“Lord Nyo’s Lament”, from “Song of the Nightingale”

Lord Nyo’s Lament

Oh my wife!
My feet take me over mountains
In the service to our lord
But my heart stays tucked in the bosom
Of your robe.
–
Lady Nyo, circa 2015

 

The song of the arrow
As it arced into the sea
Was as tuneless
As a badly strung samisen.

Gun- metal clouds
Stretched across a dull horizon
The sun still asleep
As he should be
His quiver empty
His heart, too.

When had the callousness of life and death
Become as comfortable as breath to him?
He had become too much the warrior
And too little the man.

His distance from his wife,
From most of life
Was as if some unseen object
Kept them ten paces apart.
Perhaps it was the cloud-barrier
Of earthly lusts which obscured
The Sun of Buddha?

 

Perhaps he should pray.
What God would listen?
Then it came to him
That joker of a Buddha, Fudo
With his rope to pull him from Hell
And his sword to cut through foolishness-
Fudo would listen.
Fudo knew the quaking hearts
The illusions embraced
To stomach the battlefield
The fog of drink,
To face life
In the service of Death.
Fudo would save him from
The yellow waters of Hell.

He remembered those years
When she could bring him to his knees
With the promise of dark mystery
Between silken thighs,
And the glimpse of her white wrist-
A river of passion
Just beneath the surface.
How he had steeled his heart
Believing himself unmanned
For the love she induced!

Three cranes flew low to the shore,
Legs streaming like black ribbons behind.
Three cranes, three prayers, three chances
To find his way back
Bound up in Fudo’s ropes,
Prodded in the ass by Fudo’s sword.

He would write a poem
On a bone-white fan
To leave on her cushion.
She would know his love
She would know his sorrow.

The sea took his arrows
Beyond the breakers,
The glint of sleek feathers
Catching thin rays of light.
An unexpected peace came over him
As they journeyed far from his hands.

Jane Kohut-Bartels
Copyrighted, 2016-2018

 

‘Lord Nyo’s Lament’, from “Song of the Nightingale”

 Shawna and many others:  I’m having a hard time posting on sites…..but know I will keep trying…the poetry of you all is wonderful, and I just wanted you to know that I am reading.  Jane….wordpress doesn’t seem to be working on many sites lately.

This is #3 in 13 episodes from “Song of the Nightingale”.  A tale of two early 17th century Japanese couple, not young, and suffering some of the same issues of marriage that centuries later still exist.

(Cover painting by Jane Kohut-Bartels, wc, 2015)

 

–

Lord Nyo’s Lament

 

Oh my wife!

My feet take me over mountains

In the service to our lord

But my heart stays tucked in the bosom

Of your robe.

–

Lady Nyo, circa 2015

–

 

 

The song of the arrow

As it arced into the sea

Was as tuneless

As a badly strung samisen.

 

Gun- metal clouds

Stretched across a dull horizon

The sun still asleep

As he should be

His quiver empty

His heart, too.

 

When had the callousness of life and death

Become as comfortable as breath to him?

He had become too much the warrior

And too little the man.

 

His distance from his wife,

From most of life

Was as if some unseen object

Kept them ten paces apart.

Perhaps it was the cloud-barrier

Of earthly lusts which obscured

The Sun of Buddha?

 

 

Perhaps he should pray.

What God would listen?

Then it came to him

That joker of a Buddha, Fudo

With his rope to pull him from Hell

And his sword to cut through foolishness-

Fudo would listen.

Fudo knew the quaking hearts

The illusions embraced

To stomach the battlefield

The fog of drink,

To face life

In the service of Death.

Fudo would save him from

The yellow waters of Hell.

 

He remembered those years

When she could bring him to his knees

With the promise of dark mystery

Between silken thighs,

And the glimpse of her white wrist-

A river of passion

Just beneath the surface.

How he had steeled his heart

Believing himself unmanned

For the love she induced!

 

Three cranes flew low to the shore,

Legs streaming like black ribbons behind.

Three cranes, three prayers, three chances

To find his way back

Bound up in Fudo’s ropes,

Prodded in the ass by Fudo’s sword.

 

He would write a poem

On a bone-white fan

To leave on her cushion.

She would know his love

She would know his sorrow.

 

The sea took his arrows

Beyond the breakers,

The glint of sleek feathers

Catching thin rays of light.

An unexpected peace came over him

As they journeyed far from his hands.

–

Jane Kohut-Bartels

Copyrighted, 2011, 2016  (“Song of the Nightingale” was published by Amazon.com, 2015)

 

 

 

‘Lord Nyo’s Lament’ from “Song of the Nightingale”

–

http://amzn.to/1Cm8mZi

–

 

Oh my wife!

My feet take me over mountains

In the service to our lord

But my heart stays tucked in the bosom

Of your robe.

—

–

Lord Nyo’s Lament

–

–

The song of the arrow

As it arced into the sea

Was as tuneless

As a badly strung samisen.

–

Gun- metal clouds

Stretched across a dull horizon

The sun still asleep

As he should be

His quiver empty

His heart, too.

–

When had the callousness of life and death

Become as comfortable as breath to him?

He had become too much the warrior

And too little the man.

–

His distance from his wife,

From most of life

Was as if some unseen object

Kept them ten paces apart.

–

Perhaps it was the cloud-barrier

Of earthly lusts which obscured

The Sun of Buddha?

Perhaps he should pray.

–

What God would listen?

Then it came to him

That joker of a Buddha, Fudo

With his rope to pull him from Hell

And his sword to cut through foolishness-

Fudo would listen.

–

Fudo knew the quaking hearts

The illusions embraced

To stomach the battlefield

The fog of drink,

To face life

In the service of Death.

Fudo would save him from

The yellow waters of Hell.

–

He remembered those years

When she could bring him to his knees

With the promise of dark mystery

Between silken thighs,

And the glimpse of her white wrist-

A river of passion

Just beneath the surface.

How he had steeled his heart

Believing himself unmanned

For the love she induced!

–

Three cranes flew low to the shore,

Legs streaming like black ribbons behind.

Three cranes, three prayers, three chances

To find his way back

Bound up in Fudo’s ropes,

Prodded in the ass by Fudo’s sword.

–

He would write a poem

On a bone-white fan

To leave on her cushion.

She would know his love

She would know his sorrow.

–

The sea took his arrows

Beyond the breakers,

The glint of sleek feathers

Catching thin rays of light.

–

An unexpected peace came over him

As they journeyed far from his hands.

–

–

Jane Kohut-Bartels

Copyrighted,  2015, “Song of the Nightingale” is published by Createspace, Amazon.com, 2015

Lord Nyo’s Lament, from “Song of the Nightingale” just published.

http://amzn.to/1Cm8mZi

–

Lord Nyo’s Lament

 

Oh my wife!

My feet take me over mountains

In the service to our lord

But my heart stays tucked in the bosom

Of your robe.

–

The song of the arrow

As it arced into the sea

Was as tuneless

As a badly strung samisen.

–

Gun- metal clouds

Stretched across a dull horizon

The sun still asleep

As he should be

His quiver empty

His heart, too.

–

When had the callousness of life and death

Become as comfortable as breath to him?

He had become too much the warrior

And too little the man

-.

His distance from his wife,

From most of life

Was as if some unseen object

Kept them ten paces apart.

Perhaps it was the cloud-barrier

Of earthly lusts which obscured

The Sun of Buddha?

–

Perhaps he should pray.

What God would listen?

Then it came to him

That joker of a Buddha, Fudo

With his rope to pull him from Hell

And his sword to cut through foolishness-

Fudo would listen.

–

Fudo knew the quaking hearts

The illusions embraced

To stomach the battlefield

The fog of drink,

To face life

In the service of Death.

Fudo would save him from

The yellow waters of Hell.

–

He remembered those years

When she could bring him to his knees

With the promise of dark mystery

Between silken thighs,

And the glimpse of her white wrist-

A river of passion

Just beneath the surface.

How he had steeled his heart

Believing himself unmanned

For the love she induced!

–

Three cranes flew low to the shore,

Legs streaming like black ribbons behind.

Three cranes, three prayers, three chances

To find his way back

Bound up in Fudo’s ropes,

Prodded in the ass by Fudo’s sword.

–

He would write a poem

On a bone-white fan

To leave on her cushion.

She would know his love

She would know his sorrow.

–

The sea took his arrows

Beyond the breakers,

The glint of sleek feathers

Catching thin rays of light.

–

An unexpected peace came over him

As they journeyed far from his hands.

–

Jane Kohut-Bartels

Copyrighted, 2011, 2015

‘Lord Nyo’s Lament’, from “The Nightingale’s Song”

I’m going to post two pieces of “The Nightingale’s Song” per week so it doesn’t drag out so long.

Lady Nyo

–

Lord Nyo’s Lament, from “The Nightingale’s Song”

– 

Oh my wife!

My feet take me over mountains

In the service to our lord

But my heart stays tucked in the bosom

Of your robe.

 

–

The song of the arrow

As it arced into the sea

Was as tuneless

As a badly strung samisen.

–

Gun- metal clouds

Stretched across a dull horizon

The sun still asleep

As he should be

His quiver empty

His heart, too.

–

When had the callousness of life and death

Become as comfortable as breath to him?

He had become too much the warrior

And too little the man.

–

His distance from his wife,

From most of life

Was as if some unseen object

Kept them ten paces apart.

Perhaps it was the cloud-barrier

Of earthly lusts which obscured

The Sun of Buddha?

–

Perhaps he should pray.

 What God would listen?

Then it came to him

That joker of a Buddha, Fudo

With his rope to pull him from Hell

And his sword to cut through foolishness-

Fudo would listen.

–

Fudo knew the quaking hearts

The illusions embraced

To stomach the battlefield

The fog of drink,

To face life

In the service of Death.

Fudo would save him from

The yellow waters of Hell.

–

He remembered those years

When she could bring him to his knees

With the promise of dark mystery

Between silken thighs,

And the glimpse of her white wrist-

A river of passion

Just beneath the surface.

How he had steeled his heart

Believing himself unmanned

For the love she induced!

–

Three cranes flew low to the shore,

Legs streaming like black ribbons behind.

Three cranes, three prayers, three chances

To find his way back

Bound up in Fudo’s ropes,

Prodded in the ass by Fudo’s sword.

–

He would write a poem

On a bone-white fan

To leave on her cushion.

She would know his love

She would know his sorrow.

–

The sea took his arrows

Beyond the breakers,

The glint of sleek feathers

Catching thin rays of light.

An unexpected peace came over him

As they journeyed far from his hands.

–

Jane Kohut-Bartels

Copyrighted, 2011, 2013

‘Lord Nyo’s Lament’

Lord Fudo

I promised a response by the character Lord Nyo last week, little suspecting the trouble I would have in fashioning this poem.  In part it was because I was trying to develop his character within the context of this poetry, and in part because I kept going far afield in the doing of this. Perhaps the best excuse is that there were so many ‘issues’ that seemed applicable to his being that I couldn’t choose what to write and what to leave out. 

I kept thinking of the poet/priest Saigyo, one of my favorite Japanese poets: he had been a samurai, trained early in the service of a powerful family, a captain of the guard by the time he was eighteen, and then he became a Buddhist priest around the age of twenty-three.  His concern, as he expressed it in letters and poetry, was that his new Buddhist belief and practice would be scarred by his samurai past. He acknowledged the duel between his spiritual side and his warrior past and he was sensitive to what this all meant as he travelled Japan as a beggar priest-poet.

This is not exactly what Lord Nyo is facing: but there is some consciousness in there making him uncomfortable by his actions towards his wife.  Readers have expressed that he was a brute, was brutish in his behavior towards Lady Nyo, and he is now contemplating what he has done.  So am I in trying to make poetry out of this violent fellow.

This is a first pass in this attempt, and it will have to go through some changes as this theme clarifies.

Fudo is a Buddhist deity, also important to the Yamabushi (Mountain warriors/priests) cult.  He is shown with a rope to bind up passions or to pull you from Hell, and a sword for cutting through illusions.

Lady Nyo

–

Lord Nyo’s Lament

–

The song of the arrow

As it flew into the sea

Was as tuneless

As a badly strung samisen.

–

Gun- metal clouds

Stretched across a dull horizon,

The sun still asleep

As he should be,

His quiver empty,

His heart, too.

–

When had the callousness of life

Become as comfortable as breath to him?

Too much the warrior,

Too little the man.

–

Perhaps he should pray.

What God would listen?

And then it came to him–

That joker of a Buddha, Fudo

With his rope to pull him from Hell

And his sword to cut through foolishness-

Fudo would listen.

Fudo knew the quaking hearts

The delusions embraced

To stomach battlefield gore.

The fog of drink,

To face  life-

A samurai in the service of Death.

Lord Fudo would listen.

–

He remembered  years before

When being near her

Watching her white wrist

Peek from her sleeve

With that river of passion

Just below the skin

She could bring him to his knees

With the promise of dark mystery

Between silken thighs

And how he had steeled his heart

Believing himself unmanned

For the love she induced.

–

Three cranes flew low to the shore,

Legs streaming like black ribbons behind.

Three cranes, three prayers, three chances

To find his way back

Bound up in Fudo’s ropes,

Prodded by Fudo’s sword.

–

He would write a poem

On a bone-white fan

To leave on her cushion.

She would know his love

She would know his sorrow.

He would eat his shame.

–

The sea took his arrows

Beyond the breakers,

The glint of sleek feathers

Catching thin rays of light.

A small peace came over him

As they journeyed far from his hands.

–

Jane Kohut-Bartels

Copyrighted, 2011