Thursday, November 27, 2008

The Shogun Enters

The Shogun Enters

The Shogun Enters (2008)

[Click on the image above to see the view with binoculars.]


As the clock moved towards 10 in the morning, and again at two in the afternoon and eight in the evening, there was a great flurry and bustle throughout the palace. The highest-ranking women made their way to the Upper Bell Corridor, which led to the double door between the men’s and women’s palaces. As the castle drums sounded the hour, the cluster of bells that hung by the door jangled.

One maid remembered how fearful she was of cleaning them. The bells were only supposed to ring when the shogun entered the women’s palace, and anyone who rang them at any other time was severely punished. But the trouble was that the slightest move set them jangling. Dusting and polishing them were terrifying tasks.

When the bells sounded, shaven-headed nuns who acted as officials unfastened the locks, drew aside the bolts and slid open the door. Men waited on the other side, but only one stepped through: the shogun.
--"The Caged Concubines," TimesOnline

I don't get quite the same treatment when I come home. Here's what happens: My cat wakes up, yawns, arches her back while stretching, meanders slowly over to her food dish, sits impassively, and stares at me.

You tell me. Who is the shogun, and who is the servant?

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Image initially made with QuaSZ. Post-processed until the image had its eyebrows shaved and its teeth blackened.

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2 comments:

Dr. Mike said...

Modern Poetry

"I want to escape reality and remain in my fantasy."
--Mystina Swaim

Live among the cliches,
then, and dawdle with the four-
leaf clover, plucking
"loves me," or "loves me
not," without hearing
how a flower cries out
when pinched, its harp strings
at the pitch of bees,
as if in the echo of nature
each unique particular
image falls alone, leaf
by leaf, to be pressed
in a scrapbook that holds
memories of love.

What violence has the modern
wrought in these lines? The palm
opens out, in friendship, for
such grace all willow bends.
fronds top-heavy with burrs
at burnished cinnamon tips.
languorously eloping with the wind.
There is no absence of romance
where images open up their petals
then shake froth and scent from
their serrated vermillion.

Dr. Mike
[Disposable Poem 11/26/08]

Catnapping said...

Another stunning entry. Beautiful, cruel animal.

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