May
I be honest, as Shiki was about his feelings toward his sister,
Ritsu? While I had developed a bond of filial love with this
friend whom I physically and spiritually cared for (usually
twenty-four hours a day), I also experienced great frustration,
sense of imprisonment and many times, resentment. He sometimes
felt resentment toward me as well.
my
portulaca
overtaking those junipers
you bought regardless
He
was my brother, not by physical family, but by spiritual family.
Ritsu's "life of poetry" would include all those same
emotions, but over a longer period of time. My health broke after
two years, but we stayed for four. I did not write poetry during
this time, that I can remember, but it was not the reason why I
did not.
parallel
tracks
two rows of oxfords
never scuffed
*oxfords:
men's style of leather shoes
I
do believe we are poetry and music, and that what we think, do and
say is the writing of it, not in a book, but in truth. Until now,
I have written only a few haiku about Lloyd, but not about the
everyday living of that time as if to journal this part of our
lives.
turning
leaves
tweeds or corduroys?
corduroys or tweeds?
I've
not even been sure that anyone would really wish to hear about
those everyday acts of caring for one in such a manner as Ritsu
and her mother did for Shiki, or as I did with Lloyd.
holding
my breath
on Christmas morning
I brush your teeth
The
poems could not be "beautiful" to hear or look upon.
They would be more like hearing about Shiki's phlegm, coughing and
sores, and yes, with a sense of humour, as that is essential to
living through these things, for the afflicted one, and maybe even
more so for the care taker.
wool
weather
your crotch rash unattended
by the male nurse
Many
of us do these kinds of things for aging parents or loved ones
with chronic illness or disability, or as health care
professionals.
up
five times
or maybe six tonight
the draw sheet drenched
As
a Ritsu, my poems must need tell you about the careful daily
cleaning out, with latex-gloved fingers, the bowels of a man,
dressing chronic bedsores, staying nearby him day and night...
before
church
I wash useless manly parts
once wasted in passion
...giving
monthly pedicures to calcified toenails, sponge bathing a man not
my husband, taking special care of genitals inflamed by the long
sitting in one position, interrupting sleep several times a night
to change his position, making sure his favorite foods were
stocked...
the
growing bulge
in his khaki trousers
a full leg bag
When
one has been placed in such a position of Shiki or Ritsu, one's
views of life change -- some for bitter, and some for the better.
It reduces and reveals much negativity and argument over trivial
issues to the pettiness it truly is.
a
gentleman --
pissing behind a van,
the slow drain of his leg
bag
I
have no stomach for such things, especially in haiku poetry.
I am speaking of the picking apart of bone and flesh -- the biting
and tearing which men inflict to prove "right" and to
gain power over others.
tornado
warning
the van's wheelchair lift
slowly grinding
Being
in such a position as Ritsu or Shiki also reveals the greatness
and strength of the human spirit. I hope my life and Ritsu's
changed for the better. I am more aware of the huge weaknesses and
dark places of my own soul (and sometimes those of others) because
of it.
morning
glory
covered the bars and rail
of a hidden fence
Lloyd
died two years after we moved from Kansas to Florida.
scent
of prairie grass
the look in your eyes
when we said last goodbyes
I
hope that when reading about and examining the poetry and the
lives of Shiki and Ritsu, one might learn something of his own
spirit, as we share a common humanity, no matter what the culture.
I offer my small gift of words.
ah,
Ritsu,
you are also my sister;
the weeping sore |
kunikoete
Ritsu wa ware nimo
imoto nari* |
|
For
Ritsu, Shiki and Lloyd, three tanka: |
|
Once,
dreaming,
I tried to hold you up;
the heaviness
of a tall man's bones
beneath a broken neck.
I
fed a man,
his withered hands
already dead;
wheat fields of Kansas
white with early frost.
The
night we talked
of greatest loneliness
reached morning;
before leaving your room,
I dried your tears, not mine.
|
kunikoete
Ritsu wa ware nimo imoto nari
transcending
nationality
Ritsu
is also
my sister
*haiku
translation version by Eiko Yachimoto
(Edited
and revised from a posting to WHChaikuforum, August 1, 2001 in
response to WHC Shiki Translation Project #2 postings in which the
relationship between Masaoka Shiki and his sister, Ritsu were
discussed. Observing that Ritsu's life was her poetry, a challenge
was made by Paul Conneally to write poetry from Ritsu's point of
view.)
Ritsu,
Shiki's sister, along with their mother, provided personal care
for Masaoka Shiki when he became bedridden with degenerative
tuberculosis of the spine. Jane Beichman, in Masaoka Shiki,1
notes:
"Shiki's
relations with his mother and sister seem to have been difficult
even though they nursed him devotedly after he became invalid. The
vignette of his mother in the episode from Stray Notes2 ...
makes her sound a rather ineffectual person. Elsewhere in the
diary, he claimed that both she and his sister were completely
lacking in the imaginative resources necessary to cheer an invalid
like himself (I can not resist adding that they were probably too
busy simply accomplishing the basic tasks of life -- cleaning,
laundry, cooking, and attending to Shiki's medical needs, as well
as waiting on the guests who came to call -- to have much time to
spare for imagination).
'Shiki's
particular wrath was reserved for his sister, Ritsu, who became
the subject of one of the most extraordinary series of entries in
Stray Notes."
1.
p. 133, Shiki Masaoka, Jane Beichman, Twayne Publishers, G.
K. Hall & Co., 70 Lincoln St., Boston, MA 02111; 1982.
2.
Stray Notes While Lying on My Back (Gyoga manroku), A,
VII; K, XI, Shiki Masaoka.
