(Watercolor, Jane Kohut-Bartels, 2007)
–
It’s been a while since I have returned to this story. Everything and anything has taken up my time since I started “The Nightingale’s Song” at the end of 2011. I am back to my favorite research, which is anything concerning Japanese history and literature. This time, I won’t leave it. I have a reason to stay. Nick Nicholson, an old friend who produced my last book, “Pitcher of Moon” this spring, is coming from Canberra, Australia in ten days for a four month trip by car around the US. In March, he will be here with us for a number of days and has promised to format “The Nightingale’s Song”. I am more than grateful. Formatting anything has me all thumbs. Nick is an expert at these things.
“The Nightingale’s Song” is a story in 12 episodes about a marriage in 17th century Japan. Lord Nyo and Lady Nyo, he a samurai and she from the powerful clan Fujiwara, have been married since she was fifteen. Now she is thirty and Lord Nyo sixty. Magic, a tricky Tengu and a baby plucked from the surface of the moon figure in the story.
The poetry of Saigyo is noted: where it isn’t, it is mine.
Episode 11 is a scene from a battlefield, as Lord Nyo is a general in the provincial army of Lord Mori, an aging and despot daimyo in north west Japan, near Moon Mountain.
Lady Nyo…but not the one in the story.
–
11
THE RIVER OF DEATH
There’s no gap or break in the ranks of those marching under the hill:
an endless line of dying men, coming on and on and on….
—Saigyo
–
When the news of Lady Nyo
Birthing a son
Reached Lord Nyo
He was far from home,
To the east,
Over mountains
In dangerous, alien territory.
–
A general in the service
Of his lord,
The gore of battle,
The issue of ‘dying with honor’
Began at first light,
The air soon filled with sounds of battle-
Dying horses, dying men
Drawing their last gasps of life,
Churned into the mud of immeasurable violence.
–
The river of death is swollen with bodies fallen into it;
in the end the bridge of horses cannot help.
—Saigyo
–
Death, not new life
Was before his eyes at dawn,
And death, not life
Pillowed his head at night.
–
A battle rages around me,
But inside this old warrior
A battle rages inside my heart.
It is heavy with sorrow,
So tired beyond my old bones.
–
What good have we done
In watering the soil
With blood and offal
of sons?
–
He stunk with the blood of battle
As his bow and swords cut a swath
Through men in service to another
And when the battle horns went silent,
With tattered banners like defeated clouds
Hanging limp over the field,
Acrid smoke stained everything
And the piteous cries of the dying
Echoed in his ears.
He wondered if his life would end here.
–
But the gods that he didn’t believe in
Were merciful.
His thoughts turned from fierce, ugly warriors
Towards home and a baby.
–
Still, he could not leave.
He was caught by status,
The prestige of his clan.
He could not desert the
Fate set out from birth.
–
Ah! This was fate of a man in servitude
To his Lord Daimyo.
This was the fate
Of a man chained to Honor.
–
Still, in the darkest hours of the night
The soft and perfumed shape of his wife
Floated down to him from the fleeting clouds,
Came to him through the smoke of battlefield fires,
And he turned on his pallet
To embrace this haunting comfort.
–
Off in the distance
There I see my loved one’s home
On the horizon.
How I long to be there soon
Get along black steed of mine!
–
Jane Kohut-Bartels
Copyrighted, 2014
Tags: "The River of Death", 'The Nightingale's Song', 17th century Japan, battle scene, Lord and Lady Nyo
December 9, 2014 at 8:49 am
This is an intriguing story. It is a wonderful experience to read this as there are so few words and descriptors yet I still feel the emotion and the contrast between death and life. That is a wonderful talent you have. To say much with so few words. xx
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December 9, 2014 at 10:07 am
I love the watercolor you did! It is beautiful. xx
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December 9, 2014 at 1:06 pm
Thank you! It has quite a history. I gave it to the toxic mother, and apparently she didn’t find room for it in her house, so hung it on a closet door in a spare bedroom. It fell, and frame broke. She apparently forgot all about it, and I found it almost under the bed. I took it home, Fred repaired the frame and she raised HELL that I wasn’t going to bring it back. She didn’t deserve it, actually, and has her own ‘taste’ in paintings. Not mine. So, it looks beautiful in our bedroom and will be the cover for the new book: “The Nightingale’s Song” this spring.
LOL! So some good can come from her, though you have to take control of everything! But if she hadn’t scorned it, and the painting not fallen, and I not found it….I would be out an acceptable cover for a new book! LOL! Life has a way of balancing the scales.
Love, Jane
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December 9, 2014 at 1:15 pm
LOL! TR! You know by our emails that I am NOT a woman of few words….but for some reason, in the poetry, I hate long poems, verbosity, etc. LOL!
I think poetry puts me into a very different mind state. Most times I try to eliminate words, but sometimes it’s just the nature of the particular poetry that doesn’t allow many words. I think because some of my earliest poems were in the tanka style…this has impacted strongly my poetry.
Dunno. Don’t really know much about how these things are formed. I think it is just trusting the subject, and what comes from the thought process.
I am so pumped by this simple story! I hope others will feel some of the same wonder that I feel in these characters. They live for me.
Thank you so much for reading and your comments.
Love, Jane
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December 10, 2014 at 12:42 pm
That is terrific you got it back and it is now going to grace the cover of your next book! xx
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December 10, 2014 at 2:00 pm
Well, I had to bear her anger because I wasn’t going to give it back to her. She obviously didn’t like it enough to display it properly….so it ended on a closet door, and broke when it fell. And that is the problem with narcissists. Regardless what you give them, it’s never enough. They are bottomless pits.
This also gives me a breather. I don’t have to scramble for a cover….this is ready-made for the book. Since it is a story about love and marriage, it fits.
Hugs, Jane
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