Hojoki: A Clear Modern Translation—on Impermanence, Living Small, and Letting Go

by Kamo no Chōmei

A clear, faithful modern English translation of a Japanese classic—now including the often-omitted final waka.

Hōjōki is a brief thirteenth-century essay by the poet-monk Kamo no Chōmei, written after he left the capital to live in a tiny hut. In Japan it is known as one of the three great classic essays.

Chōmei looks steadily at a world in flux and asks what to keep and where to place the heart. With the design of a ten-foot-square portable hut and lucid prose, he records an early, vivid blueprint for living small.

Without hype or self-display, he sets down facts with a calm, clear hand—widening our field of view more than possessions can, and our inner room more than convenience can. It is a quiet, elegant guide to putting life in order.

This edition offers smooth contemporary English and a new, balanced reading of the much-debated ending. The finale is read not as a denial of the life that precedes it, but as a renewed act of self-discipline against attachment, after which the mind turns toward unwavering light—a closing of hope and resolve.

Please enjoy.

Genres: Japan, Poetry, Japanese Literature, Philosophy, Classics, Nonfiction, Buddhism

46 pages, Kindle Edition

First published January 1, 1212

About the author

Kamo no Chōmei (鴨 長明?, 1153 or 1155–1216) was a Japanese author, poet (in the waka form), and essayist. He witnessed a series of natural and social disasters, and, having lost his political backing, was passed over for promotion within the Shinto shrine associated with his family. He decided to turn his back on society, took Buddhist vows, and became a hermit, living outside the capital. This was somewhat unusual for the time, when those who turned their backs on the world usually joined monasteries. Along with the poet-priest Saigyō he is representative of the literary recluses of his time, and his celebrated essay Hōjōki ("An Account of a Ten-Foot-Square Hut") is representative of the genre known as "recluse literature" (sōan bungaku).

(from Wikipedia)

Reviews

[Praj · Rating 5 out of 5]

Below the crimson skies shivers the last leaf,
Sings the blue bird, songs of a lonely tree
I wonder where, swallowed by the spring rain,
Floats the leaf, to claim a spotted grave
The sounds from Hojoki deeply permeate,
Heart of a one-room hut, poetry and music rhyme
Nestled within an early bud, what do I see?
Glimpses of Lotus Sutra, one man’s pilgrimage.

Five deciding elements of nature persuading the humble origin of the supreme fruition of man conceptualising the ephemeral life, the sensibility of man imparting the teachings of the universe from a ten foot square hut attuned to the immortality of a poet’s soul. All things are imperfect. All things are incomplete. The image of Amida dwelling among the sanctimonious mountains, the Law of Buddha shinning through the soft cerise lotus petals and the bloom of the lotus in the murky waters spiritualizing the beauty coaxed through the ugliness of stagnation defining the modest truth of the nature. The inevitable cosmos emerging from nothingness, accepting the transient inhabitation weaved into a metaphysical web of turbulence, isolation, hazards and tranquillity, devolving towards the exquisiteness of human totality fading into the depth of nothingness. Humanistic traditions expanding the sensory ambivalence of nature in the spirituality of the mind; the inevitable extinction evocating the aesthetics of existence in tender solitude of nothingness in the core of simplicity. The ‘wabi-sabi' of the universe, in its purest form.


A house and its master
are like the dew that gathers
on the morning glory.

Which will be the first to pass?

Sometimes the dew falls away
while the flowers stay.


More permanent than the emergence of birth is the oblivion of death and the fleeting journey in between is something called life; the ultimate pioneering grace of music and poetry. The inception of bloom and lush, the dew on flowers awaits the morning sun falling then into the decay of the dusk? A wasted beauty it is not, the man who builds a house for warmth only to die out in the cold comprehending the transitory nature of man and his dwelling.


Of the four elements,
water, fire, and wind
often cause great damage.
Earth does not so often
bring catastrophe..


Earth is forever metamorphosing into the permanence of deathly grave a respite for the victims of impermanence. And, when fearsome earthquakes engulf the vanities of the world, nature becomes the supreme equalizer of mankind. You can't control nature, simply learn from it, the greatest educator.


Sinful times!
That I should witness
such a dreadful thing!


Kamo no Chomei (1153-1216) was the second son of a Shinto priest in Kyoto. One of the leading poets of the late Heian Period at the imperial court, Chomei’s powerful intensity in the poetry and music engaged the phenomenon of nature with the intricacies of human life. The notion of the universe destructing and constructing concurrently progresses the comprehensive system of ‘nothingness’ embedded in the Chomei’s poetic verses. The elegance of Chomei’s well-crafted text mirrors the world he survived whilst recognising the legitimacy of nature and its association with man.


the fire destroyed
sixteen noble houses—
who knows how many more?—
I heard one third
of the entire capital.


In this famed Japanese literary marvel deriving its titular inspiration from the ‘tiny hermit hut’ built by Chomei himself during his pilgrimage in the mountainous towards the divinity of solitude spinning the , Kamo-no-Chomei scripts through various brush strokes the devastation of famine(1180), the Kyoto fire (1175 CE) , the great earthquake(1185), deaths, floods, whirlwinds, political upheavals in the imperial court , yearning to banish materialistic hierarchy and in the end his pilgrimage to acquire a peaceful mind and the pristine beauty of simplicity nurtured in solitude.

In 1204, Chomei adhered to the teachings of Buddhism and lived a life of a recluse monk in the foothills of Mount Hino. The path to enlightenment disentangles the dilemma of possessing an “impure heart” dwelling in the woods of discipline and retribution. The enjoyment of simple company and by the means of mind and body as the only trustworthy entity for health and strength depicts the philosophy of Buddha and the wholesomeness of “shunya” (zero). An “old silkworm spinning its last cocoon”, Chomei contemplates on the benevolent beauty of rural life endowed with materialistic emancipation and minimalism achieved through remoteness from the burdensome world. On the road to achieving tranquillity, Chomei expresses:-

Fish do not hate the water.
But then, none can know
the happiness of the fish
unless he is one....

A quiet life is much the same.
How would anyone know it
without living it?


The four metamorphosing seasons equating the four defining phases of human life, ceaselessly flow like the river reverberating vanity of time concealed beneath the watery whims of impermanence. From the tenderness of glorious spring to the culmination of frosty snow, the poetic immortality of Kamo-no –Chomei defies the reluctant nature meditating through ethereal silence the transitory passage of man and the phenomenon of nature.

The flowing river
never stops
and yet the water
never stays
the same.

Foam floats
upon the pools,
scattering, re-forming,
never lingering long.

So it is with man
and all his dwelling places
here on earth.

[Adina ( catching up..very slowly) · Rating 3 out of 5]

I've read (listened to) this book by accident. I started playing the audiobook for Narrow Road to the Interior: And Other Writings but this short little gem came first. I've never heard of the author before but I am glad I stumbled across him. Kamo no Chōmei is a medieval Japanese writer,poet and essayist who takes the Buddhist vows becoming a monk.

“The flowing river never stops and yet the water never stays the same. Foam floats upon the pools, scattering, re-forming, never lingering long. So it is with man and all his dwelling places here on earth.”

The above is the first paragraph of the book and I was mesmerized by its beauty. The author continues to discuss the impermanence of life. Then, he presents a series of disasters that he witnessed, natural and man made. The hopeless view of the world made him decide to retreat outside the capital and become a "hermit". The author describes in great detail the tiny hut he builds, his daily activities and the reasons he decided to go on this path in order to find peace of mind.

The audiobook was narrated by the actor Togo Igawa which enhanced the Japanese feel of the writing. Unfortunately, the Narrow Road is narrated by a different person whose accent is way too thick to be able to understand everything.

[Steve]

- Calligraphy by Hon'ami Kōetsu (1558–1637), Underpainting attributed to Tawaraya Sōtatsu (died ca. 1640), Poem by Kamo no Chomei (ca. 1154 – 1216)

If we follow the ways of the world, things are hard for us; if we refuse to follow them, we appear to have gone mad.


As I understand it, Hojoki is read by every Japanese student in school and had a great influence on much that was subsequently written in Japanese. It is one of the key texts of the Japanese culture. Written by Kamo no Chomei in 1212 during the collapse of the Heian dynasty, it is a poetically dense text, whether it is rendered in free verse, as is done in this book, or into prose, as is done by Donald Keene in his pioneering Anthology of Japanese Literature .

An earlier reviewer wrote "However, it seems inadequate - lacking in richness of human experience..." I beg to differ. In a highly distilled poetic language Chomei describes the destruction of one third of Kyoto by a ravaging fire in 1177 with the concomitant horrible deaths; then a monstrous tornado tore a swath 2 kilometers long through the city in 1180. Shortly thereafter the Emperor decided to move the capital, creating huge problems for the populace, totally uprooting their lives; six months later the Emperor moved the capital back to Kyoto! A two year long famine followed in 1181-1182, and Chomei evokes the terrible consequences and the altruistic acts of some of the inhabitants. As if that weren't enough, a great earthquake leveled the city in 1185... These are indicated in brief, sharp strokes of the brush, not dwelt upon in gory detail as would be done now.

Chomei, who converted to Buddhism, supplements these clearly drawn illustrations of the precariousness of life and property with further examples of the problems of attachment (to property, ambition, social status, loved ones, life). After many disappointments and losses, Chomei "withdraws from the world," builds and lives in a series of wooden huts in the countryside; he lovingly describes his simple life there. Some lines from this section:

Then in winter -
snow!
It settles
just like human sin
and melts,
in atonement.

He plays music, writes, watches Nature, shares long walks with a 10 year old boy who occasionally visits, remembers friends and family, gathers from Nature the necessities to satisfy his very modest food and clothing needs. But he is aware that he is now attached to his very simple life and reproaches himself for not being as mindful as some figures of Buddhist legend. He is stuck in the quandary inherent in every absolute ideal:

To these questions of mind,
there is no answer.
So now
I use my impure tongue
to offer a few prayers
to Amida and then
silence.

(Amida is the Buddha of comprehensive love.)

OK, Hojoki is not War and Peace or A Tale of Two Cities ; it is 15 pages long in Keene's prose version. But I rather doubt that any 15 pages in those books are as dense in human experience as Hojoki is! Be that as it may, I find this to be a rich and moving text to which I often return. My gratitude is due to the translators of this free verse version for providing another view of the text for those of us with no Japanese. I have the feeling that I will re-read this more often than Keene's fine prose version.

[Frank · Rating 3 out of 5]

Gentle prose. The beginning reminds me of The Book of Ecclesiastes, warning the reader that all is vanity, one doesn't know what nature will do to your prized possessions.

[Teresa · Rating 5 out of 5]

“Um rio corre sem parar, mas a água que corre nunca é a mesma. Aqui e ali na superfície tranquila, flocos de espuma aparecem e logo desaparecem. O mesmo se passa com os homens e os lugares onde habitam.”

[César Carranza · Rating 4 out of 5]

Es un libro cortísimo, muy bello, no es otra cosa que lo que promete, las memorias de un hombre en el Japón medieval que se cansa del mundo y decide retirarse a las montañas en soledad en una especie de ascetismo budista. Pero este hombre no es cualquiera, es Chomei, un poeta de cierta fama en su época, lo que hace que todo sea un poco distinto, está escrito muy sencillo, con ideas cortas y bellas. El libro es pequeño, más de la mitad son estudios sobre él, donde uno se entera de quien era Chomei, además la introducción por Soseki es buenísima. Me gustó mucho.

[Paula Abreu Silva · Rating 4 out of 5]

"Um rio corre sem parar, mas a água que corre nunca é a mesma. Aqui e ali na superfície tranquila, flocos de espuma aparecem e logo desaparecem. O mesmo se passa com os homens e os lugares onde habitam"

[Alex Pler · Rating 4 out of 5]

"Los peces adoran el agua, mas nadie puede conocer la felicidad del pez, a menos que sea uno de ellos. Las aves, por su parte, desean vivir en los bosques, mas, si no eres un pájaro, ¿cómo sabrás sus motivos? Una vida tranquila es muy semejante: ¿cómo se puede conocer sin vivirla?".

Clásico imperecedero para leer y releer siempre, revisitar, crecer, recordar lo que ya se sabía, tener en cuenta lo que se había olvidado.

[Mohammad Ali Shamekhi · Rating 3 out of 5]

به نظرم اصل کتاب، کتابی است موفق در بیان گذرا بودن جهان و فناپذیری آدم و عالم و ضرورت عدم تعلق

ترجمه یه جاهایی ابهام داشت یا منطقا آدمو متحیر می کرد. همین باعث شد من پراکنده به این ترجمه ی انگلیسی مراجعه کنم. مقایسه با اون متن باعث شد هم اون مشکلات فهمم از بین بره و هم بفهمم که ظاهرا نسخه ی مبنای مترجم انگلیسی و مترجم فارسی متفاوته. چون متن انگلیسی اضافات داره - خصوصا در آخر کتاب. اگر ترجمه معقول تر و روان تر بود بهش چهار ستاره می دادم. البته ذکر این نکته ضروریه که ترجمه ی انگلیسی ساده شده، یعنی مثلا خبری از اسامی سال ها و ماه ها و روزها و ... که در ترجمه ی فارسی عینا با توضیح آمده نیست. در مورد اشاره به ارجاعات ترجمه ی انگلیسی قوی تره، مثلا گفته فلان حرف اشاره ای است به شعر فلانی

حاشیه: در مقدمه آمده که این کتاب همراه با دو کتاب دیگه، شاهکار سبک زوی هیتسو در ادبیات ژاپنیه - این واژه تحت الفظی یعنی انشا و اصطلاحا یعنی نوشته های کسانی که به شرح حال و هوای روزگار خود پرداخته اند. باعث خوشبختی است که یکی دیگه از این سه کتاب هم به فارسی ترجمه شده، ذیل عنوان گلستان ژاپنی

[Leanne · Rating 5 out of 5]

The Hōjōki has already been translated several times, notably by Burton Watson in his book Four Huts, published by Shambhala in 1994. This edition contains four famous works by Buddhist recluses, including Bai Juyi (or Po Chü-i), Basho and Yoshishige no Yasutane as well as containing beautiful brush paintings by artist Stephen Addiss. Another prominent translation from the 1990s was by Kyoto-based translators Yasuhiko Moriguchi and David Jenkins. This new translation is marked by the literary quality of Stavros’s English. Choosing to render Chōmei’s prose into verse, the English is lyrical and sounds beautiful when read aloud (there is a wonderful narration by MG Miller on Audible). The text is complemented by beautiful photographs taken by the author around Kyoto.
See the rest of my review at the Asian Review of Books

[Cam *tactile seeker* · Rating 4 out of 5]

This book is part of my beautiful 2018 MACHALO READING CHALLENGE (AKA MMFBCE™): End of the World


If you entrust yourself
to the care of others
you will be owned by them.

If you care for others
you will be enslaved
by your own solicitude.

If you conform to the world
it will bind you hand and foot.

If you do not, then
it will think you mad.

And so the question,
where should we live?
And how?

Where to find
a place to rest a while?

And how bring
even short-lived peace
to our hearts?

[diario_de_um_leitor_pjv · Rating 3 out of 5]

Entre o diário e o poético. Entre as pequenas histórias e as desgraças maiores. Entre o retrato e a reflexão.
Este é um texto estranho, um livro inusitado. Sinceramente foi uma leitura em que não consegui fruir e me envolver.

Mas tem pedaços belos como este:

“Em tais ocasiões é bastante comum que as pessoas se convençam da impermanência das coisas terrenas, aconselhem o desapego a essas coisas e a libertarmo-nos das impurezas dos nossos corações. Mas com o passar dos meses e dos anos deixamos de os ouvir formular tais reflexões. Parece-me, pois, que todas as dificuldades da vida surgem dessa natureza evanescente e efémera do homem e da sua morada”.

[Hanieh Sadat Shobeiri · Rating 5 out of 5]

"دولتمندان طمعشان عمیق است و رهاشدگان از قید و بند به وسیله‌ی دیگران تحقیر می‌شوند.
ثروت که باشد ترس زیاد است و فقر که باشد رنج بزرگ است.
خواستن از دیگران، خود را مال دیگران کردن است.
کسی را زیر بال و پر گرفتن، تشویش و رنجش دل از بهر مهر و محبت است.
دنباله‌روی کردن از اجتماع رنجاندن خود است و دنباله‌روی نکردن دیوانه نشان شدن است.
درواقع هر کجا که زندگی کنند و هر پیشه که پیش گیرند، آیا برای زمانی اندک این تن خواهد توانست بیاساید یا برای زمانی اندک دل آرامش خواهد یافت؟"

[Milly Cohen · Rating 2 out of 5]

si tu espíritu no está en paz, ¿de qué sirven caballos, elefantes y las siete rarezas?

[Nicolás Herrera · Rating 4 out of 5]

Yo, de vez en cuando, me dispongo a la tarea de abordar el corpus textual de algún asiático. Esa extensión territorial del planeta —Asia— siempre me ha atraído sobremanera; eso se debe, en parte, a la enorme diversidad de culturas que se extienden a lo largo y ancho de ese continente. Y también, en gran medida, gracias a una categoría de hombres que, por las razones que sean, suelen surgir con mayor frecuencia en aquellas tierras orientales: los sabios ermitaños, los retirados, los aislados —en fin—, los espíritus contemplativos y solitarios.

Lo que me entusiasma y me resulta magnético de ese tipo de personalidades es la calidad de su comprensión, no solo del cosmos, sino también de la existencia y de la realidad propiamente dichas; así como los criterios, dinámicas y esquemas operativos que rigen esos tres conceptos. Cuando yo era más joven y apenas me preparaba para abordar superficialmente a alguno de esos sabios, en más de una ocasión me sorprendía —sin medir fuerzas ni distancias— al constatar que mucho de lo que profesaban esos ancianos en aquellas lejanas épocas lo avala la ciencia de nuestros tiempos. Sí: estos sujetos captaban verdades esenciales y, bajo nuestro lente cultural, científicas respecto del mundo que habitaban.

No podía impresionarme más ante tal hecho. ¡Hablamos de unos cuantos viejos cuyo fulgor calentó la tierra hace siglos! ¡Almas curiosas cuyo ingenio supo interpretar de manera coherente lo perceptible e incluso lo no perceptible! Son los espíritus autocríticos de antaño, pruebas fehacientes de que el universo, aunque enigmático, se nos revela constantemente, aunque no de modo íntegro.

Cuando leí sobre Hōjōki me quedó claro que su autor, Kamo no Chōmei, encajaba, de una u otra forma, en ese arquetipo de sabio recluido: no tenía dudas. El concepto de la obra me pareció genial; la anoté con la esperanza de hallar en ella una larga tradición cultural, espiritual e intelectual —un factor más de la gran sapiencia humana— y así fue: no me decepcioné.

Sin embargo, antes de abordar Hōjōki como obra, debo confesar que considero a Kamo no Chōmei como uno de esos autores cuyo pensamiento, para comprenderse amplia y rigurosamente, exige contextualizar su vida, los sucesos que le acontecieron y cómo estos influyeron en su obra.

Chōmei (賀茂 忠明) nació aproximadamente en 1155; fue segundo hijo del administrador del templo Kamo, un santuario sintoísta ubicado al noreste de Kyōto, en las orillas del río Kamo. Se sabe que desde joven se instruyó en materia poética y musical en el mundo cortesano, hecho que le permitió insertarse —aunque con un rango menor— en la élite literaria del periodo Heian tardío. Durante su juventud y adultez participó en círculos artísticos y culturales como poeta y músico: se decantaba por la estética y la densidad conceptual del waka y se desplazó con agilidad por el repertorio del biwa, un laúd japonés.

Mientras su pasión desinteresada por el arte poético se extendía con vigor, su vida decayó de modo paralelo: su padre murió, la tragedia lo abrumó, se aisló cada vez más y ya no quiso hablar con nadie. Aun así, ni el dolor resiste al mujō (無常): nada es permanente. Los cielos cambian, las estaciones se suceden y, pese a la muerte de su progenitor, Chōmei continuó en los círculos de la corte ejerciendo su labor como poeta, aunque siempre con el espíritu abatido. Su vagar era el de un desposeído.

Además de esa miseria espiritual inmediata, su época fue un tiempo de cambios sociales, jerárquicos, violencia y calamidades. Su vida transcurre en la transición de la dinastía Heian al shogunato de Kamakura, lo que acarreó consecuencias nefastas no solo para el melancólico poeta sino para todo Japón. Las fragmentaciones políticas —las guerras entre Taira y Minamoto—, sumadas a las sucesivas calamidades naturales que acontecieron a lo largo de su existencia, fueron factores que condicionaron el horizonte interpretativo del docto maestro de las letras.

Bajo estas condiciones, a mediados de su vida, llegó a oídos de Chōmei un rumor esperanzador: el emperador habría decidido otorgarle un puesto de prestigio en agradecimiento por su labor poética. Se dice que el autor de Hōjōki se emocionó tanto que la sal y la lluvia emergieron de sus ojos; conoció la esperanza. No obstante, su destino sería otro. Apenas se extendió el rumor por los altos círculos, un miembro de la corte alegó ante el emperador que su propio hijo, aunque menor, gozaba de mayor rango y dedicación al servicio imperial; en consecuencia, la posición destinada al poeta fue cedida a ese protegido. Lo mundano frustró una vez más las ilusiones del desalentado erudito.

¿Qué podía hacer un hombre así? Atormentado por la ausencia, despedazado por las calamidades, testigo de las mayores crueldades humanas, perseguido por la desdicha y la melancolía —y, además, docto, de alma sensible y heredero de una larga tradición cultural, espiritual e intelectual cuyo fin último es la libertad—, ¿qué otra opción le quedaba? Chōmei partió: primero a Ōhara, donde vivió veinte años; después a Hino, donde redactó el material que aquí nos ocupa: Hōjōki.

Esta obra bebe de dos tradiciones ya existentes: la primera es el zuihitsu —forma fragmentaria, aforística—, y la segunda la sōan bungaku, o literatura de recluso, un género bien establecido en Asia que se caracteriza por la elaboración textual desde el aislamiento social. Al reconfigurar, transgredir y combinar ambos géneros, Chōmei crea un estilo propio y armonioso que transmite la sabiduría del ermitaño: pensamientos que surgen y se desvanecen.

«El fluir del río es incesante, pero su agua nunca es la misma. Las burbujas que flotan en un remanso de la corriente ora se desvanecen, ora se forman, pero no por mucho tiempo. Así también en este mundo son los hombres y sus moradas.»

Con esta sentencia inaugura Chōmei su magnum opus, y con la imagen del río y de las burbujas presenta uno de los conceptos clave para entender su obra: el mujō.

El kanji para mujō en sino-japonés es 無常; es una palabra compuesta en la que mu (無) significa negación —“no” o “sin”— y jō (常) significa constancia o permanencia. En conjunto, expresan la idea de “no constancia”, traducible como “impermanencia” o “transitoriedad”. La sustancia conceptual de este término se hereda del sánscrito anitya/anicca. En la doctrina budista clásica, esta palabra representa una de las tres marcas de la existencia: impermanencia (anicca), sufrimiento (dukkha) y no-yo (anattā).

Esta idea —el mujō— intenta transmitir el carácter transitorio del universo y de todos sus componentes. Establecido este concepto como eje central, Chōmei desarrolla íntegramente el texto. Hōjōki está estructurado en dos partes: la primera, de tono histórico y reflexivo; la segunda, de carácter más autobiográfico.

En la primera parte, Chōmei enumera calamidades y desastres naturales que azotaron el país durante su vida; hace un recuento con rigor historiográfico (fechas, registros, políticas de reacción) y con criterio filosófico esas catástrofes, plenas manifestaciones del mujō. En la segunda parte, con pluma sensible y sabia, nos transporta a su ser: muestra su proceso de retiro, su abandono de la esfera o kyōgai (境涯).

La obra no es una autobiografía confesional: lo que Chōmei revela de sí mismo lo hace con fines intelectuales. Transforma su vida en dispositivo filosófico; los años en Ōhara y en Hino, el niño de diez años, sus oraciones, cantos, rituales y ociosidades actúan como vehículo cognoscitivo y transmisor de ideas. El carácter personal de la obra obedece a parámetros mayores y nobles.

Todo está allí para iluminar al lector: Chōmei quiere que contemplemos lo efímero, la irracionalidad de las estructuras sociales de su tiempo y las complejas dinámicas que operan en la realidad. Busca excitar el espíritu con una densa sucesión de esencias universales empaquetadas en una bella y poética producción autobiográfica.

Considero que Hōjōki no solo admite, sino que exige —en el peor de los casos— una lectura atenta y, en el mejor, repetidas lecturas. Me maravilla su densidad filosófica: cada palabra encierra no solo un campo semántico coherente con el tema, sino una ambivalencia que potencia múltiples interpretaciones sin perder lógica.

Para ejemplificar esto uso una breve cita en la que Chōmei, narrando las cotidianidades de su vida como asceta, introduce un concepto imprescindible: kyōgai (境涯). El fragmento:

«Cuando no estoy de humor para orar ni para leer, descanso y holgazaneo; nadie me lo impide aquí ni hay nadie ante cuyos ojos pudiera sentirme avergonzado. No he hecho votos de silencio, pero por fuerza los cumplo, ya que estoy solo. Tampoco me esfuerzo por obedecer ningún precepto; aquí no existe ninguna esfera que romper.»

El kanji para “esfera” o kyōgai en sino-japonés es 境涯: palabra compuesta por kyō (境), que significa “borde”, “límite” o “condición”, y gai (涯), que remite a “orilla”, “extremo” u “horizonte”. Combinados, forman la noción de ámbito o territorio: el ámbito —interno o externo— que delimita las posibilidades, condiciones y situaciones de un ser humano.

Con kyōgai, Chōmei puede referirse tanto a las estructuras sociales que condicionan conducta y pensamiento —las instituciones, por ejemplo— como al horizonte interpretativo propio de cada sujeto. Esa ambivalencia es la genialidad del libro: una sola palabra abre campos semánticos múltiples.

Desde la lectura perceptual, kyōgai indica la esfera de experiencia de un sujeto —su campo de percepción y conciencia—; desde la lectura social, remite al marco institucional que condiciona la acción. Entendidas ambas acepciones, lo que Chōmei evidencia es que al desligarse de ciertas esferas externas se gana en libertad práctica, aunque siempre estaremos condicionados por nuestro propio horizonte interpretativo; por eso debemos nutrirlo, juzgarlo y moldearlo: solo así es posible la paz.

¿No resulta casi un prodigio encerrar tanta carga conceptual en dos caracteres? La riqueza inferencial posible a partir de ese par es notable.

El análisis de la obra me llevó a concluir que Hōjōki funciona como tratado práctico y literario: la contemplación del mujō produce una ética del desapego y una estética de lo efímero/trascendental que Chōmei maneja con sensibilidad certera.

Hoy tuve el placer de enfrentarme a esta obra: su belleza y su ancestral sabiduría me han dejado la misma sensación que experimenté al leer a los presocráticos por primera vez. Eso es espléndido. El valor de su filosofía lucida, reflexiva y sanadora —pese al pesimismo del autor— es innegable. Excelente texto; no dejaré de recomendarlo.

[Nasia · Rating 4 out of 5]

Δεν θα το περίμενα πως από τα πρώτα βιβλία που θα διάβαζα το 2022 θα ήταν ένα κλασικό κείμενο του 12 αιώνα από Ιάπωνα συγγραφέα που (αν καταλαβαίνω καλά) βρίσκεται ακόμα στην σχολική ύλη των παιδιών στην Ιαπωνίας.
Έγινε όμως η ανατροπή και τούτο το βιβλίο από εκδόσεις @bibliotheque.open κέντρισαν το ενδιαφέρον της @mariarevythi - γνωστής φαν της Ιαπωνικής κουλτούρας - στην ΔΕΒΘ. Τσουπ βρέθηκα και εγώ από δίπλα να το ξεφυλλιζω και εν τέλει να το αγοράζω και να που βρίσκομαι προ έκπληξης! Πολύ όμορφο, μικρό, αρκετά κλισέ αλλά θα έλεγα και ταυτόχρονα πάντα επίκαιρο βιβλίο για την ευμεταβλητότητα της ζωής, με υπέροχες εικονογραφήσεις στο τέλος του βιβλίου.
Ψάξτε το, είναι όμορφο, μικρό και περιέχει αλήθειες!

[Ulla Walter · Rating 4 out of 5]

En interessant beskrivelse af Japan i 11/12 hundrede tallet
Og en kæmpe indspark i vores måde at leve vores liv på som godt kunne revurderes

[Felipe Arango Betancourt · Rating 5 out of 5]

La permanencia de lo viejo y la presencia de lo nuevo = la impermanencia del mundo, de la vida, de todo.
¿Qué hace que la belleza sea belleza? La impermanencia de las cosas, la fugacidad de la vida, de los momentos; cada momento es un presente único e irrepetible. Nada es definitivo ni para siempre: todo es transitoriedad.
El libro no es un canto de alabanza a la vida en soledad y de retiro, también está surcado por el dolor de la soledad y el de dejarlo todo: pesan los recuerdos de amigos y familiares. A veces se siente la inutilidad de la palabra: no lo abarca todo, no lo nombra todo, nada explica.
¿Pero la renuncia de Chomei es total? No. El autor no es capaz de renunciar a la poesía y a la música, se refugia en la interpretación de la biwa y el koto. Así, la poesía, la música y los preceptos budistas son el catalizador de su alma.

[Mesoscope · Rating 5 out of 5]

This slender book contains a translation of Kamo-no-Chomei's thirteenth-century classic poem Hojoki along with an excellent historical and critical introduction, explanatory notes, and some nice ink paintings by Kyoto-based artist Michael Hofmann.

The theme of the poem will be immediately familiar to any reader with the most rudimentary acquaintance with Japanese poetry. A Buddhist poet reflects on the sorrows and vanity of ordinary life and retires to live in the wilderness, where he spends his time writing poems, looking at the clouds, and taking long walks with a young boy, reminding us very much of, say, Ryokan, Ikkyu, or Bassho.

If the theme is familiar, the execution is at a very high level. The translators adeptly draw the reader's attention to the consistent development of striking visual images, especially the images of a house or dwelling place, as the poem moves forward. In the opening, the poet tells us of many historical disasters he has seen in his lifetime, and readers languishing under Covid lockdowns may consider themselves lucky, reading of two years of famine in Kyoto that left corpses strewn about the streets because there was no one to bury them all.

From there, he retires to the foothills and builds a rude hut, and the center of the poem finds it at its most conventional. The only thing missing from the usual checklist of impressions is the moon - if I recall correctly, it surprisingly never makes an appearance.

At the end, the author is assailed by self-doubt, wondering if perhaps his efforts for liberation are not themselves just another form of delusion. And the careful reader will have already noticed that he previously reported that it's easy to leave society when one has no family or fortune.

The style of the English rendering is a bit generic for my taste. The use of language does little to convey a unique mode of expression, or personality, and as one critical reader noted, the translators avoid using any words that wouldn't be understood by a child. Whether this is faithful to the original, I do not know, but it reads to me like "generic Japanese poem voice."

Nevertheless, the virtues of the poem are great, and I will no doubt return to it many times.

[Akemi G. · Rating 3 out of 5]

Mediocre. About the only good part is the opening paragraph, and even that, I think it is cliched. I'm sure the symbolism of a river was popular in his time already. Chomei is a lay monk, and I think his understanding of impermanence is shallow, only in his head.

Please don't judge Japanese classics by this book! If you like reading essays, try Essays in Idleness: The Tsurezuregusa of Kenko (written by another lay monk) or The Pillow Book (written by a court lady). If you want to know about the Japanese concept of mono-no-aware, read The Tale of Genji or The Tale of the Heike, two very different stories, and yet, both succeed. (Genji is about a courtier, and with all his power, money, and -- many, many lovers -- he still cannot escape life. Heike is about a warrior clan -- the historical events took place just a little before Hojoki time -- primarily about a man who rose the ranks by his own achievements, and he, his clan, and all the mighty men of both sides of the conflict perish in time.

I usually don't rate/review books that I cannot give 4 or 5 stars. With books, as with people, there are issues of chemistry, and I don't think it's fair to put down something/someone just because I don't get it. With this book, I'm excusing myself because this is already considered a classic, and I really don't want people to give up on Japanese literature because of this book.

(I read all these books in the original Japanese, with footnotes. I hope the English translations are good.)

[Velvetink · Rating 4 out of 5]

Thanks to Capsguy for this. For a text that is 800 years old it has major relevance to today. A kind of Buddhist ode to downsizing and I can certainly relate. I wish I could read Japanese, I'm sure there are nuances in the language that translate even more poetically.

[Ana Lelis · Rating 3 out of 5]

It didn't resonate with me. There were some interesting bits, but overall it wasn't for me.

[Francisco Lázaro · Rating 5 out of 5]

Hojoki foi, sem dúvida, um livro que superou todas as expectativas. Não poderia haver melhor maneira de acabar o ano! Trata-se das reflexões de um homem do passado que, após um período de sofrimento, decide dedicar-se a uma vida simples, reservada e em harmonia com a natureza. O que mais me fascinou foi perceber como pensamentos escritos há quase mil anos ainda permanecem tão atuais e verdadeiros. Hojoki transmite uma ideia principal: rodear me daquilo que traz felicidade para encontrar a paz eterna.

[Israel Montoya Baquero · Rating 5 out of 5]

Excepcional, tanto el breve pero contundente texto de Chomei, como los excelentes ensayos que cierran el libro. Como única pega, ese error en la contraportada, donde se dice que "Tokio fue devastada por las llamas en el siglo XIII" cuando debería decir "Kioto".

[Dany · Rating 5 out of 5]

Sometimes I go to the capital
and am aware
I look like a begging monk.

But when I return
I pity those who seek
the dross of the world.

If you doubt my words,
consider the fish and birds.

Fish do not hate the water.
But then, none can know
the happiness of the fish
unless he is one.

Birds love the woods.
If you are not a bird
you will not know its truths.

A quiet life is much the same.
How would anyone know it
without living it?

[atito · Rating 5 out of 5]

i love love love

[Natalia Olmos · Rating 4 out of 5]

Considerando que es un texto del año 1212 me parece un interesante testimonio histórico de Japón. Por otra parte las observaciones y pensamiento de Kamo No Chomei estan revestidos de distintas capas, por ejemplo es factible entender como era la construcción de la época
La temática principal es sobre los motivos que lo hacen alejarse de Kyoto y su nueva vida. Tiene un ritmo pausado, una cadencia muy habitual a la que nos tienen acostumbrados los libros japoneses más contemporaneos

[Capsguy · Rating 5 out of 5]

This is an amazing little gem, and its applicability for today is amazing! If you can find this, please spare the twenty or so minutes it would take for reading this, it truly is something to help put you back into reality.

[Aileen Montero · Rating 5 out of 5]

Esta pequeña colección de pensamientos escrita hace siglos, contiene pura esencia destilada de sabiduría. Escrito con sorprendente sencillez, es increíblemente vigente en nuestra época.
Si bien es cierto no todos elegirán una vida ermitaña para encontrar la felicidad y la paz, lo que si es cierto es que los valores fundamentales que nos muestra Kamo no Chomei, son las claves de una vida plena.
Definitivamente es una lectura que inspira y que recomendaría a todos.

[Pedro Alhinho · Rating 5 out of 5]

Um precioso livro sobre a humildade e o desprendimento e sobre as inúteis ilusões do ser humano.
Como em:
"Desde que deixei o mundo e quebrei com ele todos os laços , não sinto nenhum medo ou ressentimento. Confio a minha vida ao destino, sem nenhuma esperança em particular de viver ou desejo de morrer. Como uma nuvem à deriva, não dependo de ninguém e nada me prende. O meu único luxo é um sono profundo e a única coisa que espero é a beleza da mudança das estações."