Writers In Kyoto

Page 47 of 65

Writers in focus

Fernando Torres (self-introduction)

June 15, 2018


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

My first connection to Japan was through the Suzuki method. I was two and a half, and they had this crazy idea of teaching young children to play musical instruments, but you know something? It worked. When I was a bit older, we had two exchange students from Japan, which led to my lifelong obsession with Japanese food. Finally, as an adult, working as a suit at ABC/Disney, I was assigned to be a liaison for the Power Rangers, whom we had acquired from Saban and Fox. We took the Super Sentai series from Japan and reshot any dialogue scenes using English actors. Many of the costumes, from those years, are displayed at Toei Studios in Kyoto. In 2005, I finally dragged my wife to the Expo in Aichi, and that was the beginning of her love for Japan. A couple of years ago we bought a 120-year-old house near Tofukuji, and that’s when the relationship with Japan became more serious. As we sat in the back room of the bank, drinking tea with the sellers, agents, and scrivener, it became apparent that dating had turned to marriage.

At first, our neighbors appeared wary of us, as we were the first foreigners to move into the neighborhood. The association met to discuss how to handle the difficulties that might result from our arrival. It was the start of a time of rapid change for the sleepy neighborhood. Tourism to Kyoto was exploding, and nearby Fushimi Inari Shrine had become the city’s premier attraction. Many people chose to combine a visit to Tofukji Temple with the short walk to see the vermillion torii gates. Foreigners flooded the street that ran through our sleepy neighborhood. For nine months the renovation of our house dragged on. The previous owner had attempted to modernize the old machiya, and I was determined to restore as much of its traditional character as possible. Finally, Gion Festival arrived. My wife and I dressed in our yukatas to see the yama and hoko making their procession down Shijo street. The head of the neighborhood association appeared from his door to find us not in our usual western attire. He looked us over carefully, and to my surprise, voiced his approval. My wife rubbed his dog’s belly while I described our day’s plans in broken Japanese. Soon, the local sake shop owner, also a member of the neighborhood council, came out with his camera and began to take pictures. As we said our goodbyes and walked to the train station, it was clear that a shift had occurred. We were no longer strangers, but part of a community.

Fernando in his Disney days

2) What is it about Kyoto that attracted you?

I am originally from Los Angeles where we had no actual seasons — unless you count the Oscars. To be in a place where the passing of Summer to Fall occurs with religious sincerity is akin to gaining back a part of my life. It is like Michael Jackson searching for his childhood, but without the lawyers. In all seriousness, few people in Kyoto look forward to the changing of the leaves like I do. Last year, I even denied myself my momiji-gari (the viewing of fall foliage) so that I could appreciate them all the more this year. Local friends were astonished to find me avoiding Kyoto during November, but I said to them, “If I see them every year, I will only begin to take them for granted.” This year I have planted a small maple tree in front of the window near my horigotatsu, and I wouldn’t miss the arrival of its red and orange colors for all the world.

3) What sort of writing do you do?

Good, I hope (rimshot). While I work in several genres, all my work could be categorized as “high concept.” A Habit of Resistance is historical fiction, but the idea of a group of nuns joining the French Resistance is definitely “high concept.” I would not advise other writers to work in as many genres as I do, but there is a continuity of themes that is unmistakable in my writing.

4) What has been the most satisfying moment for you in your writing so far?

Fernando during his interview with TV Tokyo

I was at a book signing in Tuscon, and a college student was practically hyperventilating at her joy of being at my table. I didn’t know quite what to think, but those are the moments that keep you motivated. I also enjoyed talking about my writing with TV Tokyo recently, but I’m not sure how much of that will be present in the final cut.

5) What sort of problems have you faced?

Going from television to fighting for every reader has been a real change in paradigm. It’s difficult to stay motivated when you put forth so much effort only to achieve little comparable results. Feedback from readers is critical. In day-to-day life, my poor Japanese has been a factor, but I am committed to becoming conversational before I’ve insulted every last person in Honshu.

6) What projects are you currently working on?

I just finished the writer’s draft of a novel tentatively called, “More Than Alive.” It’s paranormal sci-fi and takes place in Japan thirty years in the future. Many issues such as privacy, and our virtual lives, are addressed, and it would be perfect for the Japanese market, were it not for my before mentioned Japanese skills. The main characters live in a house based on Ōkōchi Sansō in Arashiyama. I am also looking forward to writing my first nonfiction, the comedic story of buying and renovating our Meiji-era machiya in Kyoto.

7) What are your favourite books or writings about Japan?

I feel the most substantial connection to The Tale of Genji, although I’m still trying to grasp it truly. Every time I see a statue of Murasaki Shikibu I give thanks for what she accomplished and its effect on my life. Another reason is that my house is supposedly on the former location of Hosho-ji Temple, which is featured in the “Boat on the Waters” chapter. I’ve had difficulty confirming this little factoid, so any help from local historians is appreciated.

8) Finally, do you have any message for the members of Writers in Kyoto?

Ultimately I decided to join a writer’s group in Kyoto, rather than Las Vegas, because I related more to the everyday struggles of my fellow expatriates in Japan. Because I live a rather cloistered life, when I am in the U.S., I find myself interacting more with neighbors and friends in Japan. As I passed through Osaka, the other day, I found myself pondering what it even meant for something to be “foreign.” I visited Chicago a few months ago and found myself in a place that seemed exotic and unfamiliar compared to Dotonbori, where I know exactly where to go for the best okonomiyaki. Kyoto is yet more familiar still, and it occurred to me that I haven’t thought of it as being foreign for many years. Perhaps that is why it seemed best to join the Writers in Kyoto, and I look forward to your support and returning it as best I am able.

Fernando at a neighbourhood temple near the house at Tofukuji he has renovated

Teeuwen on Ise Jingu

June 11, 2018

Leading Shinto scholar Mark Teeuwen, has written several influential books on matters related to Japan’s indigenous faith. He’s known in particular for disputing the idea that there was such a thing as ‘Shinto’ in Japan’s ancient past, but that it was a later construct. His new publication, A Social History of the Ise Shrines, co-written with John Breen, has proved ground-breaking in terms of English language works on the subject. It was a great delight therefore for WiK to host him last Sunday for an informal talk on the changes Ise has been through in its long history.

First some interesting statistics. The Ise complex comprises 125 shrines. There are 120 priests (nearly ten times more than at other major shrines) and 500 auxiliary staff. The shrine owns forests as far away as Kyushu, has four museums as well as offices, educational facilities and residences, in addition to which it hosts facilities to produce rice, salt, timber etc. In short, this is a major enterprise, which moreover is committed to a twenty-year rebuilding cycle estimated to cost 57 billion yen. Small wonder that it needs substantial income, for since the end of World War Two it has been stripped of state support. It comes as little surprise then to learn that the Association of Ise Worshippers is headed by the ex-president of Toyota and that the top ranks are filled with big business magnates.Visitors to Ise may think it’s all about trees and wood, but money is a major concern!

The twenty year rebuilding cycle brings with it renewed focus and a surge of tourism. A comparison of 1993 and 2013 is instructive in this respect. Given that 9 million visitors in 2014 descended on a town of only 130,000, the management of shrine visitors and tourism is a consideration for local residents, and in 1993 much attention was given to a new motorway to the area. At the same time there were protests and even bombs against the imperial trappings and reenforcement of state ties. These were much more evident in 2013, when prime minister Shinzo Abe and eight of his cabinet ministers attended the sengyo no gi rite, in which the sacred mirror of Amaterasu is transferred from the old shrine to the new. The last time a prime minister had attended was in 1929 during the time of State Shinto, yet this won almost no attention in the mass media or from the populace at large. One wonders if it reflects political apathy, or perhaps it is simply an illustration of the drift to the right which has happened under Abe.

A Jinja Honcho campaign to go and worship at Ise

Standard descriptions of Ise like to suggest it has always been supreme and a centre of imperial worship. Mark T. however showed that this was far from the truth, and he identified six major historical periods with quite different values and business models. The shrine dates back to the late seventh century when an angry deity named Amateru (sic) disrupted the imperial household and was ejected, ending up at Ise. Mark T. believes that at this time the deity was male, and that it was only under the influence of Empress Jito (r.686-697) that the deity was feminised by Kojiki mythologisers in her honour (there are parallels between Amaterasu’s son and grandson with those of Jito).

During its subsequent history Ise took many guises. It came as a surprise to learn that at one time it was the seat of Enma, lord of the underworld, and indulgences were sold so as to avoid going to hell. At another time it was closely associated with the samurai (the court made pilgrimages to Kumano instead). Shop councils and inn keepers promoted the pilgrimage business through prayer masters called oshi, and the millions of Edo-era pilgrims who headed for the Outer Shrine were concerned with enjoyment and praying for agricultural success. There was little if any awareness of the emperor at the time, for the Tokugawa were all-powerful (and Ieyasu deified). Only with the development of the Kokugaku movement in the later Edo Period was there a revival in sentiment for the emperor.

It was the Meiji Period which brought major changes to Ise. The era is associated now with ‘the invention of tradition’, and Ise provides a striking example as it was transformed into the ancestral shrine of the emperor and given primacy in religious terms. For a start the oshi business, which had long sustained Ise, was banned. Hereditary priests were ousted and appointees installed. Fences were put up and shrines rearranged in a more rational and imperial manner. The Outer Shrine, for example whose deity was Amenonakanushi, lord of creation, was recast as sanctuary of a food deity serving Amaterasu, In this way the shrine came to take its present form as head of an emperor-centred ideology, and despite the change from nationalised institution to private institution after WW2, essentially nothing has changed. Still today most of the resources of the Association of Shrines (Jinja Honcho) go into supporting Ise’s primacy, even to the extent of using money from poorer shrines (some close to bankrupt).

There is no dogma in Shinto, noted Mark, though Jinja Honcho asserts one dogmatic axiom: Ise is supreme.

In contrast to the solemnity nowadays, Edo-era pilgrims were bent on enjoying themselves and even took a pet dog along, if this officially sanctioned picture is to be believed

Writers in focus

Cid Corman coffee shop

June 7, 2018
Mayumi Kawaharada writes…

Cid Corman (1924-2004)

Do you know the American sweets cafe called CC’s coffee shop in Kyoto, which was established in 1974 by the American poet and editor Cid Corman?

When he and his Japanese wife (Shizumi Konishi) left for America in 1980, his wife’s sister and her husband inherited the cafe. He returned to Kyoto again in 1983, but I’m uncertain if he took over the cafe or not. But he kept having poetry reading events at the cafe until he passed away. (Greg Dunne of Kyoto Journal, who now lives in Miyazaki Prefecture, became a friend of Cid and wrote a book about him called Quiet Accomplishment: Remembering Cid Corman.)
It’s more than 40 years since the establishment of the cafe but it still exists! Though there used to be home made ice cream, it’s gone. These days, there are home made cakes and beagle sandwiches. There are also various kinds of American-style cakes including pecan nut pie and apple pie. The slices are much bigger than the Japanese standard size.
The cafe stands on the north-east corner of Marutamachi St, and Shichihonmatsu St, which is not too far from JR Enmachi station. You will find a photo of Cid and his famous Japanese poet friend, Shinpei Kusano there.
The current owner is a sister of Cid’s late wife, who is now in her late eighties or even ninety something. So because of the current owner’s age, I recommend literary people to visit soon to savour the lingering feeling of the era of Cid Corman in Kyoto, before the cafe is gone. Many famous writers visited there, including Kenneth Rexroth and Edith Shiffert. In more recent times Taylor Mignon and Gregory Dunne too.
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Final letter and poems, with substantial listing of links
http://209.172.130.121/Cormanpage.htm
Cid Corman did not speak, read or write Japanese, even though his co-translation with Susumu Kamaike of Bashō’s Oku No Hosomichi is considered one of the most accurate in tone in the English language.This link tells of his manner of translation.
This link has photos and details (in Japanese) about CC’s Coffee Shop.
https://ameblo.jp/ecrit-cotocoto/entry-12213993999.html
A personal memory of CC’s Cafe in this google book

 

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Writers in focus

Mike Freiling self-introduction

June 6, 2018

Mike Freiling

Mike was born in San Francisco and attended USF as an undergraduate, where he first became interested in poetry at readings by Allen Ginsburg, Gary Snyder and others of that generation. At USF he also became interested in Japanese literature, as he and his friends read anything by Yukio Mishima that they could get their hands on. As a grad student at MIT, Mike found the time to study poetry under David Ferry at Wellesley, and was a co-founder of Rune, which eventually became MIT’s official literary magazine (http://runemag.mit.edu/index.php).

In 1977, Mike was named a Luce Scholar (http://www.hluce.org/lsprogram.aspx), with an appointment at Kyoto University. During his scholarship year, Mike managed to learn enough Japanese to produce a translation of the Hyaku Nin Isshu as his final report to the Luce Foundation. In 2014, Mike returned to Japan for the first time in 25 years, and began writing a series of poems that recorded his experiences at different shrines and temples in Kyoto, Tokyo, and Kanazawa. He now spends about 3 months of the year in Japan, writing poetry in both English and Japanese.

Today, Mike is at work on several writing projects. Iceplant is a collection of poems about growing up in San Francisco’s Sunset District in the ‘50’s and ‘60’s. Dewdrop explores cross-cultural themes common to both Eastern and Western spirituality. Tanuki Tales are short prose stories intended to make spirituality interesting and accessible to those who are outside of any institutional religious tradition. Mike is also engaged with a team of poets and native Japanese speakers in translating a recently discovered manuscript of haiku that were written collectively by Issei Japanese in the World War II detention centers of Oregon and Idaho.

 

Writers in focus

Kyoto’s purple mountains

May 23, 2018

The closest Kyoto’s hills come to purple is on stormy days like this one, when Mt Hiei sits brooding in displeasure (photos and text by John Dougill)

Sanshi suimei –  purple mountains and crystal streams

So runs the epithet about Kyoto which the nineteenth-century historian Rai Sanyo used as the name for his study by the banks of the Kamogawa (the thatched cottage still stands next to Marutamachi; see photo below). From there he must have had a clear sight right along the Eastern Hills, including Mt Hiei. But why did he call the hills purple? I’m looking at them now, and they’re clearly dark green with lighter patches here and there. As the sun sets in the west, there’s a splash of crimson from the reflected skyscape before they become increasingly darker, then menacingly black.

The sixth-floor desk at which I’m sitting has enabled me to study the Higashiyama hills for some twenty years now. I’m familiar with their changing colours, not just during the course of a day but during the different seasons. On top of that, they respond to weather conditions, particularly in terms of freshness and brightness. There are moments following rainfall when they stand so pristine I could swear they have moved a good mile closer.

Yet for all my observations, only by a stretch of the imagination have I been able to see the mountains as purple. Sometimes I even stare at the wooded slopes and will myself to see purpleness in them. Unlike Rai Sanyo, I just can’t do it. For me they are variations on the green spectrum, from verdant to brownish. But then I’m not living in the same era as Rai Sanyo. I’m looking over the roofs and concrete buildings of a modern urban jungle; he was looking out from a sacred city inhabited by an emperor.

The historian was an early sympathiser with the imperial cause, and his writings were based on the thesis that the rightful rule of the emperor had been usurped by the samurai of the twelfth century. For him, the imperial home was the true capital of the country, surpassing Edo in splendour because of the benign figure living in Gosho. Sympathy with the imperial cause, I would suggest, affected his way of seeing.

From 604 Japanese Buddhism introduced a coloured code of ranking. Purple was reserved for the top class because it was hard to make the dye and therefore had scarcity value. Indeed, formerly only the imperial family had been allowed to wear it; now top ranking priests were entitled too. But still it remained a mark of great distinction, and in Noh plays for example it is only worn by kami or emperor’s immediate family. It seems then that Rai Sanyo was wilfully seeing purple in the mountains in order to elevate the emperor’s capital to top rank, as if nature herself was honouring Kyoto in this way. Perhaps, conditioned by his thinking, he genuinely did see them as purple. And the crystal-clear water too would have been symbolic of the purity of the emperor’s abode.

This was brought to mind recently when reading a passage by Nan Shepherd (1893-1981) about the violet mountains of Scotland. The trailblazing mountaineer writes inspiringly about the interconnectedness of mountain and human nature: “Place and a mind may interpenetrate till the nature of both is altered,” she wrote. “The air is part of the mountain, which does not come to an end with its rock and its soil. It has its own air; and it is to the quality of its air that is due the endless diversity of its colourings.” As someone with a fascination for the spirit of place, I find her words striking. We think of ourselves as separate from mountains, but in a very real sense we’re not. The hills are us. There is after all good reason why the football team was named Kyoto Purple Sanga! (As well as a Buddhist term for fellowship, Sanga refers to the mountains and rivers of Kyoto, for the kanji for mountain ‘山’ is read as ‘san’ and the kanji for river ‘河’ is read as ‘ga(wa)’.)

Rai Sanyo’s study by the banks of the Kamogawa, which the historian named ‘Sanshi Suimei’

Featured writing

Oharano and Kyoto’s poetic past

May 12, 2018
Entrance torii and approach to Oharano Shrine, reflecting its one-time importance

It’s on the outskirts of Kyoto. It’s in spacious woodland. It dates back to the eighth century and pre-Heian times. It’s little-known, but once it was counted amongst the top 22 shrines of Japan.

Oharano Shrine is closely associated with the powerful Fujiwara clan. It was set up by the dominant family at the time of the Nagaoka Capital (784-794), which preceded Heian-kyo (i.e. Kyoto). The area was said to be a favourite of Emperor Kammu (737-806), who hunted around the foothills, and the shrine later featured in such literary works as Tales of Ise and The Tale of Genji, while its pure spring water was celebrated in many a poem.

The deities here were installed from Kasuga Taisha, clan shrine of the Fujiwara whose symbol was the deer on which their kami rode.

Misfortune and an ‘angry spirit’ drove Emperor Kammu to abandon the Nagaoka capital, leading to the foundation of Heian-kyo in 794. The Fujiwara continued to keep up patronage of Oharano, even despite the establishment of Kyoto’s Yoshida Shrine in 859 as a new base for the clan.

The Fujiwara were descendants of the powerful Nakatomi clan, whose authority derived from having charge of court rituals and purification rites. Their ancestor, Ame no Koyane, was one of the five clan leaders who descended from heaven with Ninigi no mikoto in the so-called Tenson Korin.

One of the Fujiwara was the famous poet, Ariwara no Narihira (825–880), a courtier and grandson of Emperor Kammu. A renowned lady’s man, he was in love with Takako, the wife of Emperor Seiwa. Though he was banned from seeing her, he wrote the following poem on the occasion of her visit to Oharano (she was a distant relative of Narihira and as a Fujiwara was visiting her ujigami clan shrine).

おほはらやをしほの山もけふこそは神世のことも思ひいつらめ
Ohara ya Oshiho no yama mo kefukoso wa kamiyo no koto mo omohitsurame

Oharano and Oshio Mountain
on this day in particular
bring to mind
the Age of the Gods

The poem suggests that Takako’s visit conferred on the setting the majesty of a time when gods strode the earth, as portrayed in Japanese mythology. It was included in the first of the great imperial anthologies, Kokinwakashū (c.905).

There’s an interesting anecdote that goes with this poem, which is included in my Cultural History of Kyoto. According to tradition, Narihira lived on the site of the present-day temple of Jurin-ji, a fifteen minute walk away from Oharano Jinja. Like other aristocrats, he enjoyed salt making by boiling water, which resulted in steam rising into the sky. On the occasion of Takako’s visit, he added purple dye to the water thereby colouring the sky with evidence of his love for her.

Today Jurin-ji is keen to celebrate its link with the poet, and his supposed grave is prominently displayed while a site is marked out where his salt making could have taken place. Buddhist temple and Shinto shrine thus continue to be linked by poetry, even though the artificial separation of the Meiji Restoration in 1868 drew a line between them. Love conquers all!

From Oharano Shrine to Hana Dera where Saigyo’s cherry tree stands is a pleasant woodland walk.

Close to Oharano Jinja, less than a ten minute walk away, is another temple with strong poetic connections. Hana Dera (Flower Temple) is the popular name of Shoji-ji, famed for its cherry blossom.

The wandering monk, Saigyo (1118 – 1190), stayed in a hut in the grounds as a young man when he was on retreat, and one of his poems describes the nuisance of noisy tourists coming to visit a flowering cherry tree at the temple – a sentiment with which contemporary Kyotoites might well sympathise! The poem blames the tree for attracting the crowds and forms the basis for a famous Noh play, Saigyo-zakura, written by Zeami (c. 1363 – c. 1443).

花見にと 群れつつ人の 来るのみぞ あたら桜の 咎(とが)にはありける
Hanami ni to mure tsutsu hito no kuru nomi zo atara sakura no toga ni wa arikeru

Throngs of visitors
One after another
To view the cherry blossom –
It’s all the fault of the tree, regrettably,
For being so beautiful

The poem was included in Saigyo’s anthology, Gyokayoshu, with a heading by the poet that ran: ‘Composed on the occasion of a visit by people come to see my blossoms, just as I had planned to spend my time in peace.’

According to the temple, this is the third generation of a cherry tree that Saigyo himself planted in the grounds. The board calls it ‘Saigyo Zakura’, just like the Noh play.
The lily pond is part of the spacious landscaped grounds at Oharano, evidence of the shrine’s former opulence
The deer motif which runs throughout the shrine is seen here at the water basin.
A cute version of the shrine’s totemic animal is found on the ’ema’ prayer boards.
Another trademark of Fujiwara shrines is wisteria, which in Japanese is called ‘Fuji’.
Even today the main compound impresses with its peace and stately nature. Unlike Saigyo’s poem, the shrine is now a place to get away from the downtown crowds of Kyoto – but please keep that secret!

Featured writing

White Day and Spring Breeze (Kawaharada)

May 8, 2018

(All photos by Mayumi Kawaharada)

 

“A white day”
Fluffy white motifs
Decorate a hospital window—
Evanescent art

 

Mountains and cars
Wearing white caps—
Frosty morning
A cup of coffee
At the hospital room—
News of snowstorm

 

Cars and buses
Timidly on the road—
Snowman smiles

 

White footsteps
Start vanishing at once—
Wintry sun
 

Evening grows
Spotlights deserted riverside —
A shrinking snowman


“Spring breeze”

Pine buds grow
Towards the blue sky–
Bush warbler chirps

Gentle sunlight
Invites window opening–
Scent of Winter Daphne

 

Soft breeze–
Rose pink cherry buds
Ready to burst

 

Global warming–
Early cherry flowers
Fall too soon

 

Floating cherry petals
Reflected leafless tree–
A second bloom

 

Featured writing

First Prize WiK 2018 Competition (Tengu)

May 5, 2018

This year’s winning entry was by Terin Jackson, an American living in Kyoto who writes a blog for his private tour company. The competition took him out of his comfort zone, forcing him to cut down on his natural verbosity in order to keep within the word limit. ‘The process of whittling it all down from 500 words to 300 was both heartbreaking and enlightening,’ he writes.

For their part the judges felt the piece tackled a part of Kyoto culture that is at once deeply rooted in the history of the city yet is little-known by the average visitor despite its ‘exoticism’. Few will have even heard of the temple festival it describes, yet the maintenance of tradition in this way is a vital way in which the differing communities within Kyoto maintain their distinctiveness. The use of the masks to transform identities, and the reference to the tengu language as a ‘a baffling babble evocative of breaking branches, windswept bark, and wet leaves’ was felt to be particularly effective.

[Tengu are mysterious creatures which inhabit the woods. There are two types: one is long nosed and red-faced, the other bird-like with beak and feathers.]

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Photos by Terin Jackson

Tengu: A Firsthand Account

Timidly, five tengu emerge from the forest surrounding a remote hillside temple in Arashiyama. Matted eyebrows, wild moustaches, grotesque noses. Skin tones of red, turquoise, and gold. Clinking trinkets dangling from their soiled yamabushi priest robes. They walk on crooked legs, uneasy on the rocky ground. Rarely do these creatures leave the safety of the treetops. Their nervous eyes scan the crowd of villagers gathered to welcome these strange annual visitors to the autumn festival.

The tengu scamper into the temple. The local priest greets them and begins his chanting. The raspy voices of the tengu soon join in and fill the cold hall with a rough music so rarely heard by human ears. The sacred connection has been renewed, man and monster in perfect accord for a single day of the year.

Wilderness and village agreeing to live in harmony for another cycle of seasons.

Uneasy silence. Breaths held. The creatures slowly rise. A blessing in the tengu language croaks out from five beaked mouths, a baffling babble evocative of creaking branches, windswept bark, and wet leaves.

“Namu-shen-kwa, namu-shen-kwa, namu-shen-kwa.”

The ritual is complete. With a nod to the priest, the tengu slip back into the woods.

Several minutes pass. Five old men appear, wearing yamabushi robes and rubbing their faces. They greet their fellow villagers. The villagers respond in kind. Knowing smiles and looks of satisfaction all around.

A skeptic would say that this was simply five old guys dressed up in silly costumes, doing their best to keep the ancient traditions of their shrinking community alive. However, unless you can catch a tengu and ask him, there’s honestly no way to know for sure.

Featured writing

Second Prize 2018 Competition

April 21, 2018

The judges felt that this description of an outing to a temple in Ohara combined interesting historical background with an intriguing personal encounter. There is a lightness of touch in the way that the narrator enjoys the old man’s commentary, and a dash of humour too in ‘you only get one chance for lunch.’ This contrasts with the dark episode concerning the ‘bloody boards’, which refer to the slaughter of thousands of defenders at Fushimi Castle in 1600. To pacify the souls of the dead, the boards soaked with their blood were later dispersed among a small number of Kyoto temples and used to cover the ceilings, where they can be seen to this day. All in all, the writer has managed to fit in a lot, both in terms of history and character study, into the prescribed 300 words.

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How Many Chances?
by S. Juul

My gift in Japan is attracting the elderly. One word is all it takes: “Arigato” with the last syllable stressed the Kyoto way; or, a quiet, “Sumimasen” with the first “m” dropped. Then I’ll have a friend for life for the next three hours.

Last time was in Hosen-in in Ohara. I didn’t need the wooden sign pointing the way to show me where to go; I’d heard of the bloody ceilings from Fushimi Castle. The trouble was knowing where to look.

Craning my neck between sips of tea, I saw an elderly worker grab a pointer. He hobbled over and tapped a spot on the ceiling. “Ashi,” he said. Foot.

I ‘ooh’ed.

He gestured for me to stand, then spent the next fifteen minutes showing me more. “Hand.” “Feet.” “…Face.” The last one sticks with me. Imagine, having that be what people remember of you.

When I thanked him, he beamed. “Do you… want to know more?”

With a nod, we were off on an adventure through time. He brought to life the tragic circumstances of the few surviving samurai forced to surrender the battle… and their lives.

An hour passed. Other visitors took one look and edged around us so as not to be dragged into the fray. Two others were unsuccessful in escape, an old woman and a young tourist. We listened. And listened.

Two hours passed.

“Do you want to know more?”

“I should eat,” I said. “It’s already three.”

“Sometimes, you only get one chance in life,” he replied.

I hesitated.

“There’s only one chance a day for lunch,” the old woman said. “Excuse us.”

Grateful, the tourist and I followed her. Outside, she wrapped her left arm around my right.

“Tell me dear, where are you from?”

Ah.

No escape, after all.

For an article about the historical background of the bloody boards, see this Japan Times article which also lists the seven temples to which the boards were sent – Genko-an, Shoden-ji, Yogen-in, Myoshin-ji in central Kyoto, Hosen-in in the Ohara area, Jinou-ji in Yawata, and Kosho-ji in Uji.

Writers in focus

Hal Stewart in Kyoto

April 12, 2018

The following extract is taken from a longer biographical piece of Harold Stewart (1916-95) for the revolvy website. Click here to see the full piece.

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[Hal Stewart] visited Japan in 1961 and then again in 1963 to be ordained as a Jōdo Shinshū priest only to withdraw at the last minute. It was rumoured he did not want to have his hair shaven. He returned to Australia and later enticed Masaaki, the Japanese man he had fallen in love with, to visit. Masaaki claims to have built the first Japanese-style garden in Australia in the Dandenongs. In 1966 he left Australia to live permanently in Japan. He devoted himself to studying the doctrines of Shin Buddhism to which he had converted. He became an expert on the history of Kyoto and was intimately acquainted with its temples, gardens, palaces and works of art. He became fascinated with Japanese poetry and published two translations of haiku: A Net of Fireflies (1960) and A Chime of Windbells (1969) which proved popular with the reading public.

His 1981 book By the Old Walls of Kyoto consists of twelve poems in rhyming couplets celebrating Kyoto’s landmarks and antiquities, and Stewart’s own spiritual pilgrimage into Buddhism. The poems are accompanied by a prose commentary.

He also devoted a great deal of time to collaborating with his teachers, Shojun Bando and Hisao Inagaki, in producing English versions of Japanese Buddhist classics such as the Three Pure Land Sutras and theTannisho.

Stewart died in Kyoto on 7 August 1995 after a short illness. A Shin Buddhist ceremony was conducted for him. His body was cremated and his ashes scattered on His beloved Higashiyama mountains. He left a sum of money (about AU$250,000), some of which was intended to fund the publishing of his last long poem, Autumn Landscape Roll, but none of the money was used for this purpose. His sister was one of the executors of the will and inherited all the funds except for a separate benefice to his nephew from the above amount.

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