Iaido dude

Yamaoka Tesshu (山岡 鉄舟), 1836-1888. Translation (left scroll): John Stevens, The Zen Calligraphy and Painting of Yamaoka Tesshu, 2001. Omae hyaku made washa, Kujyuku made, Tomo ni shiraga no haeru made, Tesshu koho sho. You'll reach one hundred, I'll reach ninety-nine, As our hair turns white together, Written by Tesshu koho. This is a wonderful interpretation of Takasago, a famous Noh play about an old couple. The pair lived for decades in connubial bliss even as they were located in separate villages, and died at a great old age. With just a few brushstrokes, Tesshu has created two elderly lovers who enjoy quiet contentment together. The husband offers to go first, but the couple, as close in death as in life, will likely pass away within a few days of each other. This kind of Zenga served as good luck charm for married couples. The particular style of depicting Takasago appears to have originated with Tesshu and thereafter become a standard theme in Zenga. I own two different versions of this beloved subject matter that Yamaoka brushed throughout his most productive period. The one on the left is fairly short and narrow in scale and is a nice example of how he tended to execute this composition. It was likely brushed in 1885. The one on the right, a very large work, is the only example that I have seen in which Yamaoka brushes the last character differently (hiragana?) rather than kanji and the couple appears to be standing rather than sitting as in all other examples. I'm also not certain that the poem is worded the same as in all of his other versions. Certainly the phrasing is different. The ink is also only thinly and lightly applied to outline the bodies of the standing couple. The rendering is more childlike, almost cartoonish. Perhaps this reflects a declining physical state as he neared his death in 1888 at age 52 from stomach cancer.

The book is a re-printing of a first edition that was considered rare and difficult to find. This book is considered the definitive English translation and publication of her work with many beautiful illustrations of her raga (haiku with painting). In Japan, she is revered. most Japanese learn her “morning glory” haiku in school. When I acquired her calligraphy, I remembered that it brought an enormous amount of bidding interest at a time when Japanese calligraphy is undervalued. Her calligraphy isn’t offered very often for sale. I’m waiting for a raga to be offered. She did her own painting as well as collaborations with other celebrated painters of her day.

I suppose I could’ve started with the two kanji, which are unusual enough they would have identified the topic. Then the search engine would’ve done the rest. Thanks again.

How did you come to be so capable with zukushi-ji? Chiyo-ni’s style is said to be very idiosyncratic, but highly consistent like most great calligraphers. However, translators become expert with a particular artist typically only after a long period of study. The fact that you are just now discovering her is all the more credit to you. A new edition of Patricia Donegan’s book on Chiyo-ni will be available on Amazon next month. I just picked it up in Singapore last week, where I was surprised it was already available.

Thanks, Steve! I just marvel at what she is able to do with 17 syllables and 3 lines. Stunning.

While I have this wonderful group NMB members together discussing beautiful Japanese haiku, here is another Chiyo-ni calligraphy. I have been hopeless at even getting a clue as to it's wording. I would be grateful for assistance here.

Hi Piers. Thanks for your comments, which bring an exquisite nuance to Chiyo-ni's poem. It seems that there may be a difference between 留主 and 留守 because the latter sometimes is used to mention that someone's mind is distracted with something else, thus being not focused on the present. This would tie in well with further elaboration of ‘hito’ as conveying someone close or dear to the one writing the poem or even possibly one who has passed away (her thoughts are with someone else). So, the translation of what strikes me as a profound sentiment rendered in 17 syllables and 3 lines (astonishing) might be: the autumn moon even for a dear one whose absence is keenly felt shines just as full Translation is a complex endeavor. I have never seen the same Japanese writing translated the same way because Japanese is often an implied language that requires sensitivity to personal, social, cultural, and aesthetic context. To the extent that the translator can discern the zukushi-ji and context, the translation will be different.

Fukuda Chiyo shows up repeatedly in references without a clear attribution. In Patricia Donegan's "The Poetry of Chiyo-Ni," she writes that there is no evidence that Chiyo-ni ever married. In Wiki, there is the statement: "In around 1720 she married a servant of the Fukuoka family of Kanazawa, and had one child with him, a son, who died in infancy. Her husband died of disease not long after in 1722. She valued her independence too much, and despite her loneliness, she did not remarry, so she returned home to her parents." Her family name was Fukumasuya.

Thanks, gentlemen. I am again grateful to those members of NMB who are expert in kuzushi-ji for their invaluable input. I had a hard time with the translation that follows 名月や, which is a kigo she uses for a series of haiku that reference the season of autumn. I could not find a single calligraphy example of hers for this haiku as a reference. I asked the poet Michael Burch who has published "loose translations" of haiku to help with the translation, but he is not formally trained in Japanese, and he felt that the calligraphy of the version I posted was the right one. Clearly not. I have never felt entirely comfortable with that choice because it doesn't make sense (e.g. ittemo is not repeated). Here's a more challenging calligraphy that I posted previously of Yamaoka Tesshu that appears to be about a vine that is associated with gourds (hyotan). He frequently intermixes hiragana with kanji. The inscription on the box is also shown. This is a most unusual subject matter for Yamaoka, so there is no example of the translation that I can find.

Haiku translation (5-7-5 form): 名月や 留守の人にも 丸ながら meigetsu ya-- rusu no hito ni mo maru nagara Autumn's bright moon-- even for those who are not near to us is still full [Note: the seasonal reference (kigo) is the moon, "ya" is a break (kireji) denoted in English by a hyphen that is used to demarcate the eternal from a momentary perception (walking, in this case); there needs to be two electric poles between which a spark leaps for the haiku to be effective, otherwise it is just a brief statement] Fukuda Chiyo (1703-1775), also called Chiyo-jo ("jo" is a feminine suffix), Kaga No Chiyo (Chiyo of the Kaga Region), Matto No Chiyo (Chiyo of the Town of Matto), and Chiyo-ni (this suffix "ni" denotes nun), is Japan's most famous woman haiku poet. She lived the Way of Haikai, appreciating each moment and creating art as part of everyday life because she was open to her world. She became a lay Buddhist nun of the Pure Land sect after she retired, which allowed her to travel alone freely and access many groups such as poetry circles comprised of men and prostitutes of the pleasure quarters to devote herself intensely to her art in an age when women's freedom and creativity were restricted. Remarkably, she achieved fame and publication during her lifetime. In this haiku, Chiyo-ni reminds us of the enduring power of nature to connect us all, even across physical and emotional divides. It encourages us to find solace and a sense of shared humanity in the simple beauty of the world around us. Since the moon symbolizes enlightenment, it carries a hope that we can all realize the Buddha nature that lies concealed and unrevealed within each of us. I am reminded that Yamaoka Tesshu produced over a million calligraphy/painting works because the proceeds could be used to save all of the souls in Japan. Enlightenment that does not lead to boundless compassion is impotent. It is said that when thinking of famous haiku poets there are two names that have always been in the forefront: among the men there is Basho; among the women there is Chiyo-ni. She excelled at the "three perfections" of calligraphy, painting, and poetry--traditionally considered one art in East Asia. For the Japanese, the visual/spatial effect of calligraphy is almost as important as the meaning. Haiku is usually calligraphed in one vertical line, but sometimes, as in this case, in two or three lines. for visual effect. She was surrounded by famous artists living in her area and frequenting her family's shop that mounted other artists' works on kakejiku, or hanging scrolls. She was a largely self-taught painter, like most haijin (haiku poets) of the time. Her style has a freshness and spontaneity of composition and her masterly use of space is intuitive. Chiyo-ni's calligraphy line is feminine, refined, and freer than the more traditional masculine style of her teachers such as Genemon Yamamoto (1656-1725). Her cursive style, with its soft and energetic lines, is impossible to imitate. It is not the martial style of Otagaki Rengetsu with the precise spacing between the characters and between the rows with proportions retained and consistent (see comparison). Chiyo-ni's unique style can be divided into three periods: early period with a light, playful style; middle with a delicate, subtle style; and late with a simple, Zen-like style. A woodblock print by Tsukioka Yoshitoshi's of "Lady Chiyo and the Broken Water Bucket" is shown below. It illustrates an enlightenment poem by the unrelated Adachi Chiyono (1223-1298), who was the daughter of a samurai warrior in the 13th century and who became the first woman – and mother – to found and head a Zen monastery in Japan: "With this and that I tried to keep the bucket together, and then the bottom fell out. Where water does not collect, the moon does not dwell." The calligraphy version in the woodblock print appears to be a more contemporary rendering of Adachi's poem. Tsukioka may have been linking these two together since Chiyo-ni never wrote a haiku related to a bucket except for her famous "morning glory" series. She is said to have been a great beauty. Otagaki Rengetsu, eggplant

Nakahara Nantenbo (1839-1925), Buddhist name Toju Zenchu (Complete Devotion), was in the last 17 years of his life, the Exalted Master of the main temple of Moyoshin-ji of the Rinzai sect. A contemporary of the great lay Zen master, swordsman, calligrapher/artist, and statesman Yamaoka Tesshu, whom he met while teaching at the training hall at Sokei-ji in Tokyo and had daily private meetings with, he was a tireless reformer of Zen monastic training and activity, emphasizing strict practice and koan study. During his travels in Kyushu in 1873, he discovered a large ancient nandina bush growing beside a cow shed. He obtained permission from the farmer who owned the bush, cut the thick trunk, and addressed the remaining stump: "I cannot ive unless I make the most of your death, you who have lived for two thousand years." When he finally joined he waiting travel companions with stick in hand, they chided the zealous priest, playfully dubbing him "Nantenbo" (nandina staff). Inspired by his prized stick, he challenged resident priests to dharma battles, beating them with his stick and chasing them from their temples if they lacked true understanding. He often painted the Zen training stick of nandina, by striking the paper with a heavily loaded brush and then dragging it downward to indicated the length of the stick to suggest a dragon. The initial explosion of ink, with spatters in all directions suggesting a dragon's skin, is vivid evidence of the physicality of his approach. To this single stroke Nantenbo roughly rendered the cord and tassels attached to the stick in contrastingly pale ink tonalities. The overall result is an image that vibrates with enerby, conveying the vigor of Nantembo's technique rather than pictographic description. The potent ferocity of Nantenbo's images of training sticks is echoed by his inscription: "If you speak, Nantenbo; If you don't speak, Nanten[bo]." In other words, you will receive a blow from the nandina stick (and also Nantenbo himself) whether or not you are able to respond to his koan. This inscription echoes a terse statement attributed to the Chinese priest Te-shan: "If you speak, thirty blows; if you don't speak, thirty blows." Nantenbo is telling us that the essence of Zen transcends speaking and nonspeaking; clever words, glib philosophizing, or pretentious silence will earn one a sharp crack on the head. Indeed, it serves as a koan that aims to cut through dualistic thinking by forcing the ego to relinquish a dependence on logic. This seemingly harsh message from master to disciple also exemplifies a pivotal concept in Zen training: after experiencing an initial awakening, a Zen practitioner must not become complacent. This is why it is said that someone who has reached enlightenment never clings to it but moves on. In the same manner, a responsible Master continues to prod his disciples onward, using every means available, including sharp blows with a stick. In this example the calligraphy on either side of the painting form little staffs and, seen less often in this rendering of the nandina staff, the end of the cipher also has a long vertical stroke (reading Toju), echoing the staff itself. It is signed "Seventy-plus-eight-year-old fellow Nantenbo Toju.

Ah, yes. Good to see you have the book. His calligraphy becomes more concentrated and focused after enlightenment. Most of my pieces are dated to 1885-1887, within a few years before his death. I will do a separate post on his classic depiction of an elderly couple with poem from the famous Noh play Takasago that I just acquired (hard to find these). I think it was done close to death with a sense of his failing health. I have suffered from chronic pain for the past decade and take great comfort in how he faced physical suffering. His manuscript book for the poem Eight Immortals is found on this Rinzai Zen site and continues to be practiced by the Chosai Zen folks there. I'm hoping to do a fall keishin with them on-line to get an introduction to Shodo: https://www.choseizen.org/calligraphy

Kobayashi Taigen (1938-) is the Abbot of Daitoku-ji temple. This painting and calligraphy pay homage to the lay Zen master, swordsman, and calligrapher Yamaoka Tesshu. Mount Fuji (富士山) Translation (John Stevens): Perfect when clear, Harete yoshi Perfect when cloudy, kumoritemo yoshi Mt. Fuji's, fuji no yama Original form, moto no sugata was Never changes. kawarazari keri Mt. Fuji is depicted in a single, dynamic stroke of wet ink transitioning to "flying white," accompanied by a famous poem written by Yamaoka Tesshu. It tells the story of Yamaoka's own enlightenment experience. After three years of training under Seijo, abbot of Ryutaku-ji in Izu, Seijo pronounced, "Your study here is finished." The puzzled Tesshu did not know what to make of this declaration because he still had many unresolved questions. As he pondered this enigma on his way back to Tokyo, Mt. Fuji suddenly came to view. "Oh!" Tesshu realized. When Tesshu ran back to thank Seijo for his teaching, he found the abbot waiting for him. Underlying the surface phenomena of duality (clear vs. cloudy) lies an "original form" that is immutable. The signature is stamped as "Obaishu Taigen of Daitoku-ji Temple," and on the inside of the lid of the original box is inscribed "Self-praise of Mt. Fuji, a beautiful day. Obaishu Taigen of Daitoku-ji Temple." This one by Yamoka Tesshu is from the Zensho-an temple founded by him.

Hi Deanna. I'm with you. The reason that I collect only Zenga is that it reflects the intensity and expression that only Zen masters can bring to bear on an art form that is part of their meditation practice. I did a post of a Yamaoka Tesshu Daruma calligraphy/painting in which I mention that their are groups who practice Shodo from Yamaoka's lineage. They use an "instruction" book he created for his wife, based on a poem, which doesn't require an understanding of cursive script. I find that I have developed a keep sense of pattern recognition for works by these masters through visual inspection of the form and style alone. After looking at hundreds of Yamaoka's work, I can spot him a mile away. Very idiosyncratic, but very consistent.

Thanks so much, Charlie. Actually, my wife's interpretation was exactly that of yours, but I could not find adequate source material to substantiate. This has added another depth of understanding and appreciation for me. I will update the writeup on my personal website. I wonder how handy you are at translating hiragana. I did a recent post of a Yamaoka Tesshu painting/calligraphy for which I don't have the translation. Thanks again.