seen Taisho Tokio, mingled with Modern Girls and Marx Boys and ridden the trams of Ginza, and seen Sakae Osugi carted off to his terrible death. Can any other man say the same?
***
I canât afford to hate anybody. Iâm only a photographer.
â Miss Imbrie, The Philadelphia Story (George Cukor, 1940)
***
the poet
alone with his word
in the crowd unknown
you take the train with your last goodnight
I wait for the cab by the station side.
Chapter 3
HAMAMATSUCHOâ
SHINAGAWA
Lang never wanted to come here; he had a passing, a professional interest in Japan, but winters get pretty gray in Vienna, or so Iâm told, and the few letters from Roberta only added to things being that much more up in the air, too far for his comfort and he couldnât abide that couldnât abide being the vague-gray Lang at a loose end, and so he had to find out, to settle all one way or the other â and so he came.
What bell, BashÅ, was it, Shibuya?, Shinjuku?
Dutifully, she burst into tears.
***
A certain superficiality of expression in order to reveal the nature of the void hidden beneath.
â Toyo Ito
***
â Lang, you said you loved me.
â I did I do love you.
â Lang, love is strong, isnât it?
â Isnât it?
â Why did you come to Japan, Lang?
â I hadnât wanted to come, Roberta.
***
Coming out of the World Trade Center, where theyâve bought some art books at the annual sale, Cafferty and friends decide to visit one of his favorite galleries â Gatodo; spacious, separate, and tasteful, it reminds him of those in New York â and then to avoid at least some of the noise and traffic by strolling through the Hama Gardens.
â So few people visit here, one of them remarks, but no one bothers to pursue the question and wonder why.
â Letâs â
â â walk along the Bay â
â â see how the constructionâs going.
â Why not?
â Itâs going to be an all new city.
â Once again.
â Kids are going to grow up knowing less and less of what came before. My wharves gone for bad or plain mediocre restaurants thatâll thrive for six months and then the whole shebangâll be as shabby as, well, as shabby as my wharves are now. Damn the 80s, and all that money.
â Horrible buildings.
â I give âem twenty years. Itâll serve âem right.
â That Satoh kidâs photos hit the right note â the glare of a city being raped â
â Our typical Tokio attraction-repulsion effect, eh?
They decide not to avail themselves of the Keio University library; pass the Shibaura offices of The Japan Times where they run into Donald Richie, a passing acquaintance, and whoâs come to deliver an article. And further on.
â Trudge on, you old Cafferty.
â Donald was looking perky.
â Yes, I was glad to see that; heard heâd been ill recently.
â Well, I for one am beginning to feel the walk now. Are we really going as far as Shinagawa?
â Look â pilgrims on their way to Sengakuji.
â Well, 47 ronin or not, this pilgrimâs of another sort â taxi!
***
Hiromi is in an automobile. A Western woman unknown to her is driving. They are passing through Shinozaki-cho, heading east and about to cross the Edo River, and thence across the border. This area, so deep a part of Tokyoâs past now represents its future: warehouses, bed towns, convenience shops; total, pristine anonymity, with dilapidated postwar housing still hanging around, forgotten (and looking like munitions warehouses); this Tokyo is a combination of Blade Runner and Alphaville . Van Zandt too is in the car, is in the rear, speaking to Hiromi. But the radio is too loud for her to hear what he is telling her. (It is playing a frenzied Clara Ward, live, moving up higher and higher yet.) She keeps trying to turn it down but it wonât go; she keeps trying to
***
I canât afford to hate anybody. Iâm only a photographer.
â Miss Imbrie, The Philadelphia Story (George Cukor, 1940)
***
the poet
alone with his word
in the crowd unknown
you take the train with your last goodnight
I wait for the cab by the station side.
Chapter 3
HAMAMATSUCHOâ
SHINAGAWA
Lang never wanted to come here; he had a passing, a professional interest in Japan, but winters get pretty gray in Vienna, or so Iâm told, and the few letters from Roberta only added to things being that much more up in the air, too far for his comfort and he couldnât abide that couldnât abide being the vague-gray Lang at a loose end, and so he had to find out, to settle all one way or the other â and so he came.
What bell, BashÅ, was it, Shibuya?, Shinjuku?
Dutifully, she burst into tears.
***
A certain superficiality of expression in order to reveal the nature of the void hidden beneath.
â Toyo Ito
***
â Lang, you said you loved me.
â I did I do love you.
â Lang, love is strong, isnât it?
â Isnât it?
â Why did you come to Japan, Lang?
â I hadnât wanted to come, Roberta.
***
Coming out of the World Trade Center, where theyâve bought some art books at the annual sale, Cafferty and friends decide to visit one of his favorite galleries â Gatodo; spacious, separate, and tasteful, it reminds him of those in New York â and then to avoid at least some of the noise and traffic by strolling through the Hama Gardens.
â So few people visit here, one of them remarks, but no one bothers to pursue the question and wonder why.
â Letâs â
â â walk along the Bay â
â â see how the constructionâs going.
â Why not?
â Itâs going to be an all new city.
â Once again.
â Kids are going to grow up knowing less and less of what came before. My wharves gone for bad or plain mediocre restaurants thatâll thrive for six months and then the whole shebangâll be as shabby as, well, as shabby as my wharves are now. Damn the 80s, and all that money.
â Horrible buildings.
â I give âem twenty years. Itâll serve âem right.
â That Satoh kidâs photos hit the right note â the glare of a city being raped â
â Our typical Tokio attraction-repulsion effect, eh?
They decide not to avail themselves of the Keio University library; pass the Shibaura offices of The Japan Times where they run into Donald Richie, a passing acquaintance, and whoâs come to deliver an article. And further on.
â Trudge on, you old Cafferty.
â Donald was looking perky.
â Yes, I was glad to see that; heard heâd been ill recently.
â Well, I for one am beginning to feel the walk now. Are we really going as far as Shinagawa?
â Look â pilgrims on their way to Sengakuji.
â Well, 47 ronin or not, this pilgrimâs of another sort â taxi!
***
Hiromi is in an automobile. A Western woman unknown to her is driving. They are passing through Shinozaki-cho, heading east and about to cross the Edo River, and thence across the border. This area, so deep a part of Tokyoâs past now represents its future: warehouses, bed towns, convenience shops; total, pristine anonymity, with dilapidated postwar housing still hanging around, forgotten (and looking like munitions warehouses); this Tokyo is a combination of Blade Runner and Alphaville . Van Zandt too is in the car, is in the rear, speaking to Hiromi. But the radio is too loud for her to hear what he is telling her. (It is playing a frenzied Clara Ward, live, moving up higher and higher yet.) She keeps trying to turn it down but it wonât go; she keeps trying to
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