Archive for April, 1996

Apr 21 1996

Yoshida Kenkou and the Tsurezuregusa

Published by michael under Uncategorized

Yoshida Kaneyoshi

was born sometime around the year 1283 into a family of hereditary

Shinto diviners. His considerable facility with poetry led to

an early position in the Kamakura court, where he served as a

steward to Horikawa Tomomori. Later, around 1313 and for reasons

unknown, he opted for the life of a Buddhist monk and changed

his name to the more religious-sounding Kenkou. An active poet,

he belonged to the traditional and conservative Nijou school

of poetry, and was later praised as one of the “four

deva kings” of the Nijou

school. It is not, however, his poetry for which he is best well

known, but rather a collection of essays known as the Tsurezuregusa,

or Essays in Idleness.

Tsurezuregusa

is a collection of zuihitsu, or “random

jottings,” and is considered

along with Sei Shonagon’s

Pillow Book to be one of the earliest examples of this

uniquely Japanese literary genre. The essays themselves, numbering

243 in all, vary considerably in length from a single sentence

in some cases to a handful of pages in others. They cover a broad

range of topics, and include anecdotes, observations, and reflections

on nature, humankind, and the path to enlightenment. His comments

on etiquette and style have especially endured, and he is credited

today with defining or elucidating much of what is considered

“Japanese.”

Most importantly, the work not only provides the reader with

a glimpse of life in medieval Japan, but also into the mind of

the author himself.

The work reveals a sensitive and

refined man who, though bound on the one hand by his status as

a Buddhist monk to lead the solitary life of a recluse, finds

it difficult to truly separate himself from the court and his

contemporaries, for which his interest is keen. Instead of leaving

the capital and all of its worldly trappings behind to live high

in some mountain retreat, he chose instead to reside on the fringes

of Heian-kyou, where much of society and his previous existence

was readily accessible to him. Kenkou delights in relating amusing

stories about court figures and their antics. In many cases,

though, perhaps to imply that there was in fact some distance

between himself and the actual participants or events he details,

he qualifies the anecdotes with a trailing “I

am told” or “…it

is said”. It is clear,

however, that he was in fact very active in some court circles,

especially those related to poetry, and that much of the information

he imparts could have been obtained first hand.

Similarly, he demonstrates an interest

in the endurance of court protocol and custom, and numerous essays

are offered almost as reminders of how something or other had

been traditionally done, and therefore should be done.

These pieces are sometimes accompanied by laments that the people

of his day no longer remembered the proper method or precedent

when dealing with particular situations. He wrote:

Nobody is left who knows the proper

manner of hanging a quiver before the house of a man in disgrace

with His Majesty. Formerly, it was the custom to hang a quiver

at the Tenjin Shrine on Gojou when the emperor was ill or when

a general epidemic was rampant.

Kenkou existed in a world of great

political flux, and the nostalgia that he feels for earlier, perhaps

more stable times often through. He seems particularly vexed

by the evolution of conventional speech away from forms he considered

traditionally appropriate. This was especially true in cases

where ritual speech had been corrupted into truncated, less formal

forms. An active poet since his youth and a member of the conservative

Nijou school, it should come as no surprise that innovation

and novelty held little appeal for him.

His knowledge of court customs was

thorough, and numerous essays are simply informative commentaries

on specific court practices of the time. Examples of this type

include detailed descriptions of the orientation of bed and pillow

in the emperor’s bedchamber,

the manner in which cords should be attached to loops on boxes,

and the means by which a person should be restrained prior to

being flogged. One has to wonder what purpose these were intended

to serve, if other than only to illustrate these practices for

the benefit of subsequent generations. If nothing else, they

represent Kenkou’s fascination

with such matters and perhaps reflect his belief that the world

was in a state of decay (mappou). As this degeneration

seemed to him to be characterized by the neglect of ritual and

tradition, it is possible to conclude that his transcription of

the customs of his time and those of previous generations had

an archival objective.

Kenkou’s

preoccupation with the court and worldly pursuits is quite at

odds with his status as a monk and recluse, and he seems unwilling

to fully embrace the ascetic lifestyle as, for example, Kamo

no Choumei did decades earlier when he became a priest. One

wonders why he took the tonsure in the first place if the hermitage

was not a way of life he personally favored. Even in his essays

about other monks he speaks of them more as an outsider than a

kinsman, and only a handful of his essays can be described as

expressing singularly Buddhist principles. The answer may be

found in some of the pieces, though, where he indicates that the

transition from public life to one of solitary contemplation of

The Way is incumbent upon men in their twilight years, and that

it is unseemly for the aged to mingle with the young, or priests

with society. Kenkou’s daily

rounds, conversely, brought him often into contact with other

people and the noteworthy events of their lives. This kind of

contradiction is not at all uncommon in the work, and some scholars

contend that the format itself, short essays written over an indeterminate

period of time, lends itself to such inconsistency. I am inclined

to agree with that assumption simply because doing otherwise requires

one to ignore the fact that our opinions evolve with time and

are wholly relative to the situation at hand. Still, reading

in the same hour two passages that begin “Nobody

begrudges wasting a little time”

and “A man who wastes

his time doing useless things is either a fool or a knave”

may give one pause for thought about the capriciousness of his

ideology.

In addition to his observations

of the court and customs, much of Kenkou’s

work could be said to serve as a guide to gentlemanly behavior.

The collection is punctuated with essays that describe in varying

degrees of detail how a man was expected to act under certain

circumstances or in general, and many attempt to define in no

uncertain terms the kinds of ambitions that were meritorious.

He seems especially critical of those who pursued monetary gain:

What a foolish thing it is to be

governed by a desire for fame and profit and to fret away one’s

whole life without a moment of peace. Great wealth is no guarantee

of security. Wealth, in fact, tends to attract calamities and

disaster…It is an exceedingly stupid man who will torment himself

for the sake of worldly gain.

Equally denigrated are the uneducated

and boorish, whose antics provide Kenkou with ample examples of

what the “well-bred”

man should never do. He paints a picture of the ideal man as

being quiet, self-effacing, generally sober, and, most of all,

a person of refined tastes. Though less harsh in his treatment

of common people than was Sei Shonagon in her Pillow

Book, Kenkou does not afford them much in the way of leniency.

They seem as caricatures, propped up idiotically in front of

the reader to serve as an antithesis to Kenkou’s

idealized, elevated man:

The man of breeding never appears

to abandon himself completely to his pleasures; even his manner

of enjoyment is detached. It is the rustic boors who take all

their pleasures grossly. They squirm their way through the crowd

to get under the trees; they stare at the blossoms with eyes for

nothing else. they drink sake and compose linked verse; and finally

they heartlessly break off great branches and cart them away.

When they see a spring they dip their hands and feet to cool

them; if it is the snow, they jump down to leave their footprints.

No matter what the sight, they are never content merely with

looking at it.

I think these entries may ultimately

add to the popularity of the work because they serve as a kind

of handbook for proper behavior and etiquette, which it may be

argued are given a great deal of importance in Japanese society

relative to others. The Japanese reader is presented with very

clearly articulated ideas about what it is to be properly Japanese.

In some cases Kenkou eschews metaphor or example completely and

simple describes what is appropriate when, for example, calling

on someone at their home: “It

is most agreeable when a visitor comes without business, talks

pleasantly for a while, then leaves.”

In the same direct fashion he cautions the gentleman in numerous

essays not to indulge in ostentatious displays of knowledge or

ability:

A man should avoid displaying deep

familiarity with any subject. Can one imagine a well-bred man

talking with the air of a know-it-all, even about a matter with

which he is in fact familiar? The boor who pops up on the scene

from somewhere in the hinterland answers questions with an air

of utter authority in every field. As a result, though the man

may also possess qualities that compel our admiration, the manner

in which he displays his high opinion of himself is contemptible.

It is impressive when a man is always slow to speak, even on

subjects he knows thoroughly, and does not speak at all unless

questioned.

There are numerous entries of this

sort, and they stand out from the rest, I think, because they

are so utterly timeless. The passage above is just as true today

as it was in his time, and it is this quality that makes the work

endure. As such, even the contemporary reader can find in the

Tsurezuregusa much that can be applied to his or her life

today. In this area Kenkou’s

brilliance is clearly displayed, and his place in Japanese history

as a gifted philosopher justified.

More than simply an authority on

matters of etiquette and grace, though, Kenkou is also regarded

as having had much to do with the development of the Japanese

for nature and artistic style. The importance he attaches to

an awareness of the impermanent, the incomplete, and the irregular

have shaped the Japanese collective consciousness more than we

may ever know. The Tsurezuregusa shows us that for him

the suggested was superior to the conspicuous, and beginnings

and endings to the central experience. The natural world was

his favorite canvas for ruminations of this kind, and the examples

he uses are vividly drawn in images familiar to any Japanese.

It is interesting to note that it is here that Kenkou’s

Buddhist ideology is best represented. So much of beauty lay

in its ephemerality, he reminds us, and this perception has as

its roots the Buddhist concept of mujou, or impermanence.

Cherry blossoms are loved for their brevity, for example, and

for how they suggest the finite nature of our own existence and

that of all things. Surely this way of looking at the natural

world existed in Japan long before Kenkou put his brush to ink,

but his words offer a unique expression of its fundamental ideas.

It is therefore regrettable how few of the pieces in the Tsurezuregusa

are devoted to observations of the natural world, but from those

available we do find that he had cultivated the recluse’s

eye for nature even though he had not put any great distance between

himself and the urban hub of Heian-kyou.

Yoshida Kenkou became a monk and

set his feet upon The Way, but his path was one that never carried

him too far from the society and company of others he loved so

much. Somehow he was able to fuse the courtier and the recluse

into a single entity that found in that union a keener insight

into the world than either might have achieved alone. That he

was generous enough to record his thoughts we can be grateful,

and in the pages of his legacy we find a window into his heart,

his mind, and his world.

The Tsurezuregusa is a classic of Japanese literature. It is a collection of zuihitsu (lit. random jottings), a genre unique to Japan, and was written in the early part of the 14th century. This paper discusses it and the author, Yoshida Kenkou.

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Apr 11 1996

Blue Mountain Journal Vol. 1

Published by michael under Life in Japan

 

In This Issue:

  • Introduction
  • Finally Here
  • Commuting Fun
  • Sticker Shock
  • Somehow I Found Soapland
  • Random Observations
  •  

    Introduction

    Hi there, and welcome to the flagship edition of what may or may not turn
    into a regularly-offered e-mail publication. If you’ve found this in your
    inbox it is either because you are a friend or family member, or you have
    at some point made the mistake of imparting your e-mail address to me. Or
    both. Whatever the case, you can easily have your name removed from the
    addressee list by replying to this this message with the words “Take me
    off your mailing list, you dork!!” somewhere in the message body. The mail
    processing software, seeing this, will automatically remove your name from
    the list, and then dispatch a team of crazed, inbred militia members to
    your house to inflict great harm upon you with wooden cooking utensils.
    Decide carefully.

    But for those of you who elect to stay, you will be sporadically rewarded
    with Current Events and Assorted Nonsense (see title, above) from yours
    truly. I should also note that I will use the occasional Japanese word or
    phrase, and I may or may not provide a translation since most readers will
    understand what I’m saying.

    With that…

     

    Finally Here

    So, at long last I find myself in Japan. The flight over was uneventful,
    the high moment being the in-flight showing of “Clueless,” an example of
    Hollywood’s recent efforts to break new ground and explore new themes, this
    time showcasing the antics of a pert, blonde Valley Girl. No one’s seen
    that before. I had fun flipping over to the Japanese audio channel and hearing
    what they did with English catch-phrases like “As if!,” though. I also enjoyed
    occasionally practicing my Japanese with the asian gentleman next to me,
    only later to find that he was Hong Kong Chinese, and didn’t speak a word
    of the language. He was a sport about it, though, and would just nod and
    smile and otherwise try not to make me feel like a complete idiot. Wacky.

    The flight was about nine hours, and even though I didn’t sleep a wink
    the time passed relatively quickly. Customs was a breeze, and then we were
    met by a harried-looking rep from the school, a slight man who counted us
    (six in all) about nine hundred times in the airport alone in order to ensure
    that we were all present and accounted for. The whole affair seemed quite
    trying for the poor guy, but we managed nonetheless to successfully arrange
    for the shipment of our larger bags via takkyubin and board the train that
    would take us to the heart of the city. All of us were pretty tired by this
    point, what with it being four or five in the morning, Seattle time. After
    getting to Shibuya (in the middle of Tokyo) we all went out for an overpriced
    dinner and then went our respective ways, agreeing to meet the next morning
    for photos, orientation, and The Campus Tour.

    The other guys in the group went off the “ryou,” or dorm, and I left to
    try and make my way to the home of the brother of a friend, where I would
    be staying for the next month or so. It was a fifteen minute walk to the
    train station, and from there things get *really* fun…

     

    Commuting Fun

    Let’s talk for a moment about trains.

    Japan, occupying a prominent position at the front of the world’s ever-advancing
    technological phalanx, boasts a marvelous rapid transit system. An engineering
    wonder, Tokyo’s rail system is an example of cutting edge technology in
    action. In fact, were it not for all of the damn passengers it would be
    a great system in practice as well as design. To wit: never, ever, at any
    point do they say “Okay, this one’s FULL.” Instead, and inexplicably, they
    actually pay people to stand outside the doors of the train and bodily shove
    people into the train until the doors will successfully close. As one of
    the pushees, you may have guessed, things can get fairly grim. In my case,
    anyway, I spent the next thirty minutes or so wishing I could just move
    a limb. Seriously. My bag was forgotten, having joined the denizens of the
    great unknown Lower Depths. It may as well have been on Mars.

    I was reminded then, as someone shifted behind me, of the numerous stories
    I had heard from Japanese girls about their experiences with “chikan,” those
    devious commuters who use the somewhat unique circumstances on crowded trains
    to grope schoolgirls and young women. I had also thought inwardly, “Um,
    hello?, why not just turn around and trounce the creep. Now I realized all
    too well that that was just this side of impossible, and that even mustering
    the breath to speak sternly at someone would require almost Herculean effort.
    As for me, I was relegated to silently praying that no one wanted my wallet
    very badly, and, more urgently, that it was indeed an umbrella poking me
    in the nether regions. Ugh.

    But that’s as bad as it gets, and often you can even enjoy the relative
    comfort of even rotating your body as necessary to get a view outside, or
    escape a particularly nasty case of natto breath.

    Now, after my third day of riding the trains to and from school, I feel
    somewhat comfortable with the complexities of purchasing tickets and “norikaeru”
    (transferring trains). It can be traumatic, though, to end up swept off
    of the train you happen to be riding earlier than you expected by the overpowering
    throng. If you don’t manage to fight your way back into the car you can
    find yourself carried as far as the station exits by a mob of glaring, suit-clad
    salarymen. This has only happened to me once so far, and now I’m much more
    aggressive when it comes to staying on the train. I’ve found that gripping
    the leather straps of the handholds with my teeth will, in almost all cases,
    keep me onboard.

     

    Sticker Shock

    I’m very fortunate to be hosted by the brother of a Japanese friend for
    the time being, which has provided me with a welcome escpae from the rigors
    of Dorm Life. (Quick aside: if you ever come to Japan to study and you are
    older than, say, fourteen, be sure to arrange for housing outside of the
    dorm. *Everything* from meal times to roommates is decided for you and restrictions
    abound. Hell, it’s not even that cheap! Anyway…) However, I noticed right
    away that the kitchen was sparsely equipped, and closer inspection revealed
    that my initial assessment was conservative at best. In fact, there was
    nothing (no, nothing, not even a spoon) with which to prepare or store food.
    And I needed groceries. I immediately jotted down a list of the things I
    thougt I would need and off to the store I went, list in hand and a bounce
    in my step. It was a glorious Tokyo afternoon, and the cherry blossoms seemed
    to smile down at me in their delicate, ephemeral way.

    Arriving at the store I was relieved to see that it in most ways resembled
    my own personal image of a grocery store, except for maybe the larger quantity
    of broiled eel in the meat department, or a predisposition for hermetically
    sealing everything in sight, like scallions and courtesy clerks. Other than
    that it was just the same; aisles of bulging shelves, wheeled shopping carts
    aplenty, and high school girls offering samples of beer and sake to customers.
    No sweat.

    The real horror slowly crept up on me, though, as I realized that some
    pranster had preceded me here and cunningly multiplied all of the prices
    by a factor of about five. Where once a six-pack of can beer (no, I didn’t
    look for beer *first*) cost about three bucks, now the list price was FIFTEEN
    dollars. And fish? The same. Fruit? HAHAHAHA. I will obviously die of ricketts
    here because I CAN’T AFFORD AN FRIGGING ORANGE! Okay, okay, so maybe I’m
    exaggerating a tad, but things are pretty darn pricey, and my single, plastic
    Store-Tote of goods ran me fifty bones.

    The consensus, asking around, is that it costs just about as much to eat
    out for every meal rather than prepare food yourself, but I’m still looking
    for that elusive alley market with prices commesurate with, oh, the actual
    value of the products’ contents or something wacky like that. Until then,
    please forward your extra lemon rinds and such to me via parcel post.

     

    Somehow I found Soapland

    Boredom propelled me out the door last night, and I decided en route to
    the train station to see what Shinjuku was like. The latest Tokyo Journal
    assured me that Shinjuku was “the city that never sleeps,” so I decided
    to test the claim.

    Emerging from the station some twenty minutes later, I was presented with
    the bustle of commuters and partiers rushing (everyone rushes here) to and
    fro before a backdrop of garishly lit buildings that towered around me in
    all directions. A bright red paper lantern with the word “ramen” bobbed
    nearby above a tiny stall that could accommodate about four. Suited businessmen
    sat within, huddled over steaming bowls of noodles, transfixed by their
    contents. Gazing around, my eyes settled on a particularly bright cluster
    of lights and activity, and, responding in a most primitive fashion to the
    glittering, shiny unknown, I moved in that direction.

    In short order I realized that this was an entertainment district of the
    “pink” sort, and the shops and offices quickly gave way to cabarets, “H”
    video stores, hostess bars, and massage parlors. Each one seemed to employ
    a cadre of “kayaku-hiki,” or “customer pullers” to seduce or cajole passers-by
    into having a look, or a feel, as the case apparently was. Eventually I
    encountered a trio of white men involved in this activity of standing and
    smoking and beckoning, and stopped to query the closest of them about the
    environs and other matters that perplexed me at the time (like what the
    words “fuzoku” and “health club” meant).

    These young men worked in a Ladies club as “hosts” or dancers. The one
    I spoke with, an Australian of around twenty-six years or so, explained
    to me that there was little that could not be had here in Shinjuku, provided
    the price was right, suggested a good pub, and gave me the manager’s name
    in case I wanted a job. I thanked him for his time, declined the offer,
    and made for the club he had recommended.

    Arriving some minutes later at Mother’s Rock and Roll Pub, I descended
    the narrow staircase to the basement-level entrance. Ducking inside I was
    amazed by the size of the place. It would seat maybe 15 people uncomfortably,
    and I could touch the bar and the wall furthest from it at the same time.
    I sat down on a squat stool and ordered a beer. These moments are often
    interesting, because the wary clerk will invariably brace him/herself for
    the coming English, and you can see clearly the determination to comprehend
    it in their eyes. Prefacing the order with a quick “nihongo de daijyoubu…”
    (Japanese is fine) always seems to result in a discernible expression of
    relief on the part of the clerk. Anyway, I ordered a can of Sapporo Black
    Label (Price: $6.00), and the clerk provided me it and a long list of CD’s
    from which I was free to make requests.

    The music blared into the cramped space from two average-sized house speakers,
    and three CD players behind the bar kept the music playing almost withou
    pause. I heard The Doobie Brothers and Soundgarden, Pantera and Black Sabbath
    over the course of the next 30 minutes. The music was very loud.

    The bartender and I shortly engaged in a conversation about the local
    area that required yelling at one another across the bar, and he warned
    me away from any of the local establishments. The potential for “damasareru”
    (being deceived) was pretty high, he warned, and things were not necessarily
    what the kyaku-hiki would have you believe. Interesting though it was, it
    fell on somewhat deaf ears. Even had I wanted to play Lothario, the prices
    for such dalliances were way beyond anything I could afford.

    I didn’t stay late, needing to catch a train back home, and winded my
    way back through the maze of streets and alleys among sunglass-sporting
    Yakuza and drunken salarymen, each with a gorgeous companion on his arm
    and beaming up at him, to the station, where I joined the rest of the early
    risers for the sleepy trip back home.

    Next week, I thought, Roppongi

     

    Random Observations

    Remember, I’ve only been here for a few days, so some of these things
    may seem less than amazing to you veteran Japanophiles out there, but anyway…

    * Everyone in this country smokes. The person sitting next to me as I
    type here in this microscopic coffee house? Smoking. (In fact, she’s smoking
    about a cigarette every ten minutes or so, and I’m eyeing this empty seat
    some feet distant) The guy walking by on the street? Yes, smoking. Every
    Japanese at time of birth? Probably smoking, but I haven’t verified this
    yet.

    * The fastest speaking people in the world are Japanese telemarketers.
    They seemingly strive for complete incomprehensibility by combining ultra-polite
    telephone speech with the delivery speed of a bike courier on methamphetamines.
    I’m still working on how to get OFF the phone when these folks call.

    * Japan, or Tokyo anyway, is extremely breast-intensive. Bare breasts
    can be seen in all manner of unusual places, including television programs
    throughout the day, sidewalk ads, chidren’s comic books, and newspaper ads.
    Kore wa monku jya nai yo… (I’m not complaining)

    * People are pretty much with hoarking up just about anything and spitting
    onto the sidewalk. What with all of the phlegm and cigarette butts flying
    everywhere, it’s amazing how clean the sidewalks are.

     


    That’s it for now, I suppose. I could keep adding to this thing indefinitely,
    but then it would never get sent, would it? Your feedback and comments are
    welcome, or just write and say “Hi.”

    Bye for now…

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