moon

Unharvested persimmons and big moon over Nakano

persimmon_moon_nakano

日没に、収穫されなかった柿と大きな月が、同じ木みたいです。

These persimmon fruits are well past ripe, and just clinging to the branches. At dusk, the moon seems to be the same size as the fruit.

Twilight over Nishi Shinjuku with almost full moon

暑さと高い湿度のために、東京の夏の日中はちょっとたいへんです。
けれども、夏の夜は歩くのが楽しいです。夕暮れは特にきれいです。この写真は、数日前、月がもうすぐ満月の時でした。西新宿の上に出ていました。

Summer days in Tokyo are difficult with the heat and humidity, but evenings are very pleasant for walking and getting around. Twilight is especially beautiful now.

Winter night in Shinjuku

Tokyo looks magical at night. Taken in Shinjuku, near the Shinjuku Gyoen, it seems as if the Docomo tower is communicating with the crescent moon. It is completely dark, and only 5:08 pm.

(Date: December 20. Tonight is a “blue moon,” the second full moon of the month).

Festival description from 1913

Kafū Nagai self portrait

I am continuing to read Edward Seidensticker’s Kafū the Scribbler: The Life and Writing of Nagai Kafū, 1879-1959 (Stanford University Press, 1965). Kafū’s writing elegantly chronicles the Tokyo seasons, festivals, street scenes, and the clash of old Edo Tokyo with modernizing forces. The passage below seems particularly relevant to my previous post about the Tsukishima omasturi, and demonstrates Kafū’s love for the Sumida River, remnants of Edo, and nostalgic sounds.

“We first waited for everyone to assemble at the Garden of the Hundred Flowers, then proceeded to the Yoaomatsu restaurant. The upstairs room to which we were shown was really too cheap and vulgar, and we asked if there might not be something better, perhaps in one of the outbuildings. It seemed, though, that all the rooms were fairly much the same, and we had to make the best of what we had. It being the night of “the late moon,” the third night after the full moon, we all set out in a boat for the Azuma Bridge. At night you cannot see the factories and bronze statues, and there is only the moon gently lighting the surface of the water, and, white in the mist beyond, the houses of Imado and Hashiba on the left. Ah, here it is, I thought, almost ready to weep– the Sumida! We put the geisha ashore at the Mimeguri Landing, and as the boat tied up at Hanakawado, the drums and flutes of a festival came across the water to us, as if opening a domestic tragedy on the Kabuki stage. And so we disbanded.” (p 66, from Tidings from Okubo)