Poetry Blog No 152 Narrow Roads To Inner Lands Scene 5

NARROW ROADS TO INNER LANDS - SCENE FIVE

In this scene Bashō refers to places and people of some fame in Japan still.

...venerable En-no-Ozunu, Great founder of the Shugen sect.

En no Ozunu, also En no Ozuno, Otsuno (役小角?) (b. 634, in Katsuragi; d. c. 700–707) was a Japanese ascetic and mystic, traditionally held to be the founder of Shugendō, the path of ascetic training practiced by the gyōja or yamabushi.

He was banished by the Imperial Court to Izu Ōshima on June 26, 699, but folk tales at least as old as the Nihon Ryōiki (c. 800) recount his supernatural powers and exploits.

In folk religion, En no Ozunu is traditionally held to be the founder of Shugendō, a syncretic religion incorporating aspects of Taoism, Shinto, esoteric Buddhism (especially Shingon Mikkyō and the Tendai sect) and traditional Japanese shamanism. From Wikipedia

En no Ozunu

You visited the great Unganji temple -That famed Zen temple in our province here?

Unganji is one of the largest temples in Tochigi Ohtawara. Known for being left almost entirely untouched, visitors truly feel the authenticity and history of the area. You can see truly authentic Japanese history through the buildings at Unganji and the scenic forest location makes it all the more enchanting. To get to the temple, you first cross a traditional Japanese bridge over a river surrounded by trees. Taking the time to walk or cycle around Tochigi Ohtawara is quite enjoyable as there is an endless amount of scenery to admire. Each season has its own beauty, but if you visit during the height of autumn the land will be covered in red, yellow and orange. Walking around town, you can also see rocks with Matsuo Basho’s haikus carved into the stone. From Authentic Visit Japan http://authentic-visit.jp

Unganji Temple - photo Martin Dudemaine

SCENE FIVE

A room in Kurobane. Evening light. Candles in lanterns. Two small tables. Jōbōji at one with Bashō and Sora at the other.

JŌBŌJI

But tell me, Bashō, sir, while brother Tōsui

Boils evening rice, just how you travelled from

The waterfall on Kurokami's side

Along the many miles to Kurobane?

BASHŌ

Well, Jōbōji, we chose to walk upon

A short cut leading straight for miles and miles

Across the level of the grassy moors.

As evening on twilight wings drew near,

I spied, far off, a small-seen village, seeming

Still toylike-tiny, touching cloud-grey skyline.

Just as we reached it rain set in and darkness

Began to gather round us like a cloak.

We stopped - but had the luck to pass the dark

Well-sheltered, in a village farmhouse there,

Content to seek good sleep, still safe and dry.

We rose with dawning whiteness of new day

And started as the sun began its journey.

SORA

As we were plodding onward on our path

We saw a horse, head bent to roadside grass.

Not far from him a farmer mowed tall pasture,

His sweep of sickle catching sun. So Bashō

Politely asked the man to point the way,

If he were able thus to aid our travel.

So, after minor time for thought, he answered

With just a trace of sympathy, "No good.

You strangers: you could easily go wrong.

Horse knows the shortest path. You take him now.

Just send him back when he will go no further."

We thanked the man and we set off with Bashō,

Whose legs are older, riding on ahead.

So by and by we reached another village,

And sent the patient horse back with some payment.

From there to here was fairly easy going.

BASHŌ

And so our errant way was shortened by

A stranger's kindness and a creature's wisdom.

(Enter Tōsui with the rice on a tray. He serves it and sits down.)

TŌSUI

Good master Bashō, if I may be asking,

Without requiring forced reply, have you

Viewed much around here in these last, few days?

BASHŌ

I was invited to a grace-filled temple

To visit there a hallowed hall, reputed

The final rest place for the priestly form

Of venerable En-no-Ozunu,

Great founder of the Shugen sect. On all

The high roads and the by-roads of our land,

He went in wooden clogs to preach his doctrine.

And there I stood, most moved, before his statue-

A humble wanderer myself, without

The high conviction of historic purpose.

And yet despite this still I had to write-

In summer mountains

Bow to a statue's tall clogs -

Ask journey's blessing.

(Bashō pauses.)

TŌSUI

And on another day, good sir, I’ve heard

You visited the great Unganji temple -

That famed Zen temple in our province here?

BASHŌ

Indeed that's true, most noble samurai.

For long I’ve stored a certain wish to see

Its fine surroundings, praised so by so many.

And more than that, my teacher, master Bucchō,

Once lived alone there, high in nearby hills.

(Bashō rises)

Well, so it was that I set out one day.

A group of younger persons walked with me

Along the way. So cheerful was their talk

We’d reached our aim before I’d thought of it.

The temple there stands sided on a mountain,

All massed with pines and cedars, dark and tall.

A narrow road trails up the valley, banked

With dripping moss. It lead us onward to

The temple gate across the shaky bridge.

Up there the sky was cold, despite the season.

I went and searched out back for Bucchō's hut

And found it up a stony hill, abutting

A rocky ridge, quite near a cave. I felt

As if I stood within the presence of

Some ancient's cell - a most revered retreat -

So penned a verse and pinned it to a post.

Even woodpeckers

Have not touched this tiny hut

In a summer grove.

(Bashō pauses thoughtfully)

But that's enough of all my chattering.

We must retire early for we start

With dawn to walk towards Shirakawa's gate.

All thanks for all in these past days with you.

SORA

And may I add my deepest thanks now too.

(Bashō and Sora rise, bow and exit. Tōsui collects the bowls. Jōbōji puts out the lights and they exit with a lantern)

Blog No 151 Three Summer Poems (reflections on climate change)

  THREE SUMMER POEMS (reflections on climate change)

These three pieces were written through the summer- first just before it started, then in midsummer and lastly towards the end. They incorporated some reflections and feelings about climate change- something that I believe may turn out to be the greatest challenge we all face in the near future and about which, in my opinion, we are still doing too little, too late.

WAITING FOR THE CHANGE

late November Georgica

These are last days of spring

but summer's now-

from blue-white sky

unceasing heat pours down,

surrounding all the grass and trees,

still green by ground of recent rain,

now feeling solar power.

So summer time will stretch the hours

that reach towards forty by degrees

and now the shade beneath the small

red cedar trees seems dark

and other trees hide wallabies

in stillness and in shadow.

And all the brightness narrows eyes;

and all the world seems bleached with light.

Some know we have to grow, decrying

all limits of reality...

but I have heard this day

of heated forests, world-wide, dying.

A southern wind arises now

sways tall gum trees, makes many leaves

endow air flow with rustling sound.

Its coolness promises a passing

of such vast heat for some relief

and I am glad to wait for change

predicted so

as weather-wise belief.

Yet in my heart there shines no gladness

in looking towards a world to be

warmed by waste gas beyond its order-

and I'm not glad to wait for change

to that new world grown wild and strange.

END OF HOT DAY

Midsummer Georgica NSW

End of hot day. Fierce sun has vanished now.

Yet still bright twilight lights west-lying cloud-

Forms spreading yellow-greying in pale vastness.

Are they the heralds of new rain in darkness?

A final butterfly of day flits by,

Above the seed-tipped grasses, summer-high.

Black crows flap towards the heights of night-safe trees,

Soft-rustling topmost leaves in slightest breeze.

Now eastern hills are briefly tinged with gold-

The Midas touch of day's last-passing role.

Above them crescent moon is growing bright

In sky that's fading towards the rise of night.

The heat is falling and the world's inclined

To pass into the shadow side of time

Where stars will show the darker, cooling hours,

Bring some retreat from blaze of solar power.

And in the cooling darkening of sight,

I ponder in the passing to the night

How storms and rains have saved the summer here

From drought's despair and greater fire-fear.

How long will fortune's blessing last? How long?

I hear of terror, fire-born, beyond

The scant horizon of my turning days-

Devouring, roaring flames, the deadly blaze.

I hear of fiercer storms with fury from

The trapping of the energy from sun;

As change, without a harbour or a haven,

Becomes our sadness like a war from heaven.

SUMMER'S ENDING

Georgica, NSW Late February

The summer's ending yet bright day

burns with late-season heat.

The sky is gathering some western cloud

foretelling storm at night, perhaps.

The day is hot yet when gold sun

rose through white mist that drifted up

from lying on the hills,

while dew drops on the grass

were bright as stars...

I felt a trace of chill, a touch

reminding me of autumn yet to come

and winter following.

The summer's ending now

and yet it must be so,

as seasons cycle and we walk the track,

the track of time as change must come.

Yet in the circle of the seasons

are rhythms that repeat and give

a sureness to the months and years-

the small red cedar trees

are full and fine with leaves

but by the winter light

their green will all be shed

so buds of spring can bring new finery.

Yet with our sad and silly dream that we

have conquered and control the world

with industries and cities like

infection ever-spreading on the face of earth,

we push the cycle out of shape.

The summer of our pride is ending...

and this I fear- how we shall pay for this.