Margaret Chula, Just
This.
Mountains & Rivers Press: Eugene, OR, 2013.
1.
"The
dexterity of the brush, the style of composition, the
fold, texture, and pattern
of paper
significantly marked the courtier's position in relation
to others. Diaries and tales turned around poems; lovers
navigated
through
trysts and alliances and poems; poems punctuated the
rites and ceremonies that negotiated the cosmological dimension
of court
bureaucracies;
and poems flowed with major and minor exchanges of wealth."1
One can only fantasize
what a modern society in which "poetics permeated all aspects
of life," including its political and economic life, would
be like. Language would not be jockeyed around, but carefully tended.
Thoughtful
writing and speech, instead of 24-hour electronic blather, would
be honored. Perhaps even romantic love would flourish again. This
was actually the case during Japan's
Heian
Period (794 to 1185), at
least in the lives of the Heian Court's privileged class.
Looking closer. The
female role in the Heian Court was complicated by what Thomas Lararre
refers
to as the "sexed gait," in which the noble woman
of Heian Japan were hobbled "with layers or robes and dresses
that "lower(ed) the center of gravity and raise(ed) the center
of motion to such an extent that movement produces a wobbling,
toppling, swaying, or swooning effect."(1)
Lamarre
compares this movement to "the dynamics of early Heian waka," the
popular "song
poems."
Critiquing
the famous Heian poet,
Ono no
Komachi, poet and anthologist Ki no Tsurayuki's (872-945)
associated
"the
Komachi
style
with female weakness, like that of a noble woman who writhes
in bed, devastated with illness and suffering. The poetic line
turns
and pivots too much for Tsyrayuki: it fairly writhes and collapses." "Indeed," Lamarre
continues, "that is often said
to be the hallmark of her poetry: a
multiplication
of
pivotwords
to
the
point
of vertigo
and collapse."1
Lamarre's
point is how restricted movement of the body shapes
one's writing. He primarily has in mind how the hand
brushes out characters. But it also includes
the sense-shape of the poem itself; the poetic form being waka,
the thirty-one syllable poem that, although it's had ups and
downs
in popularity, has survived for twelve centuries.
2.
Around the turn of
the 20th Century, Western experimental literary forms began to
arrive in Japan, brought back, in part, by Japanese writers who
had lived for a time in Paris. As the Japanese have always been
expert at innovating the ideas, and technologies, of other cultures,
a group of young "socialistic" poets took up the challenge
of transforming the staid waka form into a more modern idiom, renamed
tanka, or "short form." Around this same time, Masaoka
Shiki (1867-1902) was transforming the seventeen syllable hokku
format into modern haiku. Among these poets was the gifted Ishikawa
Takuboku, (1886-1912) whose died prematurely from tuberculosis.
Takuboku famously defined tanka as "poems made with both feet
upon the ground.
It means poems
written without putting any distance from actual life. They are
not delicacies, or dainty dishes, but food indispensable for
us in our daily meal. To define poetry in this way may be to
pull it down from its established position, but to me it means
to make poetry, which has added nothing or detracted nothing
from actual life, into something which cannot be dispensed with."2
Although both waka
and tanka are somewhat interchangeable, tanka is usually used
to define poems written after the turn-of-the-century reforms.
They usually (although not always) begin from an objective viewpoint,
the poet placing herself in the world, and then turn thoughtfully,
or imaginatively, inward. Traditionally, the first three lines
are called kami-no-ku, or, "upper phrase," and
the last two, shimo-no-ku, or "lower phrase." The middle
line may act as a hinge, or pivot, indicated with a dash or a space.
Punctuation is kept to a minimum; or, as in the case of Chula's
tanka, there's none at all. Like with haiku, the original Japanese
was scribed in a single line.
3.
In 1990, Jane
Hirshfield and Mariko Aratani translated a collection
of love poems by Ono
no Komachi and Izumi Shikibu. (2) In
their introduction they state how Chinese was the official court
language, with written
Japanese, "using Chinese characters phonetically to transcribe
spoken Japanese," began being accepted at the end of the 8th
Century. Unburdened as male writers were from the "need to
satisfy the requirements of foreign poetic structures and sensibilities,
women could devote
themselves to developing their literary potential to the
highest degrees in the poems, diaries, and 'tales' in which they
recorded
both public and the most private and deeply felt aspects
of their lives."3
Their emphasis is
on women "striving to bring (the arts) to everyday communication,"
was limited to whom we now call "the 1%," as the general
populace was either
illiterate or too busy trying to survive to participate in the
arts that were
being made at court. They explain that,
for high-ranking members of the Heian court, "love affairs
were an accepted part of courtship for unmarried women, and polygamy
was the usual arrangement for men. Thus, erotic love and its consequences
were perennial conversational and literary topics. Within this
atmosphere, Ono no Komachi "became the subject of legend almost from the
time of
her death," and some of her waka, which remind me of Sappho's
fragments, are among the best erotic poems to come down to us from
antiquity. Such as:
Lying
alone,
my black hair tangled,
uncombed,
I long for the one
who touched it first.
Izumi Shikiku, married
for a time to a provincial official, the mother of a daughter who
herself would become a poet, was involved in numerous
passionate
affairs with court officials. Under
the
protection of the father of Empress Akiko, she moved within the
company of some of the most famous Japanese woman writers, such
as Murasaki Shikibu (Lady Murasaki), author of The Tale of
Genji,
and Sei Shōnagon,
author of The Pillow Book. An example of Shikibu's waka
is:
What is it
about this twilight hour?
Even the sound
of a barely perceptible breeze
pierces the heart.
Both Shikibu's and
Komachi's waka, translated by Hirshfield and Aratani, introduce
sections of Just This, Margaret Chula's recent
collection of tanka.
4.
In
1977, Margaret Chula and her husband began a three-year trek through
Europe, Bali,
Borneo, Nepal and Southeast Asia,
finally arriving
in Kyoto,
where she taught English for the next twelve years. While
her husband became a student of the martial arts, Margaret studied
ikebana (flower arrangement), practiced meditation with
a Soto Zen
priest, and spent "many hours at Ryoan-ji and other
temples sitting and writing haiku, affirming the Japanese
saying zenshi ichimi,
zen and poetry are one." 4
When the couple returned
to the U.S. they made their home in Portland, OR, where, in 1992,
Chula published her first
collection of haiku,
Grinding My
Ink, which won that that year's Haiku Society of America
Merit Book Award. Here's the title poem:
grinding my ink
a black cat
howls in childbirth
In the sudden leap,
the way an ominous color permeates the poem, and in
her move from material act to emotive moment, one can begin to
see Chula's emerging gift.
For Just
This, her seventh book, Chula chose the five-line
tanka. Dedicated to her mother, who died the year before the
book was
published.
the first poem, which is one the most beautifully wrought and
poignant of the book, I assume was written with
her mother in mind—
late summer
in the garden
just before dusk
touching leaves and flowers
as I never touched you
So she begins with an
ending. As the book's epigram says, "it
is the beginnings and endings that are interesting and what seems
simple on the surface is actually
a picture of the complex relationships." (5) This
is followed by a beautifully said mundane poem—
again distracted
while making breakfast
my husband's angry face
as he spreads marmalade
on burnt toast
Especially in the haiku or tanka
form, the best poems may at first read seem simple. If we
a closer look, we
may
see how
a master
of the medium, such as Chula, works. Here, the poem leaps
out on the third line, hinging on a kabuki
mask of anger. Then the tension is release with humor, as,
at time such as this, a good marriage demands some stoic sacrifice.
In fact, there is a tradition of "comic waka" (kyōka).
As mentioned above, waka/tanka
stems from erotic poems, which can be associated with a metaphoric
earthiness. Here, Chula combines both—
a spring day spent
turning the garden soil
to my heart's content
tonight I will caress you
with these earth-bound hands
Although she's
traveled, and continues to travel widely, and so has experienced,
and studied,many cultures, Margaret Chula's heart is centered
in the arts, literature and spirituality of Japan.
Like with other American poets who are drawn to East
Asian cultures, in particular those who live near the Pacific
Northwest Coast, this could
be cultural
proximity. Or, if one believes in past lives, karma, or moria,
the attraction would
understandable. I prefer mysterious causation. In any case,
when such an art as tanka is practiced by someone with the
alert intelligence of this poet, the effect is an aesthetic
beauty
and refined
sensibility that permeate this book.
those half-empty jars
of her cosmetics
why did I keep them?
rubbing in face cream
I feel my mother's bones
References:
1- Lamarre, T. (2000) Uncovering
Heian Japan: An Archaeology of Sensation and inscription. Durham.
2- Ishikawa, T. (1985) Romaji Diary and Sad Toys. Boston.
3- Hershfield, J and Aratani, M, (1988) Eds., The Ink Dark Moon. New
York.
4- Chula, Margaret, "Personal Essay."
5: Yoshida, Kenko (1283-1352).