Two Haibun
Alone at Taizo-in Temple
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Late afternoon and the tourists have gone. Left alone in the garden, I remove my sandals and curl up on a bench shaded by a trellis of wisteria. The cushions are plump and warm from the sun, the wisteria unbearably sweet. With my dress fanned out, I repose like a Japanese princess in this painting of rocks, water and flowers. The scene recalls a tanka by the feminist Yosano Akiko Purple wisteria Lovers Against a white wall, The lonely traveler watches In the gathering darkness of spring.* But there are no lovers against a white wall, only this solitary poet day-dreaming as twilight approaches. just dusk azaleas in half flower —a carp jumps |
At Taizo-in, nature’s scenery has been reduced and abstracted: azalea hedges represent mountains; the pointed stone becomes a crane; the cascade of gravel, a stream falling from the mountain. Being inside this Zen garden enables one to move out, both visually and meditatively. Nakane Kinsaku, the designer of the lower stroll garden, has shaped the pond like a gourd, in tribute to Josetsu’s famous painting “Catching a Catfish with a Gourd.”
Directly in front of me is a ‘real’ waterfall, man-made. Every waterfall has its own pitch, its particular song of water over rocks. This one is soothing. I close my eyes and drift back into the sixteenth century. After all these days of activity and schedules, I imagine this is my private garden to enjoy at leisure throughout the seasons—to gaze out into the pond of golden carp, to slip in and out of sleep, and awaken refreshed.
closing time
the souvenir shop closes
waterfall—stops
without the waterfall
only the sound
of leaping carp.
* Tangled Hair, translated by Sanford Goldstein and Seishi Shinnoda
Photo by Aki Nakazawa on Unsplash
Directly in front of me is a ‘real’ waterfall, man-made. Every waterfall has its own pitch, its particular song of water over rocks. This one is soothing. I close my eyes and drift back into the sixteenth century. After all these days of activity and schedules, I imagine this is my private garden to enjoy at leisure throughout the seasons—to gaze out into the pond of golden carp, to slip in and out of sleep, and awaken refreshed.
closing time
the souvenir shop closes
waterfall—stops
without the waterfall
only the sound
of leaping carp.
* Tangled Hair, translated by Sanford Goldstein and Seishi Shinnoda
Photo by Aki Nakazawa on Unsplash
Catching a Catfish with a Gourd
A hanging scroll painting by the 15th-century artist Josetsu. It is located at Taizō-in.
It's more difficult to catch truth through words
than a catfish with a gourd. - Shiro Nakane
In the entryway of the Abbot’s quarters at Taizo-in, we’re greeted by a scroll entitled “Catching a Catfish with a Gourd”. This scroll was painted by the famous artist Josetsu to illustrate the Zen koan: The heart cannot be grasped.
The man trying to catch the catfish is barely visible in the dim light. His hair, thin and unruly, beard straggling into a V-shape down the front of his tattered robes. Barefooted, his broad feet cling to earth like the talons of a vulture grasping a branch. The catfish, knowing nothing of human desire, swims by the man.
the catfish
too big for the gourd
scoop up the river
What the man does not know is that enlightenment cannot be attained by grasping—but only through knowing there is no difference between the self and others.
forget the gourd
forget the catfish
enter the river
The man trying to catch the catfish is barely visible in the dim light. His hair, thin and unruly, beard straggling into a V-shape down the front of his tattered robes. Barefooted, his broad feet cling to earth like the talons of a vulture grasping a branch. The catfish, knowing nothing of human desire, swims by the man.
the catfish
too big for the gourd
scoop up the river
What the man does not know is that enlightenment cannot be attained by grasping—but only through knowing there is no difference between the self and others.
forget the gourd
forget the catfish
enter the river
Margaret Chula has published fourteen collections of poetry including, most recently, Firefly Lanterns: Twelve Years in Kyoto. Her first haiku collection, Grinding my ink, received a Haiku Society of America book award and One Leaf Detaches, a Touchstone Award. She has been featured speaker and international workshop leader, as well as serving as president of the Tanka Society of America and as Poet Laureate for Friends of Chamber Music. Living in Kyoto for twelve years, Maggie now makes her home in Portland, Oregon, where she hikes, gardens, and creates flower arrangements for every room of the house.
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