugubrious defeat of Prometheus.
[Performance listened to: Marc-André Hamelin on Hyperion]


13. Franz Liszt, Sonata in B minor (1852-53)
A vast, three-movement work that is played without a break, after the model of Schubert's "Wanderer" Fantasy, a favorite work of Liszt's. While its distinct movements are rolled into one (there is a slow central section and also scherzo-like fugato), the entire work is encompassed within an overarching sonata form - exposition, development and recapitulation, factually creating "a sonata within a sonata." At this point in his life, Liszt's career as a traveling virtuoso had almost entirely subsided, and he was leaning towards the life of a composer while residing quietly in Weimar. The Sonata was dedicated to Robert Schumann, in return for Schumann's dedication of his Fantasie in C major, Op. 17 (published 1839) to Liszt. Because of its technical difficulties and negative initial reception due to its status as "new" music, it took a long time for the sonata to become accepted as concert repertoire. Today, it is a popularly performed and extensively analyzed piece. The sonata unfolds in approximately 30 minutes of unbroken music, a single dramatic design that took Liszt long and careful work to achieve (he never attempted a second sonata). Liszt was very economical with his thematic material. The first page contains the three motivic ideas that provide the content, transformed throughout, for nearly all that follows. Rare for Liszt, the sonata is free of any program or external reference, although some critics have argued for relating the structure and content of the piece to Goethe’s Faust (others have detected autobiographical elements in it), with characterizations of Faust, Mephisto and Gretchen. In that case, Liszt's Sonata may have been inspired by Alkan, whose sonata described above features a Faustian second movement. But this is all speculation. Liszt's Sonata was first performed in public in Berlin by Hans von Bülow, Liszt’s pupil and son-in-law. It not only exerted an important influence on Cesar Franck, but also on Scriabin and subsequent 20th c. music.
[Performance listened to: Leslie Howard on Hyperion]

14. Johannes Brahms, Piano Sonata No. 3 in F Minor, Op. 5 (1854)
All Brahms' three piano sonatas were written at the young age of twenty - Brahms carried them under his arm for his first historic interview with Robert Schumann, who was then an established composer and fearsome critic. The third sonata had then just been finished; the other two the year before. At a time that other composers were doing away with classical forms, Brahms makes the sonata form unashamedly the receptacle of his fecund ideas. Schumann called him a "a young eagle" and warned the public that the successor to Beethoven had finally arrived. Interestingly, Brahms never wrote another piano sonata and in fact his most beloved piano works are the later ballades, intermezzos and rhapsodies. The sonata is in five movements. The Allegro maestoso is remarkable for its great breadth and intensity. The second movement Andante progresses from intimate, yearning music to an even more hushed and intimate interlude, ending in a coda of great ecstasy. The rapturous stillness of this movement is abruptly broken by the Scherzo. The Intermezzo is called "Reminiscence" and indeed looks back at the love theme of the Andante - but with a sense of loss and desolation. The Finale starts with a quasi-improvisatory rumination, hesitant music which also provides the material for the ensuing Rondo. But gradually the material becomes stronger and "in the coda the bonds that have held the young eagle break and the final flight is to freedom" (as Emanual Ax puts it in the liner notes). Although classical in form, in its fierce Romanticism this sonata demonstrates a certain nearness to the New German School of Liszt c.s.
[Performance listened to: Emanuel Ax on Sony Classical]


15. Marie Jaëll, Piano Sonata (1871)
Marie (Trautmann) Jaëll (1846 – 1925) was a French (Alsace region) pianist, composer, and pedagogue, who - like other professional women from the 19th c. - has been unjustly forgotten. She composed works for piano, concertos and chamber music. She also was the first pianist to perform all the piano sonatas of Beethoven in Paris; and she played the complete piano music of Liszt at a series of concerts. She undertook scientific studies of hand techniques in piano playing and attempted to replace traditional drilling with systematic piano methods. Her piano teacher was Heinrich Herz and she became famous as a performer when she was only ten years. At age twenty, she married the pianist and Chopin-pupil Alfred Jaëll and toured with her husband throughout Europe. They also met Liszt, with whom Marie Jaëll briefly studied after the death of her husband in 1881. Saint-Saëns dedicated his First Piano Concerto to her. Although she also wrote salon music, the piano sonata from 1871 is a very substantial piece of music, stormy and overpowering, but also characterized by great artistic rigor. The sonata was dedicated to Liszt. 
[Performance listened to: Alexandre Sorel on Solstice]

16. Xaver Scharwenka, Piano Sonata No 2, Op 36 (1878)
There are two Scharwenkas, brothers, who both became famous as pianists, composers and piano teachers: the elder one, Philip, born in 1847 and the younger one, (Franz) Xaver, born in 1850. The family hailed from Russia (the mother was Polish) but the brothers grew up in Berlin. Xaver was praised for the beauty of his tone, and was a renowned interpreter of the music of Chopin. In 1882, he set up his own music school of which he also established a branch in New York in the 1890s. Xaver Scharwenka wrote four substantial piano concertos which he extensively played himself. Unfortunately, their popularity was in his lifetime overshadowed by his salon pieces, as the Polish Dances. Xaver Scharwenka also wrote two piano sonatas. The second one dates from 1878 and has been called his most substantial work for piano solo. There are four movements with the scherzo preceding the slow third movement. The melodic content is strong throughout, with vibrant Polish melodies. It is a shame this composer is so little performed today.
[Performance listened to: Seta Tanyel on Hyperion (Helios)]  


17. Ferrucio Busoni, Piano Sonata in F minor Op 20 (1883)
That Busoni (1866-1924) was a formidable pianist, is sufficiently proven by his epic and enormous concerto. Strangely, in his mature years he never wrote a piano sonata and is now best known for his large Bach transcriptions and sonatines. But this precocious talent did write a piano sonata when he was still a teenager, finishing the work at Christmas 1883 when he was living in Vienna. Busoni was then just seventeen and starting on a career as a virtuoso touring pianist. Busoni dedicated the three-movement work to Anton Rubinstein whose commanding technique had been very influential on the young composer. The sonata represents the culmination of Busoni’s ambitions as a virtuoso in the Romantic mold. The Allegro risoluto opens with a grand and decisive theme. The Andante con moto is more reticent and exudes a beautiful late-Romantic radiance; it almost leans towards salon music. The finale, which starts with an improvisation, is an Allegro fugato centered on an energetic neo-Classical fugue. The sonata closes with a powerful coda.
[Recording listened to: Emanuele Arciuli on Stradivarius]

18. Eugene d'Albert, Piano Sonata in F sharp minor Op 10 (1893)
Eugen d’Albert (1864-1932) was born in Glasgow of German and partly French parents, studied in London under Arthur Sullivan, and then settled down in Germany. He was one of the greatest pianists of his day. Among his compositions are two piano concertos, but also a cello concerto, a symphony, two string quartets, and the opera Tiefland. The present sonata is a very ambitious piece of music, massively Brahmsian in character (Brahms wrote his third sonata in the same rare key of F sharp minor, see above). The work is heavily laden with dark octave chords. The second movement is aptly delicate and contemplative and the third movement is a skillful, Bachian triple fugue. The sonata was dedicated to Hans von Bulow.
[Recording listened to: Piers Lane on Hyperion]

19. Paul Dukas, Piano Sonata in E-flat minor (1900)
In the period between the two wars, that of 1870-71 and that of 1914-18, French music flourished. That was also true for piano music, with such various composers as Gounod, Massenet, Bizet, Saint-Saens, Chabrier, Franck, Faure, Chausson, Debussy, Satie and Ravel. But none of these composers wrote a piano sonata, in general small forms were dominant. So when Dukas wrote his huge (45 minute!) sonata in 1900, he was breaking new ground. As every new sonata written around this time was going to be compared with Beethoven, Dukas wrote a very serious sonata, giving all he had in him. It is based on the typical Beethovian "dark to light" principle. Each movement develops its ideas at length. The first movement is characterized by anxious, tormented chromatism. It is in traditional sonata form. Surprisingly, that is also the case with the gentler, second movement. The third movement is a scherzo in ABA form. In the last movement - again in sonata form - a fantasia-like section leads to the aspirational main theme. A sonata which breaks new ground while using traditional methods.
[Recording listened to: Marc-Andre Hamelin on Hyperion]


20. Ignacy Jan Paderewski, Piano Sonata Op 21 (1903)
Paderewski was one of the great piano lions who dominated concert halls in the late 19th and early 20th centuries, brilliant and charismatic. He also was a diplomat and politician who after WWI briefly served as his country's prime minister. As a composer, he is today known for his piano concerto, a nationalistic symphony and various piano pieces, including the present piano sonata, a large late Romantic work, powerful and turbulent. Paderewski wrote it at his home in Switzerland and expressed his worry that it would be too difficult to ever become very popular (he was right). The first sonata-form movement is dark and restless, the chords come clashing like heavy waves on a shore. The second movement is a song without words, and the finale again unleashes pianistic virtuosity, while also including a fugal section.
[Recording listened to: Jonathan Plowright on Hyperion]