SCENE
SEVEN from Narrow Roads to Inner Lands
Shiragawa
In
this scene we find the travellers in a wretched inn at night during a
storm. The conversation drifts towards the side of life where we
experience disappointment and accept time’s passing. Acceptance
rather than denial seems to mark his attitude but it is not mere
pessimism but is moderated by the philosophic realisation of the
transitory nature of outer life. Bashō also shows in his haiku that,
in his belief, poetry started from the folk and work songs of the
people.
water iris Katsumi
SCENE
SEVEN
A
room in a wretched inn. Earth floor. Shadow. Enter Bashō and Sora,
followed by a shabby innkeeper with two straw mats.
SORA
Please
light the fire over there so we
Can
see at least what we are doing.
The
innkeeper does so.
BASHŌ
(bowing)
Thank
you.
(The
innkeeper puts down the mats and exits bowing.)
Would
you believe it? Not one lantern in
The
whole of this foul, filthy, shabby place!
Indeed,
this is a wretched spot to sleep.
I'd
hoped for better rest at Iizuka.
Yet
still, let's warm ourselves a while and hope
To
cheer the silent drift of time with talk.
SORA
It’s
now some time since we left Sukagawa.
BASHŌ
And
Tokyu's pleasant house. A good man, Sora;
Though
an official, more importantly
A
poet and a friend.
SORA
Do
you remember -
He
asked how we had fared while passing through
The
Shirakawa gate?
BASHŌ
Yes,
we admitted
Absorption
in the splendour and the power
Of
sweeps of wild or cultivated views
That
filled our watching souls with beauty's flame,
And
contemplating lines of ancient poets,
Had
not left time for weaving verse in such
Fine
volume as tradition would have wished.
SORA
Then
he said, "What a pity," and suggested
That
you weave something present there.
BASHŌ
And
I
Invoked
a single verse that I had written.
I
said it was - "All that the crossing brought."
Birth
of poetry
In
the core of north country -
The
rice-planting songs.
SORA
And
then, beginning with the brevity
Of
those fair lines, we worked up linking verses
Until
we had composed three, little books.
BASHŌ
A
time to ever be recalled as warm
With
friendship. Yet time must move and so bring change
And
changes bring more contrast in our lives.
(Bashō
pauses. The fire dies a little. Behind them two shadows, like those
of Bashō and Sora, are thrown up on a screen. These enact in mime
the further text.)
BASHŌ
That
said, do you remember, Sora, how
One
time, a few days on, we thought to seek
The
iris of the season all light long
Upon
the fields, beneath the well-known hills
Near
Mount Asaka?
SORA
Yes,
that water-loving,
Fine
bloom, Katsumi. Off the road a little,
Some
five miles past Hikada town, we searched
And
poked about midsummer marshes, asking
Each
person that we passed where they might be,
Where
we might see those flowers from beauty’s heart
As
we progressed from pool to shining pool.
BASHŌ
Yes,
beauty's search. But strange to note no-one
Had
ever heard of them - no farmer or
Rice-planting
woman. Thus we looked until
The
golden sun was grazing mountain tops.
SORA
With
dawn we set out for Shinobu village.
BASHŌ
We
went to view an old stone's chequered face
On
which a sort of cloth, now famed in time,
Was
dyed. We found it in a small, out-lying spot,
Ignored,
half-buried in the common earth.
Small,
cheerful children tagged along, explaining
That
it had lost its pride of place upon
The
mountain top. The farmers nearby found
That
constant travellers who sought it caused
Destruction
of good crops with careless feet.
Hence
they had heaved the rock some way along,
Then
bowled it down the heedless mountain side
Into
the valley, leaving it face flat.
I
thought it may have well been so. Indeed,
It
is the way of fame within this world.
SORA
It
often seems while travelling one sees
Such
traces of past glory, lost in time.
BASHŌ
Yes,
shortly after that we witnessed such-
Another
illustration of that truth.
For
further on we crossed the river foam,
Down
at the ferry spot that's called "Moon Halo".
We
reached, with some relief, the small, post town
Of
"Rapids' Head". Not far from there we found
A
small hill, desolate in loneliness,
A
bare mound on an open, empty plain,
The
crumbled ruins of a hero's castle-
Once
dwelling of the dauntless Sato Shoji.
Nearby
a solitary, ancient temple
Still
stood against time's certain dissolution.
SORA
Yes,
in its graveyard lay the weathered tombs,
Last
traces of that once-proud family.
BASHŌ
I
wept as I was pondering the graves
Of
two young wives, recalling, as I did,
How
they had clad their feminine, frail bodies
In
their dead husbands' robes and cold, hard armour.
Thus
fate stalks fame; the swiftest samurai
Can't
stay time's passing. Cold and silent are
Old
tombs upon the desolated plains.
SORA
It
sounds as if a storm is coming up.
(There
is a clap of thunder, followed by sounds of rain. The figures on the
screen disappear. The light from the fire is dying. Suddenly there
is the brief glow of lightning followed by another thunderclap.)
BASHŌ
Fine
time to talk of tears while heaven weeps.
(Bashō
gives a sudden groan of pain.)
SORA
What's
wrong?
BASHŌ
My
old complaint has made me ill.
The
slippery ditch of doubt it is - an illness
When
you are on the road, when there are still
The
hundreds and the hundreds of hard miles
All
stretching out before your tiring feet.
And
yet to be a pilgrim is to know
The
sense world's briefness and to let it go.
To
die upon life's road is destiny.
And
so if I should sicken and thus fall
While
trudging onward towards the bitter north
It
would but be fulfillment of a sort.
So
thus resolved I'll walk along the way,
Along
those long and muddy pathways to
The
long-famed, twin-trunked pine of Takekuma.
The
fire's sinking low. It's time for sleep.
(Bashō
and Sora curl up on the straw mats. The fire dies.)
BASHŌ
(Raising himself on one arm.)
So
weary that he sleeps despite the storm-
I
cannot sleep. I'll lie and stare at darkness,
Companioned
by mosquitoes, fleas, and thought,
And
hear deep thunder and sky-tearing rain
Till
dawn; and taste the bitterness of pain.
(The
last trace of light fades)
Shinobu rock
