Classic and Contemporary Poetry: Explained

"Mishima" by Charles Henri Ford is an elegy that delves into the complex psyche and legacy of the Japanese author Yukio Mishima, known for his literary brilliance and his controversial, dramatic death by seppuku after a failed coup attempt. Ford’s poem captures the tension between creation and destruction, the cerebral and the emotional, as it meditates on the multifaceted nature of Mishima's character.

The opening lines set a haunting tone: "The unplayed idea returned to haunt you, Yukio Mishima / Walking wounded with that deadly merchandise, your mind." This line immediately establishes the notion of an unresolved concept or an unfulfilled ambition that lingers, tormenting Mishima. The phrase "walking wounded" encapsulates his state as both physically unharmed yet mentally scarred, suggesting the burdens of his obsessions and ideals. The metaphor of "deadly merchandise" for his mind hints at the dangerous and potent ideas that drove his actions, including his fixation with power, honor, and ritualized death.

The poem’s assertion that "A poem is only a poem, it can't be anything else you said" draws attention to the limitations of art as perceived by Mishima. This line resonates with his belief that writing alone was insufficient to manifest his ideals—action was necessary. The subsequent shift to "something else, more emotional than cerebral" suggests that Mishima sought to transcend the intellectual realm of literature into the visceral world of emotion and experience, aligning with his real-life pursuit of physical and political enactments of his philosophies.

Ford alludes to the violence and intensity associated with Mishima through striking, unsettling images: "A furious abortion in a Prague suburb perhaps / Or a prisoner used as guinea pig." These references evoke themes of suffering and exploitation, potentially mirroring the personal and societal sacrifices Mishima perceived as necessary for achieving his ideals. The line "The unguarded revelation is the one you never shot down" implies that Mishima’s most dangerous act may have been allowing himself to reveal vulnerability or truth without restraint—perhaps a nod to the public nature of his final act of seppuku.

The stanza addressing Mishima's defensive posture, "To limit the chance of counterattack / You pretended to be asleep when the dragon breathed fire," portrays him as strategic and cautious, aware of potential threats yet calculating in his response. This tactic of feigned passivity could reflect his actual life, where he navigated the intricate balance between his artistic persona and political ambitions. The mention of "carrying in your pocket always the rarest of eventualities" underscores his readiness for unpredictable outcomes and his affinity for grand, often dramatic scenarios.

Ford’s analysis of Mishima’s true motivations comes to the forefront with "Actually you were more attracted to power than to people or to art." This line reveals the poet’s interpretation of Mishima’s underlying drive: the allure of authority and dominance took precedence over human connections or artistic achievements. The description of his "underlying drive chameleon-like shifts in strategy" captures Mishima’s adaptability and the calculated nature of his pursuits, emphasizing that his public persona was as much a constructed performance as his novels were crafted works.

The reference to the entourage of minors in "And now wherever you go, accompanied by minors ('they don't answer but they listen')" might symbolize followers who, captivated by his ideology, do not question him but absorb his words and presence passively. This could be indicative of the young members of the private militia he formed, who revered him but did not fully grasp the depth of his intentions.

The poem’s conclusion, "You wear the hidden smile that triggers the trance of the sun," encapsulates the enigma of Mishima. The "hidden smile" suggests a secret knowledge or an inner satisfaction that belies his public façade. The phrase "trance of the sun" implies something hypnotic and powerful, as if Mishima's final act left an indelible mark, one that compelled both awe and reflection. The sun, a symbol of life and illumination, contrasts sharply with the shadow cast by his death, suggesting that his legacy continues to captivate and confound.

In "Mishima," Ford captures the paradoxical nature of a man torn between the roles of creator and destroyer, whose life was as much an artwork as his novels. The poem's elegiac tone and complex imagery evoke a figure driven by an insatiable need to transcend mere existence, embodying both the brilliance and the tragedy of someone who sought to fuse beauty, violence, and idealism into a singular, unforgettable act.

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