NANAO ON THE BIG ROAD

Heard in late December that traveler Nanao had left the local pathways; took me a while to find this poem of mine about one night on his life's journey. Walk in peace, Nanao.

Nanao at Ashuzan

Smiles wide.
And often.
Long hair, gray beard
growing white,
firelit eyes
turning now and then toward the stars.
Cold mountain night
woolen hat
homespun clothes
rubber boots.
Sake Cup in hand
long-fingered
hunkers down by lanternlight
before the forest cabin
banters easy with the children
up straddling the drying racks.
Slow quiet--
wind rustle
fire crackle
stream sounds.
Begins to talk of Snyder
reads a long walk they took once
up the Kamogawa
in Kyoto.
Speaks on of light years
of simplicity
leading to now and beyond,
sipping
smiling
sitting simply, traveling
the eternity of birth
pathvoice
for this fireside of faces
of the ever going on.

--Nov. 1, 1986

[Published in Kyoto Journal # 2]
Last time I saw Nanao...

[w/tks to Ken Rodgers.]

DANCING WITH THE RAIN

On hurricaney Saturday afternoon we took a chance and drove around the mountain, then along through the steep valley to visit Yamauto on its closing weekend, low and scudding clouds shrouding the whole already mystic way. Seems though that our mountains keep most of the rain on our side; though cloudy over there, there was no rain for a long while; there were even patches of blue sky above the strong breezes.

There was a bit of a change in the ongoings though, because from Saturday the local villagers began to take part in the festival, teaching traditional crafts, songs and dances. In the photo at left, a village 'grandma' shows Yamauto participants how to weave rope/cloth sandals (rice straw can be used too) using one's big toes as the loom.

It was food to be among all those smiling faces of always fresh intelligence, seekers every one – the music was grand and the sky played along with all its bag of tricks, from shimmering mists to patches of turquoise, drops of gold and sudden rainbows (the best kind).

Met many new friends and saw dear old ones again—saw Sogyu once more in a long time, as hearty as ever, and Nanao (poet) and Isamu (painter; painted the tepee just above). Even when the rain fell at last for a time, strong and steady, it was part of the music and the party, that kept on dancing with the rain.

Isamu, Nanao, Sogyu

Isamu, Nanao, me

******

[In comments to my earlier post on Yamauto, below, intriguing perspectives on Japan's future from Ken Elwood.]

[Later update: just found Goa Gil's photo album of his all-night performance at Yamauto on September 1.]