More Autumnal Kikusha

Today I've got a very sad poem sequence, also from Kikusha. Kikusha's Chinese poetry is very hard for me, so this is by no means perfect. I hope it at least give a hint of the remarkable range of this talented, perpetually questing woman.

（一）
二十年来忘累機
風雲誘処促単衣
環郷松菊東籬遍
禄髪為霜去不帰

（二）
幾年逃世片心微
孤錫帰来叩旧扉
愁殺荒涼深竹色
此君今独立依依

うきわれを照せ昔の秋の月


Headnote: Already more than 20 years have passed since I became a widow, and I have been traveling from east to west. In the autumn of 1798 I returned home, and happened to visit my father-in-law's house. I wrote these two verses to express some of my feelings then.

I.
Twenty years have passed and I have forgotten many moments
Since the spirit of travel beckoned me and I set out with just a single garment.
Going back to my hometown, pines and chrysanthemums are everywhere east of the fence
My black hair turned to frost before I returned from far away.

II.
I grew tired of avoiding the world after countless years,
Returning home with my solitary traveler's staff I knocked on my old door.
I was overwhelmed by sadness, and a deep sorrow
Where he had been now flourishes lonely longing.

shine your light on me,
as I mourn for a distant past --
autumn moon

Taorigiku - Handpicked Chrysanthemums 1

By Tagami Kikusha. Published in Bunka 9nen (1812), it is a poetic travel journal. It's long and will take quite some time to get through. Let's see where it takes us. This is not authoritative, folks, it's a work in progress.

At the end of the first month, in which I had spent the new year season in the capital, when I looked back on on the long stretch of days I passed here here and counted them all up, it has truly been 33 years since I became entranced with the way of fûga. 

First I passed through the provinces of Sanetsu and Ôu, then I crossed over the barrier to the east, "of chattering birds," and the Ôsaka barrier "undeceived by the false rooster's crow." I stayed in Edo for three years, and became aware of the humorous genre of haikai, and there I learned all that I could of its teachings. Later, again my heart felt possessed by the desire to travel, and then many times I crossed the Mojigaseki and travelled to the Western Seas and to Tsukishi of the "countless fires." There I made friends of course with haikai poets but also became familiar with the literature of China, and at the place I stayed in Tama-no-ura I obtained even books by Chinese writers, and had so many in my rucksack and my satchel, that I kept them in my hometown Chôfû, and I now do not think the number of them is such that I can fit them all in. Having traveled round like this to many famous places, historical spots, ruins, and mountain passes spoken of by persons of high reputation, with regret I now leave this up to my ink-stained brush from my travel-case, thinking I might as well publish these scattered jottings, I mutter to myself, smiling. The year is 1812, in the season when the young plants are just starting to grow lush. Ichiji-an Kikusha-ni of Nakato.

Hand-picked Chrysanthemum 1

I lost my husband when I was still young, and because we had no child to inherit the household I adopted a relative's son and left to him the duties of maintaining the estate. Having now attained the status of the leisured, on the day it occurred to me, "I wish I could make a pilgrimage to temples and shrines at famous places all over the realm," I ended up undertaking a solo journey just as I'd imagined. 

月を笠に着て遊ばばや旅のそら

I wish I could wander

with the moon as my travel hat --

a traveler's sky

Written at Hitomaru Shrine in Nagato, Otsu.　(Stele: 日本の文学碑)

make my travel hat

even more melancholy --

rain in cicada season

吾笠に淋しさしめや蝉しぐれ

my writing brush

will become stained even more deeply --

when the persimmon leaves are lush

染めてゆかむ筆柿の葉も茂り時

I passed by Shizuka-ga-ura and took a boat from a place called Kayoi, and without incident arrived at Hagi Castle. Here I benefited from the kindness of a monk from Seikôji temple, and became his disciple, and received his courteous teachings on the world to come. Afterwards I took the tonsure, and wrote:

the dust of the unreliable world

was blown away

in the wind

風に浮世の塵を払けり

My old friend by the name of Chikuô-sha Kion lives here. He has liked haikai from a long time ago. I felt that I wished to learn his style, and he kindly sent a letter on my behalf to the Mino haikai master called Sankyô. At Suô Tenmangû Shrine I wrote:

colorful autumn also --

are those two leaves on the branch?

a plum tree's red

染る秋も二葉の末か梅紅葉

I should learn from it --

the pure heart

of a pond's water

ならひ行ん澄めるこころ池の水

Conference: Pirates, Merchants, and Cool Maps

This weekend I went to a conference at Emory called Sea Rovers, Silk, and Samurai: Maritime China in Global History. It was organized by Tonio Andrade of the History department. It was really fabulous, and brought together leading scholars on East Asian and European history (particularly of the 17th century) in various disciplines, such as military history, cartography, trade relations, and law. There were some very formidable elder celebrities such as John Wills (emeritus professor from USC) and Leonard Blusse (Leiden), but also many younger and extremely impressive scholars from all over the world as well. It was wonderful to have such a great event right here, and I was sorry I could only hear a few of the papers.

One of the things I liked about the conference was that it helped me think about Japan in the 17th century in a way I haven't before. I usually think of travel in terms of barrier stations (sekisho 関所) and highways (kaidô 街道 ); i.e., places you walk to. I don't think much about the sea. The sea seems formless and (obviously) fluid; except for harbors and beaches, it can't be named or celebrated in poetry in the same way that territory (=terra) is. And yet its significance is enormous. I can't believe I've never noticed it much, but I haven't.

Travel and the Bashô Style

Here are two key phrases from Bashô-related texts on the subject of travel and haikai. In both cases, fûga is basically synonymous with haikai.

1. 東海道の一筋しらぬ人、風雅におぼつかなし。
People who know nothing of the Tôkaidô have no understanding of fûga (poetic elegance).

-- Bashô. Cited in Sanzôshi 三冊紙 (Three notebooks).



2. 旅は風雅の花、風雅は過客の魂。
Travel is the flower of fûga; fûga is the spirit of the traveler.

-- (Bashô disciple) Kyoriku. From Infutaki 韻塞.

These phrases are discussed in a nice little book, Kazumi Yamashita's Bashô hyaku meigen 芭蕉百名言 (One hundred famous Bashô phrases), Kadokawa gakugei shuppan, 1996, 2010.