We meet once again
my dear viola player …
under cherry blooms
Sosui
The village tannoy declares
something about shunning them –
a spring monkey troupe
Tito
How I long to see
baby swallows in their nest –
bulging scarlet throats!
Sosui
The day you come to stay …
the first swallows, too
arrive in Asuka
Tito
Tito has helped me select a few from the haiku series I composed in Haruna, Gunma during February and March this year. I hope you might like some of them.
Nobuyuki Yuasa (Sosui)
野良猫も今日はのんびり日を浴びる
A stray cat feeling
carefree today, blissfully
basking in warm sun
立ちたるも伏したるも梅咲き出でる
Standing or sprawling,
the plum trees have all begun
to blossom at once!
味噌汁に蕗を散らせは春匂う
Chopped butterbur shoots –
sprinkle them into your soup
and spring scent arises
春の滝ネットの旅であまた見る
Net-surfing in March:
in a jiffy I can appraise
so many spring falls!
Late in the morning on March 16, eighteen haiku poets – and their little prince, Glyeb – come together at Tegai-mon, the west gate of Todaiji Temple, built in the mid-eighth century.
Into his rucksack
a toddler
packing spring light
… (Yaeno Azuchi)
We begin strolling around the backyards of the Great Buddha Hall.
They sunbathe
behind the Great Temple ―
naked trees
… (Akishige Ida)
andromeda blooms
at Daibutsu pond —
longing for my daughter
… (Sydney Solis)
finicky tourists:
a world ago and now
two deer chewing sprouts
… (Anna Shershnyova)
white-fluffy-tailed fawn
already makes eyes at tourists –
senbe dreaming
… (Ursula Maierl)
The Shoso-in, the Nara emperors’ 8th century treasure house, made entirely of timber in the ancient azekura (log house) style, is unfortunately closed for the day, but at least we catch a glimpse of its long, tiled roof.
The Imperial Storehouse
takes a holiday:
the deer work hard
… (Hiroko Nakakubo)
Shosoin –
deer in tree shade
grazing Time itself
… (Shigeko Kibi)
A Persian vase
in the ancient storehouse:
dry westerly
from the Silk Road
… (Ayako Kurokawa)
remnant
of a cedar torch
left in a monk’s yard –
spring is nigh
… (Eiko Mori)
Proceeding to Nigatsu-do (February Hall) between aged clay walls, we climb steep stone steps. At this hall, Todaiji’s solemn rite, Shuni-e (popularly called ‘Omizutori’), has been performed every February of the old lunar calendar since 752 CE. This year’s rite was completed just two days before. In one corner, there is a box of charred cryptomeria twigs from the heavy blazing torches that had been run by monks along the great wooden balustrade outside. Today, people are taking these twigs home as talismans.
Under a blue sky
the scenery unfolds –
February Hall
… (Akito Mori)
Soft spring breeze –
after the Water-drawing Rites
burnt scent
of cedar torches
… (Jun Tsutsumi)
In my mind
sharing the breeze
with ancient noblemen –
Nigatsu-do veranda
… (Akira Kibi)
We then enter the adjacent Hokke-do (also known as Sangatsu-do, March Hall), completed in 733 CE, and find ourselves facing the great gilt Fukusenkaku Kannon, with its associates and guards, all National Treasures made using the kanshitsu (‘dry lacquer’) technique.
Remains of gold
shine dimly
in the chiaroscuro hall –
statues grown old
… (Jeanne)
The third eye
of the golden Kannon
half open –
spring has come
… (Kazue Gill)
Most of us then go to see Todaiji Temple’s 26-ton Great Bell, one of Japan’s oldest and largest, suspended nearby in its own bell tower.
Reverberations of the Bell –
subtle overtones
of imaginary ringing
… (Kyoko Nozaki)
as if locked in a cave
standing under
the temple bell –
spring darkness
… (Tomiko Nakayama)
Now, it’s high time for lunch, and soon we have assembled on the second floor of Yama no Café, looking out on grassy Wakakusa Hill. In his welcome remarks, Tito mentions Basho’s haiku composed back in 1685 inside Nigatsu-do during Shuni-e.
水とりや氷の僧の沓の音
Mizutori ya / kohri no sou no/ kutsu no oto
The Water-drawing Ceremony –
that freezing sound of monks
shuffling in their clogs
After lunch, an improvised book stall is set up, with Jeanne and Tomiko serving – an unusual opportunity to buy, at a 30% discount, many of the past 20-odd years of Hailstone Publications. Of 34 books brought, all but 5 are sold. We then share some of the haiku composed on the day while sipping tea. Finally we disperse, still not a cloud in the luminous spring sky. One or two linger, to take a stroll on close-cropped Wakakusa-yama …
The box of poetry books, sold –
folding it flat
and sliding on that
down the grassy slope!
… (Tito)
Right on the cusp between winter and spring, Hailstone Haiku Circle has launched an Instagram page! We begin with a haipho (haiku photograph) of cherry blossom in snow. Special thanks are due to Jun Tsutsumi and Anna Shershnyova for their collaboration with getting this started. Branko Manojlovic will also become an editor. This team will decide what to feature, as well as monitor comments and answer enquiries. Please visit and follow us here: https://www.instagram.com/hailstonehaiku/
EARLY SPRING
Mt. Asama has
A spot of snow near its top —
A cold, frigid eye.
….. (Sosui)
longer days —
the snowman bows gently
toward the east
….. (Bandit)
February sun —
at breakfast
the quiet patter of words
….. (Tito)
no moon, no blossom —
I resign myself
to watching balloons
….. (Bandit)
LATE SPRING
What has disappeared —
Fireflies, dragonflies, tea leaves
Hand-crushed for fragrance.
….. (Sosui)
Honeysuckle blossoms
on a tumble-down fence:
no hum of bees
….. (Tito)
What has multiplied —
Bush mosquitoes, cockroaches
And atomic bombs.
….. (Sosui)
the fog of war —
even the general
dons his battle fatigues
….. (Bandit)
One vernal evening,
My viewing an opera
Of deep love and hate.
….. (Sosui)
RAINY SEASON
Heavy sky
rolling in on Yamato;
the laughing cuckoo
cannot sleep
….. (Tito)
.
Notes:
Mt. Asama (2,568m) is an active volcano on the border between Gunma and Nagano; hand-crushed tea-leaves are known as tencha 碾茶; the laughing cuckoo is ホトトギス hototogisu, cuculus poliocephalus, which often cries at night.
When Nobuyuki Yuasa recently sent me a clutch of March haiku from Gunma-ken, I found amongst them a couple that seemed to resonate with two of my own early April ones from Nara-ken. Mt. Asama 浅間山 is a 2,568m volcano on the Nagano-Gunma border; a stepped keyhole tomb is known as 前方後円墳 zenpoukouenfun in Japanese; little grebes are カイツブリ kaitsuburi; butterbur is フキノトウ fukinotou; bracken shoots are 蕨 warabi; the tomb in the second haiku is 西山塚古墳 Nishiyamazuka Kofun at 萱生町 Kayou on the Yamanobe Way; the tumulus in the fourth (and in the photo) is the very ancient 西山古墳 Nishiyama Kofun in Tenri, which is an hourglass tomb, a 前方後方墳 zenpoukouhoufun in Japanese.
Behind plum orchards
Mt. Asama shows itself –
A pale ghost in mist
。。。(Sosui)
Spring sky in the moat
of a stepped keyhole tomb –
little grebes dive
。。。(Tito)
Good fortune indeed –
On the river bank, three or four
Butterbur shoots to take!
。。。(Sosui)
Two women in bonnets
picking bracken shoots
high on the tumulus –
April showers
。。。(Tito)
Mar. 25, 2023. The day of the Ouda Fawn Lily (katakuri) Ginko has come.
By early morning the rain has stopped. The curtain of mist begins to roll up slowly from the mountain ridges surrounding Nara Basin. Fourteen haiku poets from Kyoto, Osaka and Nara come together in knots at Haibara Station. On the way, all must have enjoyed the spring scenery of rural Nara through car or train windows.
Cherry blossoms
under misty mountains —
rice planting nigh (Kiyoko)
A man on stilts?
No, only a heron walking
in the green field (Kyoko)
Three cars now travel along the cherry-blossomed bank of the Uda River. We notice groups of people walking with purpose on the far side of the river.
Among empty fields
a long line of men
heading to the brewery (David)
Yes, as it happens, today there is a sake brewery tour. Ouda is a town of kuzu (arrowroot), medicinal herbs and sake.
Soon we arrive at Kagirohi no Oka (Manyo Park) on the western outskirts of Ouda town, and are joined there by a fourth car containing three other poets and our “Little Prince” from Kyoto. We climb the hill in twos and threes. Someone remarks, kobushi magnolia is blooming!” On the hilltop there is an azumaya, or rustic arbor.
morning dew
dripping from the thatched roof —
a hazy Manyo hill (1) (Yaeno)
The grassy hilltop looks out over the rooves of Ouda and the vague outline of mountains near and far.
the sun
behind the clouds ―
a town of pink blossoms (Duro)
spring flowers trembling
in the wind of ancient times (Ayako)
Long, long ago, Ouda, then known as ‘Akino’, was a hunting and herb-collecting preserve for the Imperial Family. In the 14th century, the local warlords, the Akiyama clan, built their mountain castle, and at its foot a castle town grew up called ‘Aki-machi’. Several powerful warlords then came and went, one after another, each constructing a robust mountain castle on the previous one. The name was changed to ‘Matsuyama Castle’, and the town itself became known as ‘Matsuyama’. At the end of the 17th century, Matsuyama became a ‘tenryo’, a domain of the Tokugawa shogunate, and it began to thrive. Basho never actually went there, as far as we know, but he would surely have known of it.
On the hilltop there is a monument commemorating a verse by Kakinomono no Hitomaro, a great Manyo poet:
ひんがしの野にかぎろひの 立つみえて かえりみすれば 月かたむきぬ
Hingashi no / no ni kagirohi no / tatsu miete / kaerimi sureba / tsuki katamukinu
On the eastern plain
The purple dawn is glowing,
While looking back I see
The moon declining to the west. (2)
Hitomaro composed this tanka before dawn on Nov. 17 (lunar calendar), 694 AD, when he visited Akino accompanying young Prince Karu, who later became Emperor Monmu.
We take lunch at Hirutoko Café right beside the hill. In his welcome remarks, Tito mentions some of the haiku that Basho had written in spring 1688 in the valleys bordering Ouda on his Oi no Kobumi trip. One, composed at nearby Hoso Pass:
雲雀より空にやすらふ峠哉
Hibari yori / sora ni yasurau / touge kana
Resting at a pass:
as high in the sky
as the trilling lark
During lunch time our Little Prince Glyeb (Anna’s boy) forgets to eat and enjoys playing with Uncle A. His joyful voice is charming. Presently, we stroll down to Aki Jinja, an old shrine beside a stream.
The baby car
rolling down the hill …
petals on its wheels (Tito)
The shrine precincts are graced by tall trees.
Aki Shrine
standing quietly ―
spring dignity (Harumi)
Aki Jinja is said to be one of oldest Moto (original) Ise Shrines, in all of which the goddess Amaterasu, tutelary deity of the Imperial Clan, had been enshrined. All had been founded in advance of the present Ise Shrine (in Mie-ken).
Aki Jinja:
away from the Noh stage
the ashen gate （Branko）
Then, we walk up the slope to Tenyakuji Temple, founded in the early 14th century. Unfortunately its Hondo, the main hall, was burnt down in 1999.
mist rising …
the clutter of abandoned headstones
in the temple yard (Duro)
A 300-year-old weeping cherry tree spreads its branches towards the cloudy sky. This tree, today one-third in bloom, must have witnessed so many human events – of joy as well as of grief.
She prays for peace
at a desolate temple …
old weeping cherry (Akishige)
Eventually, we arrive at Morino Medicinal Herb Garden, the oldest private herb garden in Japan. Climbing up the steep stone steps of the garden hill, we encounter fawn lilies (3) in full bloom carpeting the hillside. But the flowers had apparently not enjoyed last night’s heavy rain, so most of them were still half-closed.
Dogtooth violets;
bowing to us
with their faces down (Tomiko)
a gloomy day —
yet still some purple lilies
stay open, whispering (Anna)
Fawn lily flowers ―
a cloudy day for a nap,
how lovely! (Harumi)
They bring to mind
Utopia —
fawn lilies (Yaeno)
lilac fawn lily
unfurls into
a star (Ursula)
We meet Harao-san, a local botanist and one of the caretakers of this herb garden. He says, ”Once sunbeams strike them, the fawn lilies will open their flowers again.” He also tells us that a fawn lily will generally take seven years to bloom after planting.
the old farmer
with broken teeth
smiling at daffodils (David)
Scent of daphne …
a man of few words
suddenly sneezes (Branko)
As the old gardener talks
… yesterday’s raindrops
on white fritillary (Tito)
Morino Tousuke (Saikaku), the founder of this garden, was born to a kuzu (arrowroot)-producing family in 1690, a few years before Basho died. From 1729, he began to collect medicinal herbs around the Kansai region as an assistant to Uemura Saheiji, who was appointed as an official medicinal herb collector by the Tokugawa shogunate. Tousuke established his own herb garden and, especially after retirement from his family business, he devoted his life to studying the medicinal herbs around Ouda based at his retreat on the hillside in this herb garden. He seems particularly to have loved katakuri, the fawn lily. Today, the Morino family grows two hundred and fifty different types of medicinal herb in the garden.
his life’s work
a garden of herbs
on the mountainside （Duro）
colors of spring
lodged in my eyes …
Ouda herb garden （Akihiko）
The Morino Garden has brought us all wonder and leaves us with some deep impressions. When finally we exit, we turn and walk down the old main street. Beautiful machiya, traditional merchants’ stores and residences, stand side by side. On both sides of the street, clean water flows down rapidly in irrigation channels known as ‘maekawa’.
Stately old streetscape
in a village of pharmacies —
spring haze (Mayumi)
along the old street
a water flow braids diamonds …
murmuring echoes (Akihiko)
We take a rest at Café A b c (a bé cé), and redraft haiku over tea. The proprietress, Ayumi, had once worked at a café in Paris and met her husband, Tazaki Muramatsu, there.
Outside on the street, our Little Prince Glyeb shows us his bravery.
A little boy plays alone
with outsize bike —
his first spring abroad （Mayumi）
Dusk closes in around Ouda town. Our journey home begins.
.
Notes:
(1) Manyo – of the Manyoshu, an Imperial poetry anthology, Japan’s first, compiled in the early 8th century.
(2) source: The Manyoshu, Nippon Gakujutsu Shinkokai Translation of One Thousand Poems“ (Columbia University Press, New York, 1965)
(3) fawn lily, Erythronium japonicum, カタクリ, a small, pale magenta, lily-like flower growing wild in Japan; also called ‘dog-toothed violet’, but actually much closer to a wild tulip.
Early March found me on the Nakahechi 中辺路 section of the ancient Kumano Kodo 熊野古道 Pilgrimage trail that runs across Wakayama from west to east. One of only two religious walks that are World Heritage recognised, the Kumano Kodo has been revived as a modern day adventure for thousands of hikers from all over the world. English is the standard language of discourse, and the young pilgrims like to share.
mixed feelings —
they saw a bear
and I didn’t
The mountains were still draped in winter greys and browns, but warm skies caused spring to burst helplessly forth in showers of plum blossom and daffodil. The network of teahouses and rest stations that once supported hordes of pilgrims has largely disappeared, but their memory is preserved in fascinating detail by bilingual noticeboards that outline the rich, and often moving, history of the trail.
My first day took me over three high passes, through cloud-topping villages and along river banks. I stopped at the point where pilgrims would purify themselves in a river before commencing the final climb to the pass that opens the way to Hongu.
splashing my face
I hear the music
of Otonashi River*
Crossing the pass I entered the Gate of Enlightenment (Hosshinmon 発心門) before reaching Fushiogami 伏拝. The name indicates the spot where pilgrims would kneel in grateful prayer at first glimpse of their holy destination at the bottom of the valley. Izumi Shikibu, one of Japan’s greatest poets, came to this spot in Heian times, only to find that the arrival of her menstrual period meant she might be unable to descend to Hongu. In a dream that night a god appeared to let her know that no obstruction would prevent her journey. Kumano, unlike some other sacred sites in Japan, has always welcomed female travellers.
A few kilometres before Hongu I was blessed with a heart-stopping view of the great Shinto gate at Oyunohara 大斎原. The largest torii in the world is dramatically set amongst open fields. The small town of Hongu surrounds Kumano Hongu Taisha 熊野本宮大社, the historic destination for centuries of pilgrims. The symbol of the distinguished shrine is Yatagarasu 八咫烏, the mythical three-legged crow that played a crucial role in the birth of Japan and has been adopted as the emblem of the Japanese soccer team.
In the morning I ploughed through thick mist along the riverside path out of Hongu. The route literally rises into Great Clouds (Ogumotori-goe 大雲取越) before reaching Dogirizaka 胴切り坂 (Body-breaking Slope), a steady and punishing ascent of four kilometres. From there the path descends for miles toward the glorious sight of Nachi Falls 那智の滝, Japan’s highest waterfall.
a gift from the ocean —
this cool mountain air
and the great cascade
blown sideways
.
Note * Otonashigawa 音無川 = Silent River
(Click on the photo to enlarge)
This haiku was written for my wife Kazue in Oka, Asuka on 12th March this year. The lilac mountain is Mt. Katsuragi, climbed by 10 Hailstone poets last October on our annual autumn haike. The spot where I took this photo is the site of the stable in which Prince Umayado (厩戸皇子) was born in 574. As “Shotoku Taishi” he later helped to create the first Buddhist temples in Japan, one of which, Tachibanadera (橘寺), was founded nearby. Our home is 5 minutes walk from here.
Many people ask how we are faring, so far now from the cities of Osaka and Kyoto. The answer, I think, is held in the last word of this haiku, ‘glows’. We both feel a new joy deep inside, bolstered by making lots of new Nara friends. I strolled around the rock sites of Amanokaguyama (天香具山) with one the other day. Densely mysterious! A bush warbler sings outside our window. A stream gurgles, too. Spring rains are almost here.
Hailstone’s next event, on the 25th, is to be held in nearby Ouda (大宇陀), but later in the year we hope to invite haiku poets to visit the old capital of Asuka, too.
The rainy season came early this year to Haruna (Gunma-ken), but we did have some fair weather in May. I wrote the following poems on such days. (Nobuyuki Yuasa)
五月晴れ野から薫風窓に入る
Fair weather in May—
A scented wind, blowing in
From the fields around.
五月晴れ瀬も堰も越え鮎上る
Fair weather in May—
Fighting the rapids and weirs
Ayu leap upstream.
柿若葉揺れて反射が目に染みる
Fresh persimmon leaves
Dancing, now dazzle my eyes
With their reflections.
一夜明け五月の浅間雪もなし
One morning in May,
Overnight the snow has gone
From Mt. Asama!
夏雲を背に飛び回る燕ろめ
Swallows have returned—
They draw circles and spirals
Against summer clouds.
This year, after wintering in Andalusia, I returned to the U.K. to start creating a dry landscape Zen garden, or karesansui. Gravel would represent water; raking marks, waves; and rocks might suggest islands or mountains. Areas of white gravel emptiness, to provide serenity.
The site chosen was next to my pottery studio and anagama kiln in the middle of a field. It offers a beautiful vista into a neighboring meadow, which would soon become the shakkei, borrowed scenery forming the garden’s backdrop. I wanted to create a meandering flow of gravel with rocks, landscaped on either side with mounds of top-soil and a boundary of clumping bamboo. A crescent-shaped path of Scottish cobblestones would lead out into the field towards Japanese cherry trees. In the garden itself the planting scheme was going to be mostly evergreen – dwarf pines, miscanthus and other grasses. A stone lantern ishitoro and a stone washbasin tsukubai would provide focal points and lend Japanese atmosphere.
The sound of water — . / . how miraculous . / . in the dry gravel garden!
As the Zen garden project developed, we encountered problems in design — should there be tobi-ishi, stepping stones, going into the garden? Should there be hanashōbu, Japanese ensata irises, or momiji, acer palmatum? As it turned out, all three were omitted, in an acknowledgement that less is more.
The final piece in the creation of the garden was a conical pile of gravel, symbolic of Mount Fuji, placed where the garden merges into the English countryside.
A day of quiet gladness — . / . a cone of gravel rises . / . in the Cotswolds
Icebox 