Jisei

I have written four jisei. So far. Given that jisei is a death-poem, and I am still very much alive, what is going on? Does blithely tossing these verses away devalue the form? Is that what I am doing?

Meditations on mortality and on death itself are not uncommon in any poetic tradition. Here is one of my own – not a jisei by any means – written in English Hymn Metre and (I am told) reminiscent of Emily Dickinson:

     There is a garland on the land,

     Each tree is like a bloom

     Cast down by an immortal hand

     On winter’s readied tomb.

     The gilded beams of beech and oak,

     The silver wands of birch,

     Where once the flitting swallows spoke,

     Are silent as a church.

     The woods are decked in autumn’s best

     Upon the hillside high…

     Will I be in such beauty dressed

     When I lay down to die?

          Autumnal, Marie Marshall


Now this kind of poetry might not be to your taste, but I reproduce it here for a reason, as an example of a set of verses which dwell on the ultimate consequence of mortality. It contains several images to do with autumn, a common metaphor for a life that has not long to run; it contains references to silence and to religious solemnity – tomb, church – and to life that once was there – swallows. Autumn itself is described in a way which emphasizes its beauty – garland, bloom, gilded, silver. The poem could have gone on for several verses describing the colours and feelings of that time of year, but suddenly, right in the middle of a verse, it changes direction, a deliberate and direct reference is made to the writer’s death, and the poem terminates abruptly. A moment came, a thought occurred, an emotion was captured and expressed…

Jisei comes specifically from the northern Buddhist philosophies and traditions of China, Korea, and Japan, and is nowadays specifically associated with Zen and Shinto beliefs and ways of life in Japan. Written usually in haiku, tanka, waka, or kanshi forms, it expresses very clearly the Zen concept of  mono no aware – a sensitivity to ephemera, a feeling for the fleeting pathos of existence, a consciousness of the tension between permanence and transience. It is written by someone who feels the imminence of death. Except in its earliest forms, it does not mention death directly, but rather looks for an expression of it in nature – autumn, sunsets, falling cherry blossom. It could also contain something in the nature of a will – not a settlement of an estate, but an expression of a wish for reconciliation between those who hold grudges against each other. One of earliest records of jisei was recited by Prince Ōtsu executed in 686. Basho, one of the most renowned haijin is also known to have composed jisei before his death.

General Akashi Gidayu, having composed his jisei 

Such poetry could and can be written by anyone (and indeed could be written well in advance of death, sometimes with the help of a professional poet, even being revised as circumstances changed) but it is mostly associated with haijin, with Zen monks, and with samurai. In the case of the latter, it was often the last artistic act that a warrior would perform before committing honorable suicide, and as such it was part of the whole ritual. A samurai’s death poem would traditionally be a tanka, a form with the line or unitary structure 5-7-5-7-7. One was written by Asano Naganori, the aristocrat whose shaming and suicide gave rise to the eventual revenge taken on his behalf by his dispossessed retainers – the famous Forty-Seven Ronin; it is said by critics to show the immaturity and weakness of character which led to his being ordered to commit suicide in the first place. Another was written as late as 1970 by Yukio Mishima, the 20c right-wing author whose life, work, and death was so wonderfully portrayed in Paul and Leonard Schrader’s 1985 film Mishima. His, and those of the handful of his paramilitary followers who were with him, were composed during their abortive occupation of the Ichigaya Barracks in Tokyo.

 Yukio Mishima 

So why me? Why now? Why, when asked for a poem on enlightenment recently, did I write a 4-5-4 haiku about the spiritual enlightenment which can come as life slips away –

     daylight fading

     I no longer see

     oh! – now I do

Well, I do not come from a culture of Zen or Shinto, nor from a culture that has a formal, ritual tradition of making poetry from the imminent encounter with death. On the other hand, bouts of clinical depression with their occasionally attendant suicidal urges do tend to concentrate the mind – and the being – on death.

So one thing I cannot do in this column is teach you how to write jisei. This is not a “how to”, not a workshop. Maybe I can tell you that I do habitually write haiku in 4-5-4 format, because it concentrates the language, accentuates the “moment” of the poem, and maintains the tension between discipline and freedom, permanence and transience, and that this vehicle is the one which I use when I write jisei; but I doubt if that will help you at all.

Instead, let me leave you with another two of mine, and then some examples written by Japanese authors (I cannot vouch for the anglicisation of any Japanese text, nor for the accuracy of the translation).

          the ebbing tide –

          inevitable

          as the evening

the last shadow

to leave the old house –

I don’t look back

          旅に病んで

          夢は枯れ野を

          かけめぐる

          Tabi ni yande 


          yuma wa kareno o 


          kakemeguru

          Falling sick on a journey

          my dream goes around

          above withered fields.

          —Matsuo Basho

When autumn winds blow


not one leaf remains


the way it was.


—Togyu

          A small night storm blows


          Saying ‘falling is the essence of a flower’


          Preceding those who hesitate


          —Yukio Mishima

つゐにゆく

みちとはかねて

きゝしかど

昨日けふとは

おもはざりしを

tsui ni yuku

michi to wa kanete 


kikishikado 


kinou kyou to wa 


omowazarishi wo

Upon this pathway 


I have long heard it said 


man sets forth at last - 


yet I had not thought to go 


so very soon as today.

—Ariwara no Narihira (attrib.)

          Had I not known


          that I was dead


          already


          I would have mourned

          the loss of my life.


          —Ota Dokan

___________________      

Sources:

     Wikipedia

     John Gillespie

     Zotlan Barczikay

     David Michaels

     Helen Craig McCullough