More Kanji   I’ve decided I have a love-hate relationship with kanji. As a practical every-day writing system I feel it’s outmoded. I know Japanese schoolkids do well on the whole and it doesn’t seem to hold them back, but time spent learning thousands of kanji, when two other writing systems are equally available and known by all, is a waste. I’m wondering if it won’t be computers that make a change. With data entry in romaji, maybe that will push kanji aside.

On the other hand, kanji is an art form, and an interesting mode of human expression, a fact I think we’ve been seeing recently. East Asian art often includes script, and even aside from that, how can you not admire a logical process that puts together a person and a tree and has it mean “rest”? I think kanji, instead of being abolished, should become a museum piece. Just as we still light candles long after they’re no longer a daily necessity, long after we ride in Hansom carriages around Central Park long after they are no longer a real mode of transportation, I think kanji, after being dropped from daily use, should be studied by anyone interested in kanji as a celebration of human perception.

I stopped in a large bookstore in Tokyo at one of the stations, simply because I can’t walk past a bookstore without looking in. Once there, amid a sea of books in Japanese, it suddenly struck me to ask a clerk if he had a simple book showing easy, fundamental kanji, just like I’ve been picking out of Wikipedia. He brought me over to a small paperback called Kanji Starter, a name that seemed auspicious immediately. It’s by a certain Daiki Kusuya, born in Tokyo and a translator of scientific documents. It showed the simple ones we’ve already seen, ones that are so easy, you couldn’t forget them if you tried, but also included a few more single ones, as well as some new ways single symbols work together. He also uses two terms I like. Two or more characters squeezed into one (休) he calls integration; two characters used side-by-side (人人) he calls combination.

In reviewing the easiest figures, I’ve found three more quite easy ones in the Kanji Starter that we can work with:

It doesn’t get any easier than this—a person holding his arms wide out. Perhaps he’s talking about that fish that got away last summer.

Don’t be misled by this one—it’s not a person. You’re looking at a campfire with three flames shooting up, aren’t you?

This is a bit trickier to see—Kusuya suggests you look at this character as a steel I-beam being used to construct a bridge or a building.

The first time we saw new characters we then read them in an English paragraph. You may want to refresh your memory in 2009/31-32. But we can be even more original than that. The definition of combinations again is two characters used side-by-side with a new meaning. Here is a series of absolutely NEW combinations you’ve never seen before, taken from the Kanji Starter, but my guided questions will help you into figuring out the answers, which will be given at the end.

1. What place is this?

2. 日 can mean Sunday, but what occurrence is this?

3. Who is this paying an admission fee? (You really do see this on signs.)

4-5. What two travel directions are these?

6. What natural phenomenon is this?

7. What part of # 6 is this?

8. The Christmas trees at Takashimaya were all this.

9. In a traditional Japanese building, it’s easy to admire the artistry of this.

10. Leaving a rail station, this is one route you may want to take.

11. As you do, you will blend in to one of these.

Here are the answers:

1. Middle East < middle + east [sun-in-tree]

2. Holiday < rest [person at tree] + day [>sun]

3. Adult < big + person

4. Downstream < river + down

5. Upstream < river + up

6. Volcano < fire + mountain

7. Crater < fire + opening

8. Man-made, artificial < person + crafted, made

9. Woodwork, woodcraft < tree, wood + crafting, making

10. East Exit < east + opening

11. Crowd < people + going outside

Speaking of being in a 人出, friend David has written to suggest that the face masks people wear when in 人出 places are not to protect them, but to protect others, since they are the ones who may have a cold. I fully accept that, especially given the high degree of Japanese courtesy toward others, yet doubt that that many people are sick at any one time. I would suggest that masks are worn for both reasons.

Day 4: Ginza to Hibiya; Imperial Palace to Tokyo Station   I wanted to spend today over on the southeast part of the loop, and a Toei subway line went directly from Shinjuku in the west to the Ginza area, so I again didn’t have to be concerned about dual fares. But my first subway ride late the previous afternoon didn’t prepare me for the morning crush. First, even in the street walking toward the subway entrance there were 人出 of people herding towards me. The lines waiting to get on at each subway door were long, and fortunately I was getting on at Shinjuku, a major station, where a lot of people would be getting off, so quite a few of us could squeeze into the first train that came—but the next train would be only about three minutes later, anyway. We stood shoulder-to-shoulder à la New York all the way across town to the Ginza area, located at about the four o’clock position on the Yamanote line loop.

Everyone has heard of the Ginza neighborhood as being THE place in Tokyo. I’d even looked into staying here. It’s supposed to be the swankiest and most expensive shopping area in Japan. This supposedly stems from the fact that, when Japan was opened to foreign trade in the 1860’s after over two centuries of self-imposed seclusion, Western imports—and architecture—were first displayed here. Yet it failed to impress me as being anything more than another shopping neighborhood with a few fancy shops and not much more than that to offer.

Ginza is right outside the loop, so I crossed under the track overpass and inside the loop, was in the Hibiya neighborhood, right at Hibiya Park. I’m glad I didn’t bypass the park as I thought I might. It turns out it was the first Western-style garden/park established in Japan, in 1903, and was pleasant to stroll and sit in for a few moments. The historical marker said it was destroyed during what was called the “Pacific War”, and then rebuilt. It’s logical that Japan should refer to WWII that way, although once again, as in the title Pacific Overtures, Pacific War is an oxymoron. A peaceful war?

But Hibiya is where the last shogun built his castle, and it was the center of Edo. The vast, sprawling grounds of the present Imperial Palace and gardens fill what was the castle grounds, just adjacent to Tokyo Station at the 3 o’clock position on the loop. The present palace dates from 1888, but had to be rebuilt in 1968.

Crossing the street from pleasant Hibiya Park it was a long hike in the sun past large, rather sterile lawn areas to finally approach the castle. The public can only go up to a moat crossed by the attractive Nijibashi Bridge and look across to a few turrets and roofs. Then it’s a matter of hoofing it across more large areas to see the East Garden, which is open to the public. It includes some of the old castle ramparts, and off to one side, hidden behind trees, a pleasant Japanese garden with a little humpbacked bridge with carp swimming beneath it, near a small waterfall.

From Tokyo Station I went down the loop to some other stations for two rail experiences. Leading off from one station is the new Yurikamome Line, which is fully automated. In New York we have a similar line that I’d just taken from Jamaica rail station to JFK Airport. These trains are fully automated, with recorded announcements, and are self-propelled, with no personnel on board. They run on rubber tires along concrete strips. The Yurikamome Line runs over the 1993 Rainbow Bridge over Tokyo Bay to a 大, new island, totally 人工 and rather sterile-looking, with lots of ultra-modern buildings, and then connects to a subway line at the other end. It is similar to the Canary Wharf development in London. I enjoyed crossing the bridge over Tokyo Bay, where Perry had sailed in, and where the WWII surrender was signed.

From another loop station I rode the Tokyo Monorail, included in my railpass. It goes to Haneda Airport, but I only took it for two stations and back, just for the experience.

Day 5: Ueno; Asakusa   I wanted to visit two neighborhoods in the northeastern part of the loop today, Ueno on the loop at about 2 o’clock, then Asakusa, three subway stops outside, further to the 東.

Ueno itself is known for Ueno Park, right at Ueno Station and inside the loop. I understand it was once the grounds of a shrine, and today it’s known for a major display of cherry blossoms in the spring. I also chanced upon a bell in a bell tower here, which I’ll discuss in a moment. There are numerous small temples and shrines and other attractions, but I went to see the Kiyomizu Kannon-do Temple (1631), a copy of one in Kyoto. Kannon is a deity I’ve seen at several locations, and she’s visited at this temple for matters of pregnancy and children. The small temple, at the top of a flight of stairs, is bright red, redder to my way of thinking than the vermilion usually encountered. This temple, too, had its share of votive tablets, from which these are excerpted:

Back at Ueno Station it was just three subway stops on the Ginza line to Asakusa, which had been the entertainment quarter of Edo. It is still known for traditional houses and tiny, narrow streets, and also has a major temple. As contemporary as Asakusa now is, it still is the only district where I did see women who’d decided to come out for the day in traditional dress of kimonos and sandals. Asakusa is also a place that draws a lot of both Japanese and foreign visitors. This is noticeable by the rickshaws lined up along the curb at the subway exit. Don’t picture anything very old-fashioned. These are sparkling new vehicles with two large, bicycle wheels with shining spokes as well as a retractable awning-roof, plus two poles to be pulled by. They’re manned by young men in costume, with coolie hats and special slippers that separate the big toe from the rest like mittens do. It’s really like the Hansom carriage rides through Central Park—just a bit of tradition.

The way up to the shrine was like a carnival midway, but I mean that in the best sense. It wasn’t gaudy, but its several blocks’ length was lined with tiny shops selling candies, trinkets, and the like. Over each of the shops were boughs with real stems but not with real leaves. Instead there were 人工 orange-and-yellow leaves attached to them that tended to fool the eye. In addition, with a typical Japanese touch, there were gold strips hanging among these leaves which glittered in the bright sunlight, substantially adding to the autumnal impression.

At the end was the Sensoji Temple, originally dating from 628, but which was rebuilt after 1945. It was also undergoing additional restoration and was covered in shrouding, and it didn’t make any great impression on me. However, in front of it was a five-story pagoda, and also a large incense burner. People would walk up to it and wave clouds of incense toward themselves, either in general, or to a specific location—if your arm hurts, you wave incense toward your arm.

The thing I enjoyed most about the Sensoji Temple was the small Japanese garden to its left (I never bypass Japanese gardens). It had the usual brook with swimming carp, and humpbacked bridges. There were also numerous small shrines within this garden, most the size of phone booths, and some even smaller. I enjoyed going to Asakusa.

But now let me get back to that bell tower and bell I chanced across in Ueno Park, which had an interesting explanatory plaque. Apparently in the 1600’s, in the Edo period, it was usual to have bell towers around the city, and bells were rung three times a day, at 6 AM, noon, and 6 PM, which is reminiscent of our discussion of times of day (2009/19). It would seem they divided the day into quarters as we discussed, but refrained from ringing a midnight bell. The Ueno bell is probably the only remaining one, and today, volunteers maintain the bell-ringing tradition three times a day.

But the Ueno bell, originally cast in 1666, and with the present bell dating from 1787, is particularly well-known because it is referred to in one of the most famous of all haikus, toki no kane, orThe Bells of Time, by the most famous poet of the Edo period, Matsuo Basho, 1644-1694 (in Japanese style, Matsuo is the family name). On this basis, the Japanese Ministry of the Environment declared the Ueno bell one of the “hundred Japanese sounds and scenes which will remain forever”. You will recall that a haiku is a poem of 17 syllables, arranged in a pattern of 5-7-5. Now that we’ve looked into the importance of syllables in Japanese writing, and the two syllabaries it uses, it becomes clearer why haikus are defined in terms of syllables. Also, the subject matter of haikus is always a passing impression, a passing thought, often about nature, and as minimalist as a Japanese garden. It can be a comment about leaves, falling snow, a sunset—or ringing bells.

Matsuo lived in Fukagawa, south of both Ueno and Asakusa. You have to picture the 17C landscape and remove most urban development, the subway, the rail line. Picture Matsuo living with Ueno and its shrines slightly to the northwest and Asakusa and the Sensoji Temple slightly to the northeast. These are the simple lines he wrote:

Note that ka is a spoken question mark. The translation given was:

But something bothers me about that translation. If it’s a haiku, shouldn’t a quality translation also have 17 syllables in the 5-7-5 pattern? Granted that I don’t know the original Japanese and that I’m only repairing the English translation given, I propose putting the English version in the proper 5-7-5 haiku framework as well: