o-Hanami
Cherry blossom viewing
A long time ago, I lived and worked in Japan, so this time of year always reminds me of the great cultural event that is the cherry blossom season there. Everyone - literally everyone - gathers under the trees. I don’t think we have any similar mass celebration of nature here, Wassail being rather a niche observation these days. Some years ago, an orchard in Kent was selling the rights to individual trees and I had visions of recreating the Japanese cherry blossom viewing ritual in the south east of England, but the offer was so popular that we missed our chance. I hope those that invested are enjoying their trees.
This narrative poem is based on old memories. Happy ones this time.
O-HANAMI
Progress was plotted each day on the NHK
News as the powder-pink cloud advanced
our way from the south. It passed over Kyushu,
now Kansai was in full bloom. Soon
it would be our turn in Aizu to view
the blossom, revere its beauty.
Mayumi asked me to join her family
to picnic beneath the trees. I assumed
there would be some ancient ceremony;
she took pains to explain in broken English
the significance to ‘We Japanese’ of o-Hanami.
It was slightly lost on me.
We agreed the day when the fleeting display
would appear in its full magnificence.
While preparations were underway,
I confess I experienced moments of doubt
in the confidence of their timing – who could know
exactly when flowers would come out?
But, like the train doors and the rainy season,
the blossoms opened on time.
There was no other topic of conversation
at the office, the station, the ramen shop,
wherever two people exchanged a greeting
or shared a pot of tea.
An unprepossessing roadside tree
I had not previously noticed burst
into glory, uncowed by its surroundings.
It stood beside the Pachinko parlour,
steel and concrete structure covered
with flashing coloured lights,
blot on the landscape that somehow Mayumi
was able to blot from her sight. Kireii
desu ne! she cried and, indeed, I could see
a beautiful feature of nature, but set
in a desolate spot. I saw the eyesore
where she saw the cherry in bloom.
We made our way with the crowd to the park,
onigiri, yakitori, edamame unpacked
amid hubbub and falling petals. We all
raised our lacquered saké cups. Kampai!
Down in one! Refilled. Kampai! Then a third,
and again and again until long after dark,
the mystery of o-Hanami revealed
till it became blurred.
