Writers In Kyoto

Page 46 of 65

Writers in focus

DIY Publishing (Gupta)

August 13, 2018

Anuradha Gupta is an Indian living in London who decided to publish her own book. In the following interview she shares with Writers in Kyoto how she went about producing her own personally illustrated collection of poems without any previous knowledge or expertise.

What made you want to publish your own book?

In January 2013 I witnessed a road accident in London in which a motorcyclist was killed. It was totally shocking and lingered in my mind. Amongst the memorial letters left at the site was one from the motorcyclist’s wife saying he had never had the chance to live his dream. It made me rethink priorities in life and get on with what mattered most to me. I had written some poems and thought they would make a fitting legacy for my daughters. So I set about making them into a book which would be treasured.

The book is wonderfully illustrated. How did that come about?

I knew I had some talent as a painter but I lacked experience, so I took on an art teacher to help me produce work suited to the poetry. With her help I managed to get the kind of illustrations I wanted.

What was the next step?

I visited a few independent printers in London and asked to see samples of their work. But I found them expensive and uninspiring. Then I remembered the offset printing (using colour plates) that my company had been involved with in India. I was recommended to a high quality printer in Hyderabad and rang them up. I explained my situation and my intentions, and they were very helpful.  I’d already decided a square shape would be most suitable, and with the printer we settled on 200 GSM [measurement of the thickness of the paper] because I wanted a luxurious and beautifully crafted coffee-table style. The price was one-third that of London!

How about the cover?

For the cover and layout I found a graphic designer to work with. Some of her suggestions were not as I wanted, so I did my own version using the traditional cut-and paste method. I showed her my idea and she converted it into digital form. As for the cover,  I chose not to have a dust cover because they usually get torn and over time look tattered. Instead I wanted it printed on canvas. When we finished everything, the graphic designer formatted it all into print-ready copy and sent it off to the printer.

How did you decide on the number of copies?

The printer had a minimum of 200 copies. Being optimistic, I decided on 500. The printer said there was no difference in price between 1000 copies and 500, so I naturally decided on that. In retrospect it was a mistake because I hadn’t reckoned on the shipping cost, which was expensive.

What was your reaction on seeing the finished product?

The 1000 copies arrived some three and a half months after I first conceived the project. It was amazingly fast, because I literally worked morning to night every day. I was delighted with the result because the printer had really done a great job. 10 out of 10. Each copy was individually wrapped in polythene and looked beautiful. But I was horrified by all the boxes!

How about the marketing and distribution?

First I sent some off to friends and gave away some promotion copies. I went to a writers conference where I sold 19 copies. It was in late autumn and I had a book launch in mhy house and invited all my friends. That resulted in 35 copies sold in one night, which was great. In winter when schools hold Xmas Fairs, I rang some up and was able to book tables for about £25 a day (¥3500). The schools took 5% commission, and generally I was able to sell about ten to fifteen copies. I’d already decided to give the sales money to a charity important to me, so some people were attracted by that and wanted to talk about it.

I created a website to showcase some of my poems along with my other writing. I also visited bookshops, though not with much success as the standard reaction was that poetry doesn’t sell. Independent bookstores and the local Waterstone’s were more friendly. The best result was actually a gift shop, which made me realise that it could best be marketed  as a present rather than a work of literature.

So what was the final result in terms of sales?

I priced it at £10 (¥1300), which seemed to be the market rate. The total cost of production was something like £2300 (¥325,000) which meant in theory I only needed to sell 230 books. However, book shops can take a third to a half of the price, so realistically I’d actually need to sell roughly 500 books. So far I have sold about 250 and given away almost 100 copies.

What’s your feeling generally about the project?

Although I’ve made a small loss financially, I’m more than satisfied with the result because I feel I’ve left something meaningful as a legacy for my family. If I did it all again, I’d be a bit more realistic about the costs and also about housing boxes of books.

Finally, do you have any advice for others who would like to go down the same path?

Yes,  I’d suggest visiting five to seven printers, as well as investigating overseas options. It’s important to find one that you can trust and whose previous products you like. They often have in-house designers too. Don’t be afraid to ask questions, as people are glad to share their expertise. Above all, don’t lose your vision! There were several points at which it would have been easy to compromise because of cost or advice, but I was able to insist on what I first wanted and I’m really glad I did because once you have the finished product you can’t change it. It’s up to you to make your dream come true.

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For Anu’s website, where you can see sample illustrations and poems, click here.

For the amazon page, click here.

For a small sample of Anu’s poems set along those of WiK member A.J. Dickinson, see here.

 

Writers in focus

Introducing Milena Guziak

August 8, 2018

1) Please tell us something about your background and how you come to be in Japan?

I was born in Poland (Kędzierzyn-Koźle) in 1982 and grew up during the harsh reality of political transition, social transformation, and dysfunctional economy characteristic for that time. My childhood memories and accounts of my parents during communist rule and Soviet dominance have been with me ever since. When Poland became a member state of European Union in 2004, with some financial help from my family and friends I decided to emigrate to the UK. After a few years of earning my keep first as an industrial cleaning staff and then as a laboratory technician, I made up my mind to reenter higher education in the field of chemistry. My master`s course provided me with an opportunity for an internship in Japan through the Vulcans in Japan Programme. After my graduation from Nottingham Trent University, I decided to pursue my doctoral studies at Tohoku University upon receiving a scholarship. Having said all that, I feel an urge to emphasize the difference between what one HAS and one IS.

Lost in a land of cultural unknowns
Repertoire of my forgoing existence dissolved
They – with relish of those new splendors
In continued rummage through drawers of values
Ceased to be they
Unwilling to desist to be they
No one to turn to

Amidst the moments of levity
Amidst the moments of solemnity
Amidst the moments of solitude
Amidst the moments of endurance
Amidst the storm of identities
Amidst the moments of friction
No one to turn to

Wandering westward
Wandering eastward

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2) What kind of writing do you do, and why?

As part of my education, I was partially trained to write scientific papers. In terms of creative writing, it is therapeutic. I have no prior training or knowledge on how to write poems. The most honest answer would be that creative writing is one big experiment. I am not writing to impress or please anyone. And there are some short written reflections on various subjects.

From under the ruin of confusion,
Building up slowly,
Rising to grab peeping sunrays of ephemeral certainty.
Hold on to it!
A transformation came to be.

From under the rocks of fear,
Climbing up to the summit of calmness,
Let yourself go!
Liberation came to be.

Ploughing through the mud of self-deception,
Sublimation came to be.

Oh! A new existence came to be.

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3) Your blog is written in four different languages. Could you explain the reason for that and what the advantages or disadvantages are?

I often find that what I cannot express through one language I can express through another. What I can express through sounds of musical instruments I cannot express through guiding forces of a paint brush or pencil. It is not to say that each of these exist separately – no, they coexist in one space of joint influence. No written words of mine could exist without silence. No written words of mine could exist without an artist putting his heart into creating sounds that I happen to hear.

In terms of what I understand as my reality, all the languages have played an important role in shaping it thus my identity. They have contributed to creating some sort of supportive network/system, which allows for an ongoing learning process.

There are things that I struggle with – writing takes time, some spelling and pronunciations mistakes due to, for instance similarities or differences between given two languages; however, I cannot see any long-term disadvantages.

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4) What is your proudest moment so far in terms of your writing path (career)?

I do feel happiness in my heart that I was able to partially overcome an internal barrier that has been present for years and prevented me from transmitting my emotions and articulating my ideas in both spoken and written language.

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5) Please tell us about your current projects and what you hope for in future?

I have a few projects going on at this point of time. In terms of my research, I will be attending three conferences that I hope will bear fruit in the form of three post-conference publications. One of the projects I wish to complete next year is a book written in Polish on the subject of moral quiescence towards suffering of non-human animals. The book will give an account of a child`s perspectives on this issue and will depict a conflict between two worlds: a child’s and that of adults. In addition, as an independent project, I am at the initial stage of developing a science book for ESL learners. In May of this year, I embarked on Academic Life Coaching training; because the training has been having a transformative effect on my life, I put forward a proposal of translating the teaching materials into Japanese to my coach trainer. In future, I hope for both personal and professional growth in the realm of my writing and teaching career.

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6) Finally, how do you think you might benefit from Writers in Kyoto, and what do you think you can contribute?

It is evident to me that the WiK group is made of writers of various knowledge and writing interests. The fact the group would accept a novice like myself evinces its inclusive mind-set.

The range of benefits is wide to my view: networking, advice on professional issues, sharing information on the publishing procedures, participation in events, publishing opportunities, sharing life-experiences through written language. Against all of the above, I feel I have not enough to offer: my presence at times, my ideas at times, and my words at times. Perhaps, the group will help me to finally lower the anchor of my existence.

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To see Milena’s blog, please click here.

Writers in focus

Literary festival (Devon, UK)

July 17, 2018

Ways with Words (at Dartington Hall, Totnes, UK)
by John Dougill

For the past week I’ve been attending a literary gathering deep in the Devon countryside. Medieval buildings, beautiful grounds, gorgeous countryside and Britain’s finest residential festival, with ten days of simultaneous talks by the country’s top selling authors. This year coincided with a spell of constant sunshine, the finals of Wimbledon and the end games of the World Cup – an overabundance of riches that presented awkward choices.

Japanese Buddha in Dartington gardens

As was often the case with Britain’s aging estates, Dartington was rescued from destitution by American money in the 1920s. Under the influence of Indian poet Rabindranath Tagore, friend of the new owners, it became an exciting artistic and ecological hub, later achieving wider fame for its excellence as a music school. Now the grounds host the influential Schumacher College (Gaia theory and ‘small is beautiful’), whose leading light Satish Kumar has given talks in Kyoto in recent years. It’s not the only Japanese connection. There’s an extremely rare species of cherry tree, so rare in fact that it survived here even when it had died out in Japan, and in the decommissioned churchyard there is now a ‘Zen meditation garden’ of rocks and raked gravel.

Literary festivals have become immensely popular in recent years, and virtually every literate community has one. Yet writers giving talks is an odd phenomenon, since many authors write books precisely because they wish to avoid product promotion and public performance. Writing is a solitary business, and there may be good reason for choosing such a lifestyle. On the other hand, there are plenty of writers for whom books are more of a sideline with their main source of income coming from outgoing professions such as academic, journalist, celebrity or entertainer.

Waiting for Godot… the audience gathers in the Great Hall for the next speaker

Given the above, it comes as no surprise that there was a great variety of presentation methods, from the reading aloud of a typed paper, to the use of notes, to free style talking around a series of book extracts, to complete spontaneity. Some were done in academic style, some in personal style, some tended towards the theatrical, and one in particular resembled a Japanese ‘talento’, complete with dyed hair, wacky clothes, overacting and audience participation. (The talk was on the nature of consciousness and whether the self was an illusion!)

On an afternoon walk through the woods, I pondered whether there were lessons to be drawn. Much of course has to do with the power of personality, but there are some aspects over which speakers can exercise control. Take the use of power point, for example. One speaker illustrated nearly every point with high-quality visuals, but the result was merely distracting because of the difficulty of taking in details with the eye at the same time as concentrating on the complexities of the spoken word. Ironically the talk would have been better without all the time spent on accumulating the illustrations. By contrast other speakers used merely one or two visuals in their talk, but spent time drawing attention to significant aspects. This worked particularly well, for it brought out extra meaning rather than simply being decorative.

The rare species of Japanese cherry tree

Another format that proved successful was the interview session, in which an informed interviewer, armed with close reading of a book, teases out from the author interesting insights and personal revelations. This puts the onus for preparation on the interviewer rather than the author, which seems only right. (It touches too on the question of whether writers should get paid for their time when giving talks, and the Society of Authors is currently running a campaign along those lines. Writers in Kyoto too tries to pay an honorarium for speakers.)

The best of the talks as far as I was concerned, and certainly the most entertaining, was on a subject in which I had no interest and by an author of whom I knew nothing – Caroline of Ansbach by Matthew Dennison. It was in the beautiful setting of the Great Hall, and as it followed lunch I thought it might make for a pleasant snooze. It turned out though that the presenter had prepared well – either that or he had done the talk many times previously, for instead of reading out his text he would glance down at it, sometimes reading a sentence from a new paragraph and then improvising on the theme. This gave his talk ‘wings’ as he was able to take off on unrehearsed passages that allowed his enthusiasm to show through. A potentially dry subject was brought to life with jokes and a light touch, and only at the end of a fascinating talk did I realise that for a whole year of my life I’d passed every day beneath a statue of the said Caroline, for as the wife of George II she had been benefactress and second founder of the Oxford college I attended. (She  stands now regally in a cupola above the entrance of Queen’s on Oxford High Street.)

Due to the exceptionally fine weather, I was lured to take a long walk in the rolling hills which reminded me once again of the value of solitary walking for creative thought. Stimulated by the talks I’d attended, I found ideas bobbing up unwilled as I paced along riverside pathways. The inspiration that derives from walking seems to have much to do with the state of mind induced by the easy-going pace together with the hypnotic repetition of unhurried steps. It’s a subject touched on previously on this website, and it’s one well worth revisiting. Walking is surely the best antidote to writer’s block, and through the articulation of unformed ideas comes the true joy of creation. It is as if one taps into a different self.

Walk on through the wind,
Walk on through the rain,
Though your dreams be tossed and blown,
Walk on with hope in your heart,
And you’ll never walk alone
You’ll never walk alone.

All this raises the question of whether Writers in Kyoto will one day be able to put on some kind of a literary festival. It’s worth thinking about, particularly if we were able to collaborate with sister organisations such as the Kyoto Journal, Kansai Swet or the annual Japan Writers Conference. One simple format that might suit our purposes would be to have short readings by a panel of three or four WiK writers with shared interests – Kyoto, poetry, fiction, for example. In this way we can aim to bring the words off the page and invest them with new meaning for a live audience. If we can combine this with the exceptionally talented musicians who support us, we could provide a setting of inspirational improvisation in which words grow wings and take flight -– a literary festival worthy of being added to the city’s rich heritage of festivals!

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For an essay on the relationship of walking and writing, click here.

The Japanese ‘Zen meditation garden’ built in the churchyard of the decommissioned church

Writers in focus

Nicholas Teele interview

July 13, 2018

Please tell us a little about your upbringing and your relationship with Japan.

I was born in Colorado and grew up in a family that loved nature, storytelling, and the fine arts. Between 1948 and 1960, my parents were educational missionaries. We were first in China and then in Japan. We arrived in Japan early in 1950 (when I was five). It was the time of the Allied Occupation, which officially lasted until 1952, although the Allied military presence remained strong for a while after that because of the Korean War. The environment was diverse, culturally rich, and international. In 1960 we returned to the United States because of my mother’s illness.


Please tell us something about your writing career.

In my twenties I read and wrote voraciously and occasionally published poetry or short fiction in small literary magazines. Started translating as an undergraduate (one result was Meadow of Stars, by Eiji Shono, tr. Roy Teele, Nick Teele, and Yoko Sugiyama. Rironsha, 1970). 
Started writing tanka (short poems) in English in the early 1970s and it has been my main poetic form ever since. In the 1990s, I published in online journals and communities and in the journals of the Tanka Society of America and The Japan Tanka Poets’ Society (Nihon Kajin Club), but virtually stopped when administrative duties became too heavy. Academic writing has been mostly in the areas of classical Japanese and comparative literature, and ESL. Translation work, too, pretty much stopped after 1993, and has only recently restarted.

Which book has been your proudest achievement, and why?

Ono no Komachi, Poems, Stories, Noh Plays (tr. Roy, Rebecca, and Nicholas Teele. Garland, 1993). My father died in 1985 without having completed a book of translations of Noh plays he had been working on. My sister and I selected the ones featuring the 9th century poet Ono no Komachi, expanded the concept to include her poetry, and two medieval stories and a modern Noh play about her, and completed the work he had started. It was an honor to be able to accomplish that.

What are you currently working on?

I have three projects that I want to finish in the next few years. The first is the translation of a book by Hayashi Nozomu on the Shin-hanga artist Kawase Hasui. It will be published by Kawade in 2020. 
 The next project to be finished is a book on the Hyakunin Isshu, an anthology of poetry compiled in the 13th century. Rather than translate the poems, I define and explain the words, phrases, structure, and background of each poem, and also provide information about the poets and the times they lived, so that people who do not know Japanese can understand the meaning and some of the contexts involved, and make their own translations. This should be finished next year.

The third project is to complete a book on the Saikoku Sanjusansho Kannon Pilgrimage. The first draft of this book, completed about twenty years ago, is an account of my experiences when I first visited the thirty-three temples on the route in numerical order. Although focusing on Kannon Bosatsu, these experiences inevitably involved the sacredness of place. On subsequent pilgrimage to the temples, I have tried to better understand the elements that are involved in expressing this sacredness of place, and have expanded my research to include guidebooks to the pilgrimage and commentaries on the temple poems (goeika) written before the separation of Buddhism and Shinto in the early Meiji period. My goal is to better identify and understand the elements that work together in expressing the sacredness of place which exists at each of the temples, and in the pilgrimage as a whole.

What would you say are the benefits and disadvantages of living in Kyoto? 


Perhaps the main benefit of living in Kyoto is that it is a powerful hub of traditional Japanese history, culture, and spirituality, and an unparalleled treasure trove. In addition, with hills on three sides, the exquisite quiet side of nature is never far away. In spite of “progress” Kyoto is a beautiful city, with a stimulating mixture of old and new. (I actually live midway between Kyoto and Nara.)

How did you get to be president of Doshisha Women’s College, and what challenges did you face?

I was elected. (In elections for president at the college, faculty and staff vote to select someone from among faculty with the rank of professor. There are no pre-announced candidates. If no one receives a majority of the votes, faculty members vote to select the president from the two people who received the most votes.) It was not a position I aspired to. I served one three-year term (at the end of which I was 65 and not eligible for reelection). The college staff was outstanding and was very supportive, as were the faculty. Fortunately there were no major problems. The greatest challenge was trying to balance opposing views, remain neutral, and be fair.

For Nicholas Teele’s academic papers on Researchgate see here and on academic.org see here.

For a listing of the books with which Nicholas has been involved as editor or translator, see this page on Goodreads.

Featured writing

Kyoto in July (Torres)

July 8, 2018

July in Kyoto means the Gion Festival, the city’s premier event which stretches over the whole month and provides tourists with an array of glittering photo-ops. The piece below is an excerpt from “Kyoto Souvenir,” a book by Fernando Torres still in the preliminary stages which tells of buying a forsaken house in Higashiyama. (He describes it as “Under the Tuscan Sun,” if it had taken place in Japan and was written by a Mexican-American from Las Vegas.) (JD)

Kyoto in July is where I learned the vocabulary for “what am I doing here instead of someplace cooler,” or “mushi-atsui,” as is said in the local vernacular.  In Las Vegas, we don’t actually have humidity.  Months go by with nary a cloud in the sky.  Like a character from one of my fantasy novels, I find myself able to project small bolts of lighting from my fingers, much to the detriment of Winston, our British Shorthair.  In Kyoto, there are no such problems with static electricity as the humidity is as thick as the purin I eat with my lunch.  Were this not a country of “mildly air-conditioned” train cars, it might not feel like a chapter in Dante’s Inferno.  People in Japan seem to enjoy complaining about the heat as much as folks in other countries enjoy talking about sports or politics.  In an unexpected moment of wisdom, we decided to become the first owners in our house’s 120-year history to install air-conditioning.  Since I never met any of the previous occupants, one can only assume that they melted and were absorbed into the soil beneath the foundation.  As I luxuriate beneath the vents, like a Christmas ham, I don’t even care that Kansai Electric raised the rates after the earthquake.  One of the advantages of being an adult is the ability to run your air-conditioner with only your pocketbook to object.  It could scream for all I care, and I would just smother my wallet in the blanket of humidity that covers the city. Every year, I swear that I will avoid Japan during the sweltering months of summer, for someplace more comfortable like Las Vegas or Hell.  Drawn by some home improvement project or festival, however, I continuously find myself in the ancient capital fanning myself like a character in a jidaigeki (時代劇).  There is a heightened sense of community in communal suffering.  I suppose seeing the sweat pouring down someone’s forehead has the effect of humanizing them.

In a city of festivals, one towers above them all, quite literally.  Gion Festival is held every July because apparently October was already booked.  I believe the same meteorologists who create the cherry blossom forecast are the ones who determined the absolute hottest time of the year in which to hold a matsuri and the rest is history.  While its origins are in a ritual to prevent disasters (御霊会), I am reasonably sure I will spontaneously combust from the heat.  Thirty-two movable museums, some twenty-five meters tall, are pulled with great hemp ropes down the streets of the city as has been done for over a thousand years.   The nine hoko floats are not able to be steered, but by dousing bamboo strips laid under the wheels with water, the fifty or so men can turn them in the appropriate direction.  I have a chance to view these venerable skyscrapers at the Yoi-yama street party.  Shijo-dori is completely closed to traffic.  I experience a sense of thrill walking down the middle of the street, where I usually can only ride in green city buses or in the back of red and black taxi cabs.  It seems as if all of Japan has descended upon Kyoto to view the parade floats and eat chimaki cakes wrapped in bamboo.  Some of the neighborhood houses display their heirlooms which gives me a chance to look into machiya that would normally be closed to my prying eyes.

For those looking for additional culture, long lines are available in front of the food stalls.  This is to uphold the Japanese pastime of standing for unreasonable periods of time with an ungodly number of your fellow citizens.  I knew I had become a local when I got in a line at a food hall without any idea of what they were actually selling.  The person in front of me didn’t know either.  The lukewarm yakisoba I’m handed is brought up to the appropriate temperature by merely sharing the heat enjoyed by the thousands of us packed like unagi in a bento box.  Still, there is something about festival food that is irresistible.  Perhaps it is the idea of a reward at the end of the line.

The day of the parade, the Yamaboko Junko, my wife and I decide to wear our yukatas, but perhaps a more appropriate outfit would be an air-conditioned space suit.  We find a place across from where several local maikos are giving gifts to the participants as they pass.  The juxtaposition they create, with the conbini store behind them, is a fitting symbol for the age-old festival in the modern era.  One of the gentlemen drops the gift they have handed him, which elicits polite laughter from the maikos eager to maintain the harmony (和).  Paid seating is available, but  I’d rather use the 3000 yen towards keeping my house as cold as an icebox.  Especially, when the reward at the end of this line is a thousand years of history with friends and neighbors in the city that I love.

For a self-introduction by Fernando Torres, please click here. There is also a professionally produced 4k video shot by him last July, which is just seven minutes long and has rare close-up shots of festival scenes and Kyoto highlights, all set to atmospheric music and visually appealing.

Featured writing

Hearn’s Kyoto Stories 3: ‘Screen Maiden’ (Sokulski)

July 7, 2018

Those familiar with the rich heritage of artwork in Japan will be aware of numerous stories about painted figures which are so life-like that they come alive and step out of their frames, like the characters in Woody Allen’s The Purple Rose of Cairo. The Kyoto painter Okyo Murayama for instance painted a ghost that was so realistic it floated off from the painting never to be seen again. In ‘The Screen-Maiden’ (part of the miscellany Shadowings, 1900) Lafcadio Hearn writes of a similar phenomenon with regard to the artist Hishigawa Kichibei (aka Moronobu) (1618-94), whose portrait of a young girl captivates a young Kyoto scholar named Tokkei, living in Muromachi Street. Such is the power of his passion that he summons her into existence and ends up happily married to her. As for the painting, “The space that she had occupied upon it remained a blank.” In the piece below, WiK intern Andrew Sokulski uses Hearn’s story as a springboard for reflections upon relationships and the nature of love. (JD)

Self-portrait by Hishikawa courtesy Wikidata

Hishikawa print in the British Museum

 

 

 

 

 

 

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Reflections on Hearn’s “The Screen Maiden” by Andrew Sokulski

Oftentimes otherworldly happenings can more precisely explain everyday events in our world. In Lafcadio Hearn’s “The Screen Maiden” an exquisite painting of a beautiful young girl becomes the betrothed of a young man. A most intriguing read indeed, the story seems to hint at three critical aspects of love: patience, humility, and reciprocity.

At the start of the story a description of the miraculous aspects of “Hishigawa’s Portraits” is given. “It is said that the creatures or the persons he painted would separate themselves from the paper or the silk upon which they had been depicted, so that they became, by their own will, really alive.” (Pg. 1) The description makes what would otherwise be seen as absurd into something rational. From this point on, the story tells of how the man and the lady came to be united in love. It starts with him returning home after a day’s work: “One evening, while on his way home after a visit, his attention was attracted by an old single-leaf screen (tsuitaté) exposed for sale before the shop of a dealer in second-hand goods.” (Pg. 2). Intrigued by the portrait, he bought the screen and went home.

After an initial phase of love-at-first-sight, his feelings developed into a more intense relationship. He reached out to her and expressed his amorous feelings. He couldn’t help but think of her day and night, as if her reflection could be seen in the luminous haze of the moon as well as in the radiant glare of the sun. In Hearn’s words: “When he looked again at the screen, in the solitude of his own room, the picture seemed to him much more beautiful than before. Apparently it was a real likeness–the portrait of a girl fifteen or sixteen years old; and every little detail in the painting of the hair, eyes, eyelashes, mouth, had been executed with a delicacy and truth beyond praise.” (Pg. 2). Enraptured by her beauty, the man could not contain his passion, and it seemed the girl too wished to appear to him free of the painting within which she was placed.

Though the man vowed to sacrifice his life if the girl did not become his lover, a friend advised him to be more resolute. Sit before her each day and call her by name, he suggests. Then when she responds, offer her a cup of wine mixed from 100 different wine-shops. Miraculously she does eventually appear, whereupon she acts surprisingly calmly and asks, “Will you not soon get tired of me?” (Pg. 5). He pledges never to leave her and to treat her as kindly as he can. In such humble fashion, their relationship is settled.

Reciprocity is achieved as the two of them come to an agreement to acquiesce in each other’s innermost thoughts. The man overcomes his overzealous emotion in order to have a loving relationship with her. For her part, she agrees to become his partner after making certain that he will not act brashly toward her. It seems they had a smooth relationship: “I suppose that Tokkei was a good boy — for his bride never returned to the screen.”(Pgs. 5-6).

The three aspects of patience, humility, and reciprocity thus enable a crystalized love to be formed. This is underpinned by a play on words, for Hearn mentions the Japanese word 衝立「ついたて」early on in the story, which can be translated as a standing or partitioning screen. In this sense the screen could represent the stages of closeness and distance in love. If one approaches a lover too rapidly, he or she may choose seclusion behind a screen of formalities. If on the other hand one approaches calmly, and if the love is mutual, the couple will come to an understanding of the larger scope of life and a sharing of each other’s stories. Eventually, if their wishes match one another, they may decide to join their circumstances and promise to face the future hand in hand. With love, as with writing, in order to arrive at the point at which one can convey an emotional core to others, one must proceed smoothly, step by step, through screens of understanding and mystery. Only by constant struggle will one achieve calm and clarity in the end. In this way one’s imaginary ideal may well come to life and flourish in actual reality.

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For Andrew’s previous take on a Hearn story, please click here to see his piece on ‘The Sympathy of Benten’.

 

Hishikawa: Girl dancing while a young man plays the samisen and an older woman reclines behind him.

Writers in focus

World Cup Watching (Edward J Taylor)

July 2, 2018

The summer that Japan hosted the World Cup was one of the highlights of my many years there.  By day I was hitchhiking the 33 temples of the Kansai Kannon pilgrimage, while at night I’d return to a city somewhere to watch a match.  I’d choose bars or pubs that had a connection to one of the teams on the pitch, and the energy of the fans could barely be contained within the four thin walls of the place.

In a similar spirit I thought it would be fun to go down to Cogolin [south-east France] to watch the national team play Argentina.  It was a typically quiet Saturday, when all the action is down at the beach. But today even the boules court was empty, and the only sound was the occasional raucous shout of “Merde!” coming through a window shuttered against the summer sun.

A workingman’s bar had laid out tables and chairs beneath some awnings at the front, and all eyes there were aimed at the large television hung beside the front door.  Every chair was full, occupied by bristle-haired, full-bellied men, along with the odd soccer widow.  An air of intoxication hung over this collective, but one that was heavy rather than convivial.  Indoors too was full, and tainted with the pungency of sweat and cigarettes.   Most of the room was engaged with a smaller TV, but for a quad of men oblivious to all but their card game.  There was just enough space to squeeze onto a bench beside them, but here too the atmosphere wasn’t terribly welcoming.  So we stepped out again and watched awhile from the street, just in time to see France’s beautiful third goal.  No matter how many times I saw the reply, I couldn’t tell if it were luck or skill, as the ball left the fully extended leg of Pavard and literally curled into the net.

Across the road, the cafe beside the boules court was nearly empty but for a dozen people who seemed to be staff along with a few of their mates.  While they were friendly, the decor itself was cold, all cheap steel and formica.  Over a milky pastis I saw France score their fourth and deciding goal, so with less than ten minutes to go and the match seemingly won, we headed off to run errands.

Across from the pharmacy I noticed a new bar that specialized in craft beers, done up in the wooden look of Ye Olde Timey English Pub, yet with the exposed copper pipes of 19th century France. Aside from the barkeeper and a couple of his friends at the bar, the seven or eight people alternately cheered or moaned in accents English or American.  I stood in the doorway as LYL got her perception filled, but when Argentina came within a single goal I moved inside for the local version of Pale Ale.  This took some doing for I couldn’t draw the attention of the barman away from the television, deep into the match was he perdu.

And with France the eventual victor, the streets began to fill.  We strolled the lanes back to the car, as voices rose from the boules court, and from within the cafés came once more the clutter of cutlery and the clink of glass.

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For a travel piece by Edward J Taylor on Havana, Cuba, see here.

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Writers in focus

Wit and wisdom (Preston Keido Houser)

June 29, 2018

Gnome Poetry and Improv Evening (24/6/2018)

There once was a monk from Madrid
Who declared that his good deeds were hid.
Not thinking a thought
Nor seeking the sought,
His doing was nothing he did.

 

Capitalist cat chasing leaves
As if they were mice
American short hair

 

Sometimes you get it back
But it never returns
In the form that it left –
Money maybe but never love

Winter nighthawks hover
Over moon-lit revelations
The dead in the field

There once was a monk from L.A.
Who was lost in the ways of the Way.
In order to make it
He had to forsake it,
The searching that led him astray.

There once was a monk from Crimea
Who conceived of his own utopia
But he could not fulfill
His ambition until
He subtracted the “I” from idea.

 

There once was a monk from Havana
Who was hung up on subduing nirvana.
To extinguish the fire
One must dispense with desire.
I can but I don’t really wanna.

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For more poetry by Preston, see here.

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WiK Poetry and Improv 2018

June 25, 2018

Mark Richardson reads out some surreal verse as Amy Chavez and husband listen in the foreground

It’s not easy to draw crowds to poetry events, but WiK managed twenty plus customers last night packed into the Gnome for an evening of great variety. Each performer had five minutes to display their talents, and each took a very different approach to their five minutes of fame Thanks are due to all those who contributed to the overall success of the evening. This follows last year’s poetry and improv, showing we’re building a strong annual tradition of showcasing WiK poetry in June.

Thanks to Sydney Solis for demonstrating how performance poetry should be performed. Thanks to Preston Houser for demonstrating the shakuhachi way to enlightenment. Thanks to our intern Andrew Sokulis for daring to come up with spontaneous improvisation on a theme (takes guts to do that). Thanks to Ken Rodgers for not being a poet but spouting poetically. Thanks to James Woodham for his very original folk song rendition, thanks to Mayumi Kawaharada for haiku-ing in a foreign language, and thanks to Gary Tegler, narrator of Core Kyoto, for inspirational flights of pure sax fantasy. Thanks to Robert Yellin for unearthing his pre-pottery poetical self, and thanks to Mark Richardson for some serious stuck-in-the-elevator surrealism. Thanks too to special guests Amy and husband for making the effort to attend and for raffling off her new book, Best Behavior in Japan.

It was a fun evening, with many memorable moments. Let’s think what WiK poets can do next! (Photos thanks to R. Yellin, though possibly not the one of himself.)

John D reads from AJ Dickinson

Ken Rodgers takes the stage to read some of his own poetry and to advertise the forthcoming Kyoto Journal plus Chris Mosdell’s new book on Kyoto

Preston Houser with some witty Zen verse, interspersed with shakuhachi

Mayumi Kawaharada reads her seasonal cycle of haiku from Echoes: Writers in Kyoto Anthology 2017

Robert Yellin reveals he was a published poet before he was struck by the poetry of pottery and changed course

Gary Tegler blowing pure inspiration in his improvisation on the theme of Mayumi’s haiku

James Woodham reciting his own poem, before giving a rendition of it in original folksong

MC for the evening, Sydney Solis, made sure things moved along and entertained the audience with some fine poetry and a running gag of mispronunciations

WiK intern Andrew Sokulis came up with the first long spontaneous piece of improvised poetry that we’ve had. A revelation.

Amy Chavez conducts a lottery for her new book, helped by MC Sydney, with doorman and social secretary David Duff watching on in striking red

Writers in focus

Kirsty Kawano self-introduction

June 24, 2018

Kirsty Kawano: Interview

1) Could you tell us about your background and connection with Japan?

I first came to Japan on a one-year student exchange directly after high school. I had always been interested in living in a country with a different language, so when Japan was proposed as a destination I went with it.

I returned to my hometown of Melbourne, Australia, to study journalism and then came to Japan again. After teaching English for a while and studying Japanese, I eventually worked as the editor of a corporate in-house magazine and then on the editing desk of a financial newswire.


2) What sort of writing do you do?

I am a freelance journalist. At the moment, I mainly write for online publications in Japan.

I write about my experiences and things that I find interesting in daily life. Having moved to Kyoto 11 months ago, I now write some travel articles, and have written a few pieces about trying to fit into life here.

Writing for the internet can be daunting because readers can so easily post comments on an article, but so far I’ve received positive feedback—even some thank-yous for the stories I’ve written. It is exciting to be available to a worldwide audience. I once had three comments posted about the same article—one from a reader in Africa, one from Japan, one from South-East Asia.


3) What brought you to Kyoto?

Kyoto is where my husband and I met. We soon moved to Tokyo for our careers and found the city difficult to navigate and frustratingly complex. I remember saying to my husband back then that we should return to Kyoto one day. After 20 years in Tokyo, though, it was a shock when his career moved us back here.

Experiencing Kyoto now as a mother and writer is in many ways very different to how it felt being here as a young English-language instructor, but the sense of there being so much to discover and learn, remains the same.


4) Do you have any message for the members of Writers in Kyoto?

I look forward to learning more about Kyoto—and many other topics—with WiK members, and from them.

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For a piece by Kirsty comparing life in Tokyo to life in Kyoto, please click here.

To learn about the online publications belonging to the GPlusMedia group for which she does work, see https://gplusmedia.com/en/brand/.

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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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