Dear Professor Hiroko Miura,
How many years has it been since Ms. Yui Morita from Musubi no Kai (NPO Association for Education of Japanese Traditional Performing Arts) introduced me to you? Since then, you have kindly assisted me by appearing as a commentator at my recitals and providing reviews of my performances, for which I am deeply grateful.
Looking back, I have always been strongly attracted to performances such as “Musume Dojoji,” “Shigure Saigyo,” “Ren-jishi,” “Shizuhata-obi,” and “Yamanba.” These are works rooted in Noh theater or based on it. In an effort to explore my feelings, I have spent time watching Noh performances and took lessons in Shimai (dance excerpt from Noh theater) and Kyogen Komai (short, humorous dance performed within Kyogen theater) at the foundation established by my father. Over time, I have continued to study Kyogen Komai, which remains a joyful learning experience for me. Although I haven’t found a clear answer as to why I am drawn to works derived from Noh, I recently began to think that it might be the pleasant sensation of hearing beautiful Japanese language expressed through melody.
Currently, I feel a sense of crisis that the significance of Japanese classical arts is no longer being shared across all generations. This led me to focus on experimental works. In these programs, I included only two or three thematic words and emphasized dance driven by melody and rhythm, allowing the audience to enjoy it based on their own sensibilities.
Could you kindly explain to a novice like me the relationship between Japanese performing arts and words, from Utai to Joruri to Uta, and the frequent inclusion of vocal expressions such as “Ha!” and “Yo!” in instrumental performances?
Yuko Nishikawa
Thank you for your letter. When you, a humble expert, say “explain to a novice like me,” it makes me, a novice myself, feel quite nervous. Nevertheless, I have considered the beauty of Noh’s words in my own way and summarized my thoughts as follows.
I believe there are three key points to the beauty of Noh language. The first is the beauty of the lyrics as a literary work. Utilizing techniques from Waka poetry such as wordplay (kake-kotoba) and pillow words (makura-kotoba), the language is polished. This can be seen in the lyrics of Nagauta from the early modern period of Japanese music (Hogaku,) but what makes Noh distinct is the underlying medieval thoughts, beliefs, and customs of the people. Currently, I am doing a bit of research on “Houka,” which appears in Noh. Houka were street performers who performed various arts and, in the Edo period, were said to have collaborated with Kabuki and Ningyo Johruri (puppet theater).
In the Noh plays “Houka-so” and “Jinen-koji,” the characters perform a range of skills, such as playing the kakko (double-headed drum) and rubbing the kokiriko (bamboo percussion instrument). The highlight of these plays is this demonstration of the characters’ versatility and the richness of traditional performing arts, but in “Houka-so,” there is also a dance accompanied by a song called kouta. It begins with “The capital city of Kyoto adorned with blooming flowers is so exquisite that even the most masterful artist’s brush cannot capture its true splendor,” and one of the famous spots in Higashiyama—Jishu cherry blossoms is mentioned. Currently, there are cherry blossoms at Jishu Shrine in Kiyomizu Temple, but these are actually small saplings. However, Jishu cherry blossoms in medieval times were apparently quite spectacular, and people eagerly awaited their blooming. The kouta says, “Jishu cherry blossoms scatter far and wide,” indicating that people were fascinated by the sight of the cherry blossoms scattering in the spring breeze.
The second point of beauty is that it is composed into very complex music. For example, in the middle of the kouta, there is mono-zukushi, listing thematically related items. In this case, a sequence of objects being moved: “The willow is swayed by the water,” “The plump sparrow is shaken by the bamboo branches,” “The field reeds are swayed by the wind,” and “The city ox is jostled by the cart.” (the lyrics are from the Kita school). If we notate this based on rhythm, it goes like “swayed by the water, the plump sparrow is,” “shaken by the bamboo branches, the field reeds are,” “swayed by the wind, the city ox is jostled,” where “the plump sparrow” and other things being “moved” and “bamboo branches” and other things “causing movement” are not aligned in one phrase. I think it results in a quite elaborate rhythm.
The third point of beauty is that it is expressed through the trained voice and body of the Noh performers. This is, of course, true for early modern Japanese music (Hogaku) and dance (Buyo) as well. If we are to find something distinctive about Noh, it would be that performers train their voices and bodies with a consciousness of “Noh as theater.” The average performance time of Noh is about 90 minutes, so Noh performers undergo rigorous training to perform. Especially when using Noh masks, the burden is particularly severe, and this is something that should not be forgotten.
You asked about “the beauty of Noh language,” but I feel I ended up talking about “the beauty of Noh.” I feel a sense of inadequacy in my response, but I have a question for you. Many of the movements in Noh are abstract, but recently I noticed that there are quite a few movements that are considered ate-buri—mimetic movements in dance to depict specific actions or scenes described in the lyrics, such as turning around when the lyrics mention “turning.” However, since these ate-buri are often accompanied by walking, it is sometimes hard to notice that they are literal interpretations.
Ate-buri seems to be common in Buyo, but could you tell me about the characteristics of such movements, for instance, in which scenes they appear?
With appreciation,
Hiroko Miura
Professor of Literature, Musashino University/Director of the Noh Research Archives