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In April 2006 I traveled with my good friend Ruta to visit her son Erik in Tokyo. The prose and verses below offer my scattered impressions of this complex island nation.
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14 hours toward tomorrow
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Haiku
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from a journey to
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Japan
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by JoAnne Growney
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Through rice paper
onto tatami--
the light touch of light.
Morning thoughts spiral
toward the distant center
of our small room
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Subway crowds swim
as fish in a river--
and I am flotsam.
Commuters wear
surgical masks, grey suits,
shoes with pointed toes.
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Cherry branches arch
across a stream. Blossoms
float away.
Above picnics
and blossoms, on balconies
laundry hangs to dry.
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Because I can't read
I follow a sign
to the trash barrel.
Because I can't read
I put my umbrella in
someone's shopping cart.
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Sidewalk machines
vend heated cans of coffee,
cold beer.
April 1,
no Fools' Day games in Tokyo--
quiet watching.
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Old American men
with young Japanese women--
can they understand?
Public bathroom stalls
have floor to ceiling doors--
no one may count feet
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Photo shoots
detain us more
than crowds.
Northern lights increase
Japanese fertility--
Alaskan tall tale.
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Men speak softly
and chew food quickly
with open mouths.
Women smile
without parting their lips--
bite unseen.
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Japanese breakfasts:
bright color and design--
a happy meal.
The restaurant loo
has heated seats--
I rest a while.
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Rows of bonsai pines
surround the royal palace--
dwarfed.
One butterfly
on moss where summer heat
will bring a million.
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Designs
raked in gravel calm the mind
of she who rakes.
Japanese gardens
have the natural beauty
of a disciplined child.
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Enchantment
is quiet, like the fall
of cherry blossoms.
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Travel bombs my senses with more than I can easily assimilate. Now back home I am aware that anytime after ten o'clock in my morning it is tomorrow in Japan. New awareness of time is but one small step toward understanding of this productive and polite island nation.
Over my trip to Japan in April 2006, I have superimposed a Japanese tradition of composing Haiku as I traveled. The spare imagistic Haiku style is difficult for me, but I am helped by the match between form and subject. Following a convention for Haiku written in English, my stanzas may contain fewer syllables than the traditional 5-7-5 count since the Japanese onji that are enumerated in Haiku are like English-language phonemes, sound groups shorter than syllables.
Not marching
as English syllables do,
these sounds ripple.
If my verses capture Japanese perspectives, it's fortunate--and defies probability. My travel companion was a friend from Pennsylvania and we stayed in her son's tiny Tokyo apartment I spoke beyond formal greeting with only six Japanese people.
Japanese toilet handles turn two ways -- for light or heavy flush. Crime is low in Tokyo -- -riders park bicycles unlocked all day near the subway station. Many restaurants have sample dishes, covered with clear wrap, on display out in front. At Japanese temples there are ceremonies, like drawing incense smoke to oneself or striking a gong, that offer good luck to participants. There also are coin-machines that dispense fortunes. By these machines are racks to which a dissatisfied fortune-seeker may tie the paper with an unfavorable fortune and leave it behind.
In this latter tradition we are united -- Japanese and American and those in time zones between -- we all seek to leave bad fortune behind us to disappear with the wind.
I walk with
blossom snow in my hair
and memories . . .
I have been tempted to add clarifying explanations to my verses; but have resisted--for likely it would be me and not Japan that I'd explain.
JoAnne Growney Silver Spring, MD October 2006
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