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Japanese Prints - John Gould Fletcher · The Aeneid

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  Speaker 1: Dedication and preface of Japanese prints by John Gould Fletcher.
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  Speaker 1: This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in
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  Speaker 1: the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please
• 0:15
  Speaker 1: visit LibriVox dot org. Japanese Prints by John Gould Fletcher,
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  Speaker 1: read by John N. Day, dedication to my wife, granted
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  Speaker 1: this do drop world be but a dew drop world?
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  Speaker 1: This granted yet preface. At the earliest period concerning which
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  Speaker 1: we have any accurate information about, the sixth century AD,
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  Speaker 1: Japanese poetry already contained the germ of its later development.
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  Speaker 1: The poems of this early date were composed of a
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  Speaker 1: first line of five syllables, followed by a second of
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  Speaker 1: followed by a third of five, and so on, always
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  Speaker 1: ending with a line of seven syllables followed by another
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  Speaker 1: of equal number. Thus, the whole poem, of whatever length.
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  Speaker 1: A poem of as many as forty nine lines was
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  Speaker 1: scarce even at that day, always was composed of an
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  Speaker 1: odd number of lines, alternating in length of syllables from
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  Speaker 1: five to seven until the close, which was an extra
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  Speaker 1: seven syllable line. Other rules there were none. Rhyme, quantity, accent,
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  Speaker 1: stress were disregarded. Two vowels together must never be sounded
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  Speaker 1: as a diphthong, and a long vowel counts for two syllables, likewise,
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  Speaker 1: a final N and the consonant M. In some cases,
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  Speaker 1: this method of writing poetry may seem to the reader
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  Speaker 1: to suffer from serious disadvantages. In reality, this was not
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  Speaker 1: the case. Contrast it for a moment with the undignified
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  Speaker 1: welter of undigested and ex partei theories which academic prosidists
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  Speaker 1: have tried for three hundred years to foist upon English verse,
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  Speaker 1: and it will be seen that the simple Japanese rule
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  Speaker 1: has the merit of dignity. The only part of it
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  Speaker 1: that we occidentals could not accept, perhaps with advantage to ourselves,
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  Speaker 1: is the peculiarly oriental insistence on an odd number of
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  Speaker 1: syllables for every line, and an odd number of lines
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  Speaker 1: to every poem. To the Western mine, odd numbers sound incomplete,
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  Speaker 1: but to the Chinese and Japanese art is mainly a
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  Speaker 1: highly specialized expression of Chinese thought. The odd numbers are
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  Speaker 1: masculine and hence heavenly, the even numbers feminine and hence earthly.
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  Speaker 1: This idea in itself the antiquity, of which no man
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  Speaker 1: can tell, deserves no less than a treatise be written
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  Speaker 1: on it. But the place for them treatise is not here.
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  Speaker 1: To return to our earliest Japanese form, Sooner or later
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  Speaker 1: this crystallized into what is called a tanka or short ode.
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  Speaker 1: This was always five lines in length, constructed syllabically five seven,
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  Speaker 1: five seven, seven, or thirty one syllables in all. Innumerable
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  Speaker 1: numbers of these tonka were written gradually. During the feudal period,
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  Speaker 1: Improvising verses became a pastime in court circles. Someone would
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  Speaker 1: utter the first three lines of a tonka, and someone
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  Speaker 1: else would cap the composition by adding the last two.
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  Speaker 1: This division persisted. The first hemistitch, which was composed of
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  Speaker 1: seventeen syllables, grew to be called the hokku. The second,
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  Speaker 1: or finishing hemistitch, of fourteen syllables, was called egeku. Thus
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  Speaker 1: was born the form which is more more peculiarly Japanese
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  Speaker 1: than any other, and which only they have been able
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  Speaker 1: to carry to perfection. Composing hoku might, however, have remained
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  Speaker 1: a mere game of elaborate literary conceits and double meanings,
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  Speaker 1: but for the genius of one man. This was the
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  Speaker 1: great Basho sixteen forty four to sixteen ninety four, who
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  Speaker 1: may be called certainly the greatest epigrammatist of any time.
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  Speaker 1: During a life of extreme and voluntary self denial and wandering,
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  Speaker 1: Bashot contrived to obtain over a thousand disciples and to
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  Speaker 1: found a school of Hoku writing, which has persisted down
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  Speaker 1: to the present day. He reformed the Hoku by introducing
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  Speaker 1: into everything he wrote a deep spiritual significance underlying the words.
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  Speaker 1: He even went so far as to disregard, upon occasion
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  Speaker 1: the syllabic rule, and to add extraneous syllables if thereby
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  Speaker 1: he might effect his statement. He set his face sternly
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  Speaker 1: against impromptus, poems, de gijon, and the like. The number
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  Speaker 1: of his works were not large, and even these he
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  Speaker 1: perpetually sharpened and polished. His influence persisted for long after
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  Speaker 1: his death. A disciple and priest of zen Buddhism himself,
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  Speaker 1: his work is permeated with the feeling of that doctrine
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  Speaker 1: zen Buddhism. As Basho practiced, it might be called religion
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  Speaker 1: under the forms of nature, everything on earth, from the
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  Speaker 1: clouds in the sky to the pebble by the roadside
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  Speaker 1: has some spiritual or ethical significance for us. Blake's words
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  Speaker 1: described the aim of the Zen Buddhist as well as
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  Speaker 1: anyone's quote to see a world in a grain of
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  Speaker 1: sand and a heaven in a wild flower, hold infinity
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  Speaker 1: in the palm of your hand, and eternity in an
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  Speaker 1: hour end quote. Basho would have subscribed to this as
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  Speaker 1: the sole rule of poetry and imagination. The only difference
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  Speaker 1: between the Western and the Eastern mystic is that where
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  Speaker 1: one sees the world in the grain of sand and
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  Speaker 1: tells you all about it, the other sees and lets
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  Speaker 1: his silence imply that he knows its meaning. Or to
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  Speaker 1: quote l'aotsu quote, those who speak do not know, those
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  Speaker 1: who know do not speak, end quote. It must always
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  Speaker 1: be understood that there is an implied continuation to every
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  Speaker 1: Japanese hoku. The concluding hemistitch, whereby the hoku becomes the tanka,
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  Speaker 1: is existent in the writer's mind but never uttered. Let
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  Speaker 1: us take an example. The most famous hoku that Basho
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  Speaker 1: wrote might be literally translated thus quote an old pond
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  Speaker 1: and the sound of a frog leaping into the water
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  Speaker 1: end quote. This means nothing to the Western mind, but
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  Speaker 1: to the Japanese it means all the beauty of such
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  Speaker 1: a life of retirement and contemplation, as bashopracticed. If we
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  Speaker 1: permit our minds to supply the detail Bashot deliberately omitted,
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  Speaker 1: we see the moldering temple enclosure, the sage himself in meditation,
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  Speaker 1: the ancient piece of water, and the sound of a
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  Speaker 1: frog's leap passing vanity slipping into the silence of eternity.
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  Speaker 1: The poem has three meanings. First, it is a statement
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  Speaker 1: of fact. Second, it is an emotion deduced from that. Third,
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  Speaker 1: it is a sort of spiritual allegory. And all this
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  Speaker 1: Basho has given us in his seventeen syllables. All of
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  Speaker 1: Bashot's poems have these three meanings. Again and again we
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  Speaker 1: get a sublime suggestion out of some quite commonplace natural fact.
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  Speaker 1: For instance, quote on the mountain road, there is no
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  Speaker 1: flower more beautiful than the wild violet end quote the
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  Speaker 1: wild violet scentless, growing hidden and neglected among the rocks
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  Speaker 1: of the mountain road, suggested to Bashel the life of
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  Speaker 1: the Buddhist hermit. And thus this poem becomes an exhortation
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  Speaker 1: to quote shun the world if you would be sublime
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  Speaker 1: end quote. I need not give further examples. The reader
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  Speaker 1: can now see for himself what the main object of
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  Speaker 1: the Hoku poetry is and what it achieved. Its object
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  Speaker 1: with some universalized emotion derived from a natural fact. Its
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  Speaker 1: achievement was the expression of that emotion in the fewest
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  Speaker 1: possible terms. It is therefore necessary, if poet Tree in
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  Speaker 1: the English tongue is ever to attain again to the
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  Speaker 1: vitality and strength of its beginnings, that we sit once
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  Speaker 1: more at the feet of the Orient and learn from
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  Speaker 1: it how little words can express, how sparingly they should
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  Speaker 1: be used, and how much is contained in the meanest
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  Speaker 1: natural object. Shakespeare, who could close a scene of brooding
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  Speaker 1: terror with the words quote, but see the morn and
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  Speaker 1: russet mantle clad walks o'er the dew of yon high
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  Speaker 1: eastern hill end quote, was nearer to the Oriental spirit
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  Speaker 1: than we are. We have lost Shakespeare's instinct for nature
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  Speaker 1: and for fresh individual vision, and we are unwilling to
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  Speaker 1: acquire it through self discipline. If we do not want
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  Speaker 1: art to disappear under the froth of shallow egotism, we
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  Speaker 1: must learn the lesson Basho can teach us. That is
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  Speaker 1: not to say that by taking the letter for the spirit,
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  Speaker 1: we should in any ways st to imitate the hoku form.
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  Speaker 1: Good hokus cannot be written in English. The thing we
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  Speaker 1: have to follow is not a form, but a spirit.
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  Speaker 1: Let us universalize our emotions as much as possible. Let
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  Speaker 1: us become impersonal, as Shakespeare or Basho was. Let us
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  Speaker 1: not gush about our fine feelings. Let us admit that
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  Speaker 1: the highest and noblest feelings are things that cannot be
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  Speaker 1: put into words. Therefore, let us conceal them behind the
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  Speaker 1: words we have chosen. Our definition of poetry would then
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  Speaker 1: become that of Edwin Arlington Robinson, that poetry is a
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  Speaker 1: language which tells, through a reaction upon our emotional natures,
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  Speaker 1: something which cannot be put into words. Unless we set
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  Speaker 1: ourselves seriously to the task of understanding that language is
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  Speaker 1: only a means and never an end, poetic art will
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  Speaker 1: be dead in fifty years from a surfate of superficial
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  Speaker 1: cleverness and devitalized realism. In the poems that follow, I
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  Speaker 1: have taken as my subjects certain designs of the so
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  Speaker 1: called Ukioye or passing world school. These prints made and
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  Speaker 1: produced for purely popular consumption by artists who, whatever their genius,
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  Speaker 1: were despised by the literarity of their time. Share at
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  Speaker 1: least one characteristic with Japanese poetry, which is that they
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  Speaker 1: exalt the most trivial and commonplace subjects into the universal
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  Speaker 1: significance of works of art. And therefore I have chosen
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  Speaker 1: them to illustrate my doctrine, which is this, that one
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  Speaker 1: must learn to do well small things before doing things great.
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  Speaker 1: That the universe is just as much in the shape
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  Speaker 1: of a hand as it is in armies, politics, astronomy,
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  Speaker 1: or the exhortations of gospel mongers. That style and technique
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  Speaker 1: rest on the thing conveyed, and not the means of conveyance.
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  Speaker 1: And that though sentiment is a good thing, understanding is
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  Speaker 1: a better As for the poems themselves, they are in
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  Speaker 1: some cases not Japanese at all, but all illustrate something
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  Speaker 1: of the charm I have found in Japanese poetry and art.
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  Speaker 1: And if they induce others to seek that charm for themselves,
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  Speaker 1: my purpose will have been attained. John Gould Fletcher end
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  Speaker 1: of Dedication and preface of Japanese Prints by John Gould Fletcher,
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  Speaker 1: Part one of Japanese prints by John Gould Fletcher read
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  Speaker 1: by John N. Day. This LibriVox recording is in the
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  Speaker 1: public domain. Part one Lovers embracing force and yielding meat together.
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  Speaker 1: An attack is half repulsed, shafts of broken sunlight dissolving
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  Speaker 1: convolutions of torpid cloud. End poem a picnic under the
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  Speaker 1: cherry trees. The boat drifts to rest under the outward
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  Speaker 1: spring branches. There's faint sound of quavering strings, the reedy
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  Speaker 1: murmurs of a flute, the soft sigh of the wind
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  Speaker 1: through silken garments. All these are mingled with the breeze
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  Speaker 1: that drifts away, filled with thin petals of cherry blossom,
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  Speaker 1: like tinkling laughter, dancing away in sunlight. End of poem
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  Speaker 1: Court lady standing under cherry tree. She is an iris
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  Speaker 1: dark purple, pale rose under the gnarled boughs that shatter
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  Speaker 1: their stars of bloom. She waves delicately with the movement
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  Speaker 1: of the tree. Of what is she dreaming? Of long
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  Speaker 1: nights lit with orange lanterns, of wine cups and compliments
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  Speaker 1: and kisses of the two sword men, and of dawn
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  Speaker 1: when weary sleepers lie outstretched on the mats of the palace,
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  Speaker 1: and of the iris stalk that is broken in the fountain,
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  Speaker 1: and of poem. Court lady standing under a plum tree.
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  Speaker 1: Autumn winds roll through the dry leaves on her garments,
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  Speaker 1: Autumn birds shiver, athwart star hung skies under the blossoming
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  Speaker 1: plum tree. She expresses the pilgrimage of gray souls. Athwart loves,
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  Speaker 1: scarlet maples to the ash strewn summit of death. End
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  Speaker 1: of poem. A beautiful woman, Iris amid clouds must be
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  Speaker 1: her name, Tall and lonely as the mountain Iris, cold
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  Speaker 1: and distant. She has never known longing. Many have died
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  Speaker 1: for love of her and of poem. A reading and
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  Speaker 1: the prince came to the craggy rock, but saw only
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  Speaker 1: hissing waves, so he rested all day amid them. He
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  Speaker 1: listens idly. He is content with her voice. He dreams
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  Speaker 1: it is the murmur of distant wave, caps breaking upon
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  Speaker 1: the painted screen. End of poem. An actor as a
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  Speaker 1: dancing girl. The peone dancer swirls orange folds of dusty
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  Speaker 1: robes through the summer, there spotted with thunder showers falling
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  Speaker 1: upon the crimson petals, heavy blooms breaking and spilling fiery
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  Speaker 1: cups drowsily, and of poem josen no Mia. She is
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  Speaker 1: a fierce kitten leaping in sunlight towards the swaying boughs.
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  Speaker 1: She is a gust of wind, bending in parallel curves
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  Speaker 1: the boughs of the willow tree and poem Penoyron and
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  Speaker 1: her comuso. Gilded humming birds are whizzing through the palace garden,
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  Speaker 1: deceived by the jade petals of the Emperor's jewel trees
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  Speaker 1: and poem Two Ways of Love. The wind half blows
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  Speaker 1: her robes that subside listlessly as swaying pines. The wind
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  Speaker 1: tosses hers in circles that recoil upon themselves. How should
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  Speaker 1: I love? As the swaying or tossing wind And poem
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  Speaker 1: Kurnaiye or red Picture. She glances expectantly through the pine
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  Speaker 1: avenue to the cherry tree summit, where her lover will appear.
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  Speaker 1: Faint rose anticipation colors her and sunset. She is a
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  Speaker 1: cherry tree that is taken long to bloom. End of poem.
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  Speaker 1: A woman standing by a gate with an umbrella. Late
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  Speaker 1: summer changes to autumn. Chrysanthemums are scattered behind the palings
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  Speaker 1: gold and vermilion. The afternoon, I wait here, dreaming of
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  Speaker 1: vermilion sunsets. In my heart is a half fear of
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  Speaker 1: the chill autumn rain. End of poem. Scene from a drama.
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  Speaker 1: The Daimyo and the cortizon compliment each other. He invites
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  Speaker 1: her to walk out through the maples. She half refuses,
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  Speaker 1: hiding fear in her heart. Far in the shadows, the
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  Speaker 1: daimyo's attendant waits nervously fingering his sword. End of poem.
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  Speaker 1: A woman in winter costume. She is like the great
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  Speaker 1: rains that fall over the earth in winter time, wave
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  Speaker 1: on wave. Her heavy robes collapse in green torrents, lashed
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  Speaker 1: with slaighty foam. Downward, the sun strikes amid them and
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  Speaker 1: enkindles A lone flower, a violet iris, standing yet in
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  Speaker 1: seething pools of gray. End of poem. A peddler gaily
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  Speaker 1: he offers packets of merchandise. He is a harlequin of illusions.
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  Speaker 1: His nimble features skip into smiles like rainbows, cheating the villagers.
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  Speaker 1: But in his heart all the while is another knowledge,
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  Speaker 1: the sorrow of the bleakness of the long, wet winter night.
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  Speaker 1: End of poem Kiyonobu and Kiyomasu contrasted. One life is
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  Speaker 1: a long summer. Tall hollyhocks stand proud upon its paths.
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  Speaker 1: Little yellow waves of sunlight bring scarlet butterflies. Another life
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  Speaker 1: is a brief autumn fierce storm wrack, scrawled with lightning
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  Speaker 1: passed over it, leaving the naked bleeding earth, stabbed with
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  Speaker 1: the swords of the rain. End of poem. An actor
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  Speaker 1: he plots, for he is angry, He sneers, for he
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  Speaker 1: is bold. He clenches his fist like a twisted snake,
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  Speaker 1: coiling itself, preparing to raise its head above the long
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  Speaker 1: grasses of the plain. End of Part one of Japanese
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  Speaker 1: Prints by John Gould Fletcher. Part two of Japanese Prints
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  Speaker 1: by John Gould Fletcher. This is a LibriVox recording. All
• 20:47
  Speaker 1: LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information
• 20:51
  Speaker 1: or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox dot org. Part two
• 20:58
  Speaker 1: of Japanese Prints by John Gould Fletcher read by John N. Daley.
• 21:06
  Speaker 1: Memory and forgetting. I have forgotten how many times he
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  Speaker 1: kissed me, But I cannot forget a swaying branch, a
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  Speaker 1: leaf that fell to earth. End of poem. Pillar print Maisonobu.
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  Speaker 1: He stands irresolute, cloaking the light of his lantern. Tonight
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  Speaker 1: he will either find new love or sword thrust. But
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  Speaker 1: his soul is troubled with ghosts of old regret. Like
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  Speaker 1: vines with crimson flowers, they climb upwards into his heart.
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  Speaker 1: End of poem. The young Daimyo when he first came
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  Speaker 1: out to meet me, he had just been girt with
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  Speaker 1: the two swords, and I found he was far more into,
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  Speaker 1: rested in the glitter of their hilts, and did not
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  Speaker 1: even compare my kiss to a cherry blossom. End of
• 22:07
  Speaker 1: poem Mesonubu. Early, she was a dream of moons, of
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  Speaker 1: fluttering handkerchiefs, of flying leaves, of parasols, a riddle made
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  Speaker 1: to break my heart. The lightest impulse to her was
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  Speaker 1: more dear than the deep toned temple bell. She fluttered
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  Speaker 1: to my sword hilt an instant, and then flew away.
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  Speaker 1: But who will spend all day chasing a butterfly? End
• 22:39
  Speaker 1: of poem. The beautiful Geisha swift waves hissing under the moonlight,
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  Speaker 1: tarnished silver swaying boats under the moonlight, gold lacquered prows.
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  Speaker 1: Is it a vision under the moonlight. No, it is
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  Speaker 1: only a beautiful geisha swaying down the street. End of poem.
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  Speaker 1: A young girl out of the rings, in the bubbles,
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  Speaker 1: the curls, and the swirls of the water, Out of
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  Speaker 1: the crystalline showers of drops, shattered in play, her body
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  Speaker 1: and her thoughts arose. She dreamed of some lover to
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  Speaker 1: whom she might offer her body, fresh and cool as
• 23:29
  Speaker 1: a flower borne in the rain. End of poem. The
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  Speaker 1: heavenly poet says, in their bark of bamboo reeds, the
• 23:42
  Speaker 1: heavenly poetesses fly across the sky. Poems are falling from them,
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  Speaker 1: swift as the wind that shakes the lance like bamboo leaves.
• 23:52
  Speaker 1: The stars close around like bubbles, stirred by the silver
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  Speaker 1: oars of poems passing. End of poem. The old love
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  Speaker 1: and the new beware, for the dying vine can hold
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  Speaker 1: the strongest oak. Only by cutting at the root can
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  Speaker 1: love be altered. Late in the night, a rosy glimmer
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  Speaker 1: yet defies the darkness. But the evening is growing late,
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  Speaker 1: the blinds are being lowered. She who held your heart
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  Speaker 1: and charmed you is only a rosy glimmer of flame remembered.
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  Speaker 1: End of poem Fugitive thoughts. My thoughts are sparrows passing
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  Speaker 1: through one great wave that breaks in bubbles of gold
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  Speaker 1: on a black, motionless rock. End of poem. Disappointment rain
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  Speaker 1: rattles on the pavement, Puddles stand in the bluish stones
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  Speaker 1: afar and the Yoshiwara is she who holds my heart
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  Speaker 1: alas the torn lantern of my hope trembles and sputters
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  Speaker 1: in the rain. End of poem. The Traitor I saw
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  Speaker 1: him pass at twilight. He was a dark cloud traveling
• 25:19
  Speaker 1: over palace roofs, with one claw drooping in his face
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  Speaker 1: were written ages of patient treachery and the knowledge of
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  Speaker 1: his hour one dainty thrust. No more than this he needs.
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  Speaker 1: End of poem. The fop His heart is like a
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  Speaker 1: wind torn between cloud and butterfly, whether he will roll
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  Speaker 1: passively to one or chase endlessly the other. End of
• 25:52
  Speaker 1: poem Changing Love. My love for her at first was
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  Speaker 1: like the smoke that drifts across the marshes from burning woods.
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  Speaker 1: But after she had gone, it was like the lotus
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  Speaker 1: that lifts up its heart shaped buds from the dim waters.
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  Speaker 1: End of poem. In Exile, my heart is mournful as
• 26:20
  Speaker 1: thunder moving through distant hills. Late on a long still
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  Speaker 1: night of autumn. My heart is broken and mournful, as
• 26:29
  Speaker 1: rain heard beating far off in the distance, while earth
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  Speaker 1: is parched more near on my heart is the black
• 26:37
  Speaker 1: badge of exile. I droop over it. I accept its shame.
• 26:45
  Speaker 1: End of poem. The true conqueror he only can bow
• 26:52
  Speaker 1: to men, lofty as a god, to those beneath him,
• 26:56
  Speaker 1: who has taken sins and sorrows, and whose deathless spirit
• 27:01
  Speaker 1: leaps beneath them like a golden carp in the torrent
• 27:06
  Speaker 1: end of poem. Spring love through the weak spring rains.
• 27:14
  Speaker 1: Two lovers walk together, holding together the parasol. But the
• 27:18
  Speaker 1: laughing rains of spring will break the weak green shoots
• 27:22
  Speaker 1: of their love. His will grow a towering stalk, hers
• 27:27
  Speaker 1: a cowering flower under it. End of poem, The endless,
• 27:35
  Speaker 1: lament spring rain falls through the cherry blossom in long
• 27:41
  Speaker 1: blue shafts, on grasses strewn with delicate stars. The summer
• 27:47
  Speaker 1: rain sifts through the drooping willow, shatters the courtyard, leaving
• 27:52
  Speaker 1: gray pools. The autumn rain drives through the maples, scarlet
• 27:58
  Speaker 1: threads of sorrow, towards the snowy earth, would that the
• 28:03
  Speaker 1: rains of all the winters might wash away my grief.
• 28:08
  Speaker 1: End of poem, Toyoobu exiles return. The cranes have come
• 28:16
  Speaker 1: back to the temple. The winds are flapping the flags
• 28:20
  Speaker 1: about through a flute of reeds. I will blow a song.
• 28:24
  Speaker 1: Let my song sigh as the breeze through the cryptomerias
• 28:28
  Speaker 1: and pause like long flags, flapping and dart and flutter
• 28:33
  Speaker 1: aloft like a wind. Bewildered crane. Wind and chrysanthemum. Chrysanthemum's
• 28:42
  Speaker 1: bending before the wind, Chrysanthemum's wavering in the black choked grasses.
• 28:49
  Speaker 1: The wind frowns at them. He tears off a green
• 28:53
  Speaker 1: and orange stalk of broken chrysanthemum. The chrysanthemum spread their
• 28:58
  Speaker 1: flattered heads and scurry off before the wind. End of poem,
• 29:06
  Speaker 1: The endless pilgrimage storm birds of autumn with draggled wings,
• 29:12
  Speaker 1: sleet beaten wind, tattered snow frozen, stopping in sheer weariness
• 29:18
  Speaker 1: between the gnarled red pine trees, twisted in doubt and despair.
• 29:24
  Speaker 1: Whence do you come, pilgrims? Over what snow fields? To
• 29:29
  Speaker 1: what Southern Province, hidden behind dim peaks, Would you go
• 29:34
  Speaker 1: too long? Were the telling? Wherefore we set out? And
• 29:37
  Speaker 1: where we will find rest? Only the gods may tell?
• 29:43
  Speaker 1: End of Part two of Japanese Prints by John Gould Fletcher.
• 29:53
  Speaker 2: Part three of Japanese Prints. This is a LibriVox recording.
• 29:58
  Speaker 2: All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more
• 30:02
  Speaker 2: information or to volunteer, please visit slipriyvox dot org. Recording
• 30:07
  Speaker 2: by AVAI in July twenty sixteen. Japanese Prints by John
• 30:13
  Speaker 2: Gould Fletcher, Part three, The Clouds. Although there was no
• 30:22
  Speaker 2: sound in all the house, I could not forbear listening
• 30:26
  Speaker 2: for the cry of those long, white, rippling waves dragging
• 30:30
  Speaker 2: up their strength to break on the sullen beach of
• 30:33
  Speaker 2: the sky. Two ladies contrasted. The harmonies of the robes
• 30:43
  Speaker 2: of this gay lady are like chance within a temple,
• 30:48
  Speaker 2: sweeping outwards to the morn. But I prefer the song
• 30:53
  Speaker 2: of the wind by a stream where a shy lily
• 30:56
  Speaker 2: half hides itself in the grasses. To night of clouds
• 31:01
  Speaker 2: and stars and wine and passion, in a palace of
• 31:05
  Speaker 2: tessellated restraint and splendor, a night festival sparrows and tame
• 31:15
  Speaker 2: magpies chatter in the porticos, lit with many a lantern,
• 31:21
  Speaker 2: there is idle song, scandal over full wine cups. Sorrow
• 31:26
  Speaker 2: does not matter. Only beyond the still gray Shaji, For
• 31:31
  Speaker 2: the breadth of innumerable countries is the sea, with ships
• 31:36
  Speaker 2: asleep in the blue, black, starless night distant coasts. A
• 31:47
  Speaker 2: squall has struck the sea afar off. You can feel
• 31:51
  Speaker 2: it quiver over the paper parasol with which she shields
• 31:55
  Speaker 2: her face, in the drawn together skirts of her robes,
• 32:00
  Speaker 2: as she turns to meet it. On the banks of
• 32:06
  Speaker 2: the Sumida, windy evening of autumn, by the gray, green,
• 32:12
  Speaker 2: swirling river, people are resting like still boats, tugging uneasily
• 32:18
  Speaker 2: at their cramped chains. Some are moving slowly like the
• 32:24
  Speaker 2: easy winds, brown, blue, dull green. The villages in the
• 32:29
  Speaker 2: distance sleep on the banks of the river. The waters
• 32:34
  Speaker 2: sullenly clash and murmur. The chatter of the passers by
• 32:39
  Speaker 2: is dulled beneath the gray, unquiet sky. Yoshibara Festival, the
• 32:49
  Speaker 2: green and violet peacocks with golden tails parade beneath the fluttering,
• 32:57
  Speaker 2: jangling streamers. They walk and gold The green and violet
• 33:04
  Speaker 2: peacocks through the golden dusk showered upon them from the
• 33:08
  Speaker 2: vine hung lanterns stately, nostalgically parade Sharraku dreams. I will
• 33:22
  Speaker 2: scrawl on the walls of the night, faces leering, sneering, scowling, threatening, faces, weeping, twisting, yelling, howling, faces,
• 33:36
  Speaker 2: faces fixed in a contortion between a scream and a laugh,
• 33:41
  Speaker 2: meaningless faces. I will cover the walls of night with
• 33:46
  Speaker 2: faces till you do not know if these faces are
• 33:50
  Speaker 2: but masks, or you the masks for them. Faces too
• 33:55
  Speaker 2: grotesque for laughter, faces too shattered by pain for tears.
• 34:01
  Speaker 2: Faces of such ugliness that the ugliness grows beauty. They
• 34:07
  Speaker 2: will haunt you morning evening, burning, burning, ever, returning their
• 34:14
  Speaker 2: own infamy, creating till you strike it life and hated,
• 34:20
  Speaker 2: burn your soul up so in hating. I will scrawl
• 34:25
  Speaker 2: on the walls of the night, faces pitiless, flaring, staring
• 34:35
  Speaker 2: a life. Her life was like a swiftly rushing stream,
• 34:41
  Speaker 2: green and scarlet, falling into darkness. The seasons passed for her,
• 34:47
  Speaker 2: like pale iris wilting, or paeonies flying to ribbons before
• 34:52
  Speaker 2: the storm gusts. The sombered pine tops waited until the
• 34:57
  Speaker 2: seasons had passed, the when in her heart they grew
• 35:02
  Speaker 2: the snows of changeless winter, stirred by the bitter winds
• 35:06
  Speaker 2: of unsatisfied desire, dead thoughts. My thoughts are an autumn breeze,
• 35:18
  Speaker 2: lifting and hurrying dry rubbish about in a corner. My
• 35:23
  Speaker 2: thoughts are willow branches already broken, motionless at twilight. A comparison,
• 35:35
  Speaker 2: My beloved is like blue smoke that rises in long,
• 35:39
  Speaker 2: slow plains and wavers over the dark paths of old gardens,
• 35:45
  Speaker 2: long neglected mutability. The wind shakes the mists, making them
• 35:55
  Speaker 2: quiver with faint drum tones of thunder. Out of the
• 36:00
  Speaker 2: crane haunted mists of autumn, blue and brown rolls the moon.
• 36:06
  Speaker 2: There was a city living here long ago. Of all
• 36:10
  Speaker 2: that city, there is only one stone left, half buried
• 36:14
  Speaker 2: in the marsh, with characters upon it which no one
• 36:18
  Speaker 2: now can read. Despair. Despair hangs in the broken folds
• 36:27
  Speaker 2: of my garments. It clogs my footsteps like snow in
• 36:32
  Speaker 2: the cherry bloom. In my heart is the sorrow of years,
• 36:37
  Speaker 2: Like red leaves buried in snow. The lonely grave pilgrims
• 36:46
  Speaker 2: will ascend the road in early summer passing my tombstone,
• 36:51
  Speaker 2: mossy long forgotten girls will laugh and scatter cherry petals.
• 36:58
  Speaker 2: Sometimes they will rest in twisted pine trees shade. If
• 37:03
  Speaker 2: one presses her warm lips to this tablet, the dust
• 37:07
  Speaker 2: of my body will feel the thrill deep down in
• 37:10
  Speaker 2: the silent earth. End of Part three, Part four of
• 37:24
  Speaker 2: Japanese Prints. This is a liprivox recording. All LibriVox recordings
• 37:30
  Speaker 2: are in the public domain. For more information, Auto Volunteer,
• 37:33
  Speaker 2: please visit liprivox dot org. Recording by Avay in July
• 37:39
  Speaker 2: twenty sixteen, Japanese Prints by John Gould Fletcher, Part four,
• 37:48
  Speaker 2: Evening Sky. The sky spreads out its poor array of
• 37:53
  Speaker 2: tattered flags, saffron and rose, over the weary huddle of housetops,
• 37:59
  Speaker 2: smoke the evening pipes in silence city lights. The city
• 38:09
  Speaker 2: gleams with lights this evening, like loud and yawning laughter
• 38:14
  Speaker 2: from red lips. Fugitive beauty, as the fish that leaps
• 38:23
  Speaker 2: from the river, as the dropping of a November leaf
• 38:26
  Speaker 2: at twilight, as the faint flicker of lightning down the
• 38:30
  Speaker 2: southern sky. So I saw beauty far away, silver jars,
• 38:42
  Speaker 2: I dreamed, I caught your loveliness in little silver jars,
• 38:47
  Speaker 2: And when you died I opened them and there was
• 38:51
  Speaker 2: only souit within. Evening rain rain fell so softly in
• 39:00
  Speaker 2: the evening I almost thought it was the trees that
• 39:04
  Speaker 2: were talking. Toy boxes Cities are the toy boxes time
• 39:14
  Speaker 2: plays with, and there are often many doll houses, of
• 39:18
  Speaker 2: which the dolls are lost. Moods a poet's moods, fluttering
• 39:29
  Speaker 2: butterflies in the rain, grass, grass moves in the wind.
• 39:39
  Speaker 2: My soul is backwards blown, a landscape land green, brown, sea, brown, gray, island, dull, peacock, blue, sky, stone,
• 39:58
  Speaker 2: gray terror. Because of the long, pallid petals of white
• 40:08
  Speaker 2: chrysanthemums waving to and fro, I dare not go Midsummer dusk,
• 40:20
  Speaker 2: swallows twittering at twilight, waves of heat turned to flames
• 40:26
  Speaker 2: by the sun. Evening bell from a distant temple, A
• 40:34
  Speaker 2: bell in the fog creeps out, echoing faintly the pale
• 40:39
  Speaker 2: broad flashes of vibrating twilight, faded gold, A thought, a
• 40:50
  Speaker 2: piece of paper ready to toss in the fire, blackened,
• 40:54
  Speaker 2: scrawled with fragments of an incomplete song, My soul the stars.
• 41:06
  Speaker 2: There is a goddess who walks frowded by day. At night,
• 41:10
  Speaker 2: she throws her blue veil over the earth. Men only
• 41:14
  Speaker 2: see her naked glory through the little holes in the veil.
• 41:21
  Speaker 2: Japan an old courtyard, hidden away in the afternoon, gray walks,
• 41:30
  Speaker 2: mossy stones, copper carp swimming lazily, and beyond a faint, toneless,
• 41:37
  Speaker 2: hissing echo of rain that tears at my heart leaves.
• 41:47
  Speaker 2: The splaying silhouette of horse chestnut leaves against a tall
• 41:51
  Speaker 2: and delicate, patrician tinged sky, like a princess in blue
• 41:58
  Speaker 2: robes behind a grill of bronze. End of Part four,
• 42:06
  Speaker 2: End of Japanese Prints by John Gould Fletcher