Call and Answer to Ono no Komachi

-Ono no Komachi’s appear first, mine (as answering) appear in italics.

Lady Nyo

–

Did he appear
Because I fell asleep
Thinking of him?
If only I’d known I was dreaming
I’d never have awakened.

–

“How long will it last?
I know not his hidden heart.
This morning my thoughts
Are as tangled as my hair.
My blushes turn my face dark.”

—
When my desire
Grows too fierce
I wear my bed clothes
Inside out,
Dark as the night’s rough husk.

–
No moon tonight
Only a cold wind visits
Murasaki robe
Stained the color of grass
Invisible on this earth.

–
At least no one can blame me
When I go to you at night
Along the road of dreams.

–
Come to me, my man,
Part the blinds and come into my arms,
Snuggle against my warm breast
And let my belly
Warm your dreams.

–

–
One of her most famous poems:

No way to see him
On this moonless night—
I lie awake longing, burning,
Breasts racing fire,
Heart in flames.

–

When my needing you
Burns my breasts-torments me
I tear open robes
To lie naked in moonlight
The wind your hands, caressing

 

–
Night deepens
With the sound of calling deer,
And I hear
My own one-sided love.’

Autumn wind startles–
Lowered to an ominous
Key—Ah! Mournful sounds!
The fat mountain deer listen-
Add their bellowing sorrow.

–
The cicadas sing
In the twilight
Of my mountain village—
Tonight, no one
Will visit save the wind.

–

Tonight, foxes scream
Cued by a howling wind.
Maple leaves quilting
A lonely time of season
No one to share the moonlight.

–

 

A diver does not abandon
A seaweed-filled bay.
Will you then turn away
From this floating, sea-foam body
That waits for your gathering hands?

–

So lonely am I
My soul like a floating weed
Severed at the roots
Drifting upon cold waters
No pillow for further dreams.

 

–

All Komachi poems were compiled from the Man’yoshu and the book, “The Ink Dark Moon”, by Hirshfield and Aratani.

–

Poems in Italics were mine.
—
Jane Kohut-Bartels
Copyrighted, 2018

 

Ono no Komachi, A Sensual Medieval Japanese Poet

Autumn colors from my bathroom window today

 

I’ve written before on this blog about Ono no Komachi. She continues to capture my interest as a woman and a poet.

Briefly, she lived from 834?-??. It’s not clear when she died. She served in Japan’s Heian court (then in Kyoto) and was one of the dominant poetic geniuses. She is also in the great Man’yoshu, a collection of 4500 poems.

She lived when a woman was considered to be educated once she composed, memorized and could recite 1000 poems. Her poetry is deeply subjective, passionate and complex. She was a pivotal figure, legendary in Japanese literary history.

The form: these are written in tanka form…the usual form of poetry most popular.

Don’t be put off by the lack of syllables or more than for the lines. These poems are translated into English and they don’t necessarily fit the form exactly.

There are parts of the world where her poetry is still studied and read. These cultures are richer for the doing, as are their poets.

Lady Nyo

–

Did he appear

Because I fell asleep

Thinking of him?

If only I’d known I was dreaming

I’d never have awakened.

–

When my desire

Grows too fierce

I wear my bed clothes

Inside out,

Dark as the night’s rough husk.

–

My longing for you—

Too strong to keep within bounds.

At least no one can blame me

When I go to you at night

Along the road of dreams.

–

One of her most famous poems:

No way to see him

On this moonless night—

I lie awake longing, burning,

Breasts racing fire,

Heart in flames.

–

Night deepens

With the sound of calling deer,

And I hear

My own one-sided love.

–

The cicadas sing

In the twilight

Of my mountain village—

Tonight, no one

Will visit save the wind.

–

A diver does not abandon

A seaweed-filled bay.

Will you then turn away

From this floating, sea-foam body

That waits for your gathering hands?

–

Is this love reality

Or a dream?

I cannot know,

When both reality and dreams

Exist without truly existing.

–

My personal favorite:

 

The autumn night

Is long only in name—

We’ve done no more

Than gaze at each other

And it’s already dawn.

–

This morning

Even my morning glories

Are hiding,

Not wanting to show

Their sleep-mussed hair.

–

I thought to pick

The flower of forgetting

For myself,

But I found it

Already growing in his heart.

–

Since this body

Was forgotten

By the one who promised to come,

My only thought is wondering

Whether it even exists.

=

All these poems were compiled from the Man’yoshu and the book, “The Ink Dark Moon”, by Hirshfield and Aratani.

Jane Kohut-Bartels

copyrighted, 2016

 

 

“Mother”, poem by Nagase Kiyoko

March is International Women’s Month.  I can’t think of anything better to post here than what I do below. Nagase Kiyoko probably is the best woman I can think of to celebrate this month with.  (In fact, she is also a great woman to celebrate Mother’s Day, this day that is painful for many ACONs).   Politics come and go, but a poet speaks through the centuries.  Certainly Nagase Kiyoko goes deep and rattles my bones like nothing else I have read lately. She opens my heart to what is true and fundamental in being a woman.

Rollo May a 20th century psychotherapist has written about creativity.  In his “Courage to Create”, he writes that creativity is generated by our encounter with opposition.  Certainly Nagase Kiyoko, who wrote poetry at her kitchen table while her children and husband were asleep, and suffered the issues of older Japanese women faced this head on.  Her poetry inspires and she is a prime example of this courage to create.  She is a good grandmother for all of us women poets.  Actually, for all women, poets or not.

Lady Nyo 

 

MOTHER

 

I am always aware of my mother,

Ominous, threatening,

A pain in the depths of my consciousness.

My mother is like a shell,

So easily broken.

Yet the fact that I was born

Bearing my mother’s shadow

Cannot be changed.

She is like a cherished, bitter dream

My nerves cannot forget

Even after I am awake.

She prevents all freedom of movement.

If I move she quickly breaks

And the splinters stab me.

—Nagase Kiyoko  (1906- 1995)

Nagase Kiyoko wrote poetry for 65 years.  She never called herself a ‘professional poet’, but referred to herself as ‘a useless woman’.  She was a farmer, and wrote her poetry at the kitchen table before dawn, while her children and husband were asleep upstairs.  Because of her sensual and cosmic verse, Nagase Kiyoko is considered by many Japanese women poets to be the “Grandmother” of modern poetry.  Just a short reading of her verse goes deeply into the heart of the reader.  She is ageless in her verse.  She died on her 89th birthday.

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