UNFURLING WORDS

The next posting of my Shunshô prints is number 86 in the 100 Poets, 100 Poems series (Ogura Hyakunin Isshu). This poet is Saigyō Hōshi.

"Saigyō was a member of the Fujiwara family, an eccentric monk, and a famous poet, who lived A.D. 1115-1188. He was once in attendance on the Emperor, when a bird by fluttering its wings began scattering the blossoms of a plum tree. The Emperor directed him to drive off the bird, but the priest, with an excess of zeal, killed it by a stroke of his fan. On reaching home his wife told him that she had dreamt that she was changed into a bird and that he had struck her; and this incident made such an impression upon him, that he retired from Court, and spent the rest of his life as a monk." (Bio from "The Internet Sacred Text Archive.")

Saigyō Hōshi

Nageke tote
Tsuki ya wa mono o
Omowasuru
Kakochi gao naru
Waga namida kana

The Monk Saigyō

Should I blame the moon
For bringing forth this sadness,
As if it pictured grief?
Lifting up my troubled face,
I regard it through my tears.

The Monk Saigyō

The moon to me now
Is a thing to be deplored,
Forcing me to think
Till my face grows drawn and tense,
And I feel the tears begin.

UNFURLING WORDS

I continue posting my Shunshô prints with this one of Dō-in Hoshi, number 82 in the 100 Poets, 100 Poems series (Ogura Hyakunin Isshu). It was the second one I purchased while in Tokyo on the 2006 New York City Opera tour, and is a page from a book thought to have been published around 1775.

I thought he vaguely looked like me . . .

Dō-in became a monk at the age of eighty, having written poetry his whole life. I am sympathetic to this fellow. As I move around the city, I wonder whether my thoughts and feelings unfurl in the air above my pate, wherever I am, for all to read.

I only hope the penmanship is as beautiful.

Dō-in Hoshi

Omoi wabi
Satemo inochi wa
Aru mono o
Uki ni taenu wa
Namida nari keri


The Monk Dō-in

Thoughts of love
devour my days, for such
is the fate from which
I shall never escape,
despite these tears I shed.

The Monk Dō-in

Though in deep distress
Through your cruel blow, my life
Still is left to me.
But I cannot keep my tears;
They break forth from my grief.


After my week of very involved travel and performances (which I shall continue to write about in the next few days) I relax with non-musical pursuits.

UNFURLING WORDS

In 2006, I went on a tour of Japan with the New York City Opera. While in Tokyo, members of the orchestra introduced me to a print dealer they knew from previous trips.

He showed me a group of 18th-C. images by Katsukawa Shunshô (c. 1726-93), from his version of 100 Poems, 100 Poets series (Ogura Hyakunin Isshu). They are pages from a book published around 1775. Utterly new to this sort of work, I was taken by the combination of the poet's portrait with his words unfurling in the air above his head. Shunshô is particularly known for his personal rendering of faces. (Click on the image for a larger version.) I found these pictures so expressive and the old paper on which they were printed so delicate and full of character that I couldn't resist them.

I took all he had and gave many to friends. I kept five and will post them individually, starting with number 10 in the series, the blind biwa player, Semi Maru. Son of a ninth century emperor, his affliction made him ineligible for the throne, so he retired to a small hill and wrote poems and played music.

These poems are examples of tanka, a 31-syllable form comprising the pattern 5-7-5-7-7. I found three translations.

Semimaru

kore ya kono
yuku mo kaeru mo
wakarete wa
shiru mo shiranu mo
ōsaka no seki

Semimaru (translation - William Porter 1909)

The stranger who has travelled far,
The friend with welcome smile,
All sorts of men who come and go
Meet at this mountain stile, --
They meet and rest awhile.

Semimaru

Truly, this is where
Travelers who go or come
Over parting ways--
Friends or strangers--all must meet:
The gate of "Meeting Hill."

Semimaru (translation Mark Jewel, 2006)

This is a place where
Many come and many go,
Part to meet again,
Some as friends, some as strangers:
The Ōsaka Barrier.

The antithetical pairings in this poem: "come and go," "part and meet," "friends and strangers," give the feeling of footfalls leading to the Osaka gate. The site described, Ōsaka no Seki, is a small hill on the edge of Lake Biwa, not far from Kyōto, where Semi Maru lived. It was a common poetic subject.

Photograph of Japan's largest lake, Biwa.