Lament of the Right

didn’t do…….not concerned…….not…….fault.......

don’t blame…….

not like…….just leave alone…….why.......

settled long ago…….

wrong…….equality…….who deserve it…….past gone…….

forget it…….

are right…….newspapers right…….

trying to take over…….

kick out…….worked for all this…….give up nothing…….

a conspiracy…….

all this talk........never change…….tell you again…….

ruin us…….change is if…….what do they know……..

wrote lies…….spoke untruths…….

correct version…….no proof…….let be…….

pure and simple…….

cannot understand………foundation solid…….roots go deep…….

are right……..are right…….right.......right…….right…….

Pic 9: 南千住 - Minami-Senju, Tokyo

Not Worried/Worried

I’m not worried about

the clothes you wear, the style of your hair, if you’re beyond repair

the contents of your pockets or bag, whether you ride a bicycle, or a jag

if you wipe your nose with a dirty rag

It doesn’t worry me if

you are fat, thin, overweight, with a double chin

like feeding the pigeons, are the subject of derision

lack precision, hate to make decisions

It doesn’t matter whether you

can tell a wasp from a bee, are classified as gender one of three

want to be reincarnated as a tree, are septuagenarian, barbarian

vegetarian, love dorian

I don’t care about

your makeup, what time you wake up, how you cure hiccups

how many times you tripped up, slipped up

if you know the meaning of palimpsest, or consider existence to be

your last test

BUT I MUST ADMIT I SOMETIMES WORRY ABOUT WHAT YOU ARE THINKING

Pic 8: 後楽園 - Korakuen, Tokyo

The Kizunas (part 2)

       The first telling signs came at a show in a small town in the north of the country. It was an outdoor event to celebrate Family and Neighbour Day, a new holiday added to the calendar of public holidays by ACHE, the Agency for Comfortable Human Existence. On the bill with The Kizunas were dancers, singers, a family of monocyclists, a manzai duo, and a monkey act. Owing to the rarity of such an event in the town, the seats in front of the temporary stage were full, and the grassy area beyond was also packed with families and groups of young people. It was the usual scene: mothers feeding their infants; fathers cuddling Chihuahuas and toy poodles; young adults staring into smartphones in between sips of plastic-bottled green tea. The first couple of acts were welcomed and sent off with enthusiastic applause, expressing more the excitement of attendance at such a show rather than appreciation for the acts themselves.

       Then it was the turn of The Kizunas. Mrs. K. dressed in a midnight-blue taffeta dress with sequins on the three-quarter sleeves; Mr. K. traditional, yet dapper, in his black suit and purple silk tie. Redolent of Showa style, some might have said, but perfect for the time and place. They eased confidently into the first few bars of Kinship, and as they continued with, no matter what, no matter where…….., they became aware that most of the audience were singing with them. The chopsticks were held motionless, hands that had been stroking the heads of dogs became still, end even the listless youngsters lifted their heads from their phones, even if for a moment or two. And this was repeated for the next three songs that completed the Kizunas’ repertoire for the day. The applause was loud and long, babies were held more tightly in their mothers’ grips, and tears filled the eyes of many of those present, including the organizing staff hovering around the vicinity of the stage. It was as if the Kizunas had worked some extra magic that day, something that reached deeper than before, something that the public longed for: a palpable togetherness with their fellow human beings.

       Soon after, The Kizunas became a regular fixture on TV; hardly a night passed without the Kizunas appearing on at least one of the main channels. The apotheosis came when they were invited to appear on the Pink and Purple Song Battle, the grand dame of music programmes aired nationally and internationally at the end of the year. Viewer rating reached a record 39.6 percent for the show, peaking just at the time when the Kizunas were being introduced as the next act. The Kizunas had become national icons, the epitome of the unifying spirit the country needed and longed for.

Pic 7: 梅島 - Umejima, Tokyo

Haiku pieces

On the mountain path

who is startled more

me or the pheasant?

Which way to clean the floor

in front of me? 

behind me?

                                                                A clothes peg is enough

                                                                to hold up

                                                                the sagging curtain

Pic 6: 五反田 - Gotanda, tokyo

Sakura

       It’s that time of year again. For those of you who don’t know much about us, and there can’t be many, our clan includes the Somei Yoshino, Shidarezakura, Yaezakura, and literally hundreds of other varieties. The most popular of us are open for business as soon as it begins to get warmer, and we race across the land in wide swaths of our familiar pink and white hues. We decorate the fields and hills, the valleys and plains; we brighten up the riverbanks and dark canals; and even the concrete-crowded urban areas are forgiven their existence momentarily when the passer-by’s attention is arrested by the resplendent blooms of a solitary tree against a background of a blue building-site canopy. Yes, we are at your service everywhere, ladies and gentlemen.

       We have been written about, photographed, illustrated, drawn, animated, printed, used as decoration on clothes and cutlery, and have given our name to banks and movie characters. Our flowers have also been a perennial tattoo motif on those brave enough to go under the needle. We have supplied the main themes for hundreds of songs, even up to the present day, and have been immortalized in the entire corpus of classical poetry, from kanshi to waka, and renga to haiku. The poet-monk Saigyo wrote that he wanted to die in spring, underneath the cherry blossoms, and he did. We also feature prominently in the poems of Fujiwara no Teika and Ono no Komachi.   

       Some say that all this has made us too big for our roots. Maybe, but please remember how hardy and tolerant we are: We have to endure the rain, sleet, and snow which seem to follow us around as we creep northwards, and we raise no objections to the occasional dog spraying our lower trunks. Our barks are mightier than theirs! We stand silently and majestically when the drunken karaoke lout climbs up to enter into communion with our flowers, and we calmly tolerate the artificial lighting that glares into our bosoms for the edification of those who believe they have no time to meet with us in more natural circumstances.

       And then after the two-week extravaganza comes the grand finale. As our petals flutter to the ground inducing thoughts of transience and mono no aware, and you feel both sadness and joy when you see small piles of fallen blossoms, or return home to find a perfectly formed petal stuck to your shoe, it’s not quite over yet. Before you start your frenzied checks of peak-viewing forecasts for the soon-to-come azaleas and wisteria, spare a few moments to view the gorgeous green hues of our new leaves. They are also worthy of your attention.

Pic 5: 墨田区 - Sumida-ku, Tokyo