Poetry Blog No 179 Narrow Roads to Inner Lands Scene 9

 Taga site

NARROW ROADS TO INNER LANDS SCENE NINE

This scene is a reflection on time, the past and the inevitable passing of outer things. The site of these reflections is famous both for its historical nature and for being a part of Bashō’s journey.

Taga-jō was a fort in Tōhoku established during the campaigns against the Emishi in the eighth century. It was located in what is now the modern city of Tagajō, Miyagi Prefecture. It served as the administrative centre of Mutsu Province. Bashō tells of his visit to the site in Oku no Hosomichi. The ruins of Taga-jō and its former temple have been designated a Special Historic Site. From Wikipedia

Taga Stone

Taga Site present day

NARROW ROADS TO INNER LANDS SCENE NINE

On the road. At the site of the vanished Taga castle- a stone monument, six feet tall and three feet wide marks the place. It is half-hidden in grass. Enter Bashō and Sora with walking sticks and packs. They pause.

BASHŌ (pulling out a drawing and examining it)

We've passed that spot with clusters of tall reeds,

The home of famed, sedge-woven mats of Tofu,

A present from our friend, good Kaemon,

This drawing was so artfully conceived

For us at Sendai with a painter’s skill...

And from its image here I see that we

Are close to Matsushima's offshore islands.

(Bashō hands the drawing to Sora)

SORA (examining it)

That’s so indeed. With ease I think we shall

Reach shelter at the town of Shiogama

By coming nightfall.

BASHŌ

Let us rest a little.

(Bashō and Sora settle themselves by the roadside.)

BASHŌ (with a smile)

A priest I met upon another journey,

All black-robed like a crow and brandishing

A long, gnarled staff, stepped out ahead as if

He had received a free pass to the world

Beyond the Gateless Gate. I fear, however,

I'm not so confident a traveller

In this world or beyond. Still journeying,

Still shaking off attachments to this life,

I'm neither such a priest of purity

Or shadow-grasping, plain man of this world.

I waver endlessly, just like a bat,

That at first glance appears an eerie bird

But at a nearer view more like a mouse.

(with a slight sigh)

For ever understanding that I seek

Somehow eludes a limited perception.

As I once wrote, returning from a journey-

Oh, shedding all else,

Yet some summer road lice still

Crawl upon my robes.

(Bashō and Sora pause, musing. Sora suddenly notices the monument.)

SORA (pointing)

I wonder, Bashō, sir, what's that large stone,

Half-hidden by the grasses of the wayside?

It seems too straightly-sided for the work

Of nature by just alone…and yet it seems

So old… as though it has been standing here

For just so many seasons, lost to counting,

And yet I'm sure it bears the shaping craft

Of human hands.

BASHŌ

Let's go and view it closely.

Perhaps it has some writing on its face.

(Bashō and Sora go over to the stone.)

Yes, there are characters upon the stone;

Engraved, still visible through layered moss.

Above, I read directed distances

From here to many, varied provinces,

Both neighbouring and far away. Yet what

Is seen beneath speaks far more fascination.

This stone is marking that same spot where stood

The long-gone Taga castle, famed in story,

And founded in first year of Jinki, then

Remodelled in the reign of Emperor Shomu.

SORA (musingly)

That makes this monument most ancient.

BASHŌ

                                  Yes,

Astonishingly old. In all of this,

This ever-changing world where all we view

Is bound by ceaseless powers of time's passing;

Where even steep, stone-sided mountains crumble,

Where rushing streams and winding rivers change

Their courses as the years and years flow by,

Defiant rocks are buried by the decades,

Where tall, old trees yield place to fresh, young shoots,

Where all that's past is scattered and decays,

It is a wonder that this monument

Survived the distance of a thousand years,

The ceaseless battering of elements,

To claim a bare existence in our present.

SORA

A bare existence truly, yet still a state

Reminding us of those most ancient times.

BASHŌ (with a sigh)

Yes, Sora, that is true. It makes me feel

That all I write is but like battered leaves,

The golden dross of autumn, soon to be

Swift-borne away by winter’s heartless winds.

SORA

I’m certain that won’t work as way for all

The words of life that you have written, sir.

BASHŌ

Well, be that as it will, it’s sure such thoughts

Are not the gifting of this moment, for

This witness written, this solid memory

Of those who breathed and thought in distant ages

Is blessing on such pilgrimage as ours.

It's here for living eyes (this instant seeing)

As sense of ages past, a sudden feeling

Of presence that is vanished people's lives.

Forgetting all the aches and troubles on

The long and journeyed road I just rejoice

In this most singular and moving moment

And find deep sense of meditation in my heart.

(Bashō pauses, contemplating the monument. Then he gestures to Sora who takes out his writing pad. As Bashō speaks Sora writes down the haiku.)

Much, much of the past

Is brought to mind, standing here.

Long grass by this stone.

(Bashō and Sora remain standing. Lights fade.)

Poetry Blog No 178 There is a World

THERE IS A WORLD

The meaning and intention of the following piece are fairly obvious. In this respect, verse can play a role in presenting such in a more imaginative manner, perhaps, than a simple statement in prose. In terms of form the piece is somewhere between a formal poem with regular line lengths such as a sonnet and vers libre or “free” verse with a rhythmical flow but no set meter like that written by D, H. Lawrence and Walt Whitman, for instance. Here most of the lines are in regular iambic (a water-living orb) but of varied length with assonance and occasional rhyme. The earth images are mostly from NASA. 

 

THERE IS A WORLD

There is a world,

a planet, born about a star,

a bright and blue-white sphere,

a water-living orb,

a globe cocooned in air,

one world within

harmonious immensity,

but many-beinged

with kingdoms of complexity

beyond conception;

one world that’s woven of

the workings of deep mystery.

Wonder then,

for wonder is the birth of wisdom.

Imagine coming from another world

that travels with another star.

Imagine somehow riding far,

far, far across the vastness,

far, far across the darkness,

until you found the light of our world’s sun,

and saw its smaller and reflecting worlds,

and saw this world, a jewel in blue,

and saw the sparkle of its wide, wide seas,

and saw its white clouds spiralling,

and saw the darker forms, the stretch

of continents, the shapes of mountain chains,

the greens of great-leaved forests and

the lighter hues of desert plains,

the borders of shore lines in complex shapes,

would you not wonder then?

There is a world,

a planet, borne about a sun,

a world with endless life that weaves

across its lands, within its seas.

Its life is warmth; its skin is stone;

its blood is water; its breath is wind.

And as you viewed

this world of wonder,

would you not wish

to save it then?

Wonder now,

for wonder is the birth of wisdom.

Poetry Blog No 177 A Wonder is Faint Dawn

 

A WONDER IS FAINT DAWN

This poem was written originally to celebrate the birth of a friend’s child. It is mainly written in iambic tetrameter - da DUM da DUM da DUM da DUM, for example: A wonder is faint dawn’s first ray. In contrast the concluding last four lines are in iambic trimeter - da DUM da DUM da DUM, that from our infant dawn. The “meaning” is built up from a series of relatively simple, clear images and this sense of clear form is further helped by the precise rhymes.

A WONDER IS FAINT DAWN

A wonder is faint dawn’s first ray

that brings forth fullness of new day.

A wonder is the diamond’s birth

from weight and fire of deep earth:

how smudge of carbon can set free

such strength through form, such brilliancy.

A wonder is the seed that shoots

to first small leaves and tiny roots,

till many seasons on we see

green tower of a forest tree.

A wonder are those awkward things

with fluff for coats and stubs for wings

that grow so soon in feathered might

to eagle’s free, cloud-touching flight.

Yet greater wonder is this sight-

that from our infant dawn

the gem, the tree, the light,

the great, age-spanning flight,

of human life is born.

Poetry Blog No. 176 Winter Twilight

WINTER TWILIGHT

This short lyric poem is based on an imaginative feeling which it attempts to evoke. It is that far and somehow slightly otherworldly feeling that can arise when gazing deeply into a sunset. It uses the trochaic meter- a stressed or long syllable followed by an unstressed or short one- Cattle graze on.
It also uses the repetition of a line which gathers more “weight” as it goes along.




                   WINTER TWILIGHT

Now through winter dusk I drive,
westwards from the eastwards sea.
Cattle graze on gentle ridges,
dark on day's finality.

Now through winter dusk I drive,
snaking nightward towards soft hills.
Time-gnarled, a fig tree rises,
dark against the day's demise.

Now through winter dusk I drive,
viewing vision of time's turning,
final shine of day unfurled;
seeing final golden fire
burning,
burning
on the boundless, dying sky,
beyond the borders of the world.

Poetry Blog No 175 Four German poems translated- The Song of the Ocean, The Two Roots, The Old Chimney Corner, Dusk's Descended

THE SONG OF THE OCEAN

Conrad Ferdinand Meyer (1825-1898) was a Swiss poet and writer. His poems are well-formed and often create lyric images from the world and nature without specific reference to emotions, preferring to leave the reader to find an emotional metaphor if they wish. The Song of the Ocean is such a vivid evocation of ocean, clouds and the cycle of water that gives all things life.

THE TWO ROOTS

Die zwei Wurzeln is a whimsical poem from Christian Morgenstern (1871-1914). Although also a lyrical poet and a translator, Morgenstern is famous for his humorous and "nonsense" poems. Interestingly modern research has shown that trees in forests do "talk" to each other through their roots. 

THE OLD CHIMNEY CORNER

Heine's poem can be considered a critique of romanticism in poetry and art. However, it could also be considered a gently humorous take on day dreaming and its contrast with everyday life.

DUSK'S DESCENDED

At the age of seventy eight in 1827 Goethe wrote a short cycle of poems called The Chinese-German Book of Seasons and Hours which includes the poem " Dämmrung senkte sich von oben ". The emotions of the poems are invoked by natural scenes and times rather in the manner of many classical Chinese poems. Some see this poem as a reflection on mortality but its mood could also be seen as one of inner peace.

THE SONG OF THE OCEAN

Clouds, my children, will you be wandering ?

Fare you well; until we meet again !

For your forms, that wish to change and fly,

Can't be bound by my maternal tie.

Yes, you are most weary of my waves,

And the land has lured you away-

Coasts and cliffs, the lighthouse beacon's flare!

Be off, children. Seek adventure there.

Sail, brave sailors, through the air's light seas.

Seek the summits. Rest above ravines.

Brew up storms. Blaze forth. Vent blows of light.

Wear the purple gown of glowing fight !

Rush in the rain. Murmur in the springs.

Fill the fountains. Trickle through rippling streams.

Gush down through lands in river's roar-

Come, my children, come to me once more !

THE TWO ROOTS

Two great old fir roots hold a good

conversation in the wood.

What rustles in the tops on high

from down below gets some reply.

An ancient squirrel's squatting there,

to knit good stockings for the pair.

Now one says: criff. The other says: cruff.

And that, for one day, is enough.

THE OLD CHIMNEY CORNER

Outside now the white flakes fly

Through the night, loud is the storm;

In the small room here it's dry;

Lonely, homely-calm, and warm.

I sit, musing in my armchair,

By the crackling fire place;

And the boiling kettle hums there

Long-lost melodies' last trace.

And a small cat sits just by,

Warming small paws in the glow;

Flame forms flicker, weave and fly;

Strange the moods within me grow.

As in twilight, rises many,

Many a long-forgotten era;

As in drifting, long and motley

Masquerades and faded splendour.

With knowing looks fair women beckon

With a sweet, mysterious air;

Harlequins, with gay abandon,

Jump and laugh between them there.

In the distance gods of marble

Give a greeting, near them grow

Dreamlike flowers of tale and fable,

Leaves astir in moonlight glow.

Past me swim uncertain sights,

Magic castles of past ages;

And behind come shining knights,

Riding with attendant pages.

And this all goes passing over,

Hurried shadow-hastily-

Oh! the kettle's boiling over,

And the wet cat howls at me.

DUSK'S DESCENDED

Dusk's descended from the height,

All that's near's already far;

Now uplifts the gracious light

Of the evening's first star.

All things blur to indistinctness,

Mists are creeping upward now;

Mirroring black deeps of darkness

Rests the lake in this still hour.

Now in eastern regions there,

I sense moonbeams' glow and glide;

And slim willows' fine twig hair

Sports upon next-rising tide.

Through the stirring shadows' play

Trembles Luna's magic sheen;

Through the eye the coolness strays

Softly to the heart within.