Is it too quiet for you now
lying in a tomb, in Izumo,
far from the laughter that shook
the dry riverbed stage in Kyoto?
What passions
did the sacred dance unleash?
Your shining soul,
set out for all to see,
bold as a courtesans wink,
in the summer torchlight.
Does your spirit still wander
the back streets at night,
two bright swords tucked
in the sash of your hakama?
Was it hard to be confined
in the pleasure quarter,
or was that what you wanted –
the freedom
to chose your own life?
Did you play the man for fun,
or in jest, or as an excuse
to savor life and, perhaps,
to taste forbidden things?
Much easier to find yourself
when others cast up their hands
dismissed you to your own devices.
Or were you but a puppet
of whimsical gods,
sent among the mortals
to disturb the peace?
Is this, then, your reward
to lie quiet, in Izumo,
far from the laughter that shook
the dry riverbed stage in Kyoto?
But oh, how the geisha miss you –
and your bawdy songs
that made them laugh.
Sweet spring water for the soul.
Izumo no Okuni (Okuni of Izumo) is generally regarded as the mother of Kabuki. Originally a nun, (or shrine maiden, the tales differ here) she may have come to Kyoto to raise funds for her shrine in Izumo. She started out performing a sacred, if somewhat erotic, dance to Amida Buddha. In time she headed a troupe of dancers, singers and actors whose performances became increasingly bawdy and (surprise) a favorite nightime ‘venue’ for the emerging merchant class. Okuni herself often played male roles and was known to have wandered the streets of Kyoto dressed as a Ronin, (masterless Samurai,) complete with the long and short sword only Samurai were allowed to carry. The government eventually banned her troupe as a threat to public morals, but by that time Kabuki had become immensely popular and was eventually revived as an all male tradition with Onnagata (female impersonators) playing the female roles. The irony in this is impressive.