Writers In Kyoto

Page 48 of 65

Featured writing

Kyoto – elemental city (Williams)

April 10, 2018

Kyoto – an elemental city
Text and photos by Jann Williams

Kyoto has a remarkable dimensionality inspired by the elements. In his cultural history of the city, John Dougill conceived Kyoto as eleven different ‘cities’ distinctively epitomising Kammu; Genji; Buddhism; Heike; Zen; Noh; Unification; Tea; Tradition; Geisha and Japaneseness. Elsewhere I have seen Kyoto referred to as the ‘City of Temples’, and now I add ‘the elements’ to this list – for Kyoto is truly an elemental city.

Flower appreciation in the ancient capital. Author Jann Williams (centre) with sister and friend

A powerful elemental attraction to Kyoto over the ages has been the allure of the mountains, waterways, and seasonal expressions of the cycle of life exemplified by cherry blossoms and autumn leaves. These have inspired worshippers, writers, artists, philosophers and scholars, and today underpin and nourish the love and passion for the city that residents and visitors experience.

In my exploration of the elements in Japan (see www.elementaljapan.com) references to Kyoto abound. The elements have profoundly influenced the genesis and history of the city and now uniquely define its ambience and modern way of life. Recently joining a flower viewing party (hanami) in Kyoto gave me a taste of the pleasure such intimate elemental activities can bring. Sharing food, drink and companionship under a weeping Sakura next to Fushimi Castle was delightful – highlighting both the ephemeral nature of life and new beginnings.

In this article I draw attention to the more subtle association of Onmyodo, fusui, gogyo and godai with Kyoto. These different expressions of the elements have influenced the look, feel and ‘presence’ of Kyoto as well as many of the festivals, rituals and traditional arts associated with the city. Their contributions to Kyoto’s ongoing appeal are extraordinary and deserve consideration.

The profound connection between Kyoto and the elements begins right at the beginning. Heian-kyo (ancient Kyoto) was located and built according to Chinese Feng Shui principles (Jp: fusui; zoufuu tokusui). These included using the Four Guardian deities, yinyang (Jp: Onmyo, Inyo) and the five Chinese elements (Jp: gogyo) of earth, fire, water, wood and metal to manipulate positive and negative energy patterns in the city. The chosen site for the emergent city was energised by mountains on three sides and the pristine upland waters flowing through the lowlands. Over time fusui has been used in the construction of temples, gardens, palaces and shrines in the city, most recently (most likely) in 1895 (Heian Jingu). It has helped shape the feel of Kyoto to this day, even given modern changes to the city.

Shinsen-en to the south of Nijo Castle, once used for rain making ceremonies

As the Imperial Capital of Japan for over 1000 years Kyoto was the centre of Onmyodo – the Way of Onmyo (yinyang). Onmyo and gogyo are deeply intertwined. One tantalising example describes Onmyoji, the masters of Onmyodo, using gogyo in rain making ceremonies at Shinsen-en Garden. The garden is all that remains of Emperor Kammu’s original palace and grounds, built using fusui principles when the capital was moved to Heian-kyo. Although much reduced in size this intriguing garden can still be found just south of Nijo Castle.

The most famous Onmyoji is Abe no Seimei. A Shrine was built for him in Kyoto – by the Emperor no less – after Seimei died in 1005. Seimei Shrine has an active and popular program of events to this day with references to Onmyo and gogyo throughout. The famous Kamigamo Shrine also has many symbols related to Onmyo, the most well known being two cones of sand with pine needles at their peaks. In addition Heian Jingu incorporates ceremonies and symbols that reference Onmyodo and fusui. There are bound to be other examples where this association is found in present day Kyoto.

Godai, the five Buddhist elements (earth, fire, air, water and ether/space), are part of the fabric of Kyoto as well. They can be found represented in many cemeteries in the form of gorinto (in stone) and sotoba (in wood). The imposing five story pagoda at Toji Temple represents these five elements, as do others in Kyoto. Toji dates to the founding of Kyoto when it was constructed as the Temple of the East (the Temple of the West no longer exists). At the time it was the headquarters of Shingon Buddhism, founded by Kobo Daishi – a religion with an intimate connection to the elements. Tendai Buddhism and Shugendo are other religions with a long and strong connection with Kyoto, Onmyodo and the elements. It is a fascinating and compelling story.

These examples provide a glimpse into the elemental city of Kyoto, both physical and metaphysical. For those interested in reading more about the elements in this intriguing and multi-faceted city I invite you to read the essay ‘Kyoto Waters’ by Mark Keane. Blog posts I have written such as Being careful of fire, Zen and the five elements and Time for more tea also address this fascinating dimension of Kyoto – to be found at www.elementaljapan.com.

Gateway into the world of Onmyodo – the torii entrance of Seimei Jinja with its lantern pentagram speaking to the five elements on which the Onmyo thinking was based

 

Japan and the Beats (ToPoJo vol 5)

March 31, 2018

Review of TOKYO POETRY JOURNAL VOL. 5: ‘JAPAN AND THE BEATS’

There’s something deliciously cool about ToPoJo 5. There’s a handwritten poem on the front cover by Nanao Sakaki, with GWOOON BALI BALI! crying out for attention. There’s a back cover photo of Allen Ginsberg et al. in which his hair, jacket and tie stand out in stark contrast to the glossy whiteness of the cover. The journal’s title is on the back, Japanese style, as if to startle readers into fresh ways of seeing. ‘Always judge a book by its cover,’ said Oscar Wilde. He would undoubtedly have liked this one.

Inside the brilliance of the design continues to impress. To thumb through is a delight, with poems allowed sufficient space. Black and white photography breaks up the verbiage, prose offsets the poetry, there’s a drawing here, a scribble there, a caricature or two. Edith Shiffert gets six pages in her own write. You get the feeling that the editors care, not just about what poems mean, but about how they look. Here, even before reading, you can sense that poetry matters.

Inserted at the very front of the journal is a page of ‘Howl’, but not of course a conventional page. It begins with a Japanese version of the opening lines followed by a romaji transliteration, then a Google translation and a ‘gluey reverse translation’ before closing for reference sake with the original. It not only shows how things get lost in translation, but it forces attention onto the nuance of Ginsberg’s words.

The journal has 210 pages in all, far more than the typical book of poetry, and the Table of Contents runs to five and a half pages. The list of names is impressive; who would have thought the Beats and Japan would yield so much impressive material? There are memoirs, essays, interviews, and above all poems. Poems by those who lit the flame, and poems by those still guided by the light. Illustrious names stand out: a tribute to Kenneth Rexroth by Sam Hamill; Hillel Wright dreaming of Allen Ginsberg; leading Japanese poet Shiraishi Kazuko (hailed oddly as ‘the Allen Ginsberg of Japan’).

Kyoto’s lively counterculture was centred on Honyarado cafe on Imadegawa

There is a significant input from Kyoto, showing that this most traditional of cities has a hip side too. Rexroth, even more than Snyder, looms large. From a useful introductory overview of Japan-related Beats by Taylor Mignon, we learn that Rexroth first visited Kyoto in 1967, returning in 1972 and then again from 1974-5 for a yearlong honeymoon. When he revisited in 1978, he gave a reading at Honyarado coffee shop with Shiraishi Kazuko and oral poet Katagiri Yuzuru as MC. He last visited Kyoto in 1980, and is said by Japanese to have been the poet with the best knowledge of Japan. In 2014 a celebration of Rexroth’s life took place at The Abode of No Guest and No Host, where he had once resided (the house is now located at Doshisha University campus on Imadegawa).

Apart from Rexroth, Kyoto is represented poetically by Cid Corman, Edith Shiffert and A.J. Dickinson as well as by an open letter to Jack Kerouac by Edward J. Taylor and an essay by Linda Russo on Jane Kyger (who lived in Kyoto with Gary Snyder for four years as his wife.) For all his prolixity (or perhaps because of it) Corman warrants a single short poem, about farting in front of Kinkaku-ji. Edith Shiffert on the other hand has six pages filled with her frail, irregular yet appealing penmanship in which the difficulties of life are offset by the solaces of nature and thoughts of transcendence.

Death, I will speak with you,
with my contortions as old as yours,
and my blindness and wanting
while I wait under the trees

Shiffert’s script is sometimes difficult to make out, in keeping with her subject matter of the difficulties of aging. The effect is to slow the reader down to a meditative pace and thus allow time for appreciation. It’s a shrewd choice by the editors. If you had to select one poet whose handwriting matched the content, Shiffert’s in old age would undoubtedly be a favourite.

Shiffert’s poems are followed by a short piece by A.J. Dickinson commemorating her death in 2017. ‘101 goodbyes / Kyoto beats / passings’. There’s a fresh Daoist hip feel to A.J.‘s poetry, which fits in neatly with the Beats. He himself has brushed cheeks with death this past year, and one of his four poems entitled ‘Quoth the invalid’ wonderfully encapsulates the extremes of the human condition, closing with the evocative last two lines – ‘the darkness / that shines’.

Such is the overall quality of this volume that only occasionally could the reader quibble about the selection. There’s a poorly written essay, an anti-Trump diatribe, a self-indulgent poem that overstays its welcome. But these are negligible given the wealth of material on offer here, material that otherwise would be hard to find. And credit must be given to the editors for keeping things moving along, for brevity is one of the volume’s great strengths and many of the one-page poems pack a satisfying punch. Questioned repeatedly about the Beats, Kizuki Mihiro was at first bewildered but eventually ‘I understood / It’s like Led Zeppelin for rock kids.’

But if there’s one person who encapsulates the whole volume, it’s the poet the editors have chosen to feature on their cover: the wonderful Nanao Sakaki (1923-2008). An indefatigable walker, he traversed forests and crossed borders, spending ten years in the US and befriending the original Beats. Through their interest in Buddhism (and Zen in particular), they had already formed a bond with Japan and Nanao was able to deepen it. Quirkiness, the search for authenticity, the desire for transcendence, the bond with nature, the striving to get beyond the self – he personified it all. ‘Break the mirror: How to live on Planet Earth,’ runs the title of his English-language volume.

Nanao’s first meeting with Allen Ginsberg took place with Gary Snyder in Kyoto in 1963, when the three of them visited five or six coffee shops, carried away on a wave of caffein. Just imagine! More than most Nanao understood the yearning of Beat poetry to morph into jazz. ‘Using my voice to sing a poem, hitting whatever is there to create free music, having something to dance to, adding a mantra to that, and using my voice until there is nothing left is the best thing,’ said Nanao about his style of performance. Renowned as a hippy free spirit, as a contemporary wandering poet, Nanao gets a tribute from David Cozy as being more than a spouter of words, but as a true craftsman and master of his art. He gets too a dedication poem from Anne Waldman: ‘You were / the hero in the forest.’

There’s no ‘Break the mirror’ here, but perhaps it’s too well-known for the editors. Instead there’s a gem with Top Ten of American Poetry, which runs through a listing of advertising slogans and other items of consumer materialism before ending with a killer punch.

The United States themselves are essentially the greatest poem.
  — Walt Whitman
The government of the people, by the people, for the people.
  — Thomas Jefferson
You deserve a break today.
   — McDonald’s
Where science gets down to business.
  — Rockwell International
Kick the letter habit.
  — Bell System
Crime hits everybody. Everybody oughta hit back.
  — Chicago Crime Commission
Without chemicals life itself would be impossible.
  — Monsanto
I think America’s future is black, coal black.
  — Atlantic Richfield Company
Have a coke and a smile.
  — Coca Cola
Private property—No trespassing—Dead end road.
  — Anonymous

In a revealing interview with Shiraishi Kazuko in 1992 (translated here into English for the first time), Nanao remarks about a mutual friend being awarded the Order of Culture, ‘That is… a bit unfortunate. It’s best not to be awarded with something of that kind.’ Later he dismisses poetry as of little consequence. Like Hamlet, the true master of language can see it’s all just ‘Words, words, words.’ Nonetheless, for anyone who loves words, for anyone who can feel the beat, for anyone who has ever aspired to escape the banal, this is it, this is where it’s at. This is poetry as life and liberation, poetry as inspiration. If there’s ever a better Tokyo Poetry Journal than this, I truly want to see it!

(John Dougill)

For Tokyo Poetry Journal homepage, click here.

For Nanao Sakaki’s poem ‘Break the Mirror’, see here. For a wonderful selection of his other poems, click here.

For an article on Honyarado, see this CNN Style piece.

Writers in focus

Sword Dancer (Rowe)

March 28, 2018

The following excerpt is taken from: “Sword Dancer”, a novella by Simon Rowe (see www.mightytales.net).

***********

ONE

From somewhere along the hallway of the Ternate Port Authority came the clack-clack sound of an old-fashioned ribbon typewriter being punched one finger at a time. A toilet flushed and a phone rang constantly in a far-off office. It was the symphony of a small island bureaucracy hard at work.

A woman in high-heels turned out of a door marked “Maritime Affairs” and walked down the wooden hallway towards the office of the Harbor Master General. She was tall for a Malukan, wore a tight beige skirt and a shirt with epaulettes. She walked with a rhythm that could break the concentration of even the most dedicated male civil servant.

As she passed by the office, she glanced through the open door and her eyes met with mine. A smile might have crossed her lips before her footsteps faded into the zip-ring of the typewriter being pushed home.

‘Mistah Cocaine. Mistah Cocaine! Can you hear me?’ The Harbor Master’s words rolled about the room like distant thunder. He lumbered to the door and shut it.
‘It’s Caw-caigne,’ I said. ‘Can you leave it open?’

The big man looked at me questioningly. He pulled on the door and kicked back the wedge.

Three days of rest, rice gruel and jackfruit juice courtesy of the Ternate Public Hospital, and I was still having trouble concentrating. My eyes wept, my skin burned and every fibre beneath it felt like it had been reversed over by a small truck. Even the ceiling fan breeze hurt.

‘I asked if you require any assistance from the Consul-General?’ the Harbor Master said again. ‘We will contact them in Jakarta on your behalf if you wish.’ He returned to the small pale green desk and squeezed his large buttocks into the chair. A black dial telephone sat in one corner, a clam shell filled with half-smoked clove cigarettes in the other and between them an opened Manila file. A single sheet of paper fluttered on top of it.

A nautical map of the Maluku Islands of Indonesia covered the wall behind the desk. It may as well have been the wallpaper for the size and the hundreds of blue lines which swirled in endless whirlpools, each one numbered, each denoting an island’s gradient, a reef’s depth, a shipping channel’s width.

Morotai island loomed from them like a ragged wound. I followed the route the night ferry had taken from Daruba to Halmahera Island. 130 kilometres south, noting the name “Nusa Kohatola” printed on its western coastline. Yesterday’s newspaper had reported that a fishing station nearby picked up a vessel-in-distress signal on the night of the storm. Ternate had been alerted and navy rescue boats dispatched. Just before dawn two women – one of them pregnant – had been pulled from the rough seas. A cage full of dead fighting cocks and some rubber sandals were all else that had been recovered.

Not a day had passed when I hadn’t asked the hospital staff about the fate of the other passengers: the Catholic priest returning to Ambon for his daughter’s wedding? The teenager escorting his uncle to Jakarta for a cataract operation? The quiet young Muslim couple and their baby. Most of all I’d wondered about Kazuha, the Japanese man, whose bag now lay at my feet.

If I had drifted twenty-five kilometres through a sea littered with islands and atolls, then surely he could have done the same. But three days had passed since the Umsini had capsized en route from Daruba to Ambon. The official search had been called off and I now sat waiting for the Harbor Master to close the file on the third known survivor.

‘Mistah Cockaigne, what is your answer please!’
‘My passport,’ I said. ‘Can I have it back.’

From a side drawer he lifted out a booklet marked with a faded kangaroo and emu coat-of-arms and pushed it across the desk.

I thumbed to the first page and a photo of the man with tousled brown hair, seaweed-green eyes and a scar on his upper lip stared back. To the Australian Government his name was Noah James Cockaigne, born in Sydney, December 24, 1977. To his father he was a lost cause; to his ex-fiancee, a troublemaker and a fool; and to the Sydney Harbour Police he was now a ‘person of interest’.

 

The Harbor Master pulled a packet of kreteks from his chest pocket and gestured with his eyebrows. I took one and he lit it before lighting his own.
‘The doctor advises you rest in Ternate a week longer. We have reserved a room for you at a guesthouse in town. You should be quite comfortable there.’

He leaned back, relieving his waistline and let the ceiling fan carry off the fragrant blue smoke.

‘There is also the matter of compensation. The ferry owners in Surabaya are co-operating with us. However, it seems that they have been insolvent for some time. You understand it may be some time before you receive anything.’

He drew deeply on his kretek, letting the saltpetre crackle, watching me. He followed my gaze to the open door, then stubbed out his kretek. He shrugged his bottom free of the chair and rose to his feet.

‘We are very sorry for your ordeal. It has been a very unfortunate experience for all of us. Now, please excuse me but I must attend a meeting in a few minutes. There is a driver waiting downstairs to take you to your guesthouse. I will have one of my staff call on you tomorrow evening.’

He handed me his name card. ‘In the meantime, if you require anything during the rest of your stay on Ternate please do not hesitate to contact me. Salamat jalan.’

He shook my hand and left the office. The sound of a woman’s heels joined him at the end of the hallway and then they were gone.

***

The teenaged driver drove with a knack and he was thrifty. He rode the clutch barefoot down the slope to the shore, tapping the horn melodiously to clear a space amidst the morning traffic which raced along the esplanade and into Ternate town.

Tented warungs and bakso carts lined the seawall and their fish ball soup and mie goreng aromas washed through the car, reminding me that I hadn’t eaten since my leaving the hospital.

The town clutched the base of the volcano, colourful clapboard buildings with iron roofs of all shapes and sizes. A church tower rose here, a mosque’s minaret there; seafood restaurants pushed out over the water on stilts and the slopes of the volcano carried anyone who couldn’t live downtown upwards. Spice farmers had crept their holdings fearlessly to the crater; each plot a small bet against the sleeping giant whose thin ribbon of grey smoke drifted lazily seaward. Ternate island was Mount Gamalama and Mount Gamalama was Ternate island.

We entered town and the driver pummeled his horn to musical effect. Market goers and their mysterious bundles parted before us, flowing around the car in two colourful streams. A wild-eyed man peered in through my window, a cigarette smoldering between his betel-red lips, a whole tuna fish perched on his head.

‘Everyday market day,’ said the driver, jerking his head at a line of old women squatting behind their wares beneath the Tamarind trees.
‘Want kayu manis?’ he said.
‘What?’
‘Cinnamon.’
‘No.’
‘Chillies?—you like chillies?’ He swivelled in his seat, beat his lips with fingers. ‘Pedas! pedas! Hot! hot!’
‘They give me a ring of fire.’

The teenager grinned enthusiastically.

‘You want marijuana?’
‘Ask me tomorrow.’

He turned off the main street and onto a narrow road which climbed steeply through a neighborhood of simple tin and wood homes where cinnamon, nutmeg and clove trees sprouted in neat rows and fruit trees clustered in lush groves.

‘You see volcano today?’ asked the driver.
‘I can see it now.’ I said, peering between the torn vinyl seats at the smoking caldera up ahead.
‘Okay, tomorrow, you see with me, my car?’
‘No.’
‘You want girl?’
‘No. I want to sleep.’
‘You want to sleep with a girl?’
‘I want to sleep till I’m dead.’
‘Dead no good for business. I bring you girl and marijuana tomorrow. We go see volcano ok?’

He swerved into the shade of a huge jackfruit tree and grinning said, ‘Disini.’
‘Here?’

A dirt path lined with red hibiscus bushes led to a two-storied wooden blue house. A sign over the door read Penginapan Gamalama. Gamalama Guesthouse.

A young woman appeared on the steps. She wore a batik sarong and a pink T-shirt with the words ‘California Dreaming’ stretched across two perfectly-shaped cones. Her walk was unhurried, her smile welcoming. The driver said something, the smile disappeared and she shooed him off like a stray dog.

‘Mistah Cockaigne?’ she said. ‘Selamat Siang.’

I took the small bag which the hospital had given me and followed her up to a large, simply furnished room on the second floor. There was a writing bureau in the corner, a lamp and a single bed. Above it hung a velvetine painting of a young Malukan girl combing her hair beside a waterfall, the room’s only decoration.

A mango tree grew to the window. I stepped over, opened the window and looked down at the red tin roofs which fell away like a staircase to the seashore.

Across the strait lay Ternate’s conical twin, Tidore, languid and jewel-like in the cobalt blue sea.

The woman slipped away and returned a few moments later with a tray of coffee and sticky rice cakes. I thanked her and my attention turned back to the strait and a small boat now making its way to Tidore.

The sea had been my life, my refuge, my source of solace and security, my livelihood. Now, watching that small boat bucking on those white-crested swells, a chill ran through me. When the Umsini had gone down, she had taken my nerves with her. When I turned back to the room, the woman had gone. Only the coffee, cakes and a vague scent of sandalwood said she’d ever been.

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

An excerpt from: “Sword Dancer”, a novella by WiK member, Simon Rowe. For a previous piece by Simon, please click here to see his account of marketing his collection of short stories entitled, Good Night Papa.

Featured writing

Third Prize 2018 Competition (Harukaze)

March 25, 2018

The third prize this year went to “Harukaze” by Anna Quinn (Pittsburgh, USA). Judges were impressed by how within 300 words the author introduced three generations of women with their strong and weak points. The beginning and end of the story provide a pleasing framework that contrasts the simplicities of nature with the troubled world of human existence. Traditional characteristics, such as the sensitivity to nature and avoidance of conflict, are interwoven with different senses – the sound of the uguisu (Japanese bush warbler), the moulding of dough, the sight of the ‘crater’ in the midst of the wagashi sweet. There’s a strong Kyoto feel, and all in all, this was a fine example of what the judges hoped for in the competition.

***********

“Harukaze” by Anna Quinn

The uguisu’s breeding call, a fast and shrill sound that slowly rolled into alternating high and low pitches, echoed throughout the workshop. Hina tilted her head towards the shoji and strained to listen to the reminder that spring had descended upon Higashiyama.
“Next, we use the wooden pick to carve the petals…” Hina’s mother, Hanako, patrolled the cozy room of students, clad with aprons and eyes betraying their curiosity for wagashi making.
At sixteen, Hina could think of no fewer than 24 seasonal varieties of jou-namagashi that appeared in the window of the Wakamura confectionery shop each year. Despite years of training, however, the mochi flour invariably sank under her hands, twisted crookedly with every attempted crisp turn of the dough.
Suddenly, Hina’s mother’s footsteps came to a stop. “Your folds are sloppy,” her mother warned, and with a gentle press of Hanako’s thumb, the delicate dough dipped inwards upon itself, revealing a bud-sized crater in the middle of the blossom-shaped sweet.
Hina pushed her stool back. “I’ll get the tea for the guests,” she called, ignoring her mother’s weary reprimands. From the other side of the door, she closed her eyes and heaved a sigh.
“Hina-chan,” drawled a soothing voice, accompanied by the scuffle of slippers. Hina looked down the hall. Grandma Wakamura, carrying a tray packed with tea bowls, stepped carefully along the carpeting.
“Granny.” Hina’s face lit up. “Let me.” She took the tray cradled in her grandmother’s hands, trying not to notice the way it trembled in the older woman’s grasp.
“I suppose neither one of us is suited for this,” her grandmother said. Hina’s eyes widened with worry, but she was met with not a diatribe, but a wink. Hina began, “Granny, I don’t—“
“Hush,” her grandmother interjected. “Listen.”
   Ki-ki-ki-ki-kyo, kyo, kyo. The uguisu.

Writers in focus

Mark Teeuwen on Gion Matsuri (March 11)

March 17, 2018

A lively and informative dinner talk for WiK members was held on March 11 featuring Dutch academic, Mark Teeuwen, who is on leave from the University of Oslo as a research fellow at Kyoto University for six months. His topic was the Gion Matsuri and the politics of heritage. The talk covered the postwar emphasis in Japan on its status as a cultural nation, sparked by a conflagration at Horyu-ji in 1949. This led to such developments as the intangible cultural property and the ‘ningen kokuho’. This was all part of Japan’s self-image as a unique cultural entity.

One of the leading lights in promoting Japan in this way was the famed Folklore Studies scholar Yanagita Kunio, who envisaged the emperor as the embodiment of the nation (rather than a living god). Items selected as part of the national heritage included for the first time in 1977 two festivals, one of which was Gion Matsuri. Was it a people’s festival? A merchant’s festival? or a city festival? Its identity became part of a power struggle with political ramifications.

For Kyoto city hall the festival represented above all an opportunity for tourist promotion, and city subsidies effectively ‘bought’ control of the event, with the mayor promoted to a leading role in the ceremonies. The ‘ato matsuri’ which had been an important part of the tradition was abolished in 1966 so as to concentrate the tourist potential on one big event. It became a huge operation, necessitating the employment of 6700 police in all, payment for which comes out of taxpayers money. In this way a religious event, once controlled by Yasaka Shrine and the city’s merchants, has been made into a huge tourist event serving commercial rather than community ends.

Many thanks go to Mark for his entertaining, informative and insightful talk, which helped make for a great Kyoto evening. It was evident that he had much else to share, and we hope to draw on his range of knowledge again in future.

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

Some of Mark’s publications…

  • Watarai Shintô: an Intellectual History of the Outer Shrine in Ise (1996)
  • Nakatomi Harae Kunge: Purification and Enlightenment in Late-Heian Japan (1998)
  • Shinto in History: Ways of the Kami (1999), with John Breen
  • Buddhas and Kami in Japan ‘honji suijaku’ as a Combinatory Paradigm (2002)
  • Tracing Shinto in the History of Kami Worship (2002)
  • Shinto, a Short History (2003)
  • The Culture of Secrecy in Japanese Religion (2006)
  • A New History of Shinto (2010), with John Breen
  • A Social History of the Ise Shrines (2017), with John Breen

Gion Matsuri as tourist attraction

Featured writing

WiK Anthology 2017 Book review

March 11, 2018

Echoes: Writers in Kyoto Anthology 2017
edited by John Dougill,‎ Amy Chavez and Mark Richardson
Writers in Kyoto (2017)
ISBN-13: 978-1387479115

Review by Harry Martin in the Japan Society Newsletter, UK (March 2018) (See here.)

Founded in the 8th century, Kyoto is the dignified and enigmatic Grande Dame of Japan, stoically fostering and preserving Japan’s cultural heritage over the centuries while her more effusive cousins such as Tokyo and Osaka storm ahead in their enthusiastic embrace of internationalisation and modern innovation.

Echoes, the ‘Writers in Kyoto’s’ 2017 Anthology, is a compilation of short stories (fact and fiction), poems and literary extracts which draw on individual experiences and the personal influence Kyoto has exerted on a selection of writers who have lived or are living in and around Kyoto. The themes are broad and focus on an eclectic and esoteric range of topics incorporating haiku, ceramics, traditional interiors, child rearing, sake vessels and classical poetry as well as personal stories, all of which may, at first, sound too specific in focus to be enjoyed by readers without prior knowledge or interest. However, the works are well considered and delivered in styles which capture the imagination, likely to appeal to a range of different readers.

Not having previously come across the Writers in Kyoto’s writing collective, I was surprised to find that the members are almost exclusively non-Japanese nationals. My initial feelings were that a body of work covering such unique and endemically Japanese traditions – within the context of Japan’s most culturally important city – felt almost to be a form of appropriation when told through the experience of non-Japanese writers. However as I read on I found the foreign perspective on these distinctly Japanese topics provided a fresh and insightful viewpoint, unmarred by cultural boundaries that can be erected when handled by the Japanese experts.

These are all writers who clearly love Kyoto, some well-known such as the Japanologist Alex Kerr (Lost Japan, Dogs and Demons: The Fall of Modern Japan, Another Kyoto) and John Dougill (In Search of Japan’s Hidden Christians), and others who happen to live or work in the city and have been entranced by its unique characteristics and eccentricities. The contributions are a mix between expert and laity, all coming together though a shared admiration and experience of this city, offering a wonderfully varied collection to read through.

I particularly enjoyed Jeff Robbins’ insightful new translations of some of Basho’s haiku. I have always felt haiku to be a uniquely Japanese form of expression which I have just not been able to understand. However through Robbins’ careful and beautifully thought-out translations and explanations, the art has suddenly become more animated, which was a surprising and unforeseen outcome when I first picked up the book.

Aside from this, a large part of the appeal of Echoes is the diversity in content. The variation in style and theme will allow most readers the opportunity to find something of interest, whether in the factual essays on pottery styles or in the touching stories about love and loss.

I do feel that the book is perhaps best enjoyed by those with a personal experience of Kyoto or Japan as there is a lot of reference to geography and landmarks which may be lost on those who have never been or haven’t a particularly strong interest in the culture. I also felt it a great shame that the imagery in the book is in black and white, depriving the reader of what seem to be striking and beautifully photographed colour pictures to accompany some of the works.

Overall, this is a reflective collection of work celebrating the international appeal of Japan, its ancient capital and the unique and varied culture it has to offer. It is touching to read first-hand how Kyoto has influenced people in different ways, and to witness the profound effect it has had on people’s lives and the paths they have chosen to follow.

Writers in focus

Hearn’s Kyoto Stories 2: Sympathy of Benten

February 24, 2018

Benten playing her trademark biwa

As is well-known, Lafcadio Hearn was preoccupied with ghosts, and his taste for the macabre found its supreme expression in the collection of stories in Kwaidan (1903). His belief in ghosts started out as a childhood obsession, when he would be plagued at night by visions and nightmares. Such was his screaming that his great aunt once locked him in a cupboard as an aversion cure. Though never a religious man, he saw ghosts in later life in terms of the influence of the dead upon the living. Following his idol Herbert Spencer, a leading evolutionist, he thought that cellular memory meant that people inherited values and instincts in a way now attributed to genes.  For Hearn this validated ancestor worship and Japanese practices of pacification. Indeed, his whole understanding of Japan was built on the notion of the dead remaining a living presence who guided social values and government policies.

Hearn’s lifelong preoccupation with ghostly spirits is evident too in his Kyoto stories, and The Sympathy of Benten offers a prime example. It’s taken from one of Hearn’s lesser known books entitled Shadowings (1900), which like most of his other books on Japan is a collection of miscellaneous pieces. The title is deliberately suggestive.

Thanks to our WiK intern, Andrew Douglas Sokulski, for the review below (for his previous review of a Hearn story, ‘Common Sense”, please see here).

JD

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The Sympathy of Benten

by Andrew Douglas Sokulski

Written by Lafcadio Hearn, “The Sympathy of Benten” takes place at the little known Amadera (rebuilt 1701), where one day a poet named Hanagaki Baishu wanders in and the wondrous begins. The legend sheds light on the presence of mysticism within Kyoto’s literary history, and how written songs and poetry provided a connection between the physical and spiritual worlds.

At the start of the story, while wandering around the shrine’s grounds, a poet comes upon a colored strip of paper (tanzaku) with a poem by the famous Shunrei Kyo written upon it. He happens to be standing near a pond dedicated to the goddess Benten at the time, and the style of the writing affects him so much that he prays for seven nights and days to the deity for the chance to see the female with such graceful and elegant penmanship. At the end of the week, Baishu saw a series of apparitions culminating in the vision of a beautiful young girl who tells him she was sent to be his wife. The marriage was blissful though Baishu could find out nothing of his wife’s background. One day, however, he is asked to meet with a father whose sixteen year old daughter had good writing skills and who wanted to marry her off. When Baishu was presented to her, he found to his shock she was the very same person he had already taken as a wife. The question arises as to how the spirit and the physical embodiment of the daughter differ or can assimilate to each other.

The same – yet not the same.
She to whom he had been introduced was only the soul of the beloved.
She to whom he was not to be wedded, in her father’s house, was the body.

Benten had wrought this miracle for the sake of her worshippers.

Hearn claims that the original ending of the legend is unknown, but that a Japanese friend explained to him that, ‘The spirit-bride was really formed out of the tanzaku. So it is possible that the real girl did not know anything about the meeting at the temple. When she wrote those beautiful characters upon the tanzaku, something of her spirit passed into them.’

Lafcadio Hearn’s account of a poet meeting physical and spirit forms of the same person is reminiscent of other tales in which people pray to relatives who have voyaged to another realm of spirits. One aspect of this mysticism is the predictive nature of poetry, especially death poems. These often speak of giving birth to spirits as well as putting curses upon those who read them. Though the aftereffect of the poem here is not one of death, it still is of an otherworldly nature. As the last lines of the story goes,”When she wrote those beautiful characters upon the tanzaku, something of her spirit passed into them.”

Tanzuki paper strips at Tanabata time

Tanabata, the festival of wishes, is held every year in Japan in early July. The origins lie in an ancient Chinese mythological tale about the love of two separated stars, and the festival comprises the writing of wishes upon colored slips of paper which are tied to the branches of bamboo trees and offered to the stars in hope of fulfillment. In the story, the colored strip comes from nowhere, as if given to the main character. “This poem – a poem on first love (hatsu koi) composed by the famous Shunrei Kyo – was not unfamiliar to him; but it had been written upon the tanzaku with a female hand, and so exquisitely that he could scarcely believe his eyes.” (Hearn, 24).  In addition, the place is also of importance, for Benten is a goddess of love and couples, and it is not by chance that good fortune in love should befall one with a sincere heart in the temple grounds. Hearn writes, “The tanzaku had come to him while he was standing in front of the temple of Benten-sama; and it was to this divinity in particular that lovers were wont to pray for happy Union.”

As the famed capital of the Heian-era, Kyoto was home to The Tale of Genji as well as The Tale of Heike, among other literary texts. Many aspects of Kyoto life still have their origin in these tales and in their ‘poetic spirit’. One example is the dialect of Kyoto, which sounds softer and more formal than other dialects.  It affected the tone of the literary classics. And since poetry is often read imaginatively rather than through the literal word, so has Kyoto long had a reputation of being indirect in conveying true meaning. Interestingly, Hearn does not choose to translate the poem referred to in his tale, but rather lets us imagine the content. However we please to think of it is up to us, and the reader’s perception will inevitably affect the overall meaning of the story.

Hearn’s short story is noticeable for catching much of the character of Kyoto. It is a custom for instance in Buddhist sects such as Zen for those who want to enter training to wait for days at the main gate for an official to decide whether or not to accept them.

“Now on the seventh night…during the hour when the silence is most deep, he heard at the main gateway of the temple-grounds a voice calling for admittance. Another voice from within answered; the gate was opened…” (Hearn, 26.)

Benten aka Benzaiten in Buddhist style

There is also the belief that particular shrines are effective in fulfilling certain wishes, one of these being that of finding love. There are many tales of young Japanese visiting shrines time after time in order to pray for their first love, or good grades, or happy family life, or other facets of life. This story seems to fall right into place within the many dedicated shrines and temples of Kyoto.

In the Tale of Heike, as well as in the Tale of Genji, there is often mention of spirits being active in the world. Tragic yet true, suicide occurs more than once within these tales, and the souls of those who pass on in such way are not at rest but wander aimlessly through the material world, uncertain of where to go. Perhaps there is something of that in the separation of spirit and body in Hearn’s strange story.

“One would like to know something about the mental experiences of the real maiden during the married life of her phantom. One would also like to know what became of the phantom— whether it continued to lead an independent existence; whether it waited patiently for the return of its husband; whether it paid a visit to the real bride.” (Hearn, 33).

物の哀れ [mono no aware], a sense of the fleeting, seems to pervade such tales. Tragic, transient, passing on to the future yet remembered eternally – such is the feeling that Hearn’s story evokes.

The Benten pond at Koryu-ji

For more about the botanical significance of Benten ponds, please see Kevin Short’s article here. To learn about Benten’s origins, see this page. For a short report about Mark Schumacher’s remarkable Guide to Benzaiten (68 pages long), please see here.

Books set in Kyoto

Kyoto poems in Japanese

February 11, 2018

Our attention has been drawn to a useful resource in Japanese of poetry about Kyoto. It’s part of an extensive website called Japan Note, covering various aspects of history and culture as can be seen on its home page.

For 20 waka poems in Japanese about Kyoto, click here.

For 30 different tanka in Japanese about Kyoto, click here.

For 40 different haiku in Japanese about Kyoto, click here.

It would make an interesting translation project to turn those into English. As it happens, the poetry in translation group run by myself (John Dougill) is currently embarked on something very similar, with the intention of producing a chronological anthology of Kyoto literature down the ages. Strangely enough, this doesn’t appear to have been done even in Japanese. The only English publication that comes close is that by J. Thomas Rimer in 1995, which is seasonal rather than historical and covers the whole of Kyoto Prefecture rather than just the city itself. For a review of the book, please take a look at this page.

Featured writing

Competition runner-up 2017

January 31, 2018

The deadline for this year’s WiK Short Shorts Competition will be on March 1, and just a reminder that this year we are offering a top prize of ¥30,000 plus several other smaller prizes. The top three winners will be included in the next Writers in Kyoto Anthology, and details about how to purchase a copy can be found in the righthand column. In addition winners are published here on the website, serving as examples for anyone thinking of entering the competition. For the 2017 winner, click here. For the 2016 winner, click here. For runners-up, click here or here. (For details of how to enter this year’s competition, see here.)

The following entry which won the approval of the judges was submitted by Kate Garnett of the USA. It shows how much can be done within the limit of 300 words.

 

Maps of Kyoto’s Water:

Eastward, rivers inked

with sakura flow throughout

time. For centuries

 

they move through ancient

city streets, cleaning deep wounds

of war, dousing shrines

 

that are asunder,

while tea water, equally

as vital, is poured

 

into younomi.

This simple act will never

change. Whether whisked by

 

geisha’s elegant

hands or encapsulated

in vending machines,

 

even one hurrying

out will always stop to drink—

just as one is stopped

 

by autumn’s first snow

as it laces the ponds where

koi fish liquesce, just

 

as spring’s warm rainfall

dissolves into garden lakes

of imperial

 

castles where even

ancient samurai take brief

reprieve to quench throats—

 

because that same vein

of water, reflecting glass-

faced towers, scarlet

 

torii, and sky , are

both the surface and the rain

that inspires it.

 

Featured writing

Short Short Stories

January 14, 2018

Driven by social media and falling concentration spans, the trend of recent times is for shorter and shorter fiction. Twitter is a prime example, with writers challenged to fit something meaningful into 140 characters. This was highlighted in a recent article in The Author, house magazine of the UK’s Society of Authors, which cited a challenge to college students to cover the themes of religion, sex and mystery in as few words as possible. The winning entry ran: ‘Good God, I’m pregnant; I wonder who did it.’

In similar vein there’s a popular (but probably untrue) anecdote about Ernest Hemingway, who was noted for paring his stories to the bone. Once after running up a large debt while drinking in a bar, he was challenged to write a complete story in six words. His response was this: ‘For sale: baby shoes, never worn.’  Like a good haiku, it leaves the reader to imagine the possibilities.

Science fiction writer Frederic Brown has been credited with the shortest story ever written in his 1948 piece titled ‘Knock’.  It goes like this: ‘The last man on Earth sat alone in a room. There was a knock on the door…’ In response an author called Ron Smith wrote a story with the ironically lengthy title of ‘A Horror Story Shorter by One Letter than the Shortest Story Ever Written’. It was a subtle twist on the same theme: ‘The last man on Earth sat alone in a room. There was a lock on the door.’

The Guatemalan writer August Monterroso devoted himself to penning short stories, the shortest of which was even shorter than a haiku. ‘When he awoke, the dinosaur was still there.’ The Canadian writer Margaret Atwood also came up with a short story that moves from hope to triumph to despair in six short words: ‘Longed for him. Got him. Shit.’

By these standards the Writers in Kyoto Competition might seem generous indeed with its 300 word limit. Compare it with the long running 55 Fiction, born in 1986 when New Times, an independent weekly in California, organized a short story writing contest. Steve Moss, the publisher of the paper, proposed the idea and it now receives more than a thousand entries annually.. The stipulation is that within 55 words there must be a setting, one or more characters, some conflict and a resolution.

The 55 Competition is said to have sparked a boom known as Flash Fiction. Two of the best-known sites are Vestal Review and the UK’s Flash: The International Short Short Magazine. While the title plays a vital role in making sense of the concise stories, the punctuation can also be essential to the meaning, as seen in ‘The Proposal’, which has a crucial comma in the last sentence. ‘He asked her as the lift gave way. She smiled. They fell, in love.’

One person who’s been taxing his brain for some time over how to be concise is David Williams, author of the magazine article from which the above is taken. His latest book, self-published, features 1000 stories in 1000 tweets. Here are three very different examples…

‘Honesty’.
They agreed there would be no lies between them. Now the truth they told each other lies between them.

‘A losing hand’.
Their marriage started with two hearts and a diamond. It ended with a club and a spade.

‘Out of the picture’.
When she started handing him the camera to record family occasions, he realised this was the beginning of the end.

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The Writers in Kyoto runs an annual competition of 300 words on the theme of Kyoto. For more information, including requirements, prizes and previous winning entries, please see this page. The next deadline is coming up soon on March 1, 2018.

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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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