An imaginative evocation of Basho's Journey to a Far Province through my daughter's marathon walk down the length of the U.K. from northern Scotland to Land's End, Britain.
The Scottish Ruin. Basho, My Daughter, and Me.
Crossing the river by the Tsuki-no-Wa (Moon Halo) ferry, we reached the post town of Se-no-Ue (Above the Rapids). The Sato Castle ruins were said to be near the hills about three and a half miles to our left. We were told to go to Saba Moor near the village of Iizuka, and as we went in the direction, frequently asking our way, we came to a spot called Maruyama (Round Hill). It was upon this hill that the famous warriors' castle once stood. We were directed to the foot of the hill, where the sight of foundation stones of the Great Gate moved us deeply.
In the grounds of an old temple nearby were the tombstones of the Sato family. I was particularly affected by that of the two young brides of the Sato brothers. Battle-widowed, they donned their husbands' heavy armor for the sake of their mother-in-law who had longed to see her sons ride home victorious. The gallant gesture of those gentle women will never be forgotten, I mused, wetting my sleeve with tears. One did not have to travel to far-off China to see the "Weeping Tomb," for here, before this very stone, who could refrain from shedding tears.
"The Site of the Satos' Maruyama Castle," Basho, Narrow Road to a Far Province.
(Click on image for an enlargement. It is worth the wait for download.)
She Told Her Sister About What She Saw On The Scotland 3-Day Tour
She look'd and saw that all was ruinous.
Here stood a shattered archway, plum'd with fern:
And here had fall'n a great part of a tower,
Whole, like a crag that tumbles from the cliff:
And like a crag was gay with wilding flowers:
And high above a piece of turret stair
Worn by the feet that now were silent, wound
Bare to the sun, and monstrous ivy stems
Claspt the gray walls with hairy fibred arms
And suck'd the joining of stones, and look'd,
A knot, beneath, of snakes, aloft, a grove."
Tennyson (adapted from "The Marriage of Geraint," from Idylls of the King)
(Click photo to enlarge.)
They Met at a Pub
And what if my descendents lose the flower
Through natural declension of the soul,
Through too much business with the passing hour,
Through too much play, or marriage with a fool?
May this laborious stair and this stark tower
Become a roofless ruin that the owl
May build in the cracked masonry and cry
Her desolation to the desolate sky.
Yeats, 'My Descendents,' from "Meditations in Time of Civil War," from The Tower (1928)
(Click photo to enlarge)
Revised. January 30, February 1, 2005.
Don't know what is wrong what is rite but i know that every one has there own point of view and same goes to this one
Posted by: supra vaider | October 06, 2011 at 10:54 AM