Poetry, Summer 2001

IN THE SPRING OF 1689, the Zen poet, Basho, already a well-known haiku master, set out from Edo to walk through northern and western Japan, on a long tour he later made famous as a metaphor for life's "journey" in his travel diary "Oku no Hosomichi." In "Narrow Roads to Inner Lands," a dramatic poem by Mark Scrivener recently published by Hollow Hills Publishing, the author has written a dramatization and interpretation of this journey--a fusion of Eastern and Western styles with iambic pentameters, haiku and an element of No theatre's concentration on inner experience. This excerpt is reprinted with permission of Hollows Hills Publishing.

Now in this mortal body I call mine
(Four-limbed, with breath and heart, and many senses)
Dwells something called, for want of better name,
A wind-swept spirit, for as gossamer
Will yield and shift to any wind, so will
This spirit to the winds of earthly changes.
This gossamer began to write its poems,
At first for self-amusement and delight,
Some many years ago. Well, finally
That grew to be the work of all its days.
It's true at times it sank in deep despair;
At times it puffed with pride and glorified
In false, weak victories over others. Once
It wished to be a learned scholar; once
It wished to enter courtly service; but
Its love of poetry prevented either.
But honestly the truth of it is this:
It knows no other art but writing verse
And thus it clings with stubbornness to that.
Both sun and moon are ever wanderers--
They pass upon their paths for endless time.
Both days and months are ceaseless travellers,
Eternal through the countless generations.
And so too are the ever-turning years.
And those whose lives are spent in steering ships
Across uncertain seas, and those whose days
Drift by in boats upon the changeful rivers,
And those who lead a weary horse into
The gathering of years until the weight
Of plodding time loads them too heavily,
Spend all their lives in constant travelling--
Until the travelling itself is home.
And many ancients also left this life
Still walking on the way. And I myself
Have long been tempted by the cloud-carrying wind,
Filled with desire to be wandering.
Yet I'm possessed of other purpose too,
And purpose many would not comprehend.
Some, busy-blind, believe the worth of life
Is counted in their gold and gathered goods,
Or else in fame achieved within this world,
Or else in transitory pleasures, such
As vanish as the idle dust in wind.
Now I have seen the courts of mighty men,
I trained to be a noble samurai,
My verse is known in many places, thus
I have at times been touched by all these things.
But now, becoming older, I can feel
How all the pride of time, youth's tide of strength,
Is ebbing slowly from year-wearied limbs.
The only thing that I can now believe
Gives worth and basis to life's given being
Is nourishing a growing of awareness--
A patient practice and a right awaiting.
And then, beyond all such, self-reaching reasons,
There lies the curious attempt to catch
Truth's moments in the verses which I try
To leave for others' seeing. Truly now
The gods have turned my poor self inside out.
I feel called to uncertain search and so,
Before slow illness stops my steps, I have
Resolved in this far journeying upon
The narrow, northern road to inner lands.
And yet I feel I may not find my goal
And quit this bustling, ever-changing world
Still quite unsatisfied and unfulfilled.

Basho seems to have haunted me. Having been interested in all sorts of "spiritual" things from any early age, I was naturally attracted to Eastern philosopies (as well as Western ones) and Zen Buddism and Taoism have always been favourites of mine. I started reading Basho in the Penguin edition "The Narrow Road to the Deep North"and somehow started writing the first scene. To be honest--though I know it sounds crazy--it was almost like someone or something helping to "inspire" the text.

However, the rest of the journey took me many years because it would get set aside and each time I returned to it I would somehow have to work my way back to that original "space." For me Basho's journey has been a journey into the complex art of "casting the spell" in pentameters. I believe that Basho found what he was looking for but also realized that what he was looking for never stops because it is in the journey itself.

Somehow that has been my experience also in writing the piece. I realize that it doesn't have the sort of conclusiveness we associate with dramatic writing. But though more dogmatic conclusions and pseudo-emotional scenes could have been written in they would have been false to the whole purpose of the "journey."

Born in Sydney, Australia and now living in Queensland, Mark Scrivener has had numerous poems, riddles, plays and stories for children published, some of which have also been performed professionally. "Narrow Roads to Inner Lands" is his first long piece to be released. Since studying for a BA and then a Master of Letters at the University of New England, he has started working on completing longer poems and plays.

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