Introduction
“It's always exciting when San Francisco actor-storyteller-dancer Brenda Wong Aoki presents a new work, blending Kyogen and Noh traditions with Western forms and jazz by her no-less eclectic husband, Mark Izu. Adding to the buzz about the premiere of Aoki's "Legend of Morning Glory"…she first heard the story, from – of all people- folk icon Pete Seeger,”
Robert Hurwitt, Theater Critic San Francisco Chronicle
I am a writer and performer and have most recently been writing narrative libretto for jazz ensemble (Kabuki Cabarets 2011) Taiko ensembles (Legend of Morning Glory 2009), dance (Return of the Sun, San Francisco Ethnic Dance Festival 2008), contemporary theater (Kuan-yin: Our Lady of Compassion 2002) and symphony (Mermaid 1998).
Legend of Morning Glory is a story from the Kabuki about a poor boy and a samurai's daughter, who meet on the night of the Firefly Festival. Searching for the boy, the girl runs away from her father’s house and becomes an itinerant storyteller famed for her tale of lost love. One day, years later, he returns.
This is a very old legend. Pete Seeger first told me the story, when I was performing with him at the Hudson River Rival Festival in the 1990’s. On a US/Japan Commission Fellowship to Japan (2007), I researched the story and found out that it was a Kabuki play, before that it was a Noh drama, and before that a Bunraku puppet play and before that it was a story from the wandering women storyteller-priestesses, the shirabiyoshi. The story had a happy ending when it was performed to sell tickets. It had a tragic ending when told by the shirabiyoshi, who were using the story as a parable. I decided to include all the endings used throughout the story’s history plus add an ending of my own. I wanted the audience to choose their own ending because each of us has a life story, and how we choose to look at our story is up to us.
This is a quintessential hero’s journey love story that has been told in many different lands at many different times. A group of at-risk teenage girls came to the premiere. They had never been to the theater before, never seen live performance. But what warmed my heart the most is that after the performance they told me I was telling their story.
I wrote the characters as archetypes. Although I am narrating the story and playing all the characters, there are musicians on stage with me who also have a role to play. My brilliant husband, Mark Izu, composed the score. Jael Weisman directed the work. Maze Daiko, the all women taiko company I created this work for, are the Spirits Of The Grandmothers. The jazz ensemble represents the emotions of the Morning Glory. Two lovely teenage dancers (my son Kai Kane Aoki Izu and Emma Lanier, grand-daughter of the great artist Ruth Azawa) danced in the premiere. Choreographer Kimi Okada created a pas de deux for them which was woven throughout the work and represented the Morning Glory’s memory of first love that ultimately turns into her obsession.
Through my training in Nohgaku, musical composition and dance, I have learned that if you can say it in another discipline, then eliminate the words. Tone of voice & body language speak so much more eloquently. So I first write my librettos than I chip away at them through the rehearsal process, substituting dance, music, movement or sound for words. As a result, my librettos look quite bare until rehearsals when we add a graphic score for the musicians and diagrams for the dancers and taiko drummers.
Legend of Morning Glory premiered at the Jewish Community Center San Francisco, then was performed at the De Young Museum, and CSU Monterey. The Zellerbach Fund, Grants for the Arts and the Hewlett Foundation, funded it. A video of the performance can be seen here: http://www.vimeo.com/1630894
It was recorded as a CD in 2009 and is available on line: http://www.cdbaby.com/cd/brendawongaoki3
For more information about Legend of Morning Glory or me please see: www.aokizu.com
Brenda Wong Aoki
San Francisco 2011
Legend of the Morning Glory
Last year, my family lived in Japan. Now we didn’t just live anyplace in Japan. We lived at the most sacred place in all of Japan – Mt. Fuji. Every Japanese is supposed to make a pilgrimage to the top of Mt. Fuji, once in their life. Did you know that Mt. Fuji is a “lady mountain”? A goddess. Fuji is Ainu (the indigenous people of Japan) for the goddess of fire, like her sister Pele over in Hawaii. All mountains are related. They are holding hands under the sea. And like Pele’s mountain, Mt. Fuji is an active volcano.
Legend holds that Mt. Fuji sprang up in a single day, in the shape of a fan. (Show audience an open fan held upside down) And a fan to the Japanese represents the journey of life. These wooden slats that support the fan, are the people and experiences you meet on your way. Your journey begins here, where the wooden slates meet. You continue all the way around the fan and when you finish your journey, you are back at the same place but you’ve changed. Like the snow that sits on top of Mt. Fuji, which represents the sacred lotus, a flower that must journey through the mud in order to blossom. Along the path that leads to the top of Mt. Fuji are shrines to the Goddess, tended by shrine maidens. Long time ago, these shrine maidens were called Shirabiyoshi.
In the beginning, before Kabuki, before Noh before even the Bunraku puppet plays, there were the Shirabiyoshi, the wandering women – who wandered the countryside telling their stories begging alms for the Goddess. I’m partial to the Shirabiyoshi because I sort of fancy myself a wandering woman storyteller. This is one of those samurai stories where the girl is chasing after the guy going “Anata! Anata!” But what the heck is anata? Do you know it just means you! But not like “hey you!” But “you” like forever, there will be me and you.
Act I: First Love
Storyteller:
He was fine, like poor boys can be - honeyed skin melting over muscles hard from work. Eyes kinna sad from seeing bad things, things she'd never have to see. Like his Daddy going off to war and never comin’ home; and his Mama so broke-up, she died too.
Her - now She was the boss's daughter. Spoiled, rich and Ummm, ummm, ummh! Hair like a black waterfall fallin’ to her knees.
They met on one of those hot summer nights when it’s too hot to sleep and a cool breeze feels like a silk kimono slippin’ off your back.
Everyone was on the river cuz it was the Night of the Firefly festival!
Her now - She was in this pretty boat full of flowers, sweet wine and giggling girlfriends who caught the living fireflies and placed them in their hair, on a long finger or silken gown.
Him now - he was in a little boat hiding in the reeds. Watching - like he'd watched her ever since they were babies. To him, She was the sun. The way her eyes flashed when she was angry, the way that dimple showed up when she smiled. When you get down to it, he liked everything about her. But she might as well have been a star, so bright and far away.
He knew she loved the morning glory – that flower more delicate than the cherry blossom cuz it only blooms for few moments in the sun. She kept a fan, a memory from her Mama, pure gold fan with a single purple morning glory painted on its face.
“I am the Morning Glory”,
He wrote on a tattered piece of rice paper.
“You are the Sun
I wait in the Dark for your light.”
Not brilliant, no. He was her father’s groom! He knew a lot more about horses. But you know how these things happen. Suddenly a breeze rose up and snatched his little poem. Blew it clear across the water to where she sat with her girlfriends in their pretty boat. Then it hovered in the air like it was waiting for just the right moment to float gently down and settled in Her lap.
“Oh,” she said, seeing him hiding in the reeds. “Is this haiku? Unusual structure- tanka perhaps?”
Frantically he tried to escape but his little boat got stuck and he lost an oar.
The girls? They did what girls do. They laughed and laughed. Then they pulled their fancy boat right up next to him and a big loud moufed girl, snatched his poem and said, “ Sir Poet! Oh, Sir Poet!”
But She said, ”Stop it! Can’t you see you’re embarrassing him?”
She snatched back the poem and jumped right into his boat!
Rockin’ and a rollin’ that little boat almost tipped over!
Her laughing the whole time.
Then that big loud-moufed girl hollered, “Oooww! Princess – you can’t do that!”
“Oh, hush!”
“ But – you can’t do that!”
“ I said, hush!”
“But he’s a stable boy!”
“Go!! Now, GO!!”
“Ooooooooo!!!”
The two of them watched as that fancy boat slowly rowed away.
“I saved your masterpiece.” She said, his soggy poem in her perfectly manicured fingers.
“Humph,” He answered, snatching back his poem.
“Well excuse me!…You can put me a shore right over there.”
Storyteller:
So he started to row with his one oar. Embarrassed, he rowed faster.
But that just made them go round and round in circles.
Him:
Rrraarrrah!!! (furious and frustrated.)
Storyteller:
Now she was starting to get afraid of him so she said.
Her:
You like poetry?
Him:
I HATE poetry.
Storyteller:
And she regretted sending her friends so very far away.
So She tried her brightest smile.
Her: Well, I like poetry.
Him:
Humph! (Rows her in angry silence.)
Storyteller:
The current was strong and it was hard going with only one oar in the water. (Row)
Then she looked at him – I mean really looked at him.
Well cuz she’d known him since they were babies
But tonight he looked different somehow…
Maybe it was the sweet wine.
Maybe it was the way he smelled - that young-boy-almost-a-man smell. (Row)
Maybe it was the way his hair had come loose and fallen into his eyes. (Row)
But whatever it was, suddenly she realized he wasn’t so bad to look at’all. (Row) Not at’all.
She tried that smile again; this time fo’ reals.
Her: “Why’d you write that poem?
Him: You wouldn’t understand.
Her: Try me.
Him: In my world, sometimes you got to be hard. So hard I’m afraid I’m gonna break. So I write my poems.
Her: Was this one for me?Him: No!……………………But if it was, what would you say?”
Storyteller:
And they began to talk, his voice so rich and low. Her’s so sweet and bright and after a while – well you know how it is…cuz the night was warm.
She was fine
And he was juicy
And after a while their kisses tasted so good…
They couldn’t stop…
Storyteller:
And when they did; our girl dove into the water.
He dove after her
And like seals they swam in that warm dark velvet
Speckled with the glow of fireflies…
And they thought the night would never end
But it did.
And they thought that there would be many more nights like this
But there weren’t
And they thought their love would last forever
Well…we’ll see…
In the morn, they knew they were in big trouble
If her Daddy found out ….umm..ummm..umm!
But with the sun their love rose,
Big bright reaching out to the whole world
And they realized it was their destiny
To be together forever
And you know how we exchange rings?
In those days they exchanged fans
Because a fan is a symbol for the journey of life.
Her fan was the gift from her Mama,
The gold one with the Morning Glory painted on it’s face.
In her most brilliant hand she wrote, “I love you forever”.
His fan was simple, pure and white.
With his best effort he wrote his poem - the one that started it all.
“I am the Morning Glory
You are the Sun
I wait in the Dark for your light.”
And he gave his fan to her
And she gave her fan to him.
And they promised to love each other forever.
But if our story ended here, you wouldn’t be gettin’ your money’s worth
Besides you know the river of life don’t flow like dat,
There are always twists and turns…
For more on this play and the author visit aokizu.com