Writers In Kyoto

Page 45 of 65

Featured writing

Ryoma! Review (Josh Yates)

October 30, 2018

Ryoma! The Life of Sakamoto Ryoma: Japanese Swordsman And Visionary

By Shiba Ryotaro

Translated By Paul McCarthy And Juliet Winters Carpenter. (526 pages)

Reviewed by Ian (Josh) Yates

For the first time the bestselling historian Shiba Ryotaro’s most epic tale will be translated for an English readership. Shiba spent many years, eight volumes and thousands of pages to examine in tremendous depth the story of Japan’s swordsman hero, and now the first two volumes are available for readers in a Kindle version (print version coming 2020).

If anyone is unfamiliar with Ryoma, he is the forever youthful and ambitious face of the struggle to overthrow the dominant and often unabashedly treacherous Tokugawa shogunate. In many ways he is viewed even in modern Japan as a perfect hero; strong, committed and willing to sacrifice himself for the greater good.

Here he is often portrayed as a vacillating figure, sometimes silly boy constantly being called, or calling himself a fool, but at other times hinting towards the hero he will become, such as when he announces:

My desire to be of some use to our country in its hour of need. And if I’m to create within myself the kind of man who can stand in the world, I can’t continue to be a human jellyfish.

This first volume, which composes the first two of Shiba’s original books, examines a surprisingly large part of Ryoma’s life. The story begins with his youth in Kochi, on through his sword and kendo training in Edo and goes all the way up to his criminal escape from Shikoku to travel without the permission of authorities in 1863.

Both McCarthy in the first part, and Carpenter taking over in the second, do a rather masterful job of translating an enormous amount of factual information that could have at times come across as just an overload, but instead continually feels like our grand teacher Shiba’s kind voice as he tells us, his students, all the various tales of this grand figure of Sakamoto Ryoma. The book in many ways feels like it owes much to an oral type of storytelling, where the speaker bounces around a bit, reminded of a different story in the midst of the main one, while all the time keeping the goal of entertaining the listener or reader well in mind, as shown in the quote below, where Shiba interrupts the progress of his own story to throw in additional information, as if it had suddenly struck him:

 When one considers how these two domains of Aizu and Satsuma were on  opposite sides at the time of the Meiji Restoration, with Aizu supporting the  shogunate and Satsuma the imperial court, and how they fought against each  other in the last major battle of the civil war, one realizes that history is    sometimes far more dramatic than any novel. (I trust the reader will excuse this long aside.)

Even those readers who haven’t or are unable to read the original Japanese can very quickly tell what type of writer Shiba was. That being one who was expertly researched and informed, but not overly serious about the whole thing. Again, thanks to our translators here, Shiba’s voice becomes quickly recognizable.

Many readers may even be surprised at the many jokes and humorous tales contained within this history. At times Ryoma is certainly a superhero of sorts, (even Christlike possibly) and much like Spiderman attempts to find his place in a world of good and evil, and sometimes wanting to just ignore the whole thing as being all too difficult. However, at other times Ryoma is a farcical character, like a young man from a slightly bawdy teen sex romp, where he stutters and fumbles his way through encounters with at least four different women with whom he immediately falls in love, then doesn’t know what to do with. Maybe a good comparison, though older than Ryoma, would be the classic Japanese film character of Tora-san. Many of Ryoma’s meetings with women have the same hopeless, helpless, comical feel of the nearly 50 Tora-san movies released in the second half of last century (though, spoiler alert, Ryoma is at least some of the time more successful in his attempts at love).

For anyone off put by the size of this book, or the idea of starting something that will, when finished, easily take up 2000 pages; this first volume is a great starting point. Not only does it end with a marvelous cliffhanger, but it feels complete in and of itself in many ways. While most readers will likely be waiting to hear word of the next volume’s release date, the book stands alone teaching an enormous amount about the man and the history of that incredibly important turning point in Japanese history. Maybe just this one volume will be enough, though more likely, like your humble reviewer, you’ll want to read all of the future volumes.

So, to finish off, this work is highly recommended for anyone with even a casual interest in Japanese history. When in print, this will undoubtably be the type of work that will be needed to fill out any library, public or private, of those of us in love with stories of the modernization of the land of the rising sun, or those who love a story of a single man armed with only his own hands and a sword, who knows that it is up to him to change the world.

 

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Photos by John D of Ryoma’s grave at Ryozen Gokoku Jinja on the Eastern Hills, up past Kodai-ji.

There’s a steady stream of people who come to pray at Ryoma’s grave

 

The cemetery has a statue of Sakamoto Ryoma and his associate Nakaoka Shintaro who was assassinated with him in Kyoto’s Kawaramachi.

 

The ema (wooden prayer plaque) for Ryoma bears the Chinese character for ‘yume‘ (dream), and there are many inscriptions pledging to follow in Ryoma’s footsteps. This one says, ‘I’ll become a modern-day Sakamoto Ryoma!’

 

View over Kyoto from the Gokoku Jinja hill site. What would Ryoma have thought?

Elemental Japan (Jann Williams)

October 28, 2018

The lunch discussion group on Oct 28, with presenter Jann Williams third on the left

For the past few years Australian Jann Williams has been a valued supporter of Writers in Kyoto, while researching her magnum opus on the effect on Japan of the elements, whether physical or in the form of the Chinese and Buddhist five elements theories. At a lunch discussion on Oct 28 with a group of seven other WiK members she talked of her work so far and sought input on how best to proceed, particularly in organisational terms since she has amassed so much material.

As an environmental scientist, Jann is interested in patterns that form in the landscape. For her PhD, she focused on the transformative effects of fire and the ability of the earth to recover. She’s been involved too in conservation and eco-system services, such as putting value on nature so as to encourage its preservation. She sees the elements as another way of connecting to nature, particularly in the universality of fire and water. That was the inspiration for the name of her first blog ‘Fire Up Water Down’.

Jann Williams in elemental mode

The reason Jann chose to focus on Japan was largely to do with Shinto being the sole example of an animist religion still guiding the thinking of an industrialised country. She was also inclined to admiration of the aesthetics and values of Japanese culture, a feeling intensified with her experience of an Oomoto course she took. In many ways Japan is an obvious country in which to explore the elements because of its position on the ring of fire, meaning volcanoes, hot springs and earthquakes are common, as well as being in the typhoon belt with the consequences that brings.

When it came to the contents of her research, it seemed there was nothing in Japanese culture that was not included! From esoteric Buddhism to the tea ceremony, from Shugendo to food, there was little that had escaped Jann’s attention. She held up a map of Japan and talked too of her journeys from Hokkaido to Yakushima in quest of elemental extremes. Some of the stories associated with these travels can be found in her second blog ‘Elemental Japan’.

In the discussion that followed there was an interesting and valuable exchange of ideas and some good suggestions made as to what form the organisation of the material might take. A journey into each of the elements. The ‘gorinto’ (cemetery stupa) as vector into the elements. A book of photos, with captions and explanations of their significance. The general consensus was that there was enough material for five or six books.

Whichever way Jann inclines in her approach, we wish her well. WiK has had some successes in making connections and helping promote members’ work. But Jann’s work is the closest to our hearts because of her association with the group from the very gestation of her all-encompassing vision. She reckons on three more years work to complete her project. Reader, please watch this space.

Karen Lee Tawarayama, Sho, Ken Rodgers and Jann

 

New members Michael Freiling and Milena Guziak

Ted Taylor takes the limelight, with Rebecca Otowa behind him, followed by John D, Karen, Sho, Ken, Jann, Milena and Michael

Featured writing

Poems (James Woodham)

October 25, 2018

red-breasted,
wings dull
blue

picking
the way
before me

bird
I cannot
name





 


grey clouds, grey water

egret spreads grey wings to fly

the evening settles


 




 


calligraphic sky –

soft pinks, grey pastel smudges

the lake reflecting


 




 




 


smell of fresh cut grass –

the crushed stems sweet as summer

clouds piled white on white


*************


Minamihama August 29


from across the lake

crows call as waves wash the shore –

afternoon drifting


look at me, smashing

the waves on the lake, on the lake

jet ski whining


nothing to write with –

scatter the words on the wind

to fall wherever


 




 




 


silvering the lake

last cries of the bell cricket

late October moon


 




 


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For other selections of James’s poems and photos, see here and for a Lake Biwa theme see here.

							
	

				
	



	


        
        
            

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											Zen poem (Houser)
									


							
			

			
							
				October 19, 2018
									
								
														
			


					
	

																					
	

	
		
“Recalling a Light Moment”


Amongst zen masters

the moon

mutant metaphor


reflected in water

a teaching apart

from origin


we world-wide witnesses

myriad waves

possessed of lunar largesse


but obviously no moon

seen in sea or tear

to grasp


nor mineral moon above

only sunlight

permits perception


the reflected moon merely

many waves like words

I neglected to mention


—Preston Keido Houser

Oct. 2018


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For improv poetry by Preston, see here. 


For a selection of four of his poems, click here.


 

							
	

				
	



	


        
        
            

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											The Seven Forms of Infiltration (Kimura)
									


							
			

			
							
				October 10, 2018
									
								
														
			


					
	

																					
	

	
		
Author’s note: I am attempting to write a short novel (entitled The Seven Forms of Infiltration) that takes its inspiration from manga, Japanese comic books; the excerpt below is the first few pages of this novel. The heroine is a young woman who is training to be a ninja. For artistic effects, I use actual (translated) quotes from ancient historical ninja training manuals (set off in italics in the text and labeled) such as The Shinobi Hiden, The Koka Ryu Ninjitsu Densho and the Yoshimori Hyakushu. These training manuals have been collected in a book entitled The Secret Traditions of the Shinobi: Hattori Hanzen’s Shinobi Hiden and Other Ninja Scrolls (edited and translated by Antony Cummins and Yoshie Minami) (Berkely CA: Blue Snake Books, 2012).


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The Seven Forms of Infiltration (by Marianne Kimura)




Shinobi from the first have been utilized by generals since ancient times with a great emphasis. It is the case that one man and his strategy can destroy tens of thousands of enemies attain virtue and achievements, or make his way where there is no path. [~from The Shinobi Hiden, Vol. II]


What were the merchants talking about?

Hers was an assignment without any point.

And what if the fortune-tellers were wrong?


Dressed as a young monk, with a shaved head and a pointed flat straw hat, Sumi no longer really looked like a woman, though she thought, perhaps, that she still walked like a woman, with a faint swaying motion. It was frankly both impossible and exhausting for her to convincingly walk like a man. The sauntering splayed legs and large arm movements of men were beyond her skill.


The merchants, nicely dressed in dark and immaculate kimonos with crests, wandered away before she could ascertain what they were saying.


Feeling lost and disappointed she wandered down the dusty street.


The Seven Forms of Infiltration:

Through temples and shrines

As a medicine peddler

As a craftsman or merchant

As a sake merchant or farmer

Through exploiting the arts of performance [of all manners]

Through love

Through greed or desire

[~ from The Koka Ryu Ninjutsu Densho]


A woman was rarely selected to be a ninja. Lacking physical strength, women could not compete with male ninjas. Yet she had been chosen. Somehow, perhaps because her father and her elder brother were ninjas, she had also been recruited.


“Sometimes we have a job that needs a woman, you understand”, the local man organizing staff in an informal way for the warlords and generals and other military men had said to her. She had known all that. Growing up in a ninja family, it was clear that women sometimes, though quite rarely, became ninjas.


He wanted her to sign a paper and agree to undertake ninja training at his school, for a fee, to be paid by her family, of course.


Though she hadn’t asked, he continued to explain further. “You know a woman ninja is called a kunoichi”, he said, “but do you know why?”


He formed a hole with his thumb and forefinger.


She looked at him in puzzlement.


Then he calmly traced, with his pointer finger, some invisible yet familiar figures on the black lacquer table: くノ一 “ku, no, ichi” he said and then traced them on top of each other: 女, he wrote: “onna”.

“Well, of course I know that a female ninja is called a kunoichi, I’m not so stupid”, she said.

“Then maybe you are also clever enough to know that ku is nine?”

“Yes”

“And ichi is one”

“True”

“And nine plus one is?”

“Ten”.

“And, so you see, whereas men such as myself have only nine holes in our body, you, as a woman, are blessed with an additional one, a tenth one. That is what makes a kunoichi”, he said matter-of-factly.


She raised her eyebrows in comprehension mixed with surprise. It was new information to her.


“Use it as a weapon”, he advised with a nonchalant, careless air, unrolling the scroll and glancing at it. His fingers were elegant, long and slender, his movements economical yet graceful.


He must be a ninja too, she thought. Of course he wouldn’t reveal that secret to her until she was one too.


She remained silent, watching him hold the document open and flat so she could stamp it.


And she had stamped it. Her conscription was sealed.


When heading toward the sun or moon, you have no visible shadows ahead, but if you have light from behind, your shadow will project forward. [~ from The Yoshimori Hyakushu]


The sun was so hot. She couldn’t bear it. Monks robes were quite thick and the outer robe was black.


She was assigned to discover why, for years, fortune-tellers had singled out this little non-descript town.


When put into trances, various fortune-tellers, by which I mean practitioners of palmistry, card-reading, stone-casting, mind-reading and other such esoteric crafts, had often, too often for it to be random chance, muttered, in their theatrical croaking, halting, lisping or high-pitched voices, the name of this town. Why?


The local warlord and his administration had even become curious and had spent fortunes questioning the fortune-tellers more deeply and had even hired scholars to work on the mysterious project.


But no definitive answer was forthcoming, though there were rumors that there was almost certainly an unimaginable amount of gold secreted somewhere either in or near the town. Some lord, one scholar was certain the man hailed from Shinshu, had been attacked by mountain bandits and his treasure had been stolen is what generally had been concluded, though no official reports recording any theft had been heard.


Of course, everyone whispered that, “no one would discuss such an important secret officially even if they knew it, would they?”


People agreed that the lord himself would have been too embarrassed to admit that any of his gold had been stolen, though it was more likely that he had been killed during the attack.


Now, all because of this vague, ridiculous and unsubstantiated gossip, Sumi fumed, she was suffering in the hot sun in a town in the middle of nowhere.


[To be continued…..]


********************


To read of Marianne’s novel success, click here. To read of her thoughts on ninjas and goddesses, click here. For an extract from her novel, The Hamlet Paradigm, press here.

							
	

				
	



	


        
        
            

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											My Kyoto Cats (David Duff)
									


							
			

			
							
				October 3, 2018
									
								
														
			


					
	

																					
	

	
		
All photos courtesy Google Images


My Kyoto Cats (Davd Duff)


Kuma and Kinta were my first Kyoto cats, both blazoned with that distinctive tabby ‘M’ arched above their soft green eyes. Both had the same mother but different fathers so Kuma was a short hair while Kinta sported fluffy long hair. We shared a traditional Japanese home together and savored every moment given us.


Cats have taught me many valuable lessons about life, none more praiseworthy than their own carefree, natural spontaneity that seems to elude so many of their two legged companions. Humans, myself included, are often hamstrung by the so-called rational mind, twisted into needless agony under the cruel auspices of logic. My cats help me loosen that Cartesian straitjacket, liberating my Tao essence.


Born and raised in sunny Southern California, both boys suffered in the frightfully cold feeling Kyoto winter. Me, right along with them. One pleasant aspect of the severe, arctic like conditions was that everyday Kinta eagerly sought out the warmth my lap generated. Sometimes, as I taught English downstairs, nestled snugly under that fabulous invention of the Japanese, the kotatsu, Kuma would join me, sitting right below the heater, not more than six inches away. Although the actual winter weather temperatures seem on the surface to be moderate, Kyoto somehow even has polar bears looking for a campfire on some of their colder nights.


When we first settled in our Kyoto home, we often heard sounds of little feet pounding on the roof. The rapidity of their movements suggested the rodent family. Our boys would sit quietly by an open window, listening intently to the mice as they scurried back and forth. One day, a solitary mouse foolishly entered into the kitchen area, his last such adventure. Kinta pounced on him immediately and despite my best effort to save the reckless critter, died the following morning after I left him in a nearby shrine. We never heard the mice on the roof again. Kinta also rousted out a nasty centipede that had taken refuge in one of my book covers. These mukade, as they are called in Japanese, have quite a painful sting so I was grateful for his kind assistance.


Both boys were more alert than busy airport traffic controllers when it came to flying objects, particularly flies. Sometimes they snatched them right out of the air in a remarkable display of agility. Other times they trapped them in corners, then hungrily devoured them.


Kuma enjoyed watching sumo with me but I was afraid he was trying to emulate the gigantic wrestlers. His weight had exploded since the first basho and he was nearing the twenty pound mark. More huggable but I worried about the danger of excess poundage. No neck Kuma. He always carried his tail straight up, proudly displaying it to all the world like porn star John Holmes’ 14 inch priapean member. His massive gut still hovered several inches above the ground so we hadn’t  forced him on a crash diet yet. Undisputed lord of this old Kyoto dwelling, Kuma acted accordingly. Supremely self confident he strutted.


Kinta, on the other hand, of a far more gentle disposition, suffered bullying from a three colored cat my first wife recused from the trash outside an apartment nearby. She gave this cat we called Cookie, who should have been named Cookie Monster, to her parents who lived with us. She had a personality more suited to a pit-bull than a house cat. In spite of the fact that she weighed less than half of what Kinta did, she chased him around the house, hounding him all hours of the day. Curiously, when the two of them were outside in our backyard garden, they were cordial to each other. The bullying was restricted to inside the house only. Must be some territory dispute I guessed. Cookie, however, groveled before Kuma, deferring to the true master of the house.


I read somewhere that soldiers like dogs while artists prefer cats. An oversimplification but the more I thought about it the more it made sense. A dog’s slavish attention to man, like an obedient private following the barking of his sergeant, diminishes his appeal. I am not discounting the nobility of that loyalty and certainly not overlooking the dog’s usefulness to man. A long distinguished list indeed: Arctic dog teams, police dogs, dogs for personal protection, seeing eye dogs, and even some dogs that can sniff out cancer.


Cats march to no military band or blindly follow any orders. Our noble feline doesn’t heed commands from stuffy or finicky owners. Their own counsel guides them. That very independence adds to their aesthetic value, for a cat’s love can’t be demanded, it must be earned. Even then there’s no guarantee of success. It’s no wonder military types like Hitler and Napoleon had difficulty with cats. That roguish self-sufficiency attracts the free-spirited bohemian. Begotten to no man, the cat is a paragon of pride and dignity.


I am certain that Descartes’s appallingly ignorant assertion that animals are only soulless ‘automata’, mindless machines without feeling, reflects a total lack of feline interaction. No cat owner would utter such balderdash. Of course, he was only following those misguided authors of Genesis who supposedly gave man dominion over all animals to do with as man desired. What incredible contempt. Some Christians have attempted to wriggle their way out of that biblical passage by arguing that dominion meant responsibility, not a license for abuse, but that is a minority viewpoint.


My mother was a cat fanatic so right from birth I was surrounded by hairy bundles of love. We shared our home with anywhere from five to eight cats, along with several dogs as well. How my mother managed to keep the house clean and orderly with all those animals I will never know. Now, in my mid sixties, and never without a cat for a companion (except while in the Marines), have I ever spent a tedious or wearisome moment in a cat’s presence? No, impossible.


One day, a beat-up, badly injured, black tomcat stumbled into our carport. His right eye, damaged beyond repair in a vicious cat fight, hung loosely outside the socket, held only by a few strands of tissue. My mother rushed him to the vet and had him fixed up. With only his empty socket remaining we logically named him Cyclops. He always loved to have his hole scratched, I guess, like those amputees that still feel like itching the body part they no longer have.




My dad loved cats too and I think the shared appreciation of my parents helped keep our family together. They didn’t have much else in common. Dad would often carry his favorite cat on his shoulders when he strolled out to grab the morning paper. My parents were also hard drinking, festive folks who always gave the best parties, traits that were passed on to me, in addition to their passion for cats.


I am always learning new things about cats by diligent reading and close personal observation, although sometimes I wonder if I have been really paying attention as I didn’t notice until recently the M pattern above their eyes that all tabbies share. That was after staring right at it for decades. We see what we want to see. No more, no less. It makes me wonder what else I might have missed.


A close friend of mine, also a cat devotee, recently enlightened me about winking at cats, which at first I thought a bit silly. However, after experimenting with both Kuma and Kinta, I soon discovered such action anything but. Cat winking is a two eyed affair, with both eyes working in unison, not the one eyed version we men sometimes employ to catch the fancy of a lovely lady strolling by.


First you have to make eye contact with your targeted cat. Then, slowly, about every other second or so, blink both your eyes while maintaining rapture with your hairy companion. If love and trust are present betwixt the two of you, the cat’s eyes will gradually close as if it’s falling asleep. There’s something of a mesmerizing component to all this, a mutual hypnosis if you will. I want to try this on the bigger, more ferocious feline, the tiger. Would the winking produce the same result? “Tyger, Tyger, burning bright. In the forests of the night.”


 Divorce and my resulting relocation brought a sudden end to my wonderful relationship with my first Kyoto cats, Kuma and Kinta. Although I would not see them again, those cherished memories of the time we shared together will be with me forever. Thank you, boys!!


After the breakup of my marriage I moved to a funky, ivy covered, old wooden house in Shimogamo, just a stone’s throw from the Kamo River, where I still reside today. Almost 23 years in this magical village we call Kyoto, no sane man could ask for anything more. Barely a year into my new life here, Jiro appeared. A robust brown tiger tabby he was with shiny, yellow/greenish eyes. Obviously familiar with humans, he rambled right into my genkan and said hello with a fearless but friendly meow. Had his owners abandoned him, I wondered?


One day, while I was out teaching English, Jiro discovered an old cat door the previous tenant had installed in my back door. Impatient and upset that I hadn’t returned yet, he proceeded to rip open the Friskies and help himself to the crunchy delights. Since he was a very healthy tomcat I worried Jiro might spray his urine around my house so I covered up the cat door.


Well, the very next day coming home late after drinking with my sweetheart, Mayumi, I opened my front door and low and behold, Jiro was waiting for us. How the hell had he gotten in? And upstairs there was a suspicious indentation on my comfortable bed, just about the size and shape a sleeping cat would leave. The impudent intruder had been enjoying the luxury of my own bed. It turned out that Jiro, being as powerful as he is, had pried open the back door.


Jiro’s weight, from all the tender loving care he has been receiving from me, has ballooned, his prominent belly proudly protruding. As charming as he is there is little doubt that he is coaxing food from other nearby residents. He is nestled in my lap as I now write about him, providing inspiration for my prose.


Inseparable we are, Jiro and I. My house cat guard boy even follows me to the restroom occasionally, I guess, to make sure I am not molested by any of the various wildlife that share this old castle with us. Not only protecting my ‘jungle house,’ Jiro also acts as a backup alarm clock as he gets up about the same time I like to, around 5:30am, when he then proceeds to knock over a book or two or jump on my fax machine. Always an early breakfast time for my hardworking feline companion.


Shortly after he started living here, I had him fixed, not wanting him to suffer the same unfortunate fate that so many unneutered males suffer. Although he still tangles with the other toms in this neighborhood, the fights are nowhere near as violent as before, when Jiro was more than a match for even the most menacing tom rival.


Coming home after a lesson or having a beer or two, I often find Jiro waiting for me in the middle of the narrow road fronting my house. Recognizing the unique squeak from my bicycle, he springs to life and warmly greets me. Never had I cat that behaved so but then Jiro is one very special example of feline development.


Adding a few final comments on why cats so bedazzle, so arouse, and so galvanize me, I will conclude this earnest tribute dedicated to the Japanese cat. Of course, all cats, everywhere, are praiseworthy but somehow the Japanese people have found unique ways to show their profound love of the noble feline. Thank you, Japan.


When I am with my cat I feel the presence of the divine in every single stroke of its soft fur, hear the deafening roar of eternity in its thundering purr, and see the radiant glory of god in its sparkling eyes.


Cats are so instinctive, so intuitive, and so staunchly here and now, that they often remind me of the Japanese people. I say that despite knowing full well the heavy burdens that constrain them for they have managed to retain that naturalness synonymous with cats, especially the women.


To act in a free and spontaneous manner, in complete harmony with one’s natural essence, is something the cat does easier than any other creature I know. When they are hungry, they eat, when they are tired, they nap, and when they want to play, they play. Watching cats play is a joy without equal. Well, almost. If any animal is more like the Tao than the cat, they must live outside our solar system. I yearn to capture that elusive spirit and live like the cat.


For cat worshipers, Japan is the ultimate destination. There is something here for all types of feline lovers. Trust me, you will not be the least bit disappointed. Drop in to Kyoto and say Hello, or Meow if you like. Look me up on Facebook and let’s have a beer or two together, my cat admiring brothers and sisters. Cheers!


Tama-chan, station master, who became japan’s most famous cat


 

							
	

				
	



	


        
        
            

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											Spirited Spirit Guides (E. Taylor)
									


							
			

			
							
				September 23, 2018
									
								
														
			


					
	

																					
	

	
		
Courtesy Korea Tour


Edward J. Taylor writes: ‘As John Dougill, the editor of this Writers in Kyoto webpage, has been posting about Korean Shamanism at his blog Green Shinto, I thought that I’d submit a travel piece about a two-week meander up Korea’s east coast in 1997, playing connect-the-dots with the country’s sacred Buddhist and Shamanistic peaks, which was no mean feat in winter.’


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I awoke to find that my watch had died. Despite this, I was still on time for my early bus to T’aebeksan, a modest mount of 1566 meters, but regarded as one of Korea’s most sacred mountains.


A group of middle-aged couples paid for my admission ticket, so I hiked with them awhile, not sharing a common language, me acting as their Sherpa guide up front. The pace was slow, with a lot of stopping to fiddle with equipment and arguing about whether or not to wear gloves. I thought it respectful to stick with them, since they’d paid for me, but gradually the distance between us grew, and I continued on alone.


It wasn’t long before the path grew a little treacherous. With spring coming on, the snow had melted and refrozen, then was covered again with a fresh coat. This created an incredibly slick surface which covered a mountain road for about two kilometers. At the crest, I descended a stone staircase, which ran beneath a sort of Indiana Jones-like pulley system leading to Manggyeongsa Temple, the highest elevation temple in Korea.


My approach set some dogs to barking, and a nun’s head popped out a window to shut them up. As I turned my head back to the trail again, a strange man was right in my face, grinning. I indicated that I couldn’t speak Korean, pointing to my ears and shaking my head. He answered this by pulling his hat sideways to show one of his own ears. I waited for him to say something, but he simply stood there, grinning. So I walked back up the steps, looking back once to see him standing by a payphone, which he was apparently guarding.


The trail grew steeper, the ice slicker, making the ascents slow and the descents perilous. I dealt with the latter by literally sliding from tree trunk to tree trunk, with no hope at all for footing. At the top, the snow was thin, covering a trail that led along the ridge to an old worn shaman’s altar, now little more than piled stones. On the next peak was another altar, and walking toward it across the ridge, I was blasted by a cold wind that seemed dead set on stripping the skin of my face to the skull.


A sign on the true summit gave a brief description of the mountain, as well as a warning that hunting and breaking branches was “immoral.” But looking around, I assumed that tossing cigarette butts and hawking up huge balls of phlegm was okay in the eyes of the gods.


The adjacent altar was about two meters high and rounded like an old medieval turret. Amidst a number of candles in the center was a stone platform littered with food offerings, surrounding a pig’s head, the mouth stuffed with money. As I was fumbling with my camera, a Korean man clad in robes came and yelled at me, “America! I love you!” He shouted this again, pumping my hand excitedly. After repeating this a few more times, he then gave me a big bear hug. I of course could do little more than laugh and hug and shout back, “I love you!”


Finally he stopped and with a thumbs up asked, “Agassi?” From me, thumbs up.


“Yeah!” from him, and a big hug.


“Clinton?” Big hug.


“Hillary?” Big hug.


So for a minute or so we stood hugging each other, yelling “I love you!” back and forth, until another hiker, who turned out to be a Korean living in San Jose California, walked up and said, “You two must really love each other!”


+++++++++++++++++


For a piece by Edward J. Taylor on watching the World Cup see here, and for a lengthier travel piece on Havana, Cuba, see here. For an account of the Silk Road see here, and for Sri Lanka see here.


For a full-length interview with Ted, please click here.

							
	

				
	



	


        
        
            

            Writers in focus            


                
		
					
				

											Improv Poesy (Preston Houser)
									


							
			

			
							
				September 11, 2018
									
								
														
			


					
	

																					
	

	
		
Written for a Friend Frightened of his Screens

by Preston Houser

for F.L.


on a day like this when it’s too hot

to do much more than stare or sleep

I follow the cats’ lead and find a cool place to lie

if I had any fur I suppose I’d lick it

that’s what world LA culture does to you


I read poetry but the only poet that makes sense

in this heat is Charles Bukowski who thought that

the certainty of death would make us love one another


but it doesn’t


he was right about that

Bukowski’s conclusive epitaph was “don’t try”

and I certainly agree with him there

I remember liking the poem “tv”

where the poet switches channels between the movie

Alexander the Great and roller derby—a “great night”


Since you broached the subject of television

aka the glass teat, boob tube, idiot box

I thought I should mention that even though Orwell

envisioned a television that watches the watcher

he could not for all his prophecy foresee

that a camera in the tube looking back at the viewer

would not be necessary, the screen on its own

would pacify nations—he was wrong (nice try tho)


nevertheless cameras are everywhere

on corners cars corridors rooms helmets

God may be dead but all-seeing Santa thrives

even J. Kerouac lamented that there were so many cops

that one could not even aspire to be a proper hobo

“The woods are full of wardens” was Kerouac’s conclusion


what with cameras recording so much

that only more cameras can watch it all

I’m reminded of the perfect unsavory metaphor:


mid-nineteenth century, a southern whorehouse,

a white couple going at it

a black servant enters mid-fucking

with a tray of drinks that he puts on the table

exits

hooker and client pay him no mind


today the proverbial house n. has morphed into

the camera the twentieth-century electronic n.

weird but that’s how I see it

tv makes us it or tries anyway

scary but nothing to be afraid of


that’s the parano…I mean that’s the poem

for all the good it will do

delete after reading


—apologies to C.B.


*******************


To see an earlier posting of four poems by Preston, click here.


Preston ‘Kaido’ Houser, adding atmosphere to one of WiK’s events in his role as shakuhachi master

							
	

				
	



	


        
        
            

            Featured writing            


                
		
					
				

											Goddesses and Ninjas (Kimura)
									


							
			

			
							
				September 1, 2018
									
								
														
			


					
	

																					
	

	
		
Goddesses and Ninjas: the mad, dashing world of Shakespeare


Diana with stag (by James Houstian)


interview with Marianne Kimura


Q. It was a fiercely hot summer in Kyoto, the ancient capital of Japan. How did you cope?


A. I stayed indoors in my air-conditioned bedroom and sat on my futon writing papers. First, I wrote about the goddess in As You Like It. The next paper was about how Hamlet is similar to a ninja.


Q. A goddess? Are you sure? No one talks about goddesses in Shakespeare usually.


A. I first discovered a goddess figure in Shakespeare on Halloween, a few minutes past midnight, last year. It was really quite spooky. I was doing an investigation of Love’s Labor’s Lost (written around 1595) and its original subtitle is “a pleasant conceited comedy” so I knew there was a conceit (an extended metaphor) there. I read the play carefully over a few days at the end of October when my college gave us a break from teaching classes for a student festival. I also watched the play on YouTube—a production with Jeremy Brett. It’s very well done. By October 30, I was finished reading it and that evening after dinner I started to try to think how any allegory or conceit was functioning. Finally, late in the evening I realized that there were all these images of and references to blindness, goddesses, sun worship, wounded deer, philosophy, the number nine, and pedants.


If you take all these elements together, and if you know the importance of Giordano Bruno to Shakespeare’s work, then all of these elements are found in only one book: Bruno’s Gli Heroici Furori (The Heroic Furies), which was published in London in 1585. I suddenly realized that Shakespeare had hidden the main ideas and elements of Gli Eroici Furori in this play. That is the conceit! I happened to check the time then and it was few minutes past midnight on the 31st: Halloween! I felt as though a ghost had dropped in to whisper the answer. Halloween, you probably know, is the day spirits are said to return, kind of like O-bon in Japan. I was happy but also I was sort of freaked out.


Q. What happened after that?


A. Well, I wrote the paper and it got a lot of views on Academia and also it got published in a journal of the college where I work. And I sent in the idea to the British Shakespeare Association which was organizing a conference to be held in June in Belfast and they accepted the idea and I got to go to the conference and present my idea. It was great fun.


Glastonbury goddess (photo John D)


Q. What do you mean by the Goddess?


A. Bruno knew about goddesses in general but he also came up with his own specific vision in Gli Heroici Furori, which is an allegory too, because the Divine Feminine (also known as the Goddess) was a heretical idea in Bruno’s day of course. There are two supernatural characters in his work, one is the goddess Diana and one is a nymph in the River Thames. Each one stars in a little story in the book. In the first one, Actaeon, the hunter, is used as Bruno’s metaphor for the Heroic Lover, a philosopher in search of the Divine Truth. Well, he finds it, symbolized by Diana bathing in a pool under the moon. She sees him, of course and turns him into a stag, whereupon he is killed and devoured by his hunting dogs.


According to Bruno, the Heroic Lover then achieves his goal of finding the Divine Truth because he merges into nature, into the world, he becomes one with it and ceases to see himself as separated from it. This is pretty deep actually: this is the place where the material world becomes sacred because we see ourselves as one with it. This is a worldview that modern people associate with indigenous tribes who, of course, usually have goddesses. But to Bruno, this is the correct view. It’s very much an environmental idea too: don’t corrupt and pollute your planet because you corrupt and pollute your own body too.


Q. What about the nymph?


A. In this anecdote in Gli Eroici Furori, nine philosophers near Rome are struck blind by the witch Circe when she sprinkles water on them. Then she kindly gives them a sealed jar and says that if they can open it they can sprinkle the water inside it on themselves and see again. They are very upset since they can’t open the jar and though they are blind, they somehow wander all the way north through Europe and end up in London, near the River Thames. A river nymph there opens the jar easily and sprinkles the water on them. They can see. Some scholars see this nymph as Queen Elizabeth I, who was in power at the time. Scholars also see the nymph as representing learning, scientific scholarship, wisdom, knowledge and these things that were going against the superstition and closed-mindedness of the Catholic Church of that day.


I think what Bruno was trying to say was that a goddess should have two aspects: one (Diana) is the sacred beauty of nature, the other (the river nymph) is a positive mind for learning and education. He saw Europe as very much in need of such a goddess. And Shakespeare liked this idea tremendously too. To him, the Divine Feminine was obviously sacred. He put it into his works as much as possible. Of course he hid it; the idea was totally heretical. That’s why all the major female characters in the comedies are disguised in one way or another.


Q. Ah ha! So in As You Like It, Rosalind and Celia, who are dressed as men, are goddess figures.


A. Exactly! There is so much Brunian imagery in the play too: a wounded stag, a philosopher from the Continent, a magician hidden in the forest. Plus, the play is against capitalism and fossil fuels. Little words like “mines” show the hidden concerns Shakespeare had with coal. And he was completely correct to be concerned: fossil fuels (coal) were wrecking London in his day and now they (coal and oil) are wrecking the planet. Plastic pollution is a huge concern but climate change is another big problem. It was often too hot to go outside safely in Kyoto this summer and many other places around the world also reported record high temperatures. 2018 is one of the hottest years on record, surpassed only by the four most recent years preceding it. Scientists warn we will also see huge problems developing with agriculture with such hot temperatures. We need to phase them out a.s.a.p.


Q. What about the ninja and Hamlet then? That also sounds unconventional for a Shakespearean!


A. I was casually chatting about ninjas with one scholar I met in Ireland at the BSA conference. I’ve been studying ninjas for a while actually and I was explaining to him how ninjas use unconventional fighting techniques. A few days later, just daydreaming, I put the idea of Hamlet together with ninjas because I realized that Hamlet uses unconventional fighting techniques too. He waits a long time to strike and ninjas often also had to wait a long time.


The first kanji in ninja is 忍, which means shinobu, to bear or endure. Then I checked a book I have called the Shoninki (正忍記) which was originally written on scrolls in 1681 in code by a real ninja master named Masazumi Natori. The Shoninki is rare because mostly ninja instructions and educational material were orally transmitted to preserve the secrecy of the ninja strategies.


The Shoninki has a lot of specific advice for those who want to be ninjas. I compared this advice to some of the things Hamlet does and says and I found many similarities. I don’t mean that Hamlet was exactly a ninja, only that ninjutsu has some philosophical background in Taoism and Zen Buddhism and it’s possible that Shakespeare could have intuitively grasped some of the principles involved: for example the Way, the nebulous and profound idea from Chinese philosophy that touches on morality and other aspects of our fundamental connection to the universe.


Q. You found ninjas and goddesses in Shakespeare! Your views are very unusual indeed! How do you cope with being so unusual in your field?


A. I don’t really care. To me, Shakespeare and his works have more in common with the mad dashing world of Japanese manga and anime, (where indeed you can sometimes see ninjas and goddesses), than anything else. In manga we often see outsider, underdog, even sort of ridiculous characters up against overwhelmingly strong powers.


To me, Shakespeare was a mad (in a good way) dashing hero fighting secretly and valiantly for a bunch of outsider underdog causes: he was against capitalism, against fossil fuels, against monothesism, and he was for Giordano Bruno, for the Divine Feminine, for our planet, for sun worship and nature worship. He hid his real ideas in allegories; it’s like a secret code, another ninja-like aspect of him. It’s fantastic, heroic, brilliant, romantic. As an academic, I’m perfectly content to explore this aspect of him and I know that as long as I stick to this ideology, I’m necessarily an outsider, in exile, and an underdog myself in this world we live in now. I’m also extremely grateful to Japan for being a country with this wonderful culture that gave me a deep education in goddesses and ninjas—often, yes, I turned to anime and manga for information and inspiration. Also Shinto shrines and folktales. I think Shakespeare would have loved Japan.


Q. Lately, you’ve been focusing on non-fiction, your scholarly articles. How about more fiction?


A. Yes, maybe, I might try a third novel soon. I am trying to come up with some plot ideas. I want to explore this idea of the goddess a lot more. A novel with a goddess might be great fun. I only want to write something, non-fiction or fiction, if it’s great fun for me. That’s my only rule.


Altar at the Goddess Temple, Glastonbury (photo by John D)

							
	

				
	



	


        
        
            

            Writers in focus            


                
		
					
				

											Writers in Oxford
									


							
			

			
							
				August 27, 2018
									
								
														
			


					
	

																					
	

	
		
John Dougill writes…


John Dougill of WiK with Robert Bullard of WiO


Few WiK members will be aware that in a sense Writers in Oxford is our parent organisation. Not in any formal basis, but simply as a source of inspiration. The links go back to 1993, when I had returned to Oxford after a six year spell in Japan and heard of an organisation for writers which had started up the year before. Since I’d published textbooks and a couple of guidebooks to Oxford, I signed up and was flattered to find myself among such luminaries as Philip Pullman and Brian Aldiss.


During my year in Oxford, I attended several functions, including a dinner talk with an agent, an informal open house, a quiz and a punting party. The emphasis was on friendly socialising and writerly camaraderie. I got to know novelists like Sara Banerjee and non-fiction writers like Jennie Hampton, both of whom I believe are still active members of WiO 26 years later.


The launch of WiK in April 2015, with instigators John Dougill and David Duff, together with guest speaker Amy Chavez (author and columnist)


After returning to Japan, I spent a few happy years researching and writing a cultural history of Kyoto, and subsequently wrote books on other aspects of Japanese culture. Then one day in 2014 a friend mentioned over a game of chess that several of his acquaintances were writers and that it would be good to have some kind of regular get-together. My mind immediately went back to Writers in Oxford, as I’d enjoyed the sense of community it brought to what is often a lonely activity.


For a while half a dozen of us met in my university office to discuss matters related to writing. We took it in turn to give presentations, but pretty soon it became evident that we were running out of steam. Something needed to change, and so we tried an online grouping instead. The idea was to keep it loose and commitment free, so that members could participate as little or as much as they wished. Most people in Kyoto have busy lives, and on any given day there is sure to be something special going on in the city, so flexibility was a key part of the set-up.


We were given a huge boost in our first years thanks to Eric Johnston, a leading journalist with the Japan Times, who not only provided us with contact to famous authors in Tokyo but to those willing to visit Kyoto. In addition, he single-handedly took on the editing of our first Anthology (see here). In this way we were able to host such illustrious writers as Robert Whiting and Karel van Wolferen.


WiK’s first Anthology party


There were magical evenings too, such as the Allen Weiss reading at Robert Yellin’s gallery, with candlelight and shakuhachi to enhance the atmosphere. Another very special event was WW1 poetry reading on July 1, 2016 in commemoration of the centenary of the Battle of the Somme. Along with readings of 11 poets by 11 different readers was a singalong of WW1 songs led by Felicity Greenland. As for book launches, two outstanding events were those of Another Kyoto by Alex Kerr in a stunning old machiya in the geisha district of Kamishichiken and a photo exhibit of Zen Gardens and Temples of Kyoto by photographer John Einarsen.


Other events in the past couple of years have included Robert Yellin on Japanese ceramics; a Basho symposium with invited speakers; Justin McCurry of The Guardian; Mark Richardson reading his poetry and sharing his encyclopedic knowledge of Robert Frost; a dinner talk with famed translator Juliet Winters Carpenter; and meetings with Eric Oey, head of Tuttle, premier English-language publisher for East Asia.


Along the way we’ve published an Anthology of members’ writings and run a Competition aimed at representing Kyoto in a fresh way in 300 words. The winning entries have been posted on our website as well as published in our Anthology. We know we’ll never be as big as our parent organisation (220 members to our 42), and in comparison to its 26 years we are but a child of four, but let us hope that in some way we have achieved something of which our parent organisation may be proud. After all, unlike the dreaming aspirers of Oxford, we strive to make the English language flower within the rock gardens of Japaneseness.




For a paper on the similarities of the two cities, please see ‘Oxford and Kyoto: Mirror Images?‘


Conditions and terms for this year’s Anthology and Competition will be announced in the coming weeks. The Anthology is open to paid-up members only; the Competition is open to all.




Happy WiKkers at the 2017 end of year party. Garden expert Mark Hovane, Kyoto Journal editor Ken Rodgers, Japan Times journalist Eric Johnston, pottery expert Robert Yellin, and Competition Organiser / blogger Karen Lee Tawarayama

							
	

				
	


		

		
				
			

						
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About Writers in Kyoto
			
Writers in Kyoto (WiK) is a group of English-language authors working or living in the city, or admiring it from afar. It is run on a membership basis and its purpose is for writers to help each other by creating opportunities for promotion, book launches, readings, the exchange of information, and social events. Read more



		
											
					

					
				

				
			
				
						
				

				
					

			
						
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