Painting by Sesshu
Weather-beaten bones,
I'll leave your heart exposed
to cold, piercing winds
After ten autumns,
it is strange to say Edo
speaking of my home
--Basho
This entry was inspired by Robert Brimm's poetry and art Journal, Chosen Words. Robert,the author of Chance of Rain, a poet twice nominated for a Pushcart Prize, writes Haiku and reading his excellent work made me want to read Basho again. So I picked up my copy of Narrow Road to the Interior, translated by Sam Hammill.
Narrow Road to the Interior is a collection of prose and poetry travelogues written by Basho (1644-1694). Basho undertook several contemplative travels during the last ten years of his life. The title is a wonderful metaphor for the journey each writer must make within.
The following excerpt from "The Knapsack Notebook" speaks eloquently of the writer's spirit, which Basho calls "Windblown":
Within this temporal body composed of a hundred bones and nine holes there resides a spirit which, for lack of an adequate name, I think of as windblown. Like delicate drapery, it may be torn away and blown off by the least breeze. It brought me to writing poetry many years ago, initially for its own gratification, but eventually as a way of life. True, frustration and rejection were almost enough to bring this spirit to silence, and sometimes pride brought it to the brink of vanity. From the writing of the very first line, it has found no contentment as it was torn by one doubt after another. This windblown spirit considered the security of court life at one point; at another, it considered risking a display of its ignorance by becoming a scholar. But its passion for poetry would not permit either. Since it knows no other way than the way of poetry, it has clung to it tenaciously.
Saigyo in poetry, Sogi in linked verse, Sesshu in painting, Rikyu in the tea ceremony--the spirit that moves them is one spirit. Achieving artistic excellence, each holds one attribute in common: each remains attuned to nature throughout the four seasons. Whatever is seen by such a heart and mind is a flower, whatever is dreamed is a moon. Only a barbarian mind could fail to see the flower; only an animal mind could fail to dream a moon. The first task for each artist is to overcome the barbarian or animal heart and mind, to become one with nature.
Truly, Basho's "home" became his art: That is where I want to live, my art.
4 comments:
I'm honored ... delighted ... speechless ... at being placed in such good company. Thank you for making this journey ... my journey ... far easier, and far more fun, than it might otherwise have been.
I love this introduction to completely unfamiliar work.
I am searching for words to describe how I feel about this entry - they fail me. Just thank you, Theresa.
Theresa… It truly looks as if you are living in your art to me. I feel so distant from the whole literary picture that I ‘pick up’ your journal to look through it like a telescope. I twist and turn it, trying to focus, only to see a new and unique beautiful perspective each time. This entry has brought me to realize that your journal isn’t a magnifying glass after all. Your journal is a kaleidoscope and you are the colorful light in which I see refracting through it.
Scott
Post a Comment