Zen Monk and Poet Ryokan-sama: a Reposting

 

Recently I've been reading John Stevens's Zen Poetry of Ryokan. Ryokan was born 251 years ago in Echigo Province, as Niigata was then known. A couple of years ago I visited his birthplace, Izumozaki, as well as the nearby hermitage Gogo-an, where he spent the latter part of his life. The late novelist Yasunari Kawabata as well as the renowned author of books on Zen Buddhism, Daisetz Suzuki, have said that one who wishes to understand the Japanese psyche can do no better than read Ryokan-sama. The following poem is one of my many favorites:

My hut lies in the middle of a dense forest;

Every year the green ivy grows longer.

No news of the affairs of men,

Only the occasional song of a woodcutter.

The sun shines and I mend my robe;

When the moon comes out I read Buddhist poems.

I've nothing to report, my friends.

If you want to find the meaning, stop chasing after

so many things.

THURSDAY, JULY 09, 2009

Zen Master Ryokan- The "Great Fool"

Taigu Ryokan (1758-1831) is one of Japan's best-loved mendicant Zen monks and poet-calligraphers. The topmost photo shows a memorial erected at his birthplace in Izumozaki, Niigata.

Most of his life was spent far from the madding crowd in Echigo Province, as Niigata Prefecture was known in his day, an area of fertile rice fields and rich fisheries some 350km from the capital, Edo, as Tokyo was then called.

According to Minakami Tsutomu, writing in 1984, "Wordly people call him different things: fool, wise man, idiot, man of the Way. He never flatters the rich and important, nor disdains the poor and humble. He isn't happy when he gets things or sad when he loses them. He just goes along, natural, relaxed, a man who has transcended the dust of the world." Maxims to live by, I think.

The daily Niigata Nippo newspaper publishes on its front page a poem by Ryokan every day. There are "In the Footsteps of Ryokan" tours offered by towns and villages through which he was wont to pass, begging for alms. The hut in which he spent the latter part of his life is preserved and annually receives thousands of visitors from all over Japan.

That the Japanese lavish so much attention on poets and writers is one of the things I love about the country.

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Nakasendo: An Old Post Road

 The most heavily travelled and important of Japan's post roads was the Tokaido, which connected Edo (modern Tokyo), the capital of the Tokugawa shogunate, and Kyoto, the old imperial seat. The 53 stations along the way were made famous in a series of ukiyoe woodblock prints by Hiroshige. The nakasendo , as its name suggests (naka is inner, sen mountain), was an inland route (unlike the Tokaido, which followed Japan's Pacific coastline before heading away from the coast to Kyoto.) The way was longer, mountainous, and boasted 69 posts, starting at Nihonbashi and winding its way through present-day Saitama, Gunma, Nagano, Gifu, and Shiga before arriving in Kyoto. One section of the road remains much as it was during the Edo era (1603-1868) and is the subject of the following video link.

Greed and Ginger: A Folktale from Iwate

 Long ago in some forgotten corner of Iwate there was an inn, and the keeper of this hostel was a most covetous man indeed, so much so that anything left behind by guests became the man's personal property. One day a traveler arrived at, goggle-eyed, well-dressed, with a striped bundle on his back. 

"I'd like a room for the night," the man said.

"Welcome, please come in, you can have your pick of the rooms" said the innkeeper and, grinning ear to ear, showed the visitor to his room. 

"He certainly looks prosperous. I wonder what's in that bundle of his?  Aha, I have an idea. They say that myoga  induces forgetfulness, so I'll just serve him up a dish of Japanese ginger for dinner," thought the innkeeper.   

So he summoned the maidservant and explained that the guest had ordered ginger for dinner- and lots of it. 

The guest tucked in to a dish piled high with the herb, exclaiming, "My, this is delicious". Before long the plate was clean.

Our innkeeper gleefully pictured to himself the mysterious bundle of the guest and the riches it must hold, which would undoubtedly be his come morning the next day.

On preparing to depart the next morning, the guest thanked the serving girl for the delicious dinner and set out on his way.

No sooner had he left than the innkeeper rushed into the man's room, fully expecting to find the forgotten bundle lying in plain view on the tatami matting. To his great surprise, however, it was nowhere to be seen. He turned over all the floor cushions and bedding and emptied the closets, all to no avail. Despite having eaten a heaping plate of ginger for dinner, the departed guest had forgotten nothing.

Perplexed and disappointed, the innkeeper remained lost in thought until he had a revelation: the guest had indeed forgotten something- to pay his bill.

The man rushed out and pursued the guest in the direction he had left, stopping passersby to ask if they'd seen a goggle-eyed man with a large bundle wrapped in a striped cloth.  But the villagers knew the innkeeper well, and his inquiries were met with howls of laughter. 

Japanese ginger and furoshiki wrapping cloth