Minamoto No Muneyuki Ason

Our ninth print of the year, as always, is a seated 'daijin', this time a member of the historical Minamoto clan. Muneyuki lived in the early part of the 10th century, and is one of that select group of 'doubly' honoured poets - those included in both the '36 Poets' and the 'Hyaku-nin Isshu'. He was a grandson of Koko Tenno, whose print I sent you about five years ago ...

I find the rather 'chilling' feeling of this poem, with its dreary images of a cold, dead season, quite at variance with my own feelings about winter. I quite enjoy the cold half of the year - in Japan.

My first trip to this country, some thirteen years ago, was a three month long vacation, made in the winter months - November through January. Was silly of me to come to this country at that time of year? Quite the contrary, it was fantastic. We were here for exactly 100 days, and in that time we saw precipitation exactly twice. I travelled to many places in the Kanto, Tohoku, Kinki, and Kansai areas, and just couldn't believe the glorious blue skies, and clear air that I found everywhere I went. The youth hostels and 'minshuku' were empty, the trains were uncrowded, and the tourist spots absolutely deserted. I had come from the west coast of Canada, and perhaps you know something about the winters in that area - they are grey and rainy. Endlessly rainy. One can go for weeks without seeing the sun. So for me, the wonderfully clear Japanese autumn and winter was a very refreshing experience.

And I still feel the same way about this season, even though I live in an unheated 'concrete box' here in chilly Tokyo. Perhaps it's just the way my body is built, but I just don't enjoy hot weather. All my energy drains away, and I waste endless hours doing nothing. But when the weather turns crisp, and Fuji-san pokes its white cap up over the hills just west of my apartment, I become more alive. I throw the windows wide open in the morning to air the place out, and only shut them again reluctantly in the late afternoon, when the girls complain bitterly about the house being too cold. 'Put a sweater on!', I tell them, but still they complain. We have a heating system built-in here, but I only allow it to be turned on when guests come. I refuse to buy a 'stove' of any kind. I dislike both the fumes, and the feeling of false warmth that it brings. This is my season!

Mind you, as I write this in early November, the season is yet young and fresh. I suppose that come next February, I may well be singing a somewhat different tune ... But that's the best way isn't it - to enjoy each season as it comes round in turn ...

November 1994