The White Magnolia Tree

Towards the end of March
When the white magnolia flowers
Open upon black barks
Like unblemished bridal dresses
Expectant, quivering, immaculate,
Feeling the primordial emotion of clouds
Like any other cherry tree,
They little know the world they inherit.

As you stand under the white lanterns
And sway with their enceinte desire
You are compelled to believe
In the purity of good intentions,
The joys of elemental fecundity,
Not in the least suspecting
The jealousy of the pink cherry tree,
Or the besotted mood of spring rain.

Black Grapes

In a canopy of tangled vines
They hang bunch after bunch,
Ripening in the August sun.

Thick, warm and succulent
They reveal the limitless sky,
In a Keatsian sensuousness.

Twinkling, innocent, inebriated
Enter the celestial paradise,
Smear your lips with their taste.

August 2007, Takiyama

Stone Steps

When you make a staircase,
Sketch its geography, and
Then embed it in nature,
It can last for centuries.

It needs no care,
It needs no cleaning,
It needs no repair and
It needs no adornment.

The wind cleans its surface,
The brook slakes its thirst,
The silver grass adorns it,
The cedar protects it.

Sit under the shadow of the tree,
Stretch your vision in a yearning
Beyond the cavernous hollow
And collapse within yourself.

Let your eyes brush past
The shadow under each step,
And watch the grasses sway
And the water glimmer.

Soon you can apprehend
The symbolic significance
Of a journey and the need
To hide in the universe.

August 10, Takao

Japanese Hedge Bindweed

Just for a brief moment
You can imagine
The delicate innocence
Of primordial creation.

Just for a brief moment
You stand witness to
The past emerging
In the present.

Just for a brief moment
You see enigmatic creation
Emerging as eternity
In innocent transience.


July 2007, Tokyo

Takiyama Kaido

The rain shimmers, slants, swirls,
In the brightly-lit Takiyama kaido, while
Cars speed past in rain-smoking wheels
Towards some planned sojourn.

In the semi-darkness of the sidewalks,
Made darker by sakura tree branches,
Young girls in umbrellas speed-past on bicycles
Laughing and chatting loudly.

The michi-no-eki frogs,
Carousing in paddy fields,
Sing unequivocally in a chorus
Of the rural past of Hachioji.

As you walk past shuttered windows
You see two different worlds:
The one fast asleep by late evening,
The other reluctant to go home early.

June 2007, Hachioji

Tokyo Central

In the midst of Edo and Dutch
Red bricks and black granite architectonics,
Tourists, homeless, old, and drunk,
Sit here and there on grass patches,
Impassively munching snacks for dinner.

Two male cobblers
Are vigorously polishing boots
In the company of drunks
Their hands matching the
Speed of the motley traffic.

People are rushing to and fro
Going in different directions,
Some waiting at traffic lights,
Others engrossed, looking inward,
Matching speed with speed.

There a tourist sits with a homeless,
Here an old man with a drunk and,
Perhaps they wonder at the heart’s squalor,
The mean hurry of daily life,
The real value of diligence and enterprise.

June 2007, Tokyo

Himeji Castle

It glides like a white bird
On a mountaintop,
Gently swaying in the wind,
Touching the clouds,
Immaculate,
Waiting to be invincible,
Watching secretly
The comings and goings
Not only of the enemy but
Of powerful clans and,
Loving families.

Beating its
White flawless wings
In the stillness of the sky
It climbs higher
On the bamboo-scented breeze
Remembering the sliding shoji,
The delicate hand of princess Sen,
The box tree comb,
The whizzing of arrows,
The closing of huge doors,
Moving, yet not moving.

June 2006, Tokyo

Hachioji Matsuri

In Japan, the oppressive heat of the summer makes day-to-day existence unbearable. The Japanese have found an excellent method to alleviate the misery of hot and muggy afternoons by relaxing with chilled beer, wearing comfortable cotton dresses, dancing to the beat of heavy drums, eating at outdoor stalls, and mingling with friends and strangers alike. Hachioji, a semi-rural, sleepy suburb of Tokyo, springs to life on such a summer Matsuri. Here is a poem that captures the atmosphere and the spirit of a Hachioji Matsuri.

In the middle of the summer heat
Thousands of yukata-clad women
Dance to the slow beat of Hachioji song
Along the koshu kaido,
While children eat
Steamed potato with butter,
Finding the new-found freedom
All too exciting.

August 2006, Hachioji

The Nakasendo Highway

It climbs up into the sky
Curving at the point
Of the distant horizon
Where ideas meet emotion
Then vanishes like a wild animal
Between wooden houses in the
Overnight heavy snow
In the morning it can only be
Recognized by occasional pugmarks
Of a pack of raccoon dogs,
Small clog footprints or
A lonely raven’s
Caw caw for food.

When the cedar forests
Are swollen with snow
And their swooning pollen
Is caught
In the tight grip of winter,
When the buds of the
Peach, plum and cherry
Hide in their protective barks
A dwarfish figure approaches
The barn, somewhat bent,
To clear the snow
Over the ishidatami (*1)
For no particular reason

The snow
On the hime no kaido (*2),
Remembers
Apart from other
Nubile girls
Princess Kazunomiya
Who also took this road
On her way to Edo
To marry a shogun,
Even when engaged
To another man,
Just to give more power
To the empire.

As her large retinue
Wound slowly
Through small towns
Making friends with people
And rested
At Lake Biwa,
She looked back
Towards Kyoto
With wistful regret
And had an inkling
Of things to come;
A married woman
Becoming a nun.

Hirosuge’s floating world
Of 69 stations have
Now given way
To modernized expressways,
Streaking shinkansens,
And the distractions
Of the civilized world;
The beautiful post towns,
The secluded sukego villages,
Houses along the highway,
The old world of Nihonbashi ,
The bookshops of Kanda,
Lie in ruin or are nearly gone.

But the seasons remain and
The mountains of Sekigahara,
The Ise shrine of Amaterasu,
The snow of the Japanese Alps,
Come to life again in seasons
Of falling snow,
Of floating cherry blossoms,
Of cicadas chirping from trees,
And if your strain your ears
You can still hear the princess,
Daimyo and his horses,
The entire nation breathing
As it traverses the Nakasendo

(*1) Stone tatami
(*2) The road of the princesses