Kusamakura means literally 'Pillow Grass' and in Japanese this has intimations of travel, often with an underlying spiritual purpose. Soseki uses it as a reference to Basho's book -Narrow Road to the Interior, which is a similar journey accompanied by philosophical and poetic discourse. Kusa grass is also traditionally what the Buddha made his meditation seat out of before he became enlightened. So the novel's title has many inferences hinting at what Soeseki's intention is.
The central character is a nameless young artist and poet who escapes the rapidly urbanising Tokyo to embark on a journey through rural Japan. He has set himself the task of viewing whatever he sees with dispassion, to observe the world simply as it is. He believes this requires him to be 'nonemotional', which is not the same as 'unemotional'. Though he tries to be this dispassionate calm observer he is unable to find a subject matter he wants to paint, or be satisfied he can capture the mood of a moment in a haiku.
Then he starts to hear about a woman through local gossip, and then encounters that woman, Nami, a name meaning beauty in Japanese. She appears as a uniquely independent free spirit, whom the artist becomes increasingly intrigued by. There is something about her that he's looking for, something in the way she chooses to live that he also wants. What he seeks is not sex or her love, but the solution to an existential longing. He frequently encounters her by accident, such as one time where they end up discussing what the best way to read a book is. The artist thinks its following the storyline, to connect with the characters triumphs and dilemmas from the start of the book in sequence through to the end. Nami, however, reads novels by opening them at random in a different place everyday, entering into the scene in the book and responding cleanly to whatever is happening. Being able to make something of it that's not completely bound by an author's narrative diktat.
Soseki wrote Kusamakura in 1906, as the Westernisation of Japan proceeded at a pace and the older style culture of Japan was rapidly disappearing. This rupture in the continuity of Japanese culture and society appears, from my limited reading of Japanese authors, to be like a festering wound in the countries psyche, that even now they are still searching for a way to heal. For Soseki his reaction was the desire to write a truly Japanese form of literature, drawn from its own cultural traditions. With Kusamakura he set out with the aim of producing a 'haiku' style novel. Whilst its arguable that he didn't entirely succeed in this, plus he never wrote in this style again, it is nevertheless a lyrically compelling and beautifully imagined book. The storyline though minimal is never what this novel is about. It frequently, and at length, enters into philosophical ruminations on the role of beauty, the artist, aesthetics, the nature of objective and subjective experience, and how these help one live a purposeful meaningful life. I found it thoroughly engaging, thought provoking and a joy to read.
Few books capture your attention right from their first few paragraphs. Once I read the first page I immediately planned to set aside time for reading it, I didn't want to skimp and risk missing something. Soseki writes with such precision and insight he holds you simply through the eloquence of his ( abeit translated ) sentences. So just as a taster to wet your appetite, here are the first two opening paragraphs. ' As I climb the mountain path, I ponder ~ If you work by reason, you grow rough-edged; if you choose to dip your oar into sentiment's stream, it will sweep you away. Demanding your own way only serves to constrain you. However you look at it, the human world is not an easy place to live. And when its difficulties intensify, you find yourself longing to leave that world and dwell in some easier one - and then, when you understand at last that difficulties will dog you wherever you may live, this is when poetry and art are born.'
Say what you may about the late Mark E Smith he was something of a one off. Repeated reputation has it that he was a bit of a git, but a genius, which makes being a git synonymous with genius, which simply cannot be always so. Mark E Smith was, however, one of a bunch of single minded poetic northerners along with John Copper Clarke, Morrissey and Ian Curtis, who were sparked into creative life by punk arriving in Manchester in the mid 70's. What marks out Smith as different is that he resolutely continued to maintain his independence and pursue his own muse, even when that led him close to penury. You have to admire someone for sticking unflinchingly to his guns for thirty years of creative output, and sixty band members!
On one day I could find The Fall's jangly amateurism, delightful, with Smith's traditional mode of vocal delivery; half mangling vowels and half one spit away from derision, emitting a rebellious charm. On another day I could find The Fall abrasive and whingeing, with Smith's writing and delivery sounding like an incomprehensible mess, all of which made for uneasy listening. As he got older, the drink and drugs did take their toll. Smith became the sort of person you'd avoid in a pub, sitting glowering in a corner, occasionally shouting out an addled obscenity. So, though you could like and often feel admiration, even a sort of vicarious pride in the fact that Mark E Smith ever existed, rarely was he or The Fall lovable. But even I have had my moments where I succumbed, and here are four of them.
THE FIRST MOMENT I LOVED THE FALL ~ Rowche Rumble ~ 1979
The Fall in their naive earliest incarnation had a ramshackle spirit, declaring 'fuck 'em if they don't like this,we don't care.' There are musical moments here to treasure that achieve greatness, by sheer accident. I heard Rowche Rumble first, unsurprisingly, on the John Peel Show, and I was so taken with it I went out and bought it. More than likely recorded in one take, it has this zestful burst of enthusiastic but inept instrument playing that sounds thin and tinny, but it catches your attention from the marching drum beat of its opening bars. Then come the jangly guitars only just on the beat. Its all basic and embellished with the puny sound of a child's organ tinkling tunelessly over the top. This is a joyful few minutes of earnestly left field pop, about chemical addiction! Prophetically Smith sings 'now I've tried crazy things, abusing my body to a great end, but I'll never never never do it again.' , except of course the latter never did happen.
THE SECOND MOMENT I LOVED THE FALL ~ Lie Dream Of A Casino Soul ~ 1981
An almost traditional rock drum opening, quickly becomes perverted into a fast paced demented hand jive. Smith's more confident vocalising is now going at full tilt, his lyrics depicting a grim picture of the seedier run down aspects of urban life, and the northern casino soul scene is painted as a fantasy escapade ~ ' went home to my slum canyon, on my way I looked up, I saw turrets of Victorian wealth, I saw John the ex-fox, sleeping in some outside bogs, there's a silent rumble, in the buildings of the night council'. Going on behind this rather cracking little number, are off key guitars and keyboards fighting like cats for dominance with those relentless drums.
THE THIRD MOMENT I LOVED THE FALL ~ Living Too Late ~ 1986
I first heard this at Sadlers Wells, when it was played behind a lewdly extravagant performance by The Micheal Clark Dance Company. There is something about that plodding bass line with its downtrodden air, as a jarring keyboard stabs repeatedly into it like a knife, that I love. Over the top Smith intones 'Crows feet are on my face, and I'm living too late, try to wash the black off my face, and I'm living too late' He's writing about a universal melancholic feeling of being out of sync with your life and times. Though Smith is often characterised as dour, he's never been averse to a bit of lyrical dry humour, something he's rarely credited with ' Sometimes life is like a bar, plastic seats, beer below par, food with no taste, music grates, I'm living too late' For me this is The Fall's finest moment.
THE FORTH MOMENT I LOVED THE FALL ~ Hit The North ~ 1987
We are still in the Brix Smith era of The Fall, where the band is, lets say, more professional and on the case. They also sound distinctly poppy with an accessible danceable edge to it. However, one look at the cryptic lyrics I think you'd be hard put to find one iota of sense in them. they are more like a series of dissociated abstracted images that paint a picture, albeit a very out of focus one ~ ' In the reflected mirror of delirium, Eastender and Victorian lager, the induced call, mysterious, come forth ~ Hit the North!
Still, its a great rallying cry, with a very addictive sax riff.
After this, though I've probably missed out on some great music, I lost interest as they seemed to be becoming part of the familiar well worn furniture. I fell out of love, with The Fall, you might say.
No Shape is Perfume Genius's fourth album, and its a defiant confirmation of his talent, giving fuller flesh to his idiosynchratic imagination. Visually there's always been something about him that's of the 1920's, slight of build, fey and winsome, but with a harder queenly eye that says don't mess with me. His voice has little basso profundo, though he utilises and enhances his voice's qualities well. So vocally, though slight, breathy and light in tone, on No Shape he gives it the most exotic, sensuous and dramatic of musical settings to frame it with. There is probably no pop artist working at the moment who ponders on his place in queerdom and the world at large, as this man.
The album's opener Slipaway which starts with an aboriginal tribal electro beat, that then explodes out into this dramaticly wide panorama, is an exhilerating flourish. 'don't look back, I want to break free, if you never see what's coming, there's no reason to hide' he sings. Capturing the feeling of how falling in love can take you by suprise when it arrives. There has always a mode of transgressiveness surrounding Perfume Genius and his music. He wants to break out of limitations, personal, social and musical conventions of all kinds. We all may feel from time to time, that.our views of ourselves are self-limiting and witholding of our potential. Which is probably why its taken four albums for Perfume Genius to reach this level of achievement, it has been hard won.
There are many musical peaks on No Shape but Die 4 You is a truly beautiful thing. One that is hard to quite put into words. Exploiting PG's hushed vocal qualities, its a sinuous and heartfelt peaon to attraction and longing for a loved one. The video is a wonderful accompanyment to this song, like a surreal dream, full of wishfulfillment and a nebulous physical sense of the love object. Its artfully contrived, but somehow evoking the loneliness in longing, of waiting, the perilous febrile qualities of desire, how muscular intimacy and emotionally tenderness are fed by the precognition of our imaginations
In many ways just picking out a handful of tracks from an album that has such a cohesive feel and theme woven through it, leaves an incorrect impression of it. However, you have to attempt from giving snapshots to paint what the complete picture maybe like. With Wreath, there's a life giving urgency to it that propells it forward. As he sings 'I see the sun go down I see the sun come up, I'm moving just beyond the frame' it could seem like that urgency is to do with making the most of life, because who knows where the end of it is, just beyond the frame of it? 'I want to hover with no shape'. would indicate another reading, of the need to keep dying to yourself, to not stay the same out of habit, but to constantly shift shape, to keep breaking through to another way of being, 'to put a wreath upon the grave'. The video is joyous, an edited selection of videos from people around the world miming or dancing in their own individual way to this track, it has a universality to it, encapsulating audi-visually what the words life affirming is meant to discribe.
2018 has turned up like a pre-pubescent teenager, all idealistic, scruffy and naive. Christmas and New Year feel like friends who've left for a long vacation, whilst the arrival of Spring has yet to be glimpsed. In the middle of the month, after one too many cold grey skies and a working week that for a variety of reasons turned the nightmare stress setting way up high, we both of us hit emotional overload and developed a bad case of the January Blues.
There's a huge amount that's really good about our new life here in Upper Sheringham, don't get me wrong. This month, after all the costs of moving and setting up home here and buying a car,.we've saved enough to return us to the financial position we were in before moving. Neither of us, however, came here with the express purpose of doing the sort of employment we are now doing. Over the last nine months we've tended to find ourselves so busy getting things together that our real aim, the craft cafe project, has been perpetually on hold. Leading to mental and physical strain, frustration and quite a bit of weariness.
So we've decided that whether we feel like it or not we just have to give attention to our project, or it will stay forever a nice idea. We now convene in a local cafe on Sundays for a weekly meeting to discuss, clarify issues and set aims for the following week. Our views abour Cottonwood have changed so a revamp is required to our website, our photography, and our site on Etsy. Though our main priority is deciding what type of business and premises we're looking for and where that might be. Working out set up budgets for the different options and what the pros and cons are of them. Over a number of weeks I envisage this will bring what we are striving towards back into sharper focus.
Jnanasalin's work for has picked up momentum. He's in the process of doubling the size of the chain in the next three months, from three to six shops. The first refit was carried out by proffesional shopfitters who did the whole thing in 24 hrs at a special rate for the charity, but that's still at half the cost it would have taken to refit an Evolution shop, which often took a week or more to complete. So what with staff interviews, inductions, and seeing that the other shops stay at the top of their game, plus stuff he's doing to sweep up the last remaining crumbs of Windhorse Trading, he's got a lot on at the moment.
My cleaning at the Mental Health Care Homes, on a day to day basis stays the same, as does the residents breadth of conversation.They remain ghostly pale shadows of their former selves, stuck in a mental glitch that holds their lives in a self-perpetuating loop. Each day I step once more into a House Of Ghosts. Whoa! here comes the disgruntled lady always informing me 'there's a carpet in my room, but I always make sure I lock my door', Whoa! round this corner is the woman who'll say disconcerting things, informing me ' her dildo has broken'. Though amusing to recount after the event, these encounters can unnerve the psyche as I travel round expunging slarts of excrement from toilet porcelain, or on rare occasions ( thankfully) scraping out shit from a shower drain.
January has then tested my ability to internally maintain stillness and calm in the midst of my daily doings. There's the daily doings and my wanting, or not wanting, to do the daily doings. I've been reflecting on and endeavouring to practise the implications of a Japanese phrase 'fude ni shitagau' -'follow the brush'. Its about staying with and responding to one's surroundings, encouraging greater mindfulness and a sense of presence - 'following the brush' instead of 'following the mind & emotions'. Bringing yourself back to the purposeful activity of what you're doing and where you're doing it, rather than thinking about other things you'd prefer to be doing and other places you'd rather be.
During these daily doings, following the direction of mind and emotions can drag my sense of well-being all over the place. Most of the time doubts, resentments and negativity are at cross purposes with 'follow the brush'. My practice frequently is one of attempting to extract myself from resistances to just do the cleaning. Life for most people, including myself, involves striving to find what meaning, gratification and purpose you can in the unreliable fallible external world of work. I've always had a strong tendency to day dream, but there is a qualitative difference in expression and outcome between dreaming, striving and following the unravelling thread of my daily doings.
This year appears, so far, to have developed a distinctly Japanese inflection to it. Jnanasalin and I have been talking about plans for our small patio area at the back of the house. Buying a garden arbour seat, diamond trellis and planters for an area thats not at present an aesthetic delight. We inherited a bamboo that we've repotted, which we've accompanied with two pots of grasses. So this area has already the beginnings of a Japanese feel, which we'd like to further embellish with Japanese plants, lanterns and fabric covered cushions etc. Don't worry, it wont become a Nippon theme park.
Japan is also flavouring my reading, first there's been a novel by Haruki Murakami - Norwegian Wood, which reads like a series of intimate revealing conversations on love, lust and suicide. Though it made his name internationally it didn't seem to me to be his best or most original work. But it has led me to consider devoting most of my reading this year to Japanese novels and Japan related subject matter. With this in mind I...........
Revisited Junichiro Tanizaki's In Praise Of Shadows. It's his ode to aspects of Japanese traditional culture that at the time were disappearing, if not drowning, in the oncoming neon glare of modern technology. Its strongly tinged with melancholy for a world already fading.from memory and experience. This short essay is a love poem praising the effect of shadows cast by candlelight, and how darkness changes our perceptions of interiors and objects. He vividly paints pictures of interiors, laquerware, gold objects and brightly embroidered 'No 'costumes, and how what is garish under electric light, takes on a more suggestive subtlety when half consumed in shadows cast by the flicker of candlelight. It beautifully highlights the aesthetic influence of shadows in our everyday existence.
I've just started reading A Monk's Guide to A Clean House & Mind by Shoukei Matsumoto. I encountered it via a Guardian article that was satirising and ridiculing it, but it mentioned cleaning in the title, and he's a Japanese Buddhist Monk, so I was interested anyway. Essentially he's pointing out an obvious thing, that how we inhabit and care for the spaces we live in to some extent affects our mental well being. Being both Japanese and a monk, he's quite big on setting up simple routines. Nonetheless I'm finding it is encouraging me to look at,my daily routine and unhelpful habits that I've slumbered in for too long. I 've realised how dispiriting I find coming down in the morning to a sink full of last nights washing up and a living room with the half desiccated remnants of last nights tuck. Its not a good set up for the day ahead. So I've taken on Matsumoto's suggestion to tidy up before I go to bed. This book wouldn't be to everyone's cup of tea, but it is mine.
