I listen to
the sound of the waterfall -
leaves everywhere
Yosa Buson [1716 - 1783]
23 April 2007
the sound of the waterfall -
leaves everywhere
Yosa Buson [1716 - 1783]
23 April 2007
The month of April
offers lots of beauty and abundance, at
least over here.
The images of large horizontal mirrors in
the landscape; more and more appear, the rice-fields which are inundated. A
person's sharp eye might observe some subtle greenish here and there. Some
farmers are early and -mechanical- put thousands of filmy, green blades of
rice-plants out in the mud. I see more and more small, narrow open pick-ups,
loaded with boxes full of apple-green, spiky rice-babies on all kinds of roads,
driven to their destinies. Though not being a machine-fanatic, each time I
admire the burdened planting-machines again, which put out numbers of blades at
the same distance in one time until a whole field has been worked up neatly,
indefatigable, quiet and self-assured.
The air, pregnant of energy, the
reflection of the mirrors, the nascent green, I suck it word-less; fall short of
eyes.
In the beginning of the month everywhere the sakura, the cherry blossom, showed up, in parks, along roads and on mountain-slopes., an excess of opulent, soft colored blossoms still before leaves will appear at these trees.
Sakura is a matter of national interest. Around three weeks on beforehand the Japanese meteorological office executes a planning when, where the blossoms will start blooming, from south to north and from east to west. That will be indicated by means of clear maps, presented on television. During and also after news-broadcasts accounts are given about tree 'x' at location 'y', how far that one is, etc. Blossoms in close-up take high-priced national television-minutes. Utterly serious a 'live' report covers the inspection of a Tokyo-tree, chosen as the national criterion, by a representative of the meteorological office, surrounded by hordes of reporters with cameras. That is to say, when this tree has put forth 6 buds, the sakura season will be officially declared started.
This year the nation experienced s shock, not yet an earthquake but not less either: a Japanese municipality discovered, that the meteorological office was completely wrong with its yearly sakura-prediction. First there was a calm, next discovered and confessed the office, that their computer-program contained errors and consequently misinterpreted the schedule with a margin of three [ ! ] weeks, with other words predicted the blossoming wrongful three weeks earlier Wrong data had been entered. Deep bows and offering deepest, heart-felt apologies at a large national press conference: photo-cameras clicked and flashed instantly, television cameras recorded anything once more from all kind of angles. National consternation and dismay, all arranged appointments and planning had to be changed at full speed. More than political debates and -decisions this occurrence moved anybody from high to low.
Now there is an accurate planning on display for the whole country: exactly where and when the buds transform themselves into blossoms. People make appointments for picknicks with colleagues, friends or family under the cherry trees, but have to organize persons who will occupy a certain spot by spreading French-blue plastic sheets and thus reserve their locations. Physical appearance is necessary and has to be relieved in order to discourage sharpers.
Oceans of alcohol are swallowed.
The lightness of existence won't be expressed more concise than by the short-lived, divinely beautiful sakura blossom.
Sakura is Japan, one writes.
Then thuthuji, azalea's, with dazzling bouquets on mountain-slopes, in parks, along roads and in gardens again, take the relay-stick over from the sakura everywhere. They dance a stilly can-can, are less philosophical, but God only knows how beautiful they are !
What
next -midst of April- becomes also visible are large
fishes, swimming in the air; textile carp-forms of Japanese koi among
others at high posts at the mercy of the weather of the moment. Those
who live at close quarters have miniatures; people who live in the
country-side have koinobori
up to 5 meter in every thinkable color and design. Wind makes them
'swim-against-the-current'. Communities sometimes stretch a cable
across a wide river with many tens of koinobori on a row: springtime in
sight, new life, optimism, beauty as a special offer and poetry kissed.
In Ino tens of paper [ ! ] koinobori
are fixed on the bottom of the river every year. The constant stream
fulfills the same task as the wind. The paper is the famous washi from
the region and attracts many thousands of Japanese admirers for days,
who jostle each other on the mecano-like bridge. The reason to have the
koinobori swim is the wish for the well-being of young boys. May
fifth is official children-day.
Koinobori are many levels more touching than flags: everywhere present references towards vitality, superabundance , power, nature and splendor.
Koinobori are many levels more touching than flags: everywhere present references towards vitality, superabundance , power, nature and splendor.
Some years before, Fumika brought me to the nearby doronko matsuri, a mud festival that takes 3 days from April 7th on.
Most of the matsuri take place later in the year and are connected with harvesting.
Where should I begin ??
My start was amidst a large group of happy and cheerful nihongin, Japanese people of all ages, who had gathered near a shrine; the sun shone already exuberantly.
In general girls are somewhat restrained and shy towards unknown persons, but today this seemed different. They walked around with small baskets and did not only seem different, but also behaved contrary compared with what I was used to from them. S M A CK ! ! With a small jump I got a strip of fresh mud smeared on my face. The pleasure was fully on the girl's side; what shining ! ! I proved not to be the only one .Dignitaries in tidy costumes and charismatic looking males were by any means favorites. The enjoyment of the girls splashed around.
S M A C K ! !: I got my second mud smear on my mug, followed straight away by a third one performed by a girl who yet until then saw which way the cat jumps. I started enjoying it, looking more defiant. The mud dried quick and crusty and I became proud on my decorations, felt somewhat elected also and decided to show them at our later visitor, at home, a female friend of Fumika. Masako is dotingly fond of France and I greeted -very un-Japanese- with an exuberant "bonjour Madame; ça va?" and 2 kisses on her cheek. She countered me theatrically an her visit started in a good mood
Most of the matsuri take place later in the year and are connected with harvesting.
Where should I begin ??
My start was amidst a large group of happy and cheerful nihongin, Japanese people of all ages, who had gathered near a shrine; the sun shone already exuberantly.
In general girls are somewhat restrained and shy towards unknown persons, but today this seemed different. They walked around with small baskets and did not only seem different, but also behaved contrary compared with what I was used to from them. S M A CK ! ! With a small jump I got a strip of fresh mud smeared on my face. The pleasure was fully on the girl's side; what shining ! ! I proved not to be the only one .Dignitaries in tidy costumes and charismatic looking males were by any means favorites. The enjoyment of the girls splashed around.
S M A C K ! !: I got my second mud smear on my mug, followed straight away by a third one performed by a girl who yet until then saw which way the cat jumps. I started enjoying it, looking more defiant. The mud dried quick and crusty and I became proud on my decorations, felt somewhat elected also and decided to show them at our later visitor, at home, a female friend of Fumika. Masako is dotingly fond of France and I greeted -very un-Japanese- with an exuberant "bonjour Madame; ça va?" and 2 kisses on her cheek. She countered me theatrically an her visit started in a good mood
?? Where to begin.
Some non-academic space for history is useful to give the mud-narrative further perspective.
The lord of Tosa-castle, Tosa being the original name for [now] Kochi, Tonosama, some 400 years ago, took a drive in the country-side. He visited the shrine with his train. It was during the time of planting rice, that is to say by hand and by women. They continued working and Tonosama walked close along a bending girl planting virgin rice-plants. Anyhow, she unintended dropped a small sheaf of rice-plants, mud splashed upwards and landed on the exquisite clothes of the castle-Lord.
Deathlike hush.
The entire farmer community bowed deep in expectation of what was logical: a resolute punishment through decapitation.
The silence lasted an eternity.
As well as correct analyzing about why exactly the girl dropped her sheaf of rice-plant-babies on that wrong moment cannot possibly be done, a dropping which never occurred to her before, so much so it is inexplicable that Tonosama deviated the routine, accepted the apologies of the farmer-community and heartened them to increase their rice-planting-efforts.
The translation of this occurrence I already sketched: >>women soils male<<. That has to be done.
Three days long, females visit hospitals and senior-care-houses nowadays, sweetly soil the sick and wrinkled chins, foreheads and cheeks. Through this magic art they conjure a smile on the respective faces; the soiling with mud becomes a sign of hope and affection.
Mud can make unexpected jumps.