Poetry Blog No 136 Narrow Roads to Inner Lands Scene 3

NARROW ROADS TO INNER LANDS - Scene Three

When taking a narrative from another medium into a play it is generally necessary to alter the way the narrative is presented. For instance, Bashō presents his journey in "diary" form with the haiku in it. It is a very effective presentation but if you simply reproduced this you'd have the actors just perpetually walking across the stage in far too many very brief scenes. Hence it is necessary to create more integrated longer scenes where some of the journey can be "telescoped" by recollection.

Basho and Sora - detail from Buson

SCENE THREE

A room in an inn. A small table with two large cups, decorated with gold lacquer work. At the back a folding screen. Nearby a lamp lit. (Note- if desired this could be set on stage by Gozaemon and assistant.)

Travelling music.

Enter Gozaemon, followed by Bashō and Sora.

GOZAEMON (bowing)

Good sirs, I’m called Joe Buddha hereabouts,

A nickname earned from my own honesty.

So you may rest in perfect peace upon

Clean, grass-filled pillows in my humble inn.

SORA (bowing)

We thank you greatly, sir. We’ve seen some days

Of wandering upon the changeful road

And master Bashō’s weary and would rest.

We have already viewed the sacred shrine

Called “Lady-of-the-Flower-Bearing-Trees”,

And we intend to climb the mountain here

To find the shrine that Kukai founded, nearly

A thousand years ago.

GOZAEMON

Good sirs, good fortune

Be always at your side upon this journey.

(Gozaemon bows and exits.)

SORA (to Bashō)

I too shall leave you here in peace alone

A little while, good Bashō sir, if you

Now wish it so.

BASHŌ

My thanks, good Sora. Yes,

Just leave me at this writing table, for

I’d like to try recalling some few verses

That brushed my mind as we were travelling.

SORA

Then I shall leave you in good silence now.

(Sora bows and exits. Bashō adopts a zazen position.)

(The lights add a slight violet.)

BASHŌ (softly)

Ten thousand things forever rise and fall.

(Pause. Bashō sits in silent meditation. He opens his eyes and speaks.)

We walked from dawn across the fields of grass,

Spread green and golden in day’s rising light.

And as we walked I thought upon times past-

On other days and earlier, short journeys;

And I recalled how once we crossed a bridge,

A shaky bridge across a deep, deep valley,

Thin-strung between two stone-steep cliffs - like life.

And Sora stumbled once... I feared he might

Go over, plunging to those dying depths.

(Bashō pauses briefly in contemplation.)

I later mused - we all live in like ways:

All sail a world of hidden reefs, beneath

Storm-angered sky, so confident in our

Frail craft. Thus to the Buddha we must seem

Good cause for such misgivings as I felt

For Sora on that thin and trembling bridge.

(Bashō yawns slightly.)

I’ll not be far from sleep, but first I shall

Re-picture day’s remaining hours. We saw

In mellow afternoon, I well remember

Some irises, in beauty, by the wayside

And these I thought to pluck but as a poem.

(Bashō pauses, then writes.)

Oh, to chat about

An iris- one of the joys

Of this journeying.

But even as I write these lines I view,

In mind, another roadside scene. As we

Were passing through late afternoon I spied

Some sparrows feeding, to some farmer’s harm,

Within a crop of rape. I was reminded,

By something odd about their attitudes,

Of people who display disinterest

But secretly seek gain. So this I thought:

(Bashō pauses then writes again.)

Sparrows in a patch

Of yellow rape pretend to

Admire the flowers.

(Bashō rises and walks about meditatively.)

Then slowly evening stole near our steps

And I grew weary. Though we are travelling lightly

I still must carry inkstone, brush and paper

And medicine, a coat for rain and one

For cold and other necessary things.

By dusk my progress grew so slow,

My steps so faltering, I almost felt

A darkness of depression till I rested.

(With a slight sigh.)

So now I’m here and now the moonlight streams

Through hanging leaves and through the paper window.

It lights these rustic cups. A city dweller

Might find this lacquer work quite unrefined -

(Bashō picks up a cup and examines it.)

But out here in the country they appear

More precious than blue beakers sparkling jewels.

(Bashō sits and writes)

Seeing a big moon,

Feel like lining its face with

Golden lacquer work.

(Bashō lays down his brush and rolls up the silk.)

BASHŌ (speaking as he packs up his things.)

The day is harvested and now I’ll sleep-

Let spirit sail upon its silent deep.

(Bashō picks up the lamp and exits. Music fading to silence. Lights fade.)