{"id":602,"date":"2010-09-30T12:36:58","date_gmt":"2010-09-30T19:36:58","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/aviabellemoon.com\/author\/?page_id=602"},"modified":"2010-09-30T12:39:07","modified_gmt":"2010-09-30T19:39:07","slug":"poetry-on-japan","status":"publish","type":"page","link":"http:\/\/aviabellemoon.com\/author\/art-gallery\/poetry-on-japan\/","title":{"rendered":"Poetry on Japan"},"content":{"rendered":"

Noh, haiku and poems on Japan<\/strong><\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Some poems by Judy Kendall<\/strong><\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Kimono Colours<\/span><\/p>\n

(Heian period 794 – 1185)<\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

plum<\/span><\/p>\n

willow tree<\/span><\/p>\n

butterflies spreading their wings<\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

wild pink<\/span><\/p>\n

yellow day lily<\/span><\/p>\n

Chinese vine<\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

white oak<\/span><\/p>\n

sea pine<\/span><\/p>\n

bell clover<\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

moon grass<\/span><\/p>\n

cloud and crane<\/span><\/p>\n

tiny bamboo<\/span><\/p>\n

An earlier version published in Equinox, UK, 2002<\/span><\/p>\n

Wa<\/em>, Harmony<\/strong><\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

The bell goes and I dismiss my class.<\/span><\/p>\n

Tired and dishevelled, I start to pack away<\/span><\/p>\n

my papers, wipe off chalk dust,<\/span><\/p>\n

roll up the tape-deck lead when, "Teacher, sensei!<\/em>",<\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

a student hovers, polite, gentle, in need,<\/span><\/p>\n

at an unobtrusive distance, offering me<\/span><\/p>\n

a tremulous virgin face while he proceeds<\/span><\/p>\n

in my hard language to mouth his soft apology<\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

for missing last week's session<\/span><\/p>\n

because he was unfortunately obliged<\/span><\/p>\n

(oh teacher, hear out my confession)<\/span><\/p>\n

to attend the funeral of his grandfather.<\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

His English, slow and careful, broken,<\/span><\/p>\n

he places in pieces on my gathered notes,<\/span><\/p>\n

equidistant, partly as if in token<\/span><\/p>\n

of his loss, partly in the hope<\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

that I will read the spaces in between<\/span><\/p>\n

the words of me and him, his duty<\/span><\/p>\n

to the class, his unannounced departure, and fill in<\/span><\/p>\n

the sadnesses to make consoling harmony,<\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

but, sensing my tiredness and my need to get away<\/span><\/p>\n

from school at this the end of a long day<\/span><\/p>\n

and feeling shy, he leaves, and leaves me asking why<\/span><\/p>\n

in my land we don't make young men this way.<\/span><\/p>\n

Foreigners<\/strong><\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Foreigners are all the same,<\/span><\/p>\n

exotic creatures<\/span><\/p>\n

keen on noise.<\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Doughnut complexions,<\/span><\/p>\n

and fiery tempers<\/span><\/p>\n

when not dipped in saccharine.<\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

They prefer flesh to fish.<\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Filled to capacity<\/span><\/p>\n

with selfishness,<\/span><\/p>\n

they look after their own<\/span><\/p>\n

first. They do not think it wrong.<\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

There is a distinct smell of old milk.<\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Their sugar levels are uncertain,<\/span><\/p>\n

liable to explode.<\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

And most of them possess<\/span><\/p>\n

a careless flair<\/span><\/p>\n

for turning the neatest room<\/span><\/p>\n

into dishevelment.<\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

They cannot gauge politeness,<\/span><\/p>\n

their talents do not extend<\/span><\/p>\n

to delicate matters.<\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Their women are loud,<\/span><\/p>\n

noses mostly irresistible<\/span><\/p>\n

and faces enviably unflat<\/span><\/p>\n

(although they wrinkle early).<\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

They cannot sit still<\/span><\/p>\n

and have a tendency to wriggle.<\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

A foreigner is always big.<\/span><\/p>\n

You never see a small one.<\/span><\/p>\n

Published in Ambit, UK<\/span><\/p>\n

The Most Beautiful<\/strong><\/span><\/p>\n

for Yukari<\/strong><\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

coming weary from the goldstream<\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

       dead ends every where<\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

to the west capital<\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

       maple temples burning<\/span><\/p>\n

       red in the mixing bowl<\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

       eight thousand four hundred<\/span><\/p>\n

       taxi drivers hunt the kerb<\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

and you pick out the local guy<\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

       the one that doesn't make up stories<\/span><\/p>\n

       the one that knows where to find<\/span><\/p>\n

       the most beautiful tree<\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

over at the palace<\/span><\/p>\n

down by the gate<\/span><\/p>\n

he says<\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

       you can't miss it<\/span><\/p>\n

Published in Indigo, UK (Capricorn International poetry competition)<\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Yuki-tsuri<\/em>Day<\/strong><\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

The bamboo path curves upwards. The maple leaves<\/span><\/p>\n

have just been touched by autumn.<\/span><\/p>\n

My favourite teahouse is closed,<\/span><\/p>\n

the house I want to live in forever.<\/span><\/p>\n

Gold scatters on the eaves, the roof,<\/span><\/p>\n

the stone lantern and the doorstep.<\/span><\/p>\n

The carp swim colourlessly<\/span><\/p>\n

in the lake, gaping for food.<\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Eight men in uniform – brown, turquoise, blue<\/span><\/p>\n

tie ropes around a pole for Yuki-tsuri <\/em>Day.<\/span><\/p>\n

In the upper teahouse, the hostess talks of snow<\/span><\/p>\n

– expected this year in the Twelfth Month.<\/span><\/p>\n

When she leaves, the room fills with low voices<\/span><\/p>\n

of men at work, birds, wind, the water's sound<\/span><\/p>\n

and the clinking of the eiffel-tower<\/span><\/p>\n

ladders, the rustle of ropes of straw.<\/span><\/p>\n

Driving to Noto<\/strong><\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Men are better says Toshi I know <\/span><\/p>\n

no they are not says I (I also know)<\/span><\/p>\n

and so we argue to the tip of Noto<\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

To Suzu where the wood huts slump in shock<\/span><\/p>\n

plopped suddenly in frocks of snow<\/span><\/p>\n

and the sea is whipped to icicles of frenzy<\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Over a nabe<\/em> pot of fish and cabbage<\/span><\/p>\n

(Toshi warns me not to call it cabbage<\/span><\/p>\n

for it is the vastly superior hakusai<\/em>)<\/span><\/p>\n

our host asks me my age<\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Taken aback<\/span><\/p>\n

(I`m older than he thought<\/span><\/p>\n

more single), he inquires<\/span><\/p>\n

don't you like men?<\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

So I assure him<\/span><\/p>\n

only frequent country-moving<\/span><\/p>\n

has prevented me from choosing<\/span><\/p>\n

one of them<\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

The returning road is white, wide as a field<\/span><\/p>\n

the ditches spread themselves with frosting<\/span><\/p>\n

and the windscreen blanks out like a blizzard<\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Toshi scrapes at the iced-up wipers singing<\/span><\/p>\n

to himself, waving me in<\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Midwinter hangs in the boughs<\/span><\/p>\n

The pine trees are bent nearly in two<\/span><\/p>\n

laden with second helpings<\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

An earlier version published in Ambit, UK, 2002<\/span><\/p>\n

Midwinter<\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

One breath<\/span><\/p>\n

beyond the muffled<\/span><\/p>\n

silence, and<\/span><\/p>\n

from somewhere<\/span><\/p>\n

comes floating<\/span><\/p>\n

the fragrance<\/span><\/p>\n

of a hyacinth,<\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

light,<\/span><\/p>\n

unexpected in the snow.<\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Information on Judy Kendall<\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Now I have been lecturing in English at Kanazawa University, Japan, from 1995 – 2002. I used to work in the UK as a writer in residence in prisons, the theatre and the community. I have also spent four years in Zimbabwe as a teacher. I have written poetry, plays and short stories in and about the UK, Zimbabwe and Japan, and am now seeking publication for a book of poems on Japan. I am also working on a collection of translations of Zeami`s Noh plays with Iris Elgrichi, a scholar of classical Japanese. Previously we collaborated on a bilingual edition of haiku (see below for samples!) with the haiku writer, Miyaji Eiko.<\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

What is my focus as a writer? Voicing the unsaid and unexpressed. If I can act as a channel for the voices of others, I am happy.<\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

I have had poems published all over – but most recently in Ambit, still, Equinox, Envoi and Fabric (UK), Plum-line (Canada), and, very soon, on the internet in PROOF – http:\/\/www.shu.ac.uk\/proof\/proof\/board.htm – take a look.<\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

My most recent prose is in PN Review and Presence (UK).<\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

My email – saiwaicho@yahoo.co.uk – is accessible from anywhere (I hope).<\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

<\/p>\n
\n

Thanks for reading.<\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n<\/blockquote>\n

 <\/p>\n

<\/center><\/p>\n

\n

Selected haiku from <\/strong><\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

SUIKO – The Water Jar<\/strong><\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

haiku by Miyaji Eiko<\/span><\/p>\n

(you can contact the poet at C-miyaji@k2.dion.ne.jp in Japanese, or simple English)<\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

translations by Iris Elgrichi and Judy Kendall<\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

22.  \u6c34\u7515\u306b\u6c34\u306e\u6f32\u308b\u6885\u30cb\u6708<\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

    the season, the plum<\/span><\/p>\n

    the water jar, teetering<\/span><\/p>\n

    on the brink of spring<\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

48.  \u826f\u5bdb\u306e\u66f8\u306b\u89e6\u308c\u3057\u76ee\u3092\u7d05\u6885\u3078<\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

     turning, my eyes brush<\/span><\/p>\n

     Ryokan`s calligraphy<\/span><\/p>\n

     on the red plum blossom<\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

96.  \u4e00\u5225\u306e\u8ddd\u96e2\u305f\u3082\u3061\u308b\u3066\u6642\u9ce5<\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

   with the cuckoo<\/span><\/p>\n

   comes the summer. Yet still distance<\/span><\/p>\n

   widens between us<\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

133. \u96c1\u6765\u7d05\u7e70\u308a\u8fd4\u3057\u8aad\u3080\u5510\u8a69\u9078<\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

     the red Amaranths<\/span><\/p>\n

     words of the T`ang dynasty<\/span><\/p>\n

     wild geese overhead<\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

174. \u5f7c\u308c\u900f\u304d\u3066\u516b\u6728\u91cd\u5409\u306e\u8a69\u306e\u4f59\u767d<\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

     bare winter branches<\/span><\/p>\n

     lines of Yagi Jukichi<\/span><\/p>\n

     the whiteness between<\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

196. \u5b50\u306e\u4fbf\u308a\u6b8a\u306b\u77ed\u4fe1\u767d\u693f<\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

     letter from my son<\/span><\/p>\n

     white as a camellia<\/span><\/p>\n

     and almost as brief<\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Notes<\/span><\/p>\n

Ryokan, whose name means "good-large-heartedness" or "gentle tolerance," was a Zen Buddhist monk and poet who lived in Japan from 1758 to 1831. He was also renowned for his beautiful calligraphy<\/span><\/p>\n

Yagi Jukichi, 1898 – 1927, a sensitive religious Japanese poet.<\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Zeami Motokiyo (1363-1443) is the greatest Japanese actor, playwright, and drama theorist of Japanese Noh theatre. Most of the Noh plays performed today were written by Zeami.<\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

In our translation of Michimori we have gone to the old tradition of English poetry and employed an alliterative structure as our base.<\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

MICHIMORI (extract)<\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

PART 1<\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

[Every evening, the Wa'ki (a priest) from Awa in Naruto, The Gate<\/span><\/p>\n

of Sounds, comes to a rocky shore to read the sutras in memory of<\/span><\/p>\n

the dead. He is drawn here by the pain of the Heike clan who<\/span><\/p>\n

suffered, were defeated and drowned in this bay.]<\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Wa'ki:<\/span><\/p>\n

  Sat on the stony shore,<\/span><\/p>\n

  upon the pine rock pinnacle I wait.<\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

  Sat on the stony shore,<\/span><\/p>\n

  upon the pine rock pinnacle I wait.<\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

  A night skiff, someone calling in the spray?<\/span><\/p>\n

  I cannot tell.<\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

  A paddle dipping in the foaming deep?<\/span><\/p>\n

  Suddenly The Gate of Sounds is still tonight.<\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

  A paddle dipping in the foaming deep?<\/span><\/p>\n

  Suddenly The Gate of Sounds is still tonight.<\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

PART 11<\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

[The Shi'te and the Tsu're, ghosts in the form of fishermen,<\/span><\/p>\n

appear in a fishing boat]<\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Tsu're:<\/span><\/p>\n

  Haaa! from a far-off temple floats the voice of a bell<\/span><\/p>\n

  sounding as if from this same shore<\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Shi'te:<\/span><\/p>\n

  It rings in the setting sun. We should move swiftly.<\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Tsu're:<\/span><\/p>\n

  The light is dwindling fast, darkness is coming.<\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Shi'te:<\/span><\/p>\n

  Yesterday has now departed,<\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Tsu're:<\/span><\/p>\n

                             today is changed to dusk<\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Shi'te:<\/span><\/p>\n

  and tomorrow the same time will have its turn.<\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Tsu're:<\/span><\/p>\n

  The old cannot make firm their future faith,<\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Shi'te\/Tsu're:<\/span><\/p>\n

  our destinies held in mere handfuls of days,<\/span><\/p>\n

  how long till we work out our wrong<\/span><\/p>\n

  ceaselessly tossed by sea gods in a fishing skiff?<\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Tsu're:<\/span><\/p>\n

  What future is there for the old ones? And what faith?<\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Shi'te: <\/span><\/p>\n

  All that is left is to live out our days.<\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Chorus:<\/span><\/p>\n

  Yet though lamenting, our hearts lighten a little<\/span><\/p>\n

  our hearts lighten a little<\/span><\/p>\n

  when the moon is towering at high tide above our boat.<\/span><\/p>\n

  How breath-taking the face of autumn in the bay! <\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

  Here, the night waves, the whirling waters,<\/span><\/p>\n

  skies screened by cloud above The Gate of Sounds.<\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

  There, Awaji island, a desolate inlet, far away<\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

  in a weary world, this profession of woe,<\/span><\/p>\n

  in a weary world, this profession of woe.<\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

PART 111<\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Shi'te:<\/span><\/p>\n

  The black waves brew up, burying the moon<\/span><\/p>\n

  with its translucent light.<\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Tsu're:<\/span><\/p>\n

  In the little fishing boat the lighted lamps fade.<\/span><\/p>\n

  Darkness drops.<\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Shi'te\/Tsu're:<\/span><\/p>\n

  Night rain runs through the rush matting, <\/span><\/p>\n

  the wind rustles in the shoreline reeds. <\/span><\/p>\n

  What sound but these wakes us from our pillowed waves?<\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

  Is it dream or reality, this reading of the sutra<\/span><\/p>\n

  blending with the blowing of the storm?<\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

  Keep still the sound of the ship's oars,<\/span><\/p>\n

  keep put the paddles.<\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

  Keep still the sound of the ship's oars,<\/span><\/p>\n

  keep put the paddles.<\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

  and listen,<\/span><\/p>\n

  listen for a little while.<\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Wa'ki:<\/span><\/p>\n

  Who can that be? What stirs in the bay?<\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Shi'te:<\/span><\/p>\n

  A fisherman's raft doomed to roam without mooring.<\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

—————————————————————————————————————-<\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Zeami`s plays contain highly poetic passages, written to a strict syllabic count, and contain many allusions to and quotations from classical Japanese texts. To give a sense of the effect this has, we have drawn on references to British literature and culture in our version of Kinuta. We have kept to the original syllable count in the poetic passages.<\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

KINUTA (extract)<\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

PART 1<\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

THE HUSBAND ENTERS<\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Here, I present myself as someone who is not a native of these parts, as someone who comes from Ashiya in Kyushu. It is in fact only circumstances of a legal nature that have obliged me to live in the capital. My anticipation was that my residence here would be brief – however, I am already in my third year, and am naturally concerned about the condition of those I have left behind. I have therefore decided to send back the maid, Evening Mist.<\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

HE TURNS TOWARDS THE MAID<\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

So, Evening Mist, out of concern for those left at home, I am requiring you to convey to them the following message. You are to say that I will definitely return by the end of the year.<\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

THE MAID: If that's the case I'd better be off straight away.<\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

  Definitely by the end of the year, the master will appear".<\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

THE HUSBAND LEAVES THE STAGE. THE MAID TRAVELS HOME<\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

THE MAID:<\/span><\/p>\n

  Get set ready to<\/span><\/p>\n

  go down these travelling robes are<\/span><\/p>\n

  bound with strings of days<\/span><\/p>\n

  go down these travelling robes are<\/span><\/p>\n

  bound with strings of days<\/span><\/p>\n

  heap on missed evenings end at<\/span><\/p>\n

  inn after inn brief<\/span><\/p>\n

  dreams heaped on borrowed pillow<\/span><\/p>\n

  talk of the day in<\/span><\/p>\n

  day out break and end before<\/span><\/p>\n

  long arriving in<\/span><\/p>\n

  dust has turned to ashes in<\/span><\/p>\n

  Ashiya village<\/span><\/p>\n

  dust has turned to ashes in<\/span><\/p>\n

  Ashiya village.<\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

PART 2<\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

THE MAID IN FRONT OF THE ASHIYA HOUSE<\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Hello. Is anyone there? Can you say it's Evening Mist, back from the capital.<\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

THE WOMAN APPEARS ON THE BRIDGE, WALKING SLOWLY AND SPEAKING TO<\/span><\/p>\n

HERSELF<\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

THE MAID SITS AT THE BACK OF THE STAGE<\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

THE WOMAN:<\/span><\/p>\n

  Under the standing screened from  <\/span><\/p>\n

  view to bye bye lovey dove`e<\/span><\/p>\n

  won`t last the night<\/span><\/p>\n

  falls sad thoughts of lovers parting<\/span><\/p>\n

  over sweetened  <\/span><\/p>\n

  pillow talk of the devil take<\/span><\/p>\n

  your soul mate for life is hope<\/span><\/p>\n

  dashed by parting waves<\/span><\/p>\n

  between lovers lasting not <\/span><\/p>\n

  even in this world stay<\/span><\/p>\n

  together for ever do<\/span><\/p>\n

  not forget me not<\/span><\/p>\n

  to remember much more can <\/span><\/p>\n

  I stand the cries sound<\/span><\/p>\n

  from my heart on my sleeve leaves<\/span><\/p>\n

  me in tears overflowing<\/span><\/p>\n

  in drops of rain that rarely <\/span><\/p>\n

  clears in my heart oh.<\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

PART 3<\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

THE MAID: It's Evening Mist. Hello! Can someone announce me!<\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

THE WOMAN: Did you say Evening Mist? You don't need to wait for an announcement. Come straight in.<\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

THE MAID ENTERS THE STAGE AND THE WOMAN FOLLOWS HER <\/span><\/p>\n

THE WOMAN SPEAKS ANGRILY  <\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Well, Evening Mist. This is most unusual. And I must say I do feel bitter. So tell me, how is it that, even if he has completely changed, not a word of it has reached here from you? There's been nothing, not a call, not a whisper.<\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

THE MAID: You're right. But I did want to come back as soon as I could. It`s just that serving the master left me no time. So, against my will, I had to stay in the capital right up<\/span><\/p>\n

to the third year.<\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

THE WOMAN:  What are you saying? You were in the capital against your will?<\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

SHE SPEAKS LONGINGLY   <\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Think about it – in the blossoming capital, with its times of cheer and easy living. Still they say that sorrow is the way of the heart.   <\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

THE CHORUS:<\/span><\/p>\n

  Here in the back of beyond<\/span><\/p>\n

  belief shall wither<\/span><\/p>\n

  to the dregs of autumn leaves    <\/span><\/p>\n

  no calling cards look<\/span><\/p>\n

  promising no<\/span><\/p>\n

  body is left to<\/span><\/p>\n

  lay my trust ends in dust thou<\/span><\/p>\n

shalt return again.<\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

  Dick Witting turn three years in   <\/span><\/p>\n

  autumn's but a dream   <\/span><\/p>\n

  Dick Witting turn three years in   <\/span><\/p>\n

  autumn's but a dream    <\/span><\/p>\n

  if only sorrow would fade     <\/span><\/p>\n

  away my body<\/span><\/p>\n

  stays awake not from<\/span><\/p>\n

  memories of the  <\/span><\/p>\n

  past has changed no trace remains<\/span><\/p>\n

  but lies there are so   <\/span><\/p>\n

  many lies<\/span><\/p>\n

  I can't imagine<\/span><\/p>\n

  all the people living in<\/span><\/p>\n

  pieces of mind his<\/span><\/p>\n

  words don't fall on what kind of<\/span><\/p>\n

  world would make one smile and<\/span><\/p>\n

  smile and be a <\/span><\/p>\n

  villain else I am<\/span><\/p>\n

  too foolish a heart is fooled<\/span><\/p>\n

  by a trustless thing.<\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Copyright 2002 Judy Kendall<\/span><\/p>\n

Copyright 2002 Miyaji Eiko<\/p>\n

 <\/a><\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

 <\/span><\/p>\n<\/div>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

Noh, haiku and poems on Japan   Some poems by Judy Kendall     Kimono Colours (Heian period 794 – 1185)   plum willow tree butterflies spreading their wings   wild pink yellow day lily Chinese vine   white oak sea pine bell clover   moon grass cloud and crane tiny bamboo An earlier version […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":0,"parent":35,"menu_order":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","template":"","meta":[],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"http:\/\/aviabellemoon.com\/author\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/pages\/602"}],"collection":[{"href":"http:\/\/aviabellemoon.com\/author\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/pages"}],"about":[{"href":"http:\/\/aviabellemoon.com\/author\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/page"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/aviabellemoon.com\/author\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/aviabellemoon.com\/author\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=602"}],"version-history":[{"count":4,"href":"http:\/\/aviabellemoon.com\/author\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/pages\/602\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":605,"href":"http:\/\/aviabellemoon.com\/author\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/pages\/602\/revisions\/605"}],"up":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/aviabellemoon.com\/author\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/pages\/35"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"http:\/\/aviabellemoon.com\/author\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=602"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}