This is a very little of Saigyo, the Heian-era priest and poet. Reading, studying Saigyo is like falling into the rim of the Universe: you have no idea where you will land nor what you will learn. But the trip will profoundly change you.
In “Mirror For the Moon”, a collection of translations by William LaFleur of Saigyo, one gets the idea that Saigyo transcended the usual route, the accepted and comfortable route of poet/priests of that era.
There were tons of poetry written by many poets, officials, etc. about the moon, nature, flowers, etc. But Saigyo’s poetry had an ‘edge’, a difference: his view of blossoms, moon, nature, was not just the usual symbol of evanescence and youthful beauty: his view of blossoms, nature, were more a path into the inner depth of this relationship between humanity and nature. He spent 50 years walking the mountains, road, forests, fields all over Japan and his poetry (waka) reflected his deep understanding of the physicality of nature: all seasons were felt and experienced not from the safety and comfort of a court, surrounded by other silk-clad courtier/poets, but out there in the trenches of nature. His poetry is formented in the cold and penetrating fall and spring rains, the slippery paths upon mountain trails, the ‘grass pillows’ (the term which stands in for journey) and a thin cloak, the deep chill of winter snows upon a mountain, the rising mists that befuddle orientation, and especially, the loneliness of traveling without companionship. He had companionship at times. Sometimes other priests, sometimes poets, and sometimes travelling prostitutes, women who went on the road from town to town, generally dancers and singers.
Saigyo became a poet/priest, but before that he was and came from a minor samurai family. He was, at the age of 22, a warrior. He always struggled with his past in his long years of travel, wondering how this former life impacted on his religious vows. His poetry reflects this issue.
I have begun to re-acquaint myself with Saigyo and his poetry, having first come across his poems in 1990. There is something so profound, different, that calls down the centuries to the heart. His poetry awakens my awe and wonder of not only nature-in-the-flesh, but in the commonality of the human experience.
Lady Nyo
—
Not a hint of shadow
On the moon’s face….but now
A silhouette passes–
Not the cloud I take it for,
But a flock of flying geese.
–
Thought I was free
Of passions, so this melancholy
Comes as surprise:
A woodcock shoots up from marsh
Where autumn’s twilight falls.
–
Someone who has learned
How to manage life in loneliness:
Would there were one more!
He could winter here on this mountain
With his hut right next to mine.
–
Winter has withered
Everything in this mountain place:
Dignity is in
Its desolation now, and beauty
In the cold clarity of its moon.
–
When the fallen snow
Buried the twigs bent by me
To mark a return trail,
Unplanned, in strange mountains
I was holed up all winter.
—
Snow has fallen on
Field paths and mountain paths,
Burying them all
And I can’t tell here from there:
My journey in the midst of sky.
—
Here I huddle, alone,
In the mountain’s shadow, needing
Some companion somehow:
The cold, biting rains pass off
And give me the winter moon.
–
(I love this one especially: Saigyo makes the vow to be unattached to seasons, to expectations, but fails and embraces his very human limitations)
–
It was bound to be!
My vow to be unattached
To seasons and such….
I, who by a frozen bamboo pipe
Now watch and wait for spring.
—
(Love like cut reeds:)
–
Not so confused
As to lean only one way:
My love-life!
A sheaf of field reeds also bends
Before each wind which moves it.
—
(And Love like fallen leaves….)
—
Each morning the wind
Dies down and the rustling leaves
Go silent: Was this
The passion of all-night lovers
Now talked out and parting?
—
And in this reading of Saigyo, one can not help but try their own hand at tanka.
–
Like the lithe bowing
Of a red maple sapling
My heart turns to you,
Yearns for those nights long ago
When pale skin challenged the moon.
–
The full moon above
Floats on blackened velvet seas,
Poet’s perfection!
But who does not yearn for a
Crescent in lavender sky?
–
The sound of frog-cries
In the pond floats a pale moon
Fresh life is stirring
An early owl goes hunting
Wise mice scatter for cover.
–
Cranes wheel in the sky
Their chiding cries fall to hard earth
Warm mid winter day
A pale half moon calls the birds
To stroke her face with soft wings.
–
I am sitting outside and have just heard this dove, with it’s mournful cry. There is nothing quite so beautiful, nor quite so sad that comes at dusk.
–
A mourning dove cries
It is such a mournful sound
Perhaps a fierce owl
Has made it a widower?
Oh! It breaks my heart, his cry.
–
Jane Kohut-Bartels
Copyrighted, 2012
two of these tanka above from “White Cranes of Heaven”, 2011, Lulu.com
Saigyo’s from:
“Mirror For the Moon”, A Selection of Poems by Saigyo (1118-1190)
Lady Nyo's Weblog 