ESP.LITERATURE

Chōka is a traditional form of Japanese poetry that dates back to the 1st century. The poems can be of any length, and consist of a series of alternating lines of 5 and 7 syllables. They usually conclude with  a couplet of 7 syllable lines.

In keeping with my site’s theme, I lead with a poem from an obscure 7th century Japanese poet.

Hitomaro by Kikuchi Yōsai

ON SEEING A CORPSE ON THE SHORE
A chōka by Kakinomoto no Asomi Hitomaro (c. 653 – c. 710)

Of all islands Samine is fairest,
upon whose pebbled shore I step.
On it I build a scanty shelter,
and gaze around, hearing only
the ceaseless rumble of the waves,
beating on the sandy shore.
I see someone has come to rest
on a couch of rough stones
made by him lying there,
flung prostrate on the beach.
If I knew where his home was,
I would take the sad news there.
If his wife knew what
way to go to seek him out,
she would surely come,
but the sea’s highway she does not know,
and so must wait anxiously,
yearning for his coming home.
His lovely wife is waiting still.
If his wife lived near, on Samine’s hill,
she could gather him fresh wild herbs.

Chōka 10 and 11 are  poems from my book COMFORT & DESPAIR, Japanese Skeletons, English Flesh, a work in progress.

CHŌKA 10.
Painted Ladies

His verse stopped age’s			
disparaging of swarthy			
visage, dark now fair,				
fair as false as mendacious			
come-ons from brass nails,			
painted white, whigged and sprayed.		
He hailed new times, when			
raven eyes and dusky skin			
would no more be held			
deficient for blackness sake.			
Komachi’s bold shade				
ghosting across dim lit room,			
pale face translucent,				
faultless, to dire Othello			
slumped within; one thousand years		
of rank beauty incarnate.			

CHŌKA 11.
Cat’s Paw

Pale faced, translucent,	
angelic brow, red mouth pert,	
beauty incarnate:			
ageless delusion of fools.		
Ophelia drowned 			
gives the lie to Komachi’s		
beguiling comforts.			
And dreams bedevil, betray,		
through the ivory			
gate some pitapatation	,		
the elephant in				
the room, elevating the host,		
wielding instruments,			
cat’s paws tumbling truths and lies	
But as I doze, not in sleep,		
creation created is.