Tuesday, March 12, 2002

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Visions of Japhy. I've been learning about American literature at In a Dark Time: The Eye Begins to See. Loren's conclusion, after a weeklong discussion of Kerouac's On the Road with Diane McCormick, drew attention to another of Kerouac's novels: I started out this week hoping that On the Road would become one of my favorite novels of the 20th Century. It hasn’t. In fact, I found that I prefer Dharma Bums, the only other book I’ve read by Kerouac, to On the Road. The two works are written in a very similar style, and both focus on the narrator’s relationship to another person. In my opinion, Japhy is more interesting than Moriarity, and that makes the difference between the two books. I read On the Road once and The Dharma Bums a half-dozen times, in my twenties. Loren's discussion of the latter brought back a rush of memories, forcing me to accept that my passion for Japan and the Japanese language started with Kerouac, or rather with Japhy Ryder (the character based on poet Gary Snyder). I've answered the question How did you become interested in Japan? so many times that it's a shock to discover I've been giving the wrong answer all these years. I became interested in Zen Buddhism, I would explain, and I saw Kurosawa's Seven Samurai, and my interest grew from there. That's not how it happened. I read The Dharma Bums, identified with Japhy Ryder, read Gary Snyder's poems and Alan Watts' The Way of Zen, and saw Seven Samurai. Snyder, Watts, and Kurosawa were my entry points into Japanese culture -- but Snyder came first. Gary Snyder still holds a place on my bookshelf, though I haven't visited in a long time. The photograph opposite the title page of Riprap & Cold Mountain Poems shows him leaning in the doorway of the cabin on Sourdough Mountain Lookout in the summer of 1953. His poem Migration of Birds, written in 1956, contains these lines: Jack Kerouac outside, behind my back Reads the Diamond Sutra in the sun. In the final section of The Dharma Bums, Ray Smith (Kerouac's alter-ego) spends a season as a fire lookout in the Cascade Mountains, almost certainly in a similar hut. Earlier in the story Smith has told us: I reminded myself of the line in the Diamond Sutra that says, Practice charity without holding in mind any conceptions about charity, for charity after all is just a word." I was very devout in those days and was practicing my religious devotions almost to perfection. I was very devout in those days too, until I bought a camera. Then I found less and less time for Buddhism as I devoted my life to perfecting my skill as a photographer. Every few years I'd take a Japanese class but, before long, photography would lure me back. Only when my passion for picture-making withered did I return to Japan, one of two first loves. The other's name was Lindy. Still when I read Gary Snyder's Four Poems for Robin, it's as if I've tumbled into my own autobiography. The last poem in the sequence is titled December at Yase: You said, that October, In the tall dry grass by the orchard When you chose to be free, "Again someday, maybe ten years." After college I saw you One time. You were strange. And I was obsessed with a plan. Now ten years and more have Gone by: I've always known where you were-- I might have gone to you Hoping to win your love back. You still are single. I didn't. I thought I must make it alone. I Have done that. Only in dream, like this dawn, Does the grave, awed intensity Of our young love Return to my mind, to my flesh. We had what the others All crave and seek for; We left it behind at nineteen. I feel ancient, as though I had Lived many lives. And may never now know If I am a fool Or have done what my karma demands. [Jonathon Delacour] 11:32:40 AM    trackback []     Articulate []