Skin and Bones

Merce Cunningham

Rest in peace.

A long, long time ago, in a galaxy far, far away, I wanted desperately to live in some strange place, which I had never heard of, called "Brooklyn", because Merce Cunningham and his dance troup were resident there. I was from a small village in northern New Hampshire and had not ventured far from the mountains. At University, I fell into a pattern. Infatuation with girls of the arts. Dancers, painters, writers, poets, actors, sculptors, life models, musicians. I was in love with avant garde, with innovation, with eccentricity. Everything I clearly was not. Not inspite of writing poetry for myself. In Saturday Review of Literature, which I read in the University library's magazine room, I often read of Cunningham and other dance groups and artists living in Brooklyn. I couldn't even conjure up images of the place. Of course, I never went there. And I could not get one of my adored artists to acknowledge my existence. I was a book grind. I spent no time in the studio, all my time in the library, reading, researching, taking notes, writing. That pattern never changed. My fascination for the exotic woman lingered, though, unachieved. That didn't change, either. But not for a loss, it embued every woman I met with the hope of the unfamiliar. It made life endlessly new.

Kendall (PepsiCo) Sculpture Gardens

Visiting New York City to celebrate my daughter's birthday with her, for my birthday (the same date as hers) she gave me a visit to the Kendall Sculpture Gardens at the PepsiCo headquarters in Purchase, New York. I have wanted to visit the sculpture gardens for decades. It is one of the world's best landscape exhibitions of twentieth century sculpture. I had often read about it. Many of my favorite sculptors are represented in the gardens. I was thrilled. I was also surprised to discover the great English sculptor, David Wynne, represented by several of his greatest works, and by several commissions of animal forms of which I was previously unaware.

The photo album, Kendall Sculpture Gardens (see right sidebar), contains 117 photographs I took of objects in the gardens on October 29. I photographed the objects in their landscape setting, as well as closeups of the entire works and details. The weather was overcast, breaking to partial cloudiness by mid-afternoon. The cloud cover explains the uniform white sky background in the photographs. I photographed all 45 objects by all forty (or so) artists in the gardens, with one exception. The work, Caryatids, by Judith Brown, was removed from exhibition (no explanation).

The full size photographs are 600 pixels wide (or tall) and provide excellent detail. Here are some sample images. (Click image to get full photo in a separate popup.)

Dancers, by David Wynne.

Grande Disco, by Arnaldo Pomodoro.

Totems, by Robert Davidson.

Basho (3) Fears and Sadness

Far Frontier

The title of Basho's journal appears in the journal's text. In a passage describing the arrival of Basho and his companion at a memorial stone at the village of Ichikawa, about 400 miles north of Tokyo, Basho wrote:

"Using Kaemon's drawings as our guide, we found ourselves on a road called Oku-no-Hosomichi, 'The Narrow Road to a Far Province,' which wound along the foot of some hills.(P. 49.)"

A passage follows about the Tsubo Stone:

"The Tsubo Stone stands on the site of Taga Castle in the village of Ichikawa. The stone is over six feet high and about three feet wide. It was covered with moss, and the inscription was difficult to read. After giving the mileage of the provincial boundaries, it stated: "This castle was built in the First Year of Jinki [724] by General Azuma-Udo, Lord of Ono, who was sent to the Northern Provinces by his Majesty. It was repaired in the Six Year of Tempyo-hoji [762] by Imperial Councillor, General Asakari, Lord of Emi, Governor of the Northeastern Provinces. The first day of the Fifth Moon.(Pp. 49-50.)"

I have seen different translations of the title of Basho's published journal. Instead of "Far Province," other translators have used "Deep North" and "Far Frontier." At least to an English reader (unfamiliar with much of the literature and traditions referenced by Basho), the notion of a frontier better conveys the description (and inscription) of the Tsubo Stone. Japan was once an empire only in name. Beyond the closely held imperial region around Tokyo, feudal controls fell apart and lawlessness (from an imperial point of view) frequently prevailed. The lands beyond the boundary of law were frontiers, familiar to English readers from the English history (Scotland) and the American West (the territories).

Basho was walking the historical northern boundaries dividing imperial law and order from frontier violence. As he reached each day's destination, he was reminded of the military struggles associated with it and the honorable deaths of warriors. These historical memories subliminally affect his psychology, for he worried about misadventure in mountains and feared some of his guides [" 'Something untoward always happens on this route,' said our guide with relief as he took his leave. 'I was indeed fortunate to have brought you through safely.' "(P. 60.)]

He made seven memorial references in the first half of the journal to military history:

"When I heard it was this very shrine whose deity was invoked by Yoichi of Nasu when he cried, 'Hachiman, O Guardian God of my native land!' as he aimed his desperate arrow at the fan suspended from the tossing enemy boat, my heart stirred within me."(P. 36.)

"One ancient hero, writes Kiyosuke, straightened his helmet as he passed this barrier and donned new robes."(P. 40.)

"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 the foundation stones of the Great Gate moved us deeply....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?"(P.44)

" 'Where is the grave of the tenth-century poet, General of the Imperial Guard, Fujiwara-no-Sanekata?' we asked ... There we would find the road god's shrine before which Sanekata failed to dismount, and the grave where he was buried after being fatally thrown from his horse in consequence."(P. 46.)

[Of the Tsubo Stone, portions of the text about which I previously quoted, Basho wrote:] "This monument was made a thousand years ago and is a very real and vivid link with the past. Seeing it is one of the things that has made my trip worthwhile and one of the happiest moments of my life. Forgetting all the trials of the journey, I wept for sheer joy."(P. 50.)

"Yasuhira's stronghold stood beyond the Koromo Barrier in a strategic position to guard the entrance to Nambo Province and defend it against the Ainu tribesmen of the north."(P.56.)

"Chuzon-ji's two main halls, which I had heard about for so many years with wonder, were both open to public view. In the temple's Sutra Hall were the statues of the three great frontier generals, and in the Hall of Light were enshrined their coffins and the Buddhist images sacred to their spirits."(P. 57.)

When these references are put together, it is clear what Basho was doing. He was taking a tourist's tour of scenes of struggle in the establishment of imperial rule. He may be compared to an American tourist visiting Civil War battlefields and battlefield museums.

Basho repeatedly inculcated a ritualistic experience. He exposed himself to the horrors of the historical scene, complete with memories of victories and defeats. He was close enough to danger to feel it - perhaps a shudder or chill of fear - but safe. This exposure induced emotional turmoil - sadness often mentioned. Then he turned back, to view from behind the waterfall, to reference one of his primary metaphors, the expanse of territory now under the rule emanating from the Imperial Capital. This gesture brings relief, with the understanding that military might had brought civil order and moral right into alignment.

Basho (2) Behind the Waterfall

Reading Basho's Narrow Road to a Far Province (1694).

One of Basho's metaphors concerns a waterfall. On the fourth day of his journey, Basho visited Mt. Nikko, where he praised - as we discussed in the previous article - the Tokugawa reign for spreading security and peace throughout Japan. The waterfall was famous for the view provided from behind, looking out through the curtain of falling water. Here is Basho's description.

A mile or so up the mountain was a waterfall. The water seemed to take a flying leap and drop a hundred feet from the top of the cave into a green pool surrounded by a thousand rocks. One was supposed to sidle into the cave and enjoy the falls from behind, hence its name Urami-no-Taki, "the Waterfall Viewed from Behind."

There we did begin,
Cloistered in that waterfall,
Our summer discipline.

The waterfall offers several religous and political metaphors upon which Basho draws thematically throughout his story. First, viewing the waterfall from behind epitomized Buddhist doctrine. According to the Buddha, human life is suffering; but the suffering can be escaped by abandoning sensual and material desires. The waterfall symbolizes the ever-changing stream of phenomenological experience derived from the incessant activity of our bodily senses and physical needs. To begin our journey to peace, we must go behind the stream of experience. Since the waterfall is a veil, the imagery references a fundamental quest for the Buddhist: Go behind the veil.

Basho's haiku expresses another Buddhist theme. Buddhism was a missionary religion, which involves going out into the world. It also valued monastic withdrawal from the world. The monasteries were cloisters where disciples learned a strict routine of prayer, hence, discipline. The monasteries sought and represented the high value purity of not desiring anything, separating from worldly obsessions.

The waterfall also provided a political metaphor. By unifying Japan, the Tokugawa reign enabled travellers, such as Basho, to pass through the boundaries and barriers that had previously divided Japan into its feudal territories. Those boundaries were symbols, like the waterfall, of the suffering and transitory cravings created by zealous pursuit of worldly goods, i.e., feudal quest for power that divided the nation. When the traveller went beyond the old boundary, he could turn around and look back through it. The view back would be analogous to viewing the waterfall from behind.

Crossing the boundary and looking back through it becomes Basho's template for organizing ideas, values, and historical knowledge. The template unifies behavior, spiritual values, and political allegiances in a ritualized gesture of going through a limit and turning around to look back over the path and boundary. It implicitly glorifies Tokugawa rule, which made such travel and gestures possible at all. The gesture is fundamental to Basho's journey as a political apologia.

Basho (1) Journey As Politics

Political Enlightenment

I have long loved the prose-poem, Narrow Road to A Far Province (1694)*, by the Japanese master of haiku poetry, Basho. When in college, I read collections of translated haiku, in which Basho was well represented; but it was not until I moved to Southern California that I read his great travel story.

Of course, most of Basho's dense narrative and little gems of poetry are lost to me, since I must read them in English translation, with little knowledge of Japanese history and poetry. What I could get out of the tale, nonetheless, stimulated in me a fanciful notion. Could I read Southern California, uniting pilgrimage, our history, and regional art, through Basho's tale? What would Southern California, as a historical civilization, look like if I tried to view it through the template of Basho's literary scheme? Would this exercise be simply and completely artificial? Basho's story as literature seemingly would not be translatable or transferable to Southern California, the antipode of Basho's world. After all, of all literary forms, poetry, relying on the spoken language, translates most poorly.

Let's see what template is available in Basho's tale of his journey. English sources tell us little about the poet. Basho (1644-1694) was originally a samurai warrior who fought for a feudal lord. His lord died in 1666. Basho renounced his warrior status and moved to Edo (Tokyo), the capital city, to devote himself to poetry and Buddhism. Undoubtedly this happened, but notice that it is parallel to the story of the Buddha himself. Buddha was born into the warrior caste. He eventually renounced warfare and his status to devote himself to his religio-philosophical teachings. Basho was therefore fitting himself into a religious literary convention.

We should also notice the timing of Basho's decision to abandon his samurai sword. His decision came at the end of a long feudal period (to use the European term) in Japanese history, in which the island was divided up among warring lords. The family of Ieyasu Tokugawa eventually (1600) subdued rival kingdoms. Ieyasu Tokugawa was appointed (1603) shogun by the emperor (a titular ruler), with responsibility to maintain peace in the nation. Within twenty years, the power of the remaining feudal lords was completely broken. The Tokugawa period thus initiated an era of national unity and civil peace. Relinquishing his sword symbolized Basho's subservience to the new national power.

Basho certainly understood what it meant to be in a new political order. Is it possible that Basho's poetry was not simply a contribution to Japan's literary tradition, but also a political statement? I have not read many literary histories of Basho's Narrow Road to A Far Province. The histories I have read ignore the political point of Basho's journey, his poetry, and his tale; but Basho did not try to hide his political point.

Early in his journey, he visited Mount Nikko, the site of a famous temple. He was filled with awe by the mountain beauty and its religious center. He wrote:

In olden times, the name of this mountain was written "Ni-ko," using the Chinese characters for "two" and "wild," but when Saint Kukai built a temple here, he changed the characters to "Nik-ko," meaning "sun" and "light." He must have foreseen what was to come a thousand years later, for now the august light of the Tokugawa rule illumines the whole firmament, and its beneficent rays reach into every corner of the land so that all the people may live in security and peace.[*p. 33]

Among other matters, Tokugawa rule meant that a religious pilgrim could safely journey to any shrine anywhere on the island. Free worship of Buddhism became a benefit of the new political order and its exercise in turn supported national political power. I read Basho's tale as a masked political apologia. As we shall see in Basho's discussion of "behind the falling water," in the next article, Basho veiled his political purpose behind descriptions that are metaphors.

As a political apologia, Narrow Road to a Far Province has much to say to any political society - and certainly Southern California is that - apart from its difficult-to-translate poems. Maybe it would not be so far-fetched to read our region through Basho's prose story of poetry and pilgrimage.

* A Haiku Journey: Basho's "Narrow Road to a Far Province," translated and introduced by Dorothy Britton, revised edition ([1974]Toyko and New York: Kodansha International, 1980). Non-English characters are printed in English form; apologies.