Sunday, October 15, 2017

Yase Shamenchi Odori (八瀬赦免地踊)


The days are growing short.  The bus climbs into the black hills.  I alight at Furusatomae in the village of Yase which is at the foot of Mount Hiei northeast of the city.  Or at least I hope I have.  It's impossible to know in the darkness with little more than the moon to light the road.  The air is cool.

I have come to see the Yase Shamenchi Odori (pardoned land dance) which takes place in early October every year at Akimoto-jinja.  This so-called dance of gratitude, preceded by a grand procession, is a registered intangible cultural property of Kyoto.  The dance originated in the Edo period (1603-1868) when the shogunate Akimoto Tajimamori came to the aid of the people of Yase in a land dispute.  To show their appreciation for the favour bestowed upon them by this noble they built a shrine and held an annual dance performance in his honour.

The main feature of the procession to the shrine where the dance takes place is the eight young boys dressed as maidens with polyhedral paper lanterns balanced on their heads.  Each of the 12 panels of the 70cm tall lanterns has an incredibly intricate design of various flora, fauna and warriors cut from red paper.  Using special knives, these delicate artworks take months to cut out.  As the boys proceed up the unlit path to Akimoto-jinja the lanterns atop their heads appear to float in the night.  The solemn rhythmic singing of village elders at the top of the steps welcome the young lantern bearers.

The votive dance is performed by 10 and 11-year-old girls wearing floral headpieces and colourful period costumes.  There are two numbers: the shiokumi odori (salt scooping dance) and the hana tsumami odori (flower picking dance).  They move with the grace of young maiko (geisha apprentices) around the stage.

It is all quite exquisite and enchanting.

There is a certain mystery to the night.  It is the darkness.  Everything is a little vague and amorphous.  Returning to the city after the Yase Shamenchi Odori, it is as if waking from a dream.


Saturday, October 7, 2017

Musing



I see the scaffolding go up
brutal young men
     joking, cigarettes, brown skin

I know what comes next
     a shroud is pulled up

          inside a home breathes
          its last breath

They will attack the house
     with hammers and bars
     a mini excavator will
          finish the job

Tatami straw, cedar posts, clay roof tiles

     torn, twisted, cracked
     heaped in a pile

          the dust of another century
               settles, lightly

The shroud comes down
Someone's history has been
                                   erased

and the heartbeat grows
                    ever          more

                                             faint