Hojoki

Visions of a Torn World

Kamo no Chomei, Michael Hofmann

• Éditeur: Stone Bridge Press
• Année: 1998
• ISBN:
  9780893469856
• Sujet: Literature
• Sous-sujet: Asian Literary Criticism

Japan's capital city of Kyoto was devastated by earthquake, storm, and fire in the late 12th century. Retreating from "this unkind world, " the poet and Buddhist priest Kamo-no-Chomei left the capital for the forested mountains, where he eventually constructed his famous "ten-foot-square" hut. From this solitary vantage point Chomei produced Hojoki, an extraordinary literary work that describes all he has seen of human misery and his new life of simple chores, walks, and acts of kindness. Yet at the end he questions his own sanity and the integrity of his purpose. Has he perhaps grown too attached to his detachment?

Hojoki

The flowing river

never stops

and yet the water

never stays

the same.

Foam floats

upon the pools,

scattering, re-forming,

never lingering long.

So it is with man

and all his dwelling places

here on earth.

In our glorious capital

the roof tops of the houses

of the high and lowly

stand in line and seem to

jostle for prominence.

They appear to have endured

for generations, but look more closely—

those that have stood for long

are few indeed.

One year they burn down

and the next are raised again.

Great houses fade away,

to be replaced by lesser ones.

Thus too those

who live in them.

The place itself

does not change,

nor do the crowds.

Even so, of all

the many people I once knew

only one or two remain.

They are born into dusk

and die as the day dawns,

like that foam

upon the water.

People die

and are born—

whence they come

and where they go,

I do not know.

Nor do I understand

the transitory homes they build.

For whom do they fret themselves?

What can be so pleasing to the eye?

A house and its master

are like the dew that gathers

on the morning glory.

Which will be the first to pass?

Sometimes the dew falls away

while the flowers stay.

But they will surely

wilt in the morning sun.

Sometimes the flower shrivels

while the dew holds on.

But it will not

outlive the day.

In the forty years or so

since I reached the age

to understand the heart of things,...