NARROW
ROADS TO INNER LANDS-
SCENE ONE
Bashō
Matsuo
Bashō (1644 – 1694), born
Matsuo Chūemon Munefusa
was
the most famous poet of the Edo period in Japan. During his lifetime,
Bashō was recognized for his works in the collaborative haikai
no renga
form; today, after centuries of commentary, he is recognized as the
greatest master of haiku (then called hokku). Matsuo Bashō's poetry
is internationally renowned; and, in Japan, many of his poems are
reproduced on monuments and traditional sites.
Bashō's
private planning for another long journey, to be described in his
masterwork Oku
no Hosomichi,
culminated on May 16, 1689 , when he left Edo with his student and
apprentice Kawai Sora on a journey to the Northern Provinces of
Honshū. Bashō and Sora headed north to Hiraizumi, which they
reached on June 29. They then walked to the western side of the
island, touring Kisakata on July 30, and began hiking back at a
leisurely pace along the coastline. During this 150-day journey Bashō
traveled a total of
2,400
km
through the northeastern areas of Honshū, returning to Edo in late
1691
By the time Bashō reached Ōgaki, Gifu
Prefecture, he had completed the log of his
journey. He edited and redacted it for three
years, writing the final version in 1694 as The Narrow Road to the
Interior. The first edition was published posthumously in 1702. It
was an immediate commercial success and many other itinerant poets
followed the path of his journey. From Wikipedia
statue of Bashō
NARROW
ROADS TO INNER LANDS
From the travels
of Matsuō Bashō, Master of the Haiku
STAGING NOTES
Narrow
Roads to Inner Lands is an original verse play based on Bashō’s
travel diaries. The haiku have been re-created to serve the needs of
dramatic presentation. Stylistically the aim has been to fuse the
traditions of East and West: the iambic pentameter combined with the
silences and concentration on meaning characteristic of the Noh
drama.
Costume
and setting is 16th century Japan. Bashō, already recognized as
Japan’s greatest haiku poet, was in fact only 46 years old, though
suffering from chronic illness, at the time of this journey. Sora his
pupil was 42 years old.
Entrances
and exits could be avoided in many cases if desired by having Bashō
and Sora continue their journey through the audience or aisles and
back into the new scene.
Scene
settings are suggestions only and can be minimal. Changes of
lighting, sound effects and music could be used to great advantage as
atmospheric elements. Musical interludes and effects, usually flute
and plucked strings (e.g. Shakuhachi and Koto], are characteristic
of Noh drama. The musicians can be onstage to the side.
CHARACTERS
Bashō
Sora
Minor characters
(doubled)
3 voices (could be 2
or 1)
Gozaemon
Jōbōji
Tōsui
Seifū
En'an
Figures for
silhouttes which could also be perhaps video projection (but still
sihouttes).
view of Edo
SCENE ONE
Soft Japanese
(pentatonic) music. A bare stage. Light greens and browns. Lights up
slowly.
Enter Bashō.
BASHŌ
Now in this mortal
body I call mine
(Four-limbed, with
breath and heart, and many senses)
Dwells something
called, for want of better name,
A wind-swept spirit,
for as gossamer
Will yield and shift
to any wind, so will
This spirit to the
winds of earthly changes.
(Bashō
produces a scroll)
This gossamer began
to write its poems,
At first for
self-amusement and delight,
Some many years ago.
Well, finally
That grew to be the
work of all its days.
It’s true at times
it sank in deep despair;
At times it puffed
with pride and glorified
In false, weak
victories over others. Once
It wished to be a
learned scholar; once
It wished to enter
courtly service; but
Its love of poetry
prevented either.
(With a slight
sigh)
But honestly the
truth of it is this:
It knows no other
art but writing verse
And thus it clings
with stubbornness to that.
(Bashō
settles, Japanese-style, on the floor. He unrolls the scroll and
reads from it. Quiet music.)
BASHŌ
Both sun and moon
are ever wanderers-
They pass upon their
paths for endless time.
Both days and months
are ceaseless travellers,
Eternal through the
countless generations.
And so, too, are the
ever-turning years.
And those whose
lives are spent in steering ships
Across uncertain
seas, and those whose days
Drift by in boats
upon the changeful rivers,
And those who lead a
weary horse into
The gathering of
years until the weight
Of plodding time
loads them too heavily;
Spend all their
lives in constant travelling:
Until the journeying
forms all they own;
Until the travelling
itself is home.
(Music ceases.
Bashō pauses, then addresses the audience.)
And many ancients
too have left this life
Still walking on the
way. And I myself
Have long been
tempted by the cloud-carrying wind,
Filled with desire
to be wandering.
(Bashō
pauses, rolls up the scroll, rises and walks to and fro,
reflectively.)
Yet I’m possessed
of other purpose too,
And purpose many
would not comprehend.
Some, busy-blind,
believe the worth of life
Is counted in their
gold and gathered goods,
Or else in fame
achieved within this world,
Or else in
transitory pleasures, such
As vanish as the
idle dust in wind.
Now I have seen the
courts of mighty men,
I trained to be a
noble samurai,
My verse is known in
many places, thus
I have at times been
touched by all these things.
(Bashō stops
and addresses the audience.)
Yet now, becoming
older, I can feel
How all the pride of
time, youth’s tide of strength,
Is ebbing slowly
from year-wearied limbs.
And now the single
thing that sings belief
Is silently
unfolding fuller sight;
A patient practice
and a right awaiting.
(Bashō
indicates the scroll.)
And then, beyond all
such, self-reaching reasons,
There lies the
curious attempt to catch
Those seeing moments
which I strive to leave
In verse for others’
vision. Truly now
The gods have turned
my poor self inside out.
I feel called to
uncertain search and so,
Before slow illness
stops my steps, I have
Resolved in this far
journeying into
The north, the
narrow roads to inner lands.
Yet still I feel I
may not find my goal,
That deep, abiding
stillness of true knowing,
And quit this
bustling, ever-changing world
Still quite
unsatisfied and unfulfilled.
(Bashō sits.
Enter Sora.)
SORA
Now it was but last
autumn, Bashō, sir, that you
Returned from
rambling; I remember for
The fallen leaves
were being driven still,
Dry-brown, in
rustling swirls before the wind:
That keen wind that
presages coming cold.
BASHŌ
True, Sora, I had
barely time to sweep
Grey cobwebs from
the corners of my room
Than it seemed
spring mists drenched dawn’s fields and I
Was longing to be on
the road once more.
Drawn by the spirit
of all wandering,
I couldn’t keep my
thoughts from journey’s wonder.
The wayside images
beckoned from each corner;
I would not stay
fixed in my broken house.
While rubbing
strengthening, burnt moxa on
Legs longing to be
gone, I could not keep
From dreaming of the
moonrise over islands.
SORA
And so you sold your
grass-deep dwelling-place
To stay at Sampū’s
Edo summer home,
An honoured guest,
before our setting-out.
BASHŌ
Departing so
reminded me that time
Is change and thus
of life’s necessity.
No hand can stay the
running of the days.
My house at last was
passing on to others;
To strangers who
would hold, perhaps, the festival
Appropriate to May
the Third - the girls’
Spring festival of
dolls. Eight linking verses
I wrote and hung
upon a threshold pillar.
They started thus,
if I remember:
(Bashō
pauses)
Even this
grass-bound
Hermitage may
change- the spring’s
Festival of
dolls.
(with a slight
sigh)
As life is ever
treading on the path,
So time’s now time
to pack and be away;
For we depart with
early-rising day.
(Bashō and
Sora exit.)
No comments:
Post a Comment