– a haibun by Bo Lille, Denmark –
. Typhoon no. 26 is on its way.
. It is raining and the temperature has fallen from 30 to 15 degrees on this October day, as we walk up the Atago Pilgrims’ Path towards Kyorai’s hut. Our umbrellas are dripping with words, and we are both getting wet. A wetness we like. Learned and nice. We smile.
. Stephen-san quotes fine Japanese poems, mostly tankas and haikus, for he teaches literature at University; and I quote Goethe’s Ein Gleiches, the wonderful poem that marks this finest German poet’s famous turn from the “Sturm und Drang” to the “Classic”. Amongst green mountains Stephen points out places of literary interest.
. Words are dripping. We are dripping. We are smiling. There is Basho in the air; Basho, and other poets besides. Typhoon no. 26 is drawing near, but we are smiling.
. At Kyorai’s hut, we take a composition stroll. I am stunned by the bamboo boar-scarer, a cunning device that makes a regular “click!” and keeps the wild hogs away. I am also fond of the old trees, and the old Japanese style house. Afterwards, we sit down separately, writing notes for haikus. I sit at the doorstep and look at Kyorai’s persimmon tree which has already, much too early, lost its fruits. I think of the story of Kyorai’s persimmons – how he had sold them to a rich merchant, then lost them in a typhoon, and finally had had to pay the money back to the merchant. A sad story of riches that never came to the poor poet. Only a short whiff of money. I wonder if it is the very same tree.
Kyorai’s persimmons —
their dreams falling to the ground
the tree coughs
. We go up into the village for a cup of coffee and cakes sweetened with fresh haikus. Typhoon 26 is approaching. The rain and wind are gaining strength. Poems are dripping from our umbrellas as we go down the path to the station and say good-bye.
. A little later, a friendly Japanese gentleman helps me to my hotel. I leave my umbrella in the umbrella stand and go to my room no. 102 for a cup of tea.
. Typhoon 26 is near.