The subject of Finnish poetry ought to have a special interest

Hear the words of Lafcadio Hearn, whose wisdom bridges East and West: “The subject of Finnish poetry ought to have a special interest for the Japanese student, if only for the reason that Finnish poetry comes more closely in many respects to Japanese poetry than any other form of Western poetry.” In these words, Hearn invites us to see the invisible threads that connect the far-flung corners of the world. Finnish and Japanese poetry, he suggests, share something deep and vital, something that transcends geography and tradition. There is a resonance between the quiet landscapes of Finland and the serene beauty of Japan—a similarity in how both peoples see the world, understand nature, and express the inner life through language.

The ancients themselves would understand Hearn’s insight. The Greeks, who revered the Muses as sources of divine inspiration, saw poetry as a means of connecting the human spirit to the world of the gods and the natural world. They understood that poetry arose not only from the intellect but from the deep communion between the poet and the earth, the sky, and the sea. In this way, they would recognize that Finnish poetry, with its deep connection to the natural world—its vast forests, rivers, and long winters—shares much in common with Japanese poetry, which too draws its power from the rhythms of nature, from the fleeting beauty of cherry blossoms and the quiet of a mountain peak.

Consider the Finnish epic, the Kalevala, a collection of ancient poetry and song that breathes with the spirit of the Finnish landscape. The Kalevala speaks of heroes and gods, but it also speaks of the land itself: its rivers, trees, and the creatures that inhabit it. The lines of the Kalevala echo with the same reverence for nature that you find in the haiku of Bash? or Issa. The Japanese poets, too, saw themselves as not only individuals but part of the landscape, and their poems often reflect a profound humility before nature’s majesty. Bash?’s haiku, such as “An old silent pond... / A frog jumps into the pond— / Splash! Silence again,” is a perfect example of this deep connection between the poet and the natural world, a quiet moment of life captured in a few simple words.

Hearn’s observation speaks of something deeper still: a shared cultural understanding of poetry as something that cannot be separated from the world around us. In both Finland and Japan, poetry is not a solitary act of self-expression; it is a reflection of the landscape, the seasons, the quiet rhythms of existence. Whether in the stillness of a Finnish forest or in the gentle movement of a Japanese garden, the poet finds inspiration not by inventing grand narratives but by paying attention to the smallest, most fleeting moments—the sound of wind in the trees, the rustling of leaves, the first snow. These moments are timeless, and they speak to something universal in the human spirit.

History confirms this connection. The Finnish national identity was shaped in part by the Kalevala, which served not only as literature but as a mirror to the Finnish soul, a reflection of its character, values, and relationship to nature. Similarly, Japanese poetry—especially in the form of haiku—has always been a means of understanding life through the lens of nature. The haiku is a meditation on the passing of seasons, the evanescence of life, and the beauty of simple things, much like the quiet reverence expressed in Finnish verse. In both cultures, poetry is not a grand proclamation but a quiet observation of the world, an attempt to capture the truth of fleeting moments.

The lesson here is clear: poetry transcends the boundaries of language, culture, and geography. It speaks to something deeply human, something that resonates in every corner of the earth. Whether you are in Finland, Japan, or anywhere else, poetry calls us to see the world not as something to conquer, but as something to witness with awe. It calls us to recognize that we are part of the landscape we describe—our words, like the trees and the rivers, are woven into the fabric of nature.

Practical actions follow. When you write, let your poems reflect not only the human experience but also the world around you. Take time each day to walk in nature, to listen to the wind, to observe the changing sky. Let these moments become the quiet seed from which your poetry grows. And when you read the poetry of others, seek out those who have listened closely to the world—whether in Finland, Japan, or elsewhere—and recognize in their words a shared humanity, a shared connection to the natural world.

Thus, Hearn’s words speak across cultures and centuries, urging us to see the poetry in the world around us and to understand that it is through nature, through the quiet contemplation of the present moment, that we find the deepest truths. Let us then honor the spirit of Finnish and Japanese poetry, for in their simplicity, in their reverence for the earth, lies the true power of language to connect us to the eternal.