Here's the long promised samurai poem. I wrote it Memorial Day weekend last year. Cool story to go with it: I was the only one in town that weekend, and deciding that the only good thing on TV was the Indy 500 I drove up to the Blue Ridge Parkway to finish this. While I was up there a couple of things happened. First, and best, a deer walked out of the woods not ten feet away from me and we just chilled for a bit. He moved on after a while. Second, it was a very cloudy day, and for some reason being able to see the bottoms of the clouds in the tree tops made me extremely claustrophobic. It was gorgeous, don't get me wrong, but once I finished this thing I got out of there fast. It was weird. All you need to know to get this thing is Seven Samurai and Kill Bill Vol. I. Also, this entry comes right on the heels of my anti-Emo entry, so I come off as a little hypocritical. You can suck it if you have a problem with it.
Samurai Philosophy: A meditation on life in the friend-zone
I know now what it means to be a samurai.
Kambei, your words ring true to me
On this third occasion. Again we are defeated.
The great irony being that
Seven lowly samurai have just laid waste to
Forty-three blood-thirsty bandits.
It is true that four of those samurai
Died in the valiant effort,
But the feat remains none the less impressive.
Being a samurai is a thankless job,
No reward, no recognition, no remembrance.
I laugh when I think how much we two share,
How much of the humble warrior is in my soul,
How many of my efforts are thankless, like yours.
Kambei, lets you and I split a bottle
Of warm sake and let me fill you in.
My plight may seem nothing like yours,
Mine being bloodless and deathless,
Yours ripe with both.
You put your life on the line,
While all I risk is my libido.
However, Kambei, the plight of the samurai
Shares a common factor with
The plight of the guy friend.
Neither of us receives the thanks
That in any other situation,
If we were in any other position,
Would be duly expected of those we serve.
Just think of your comrades who died
Defending that village of poor farmers.
Kikuchiyo is the first to come to mind,
The man who does not give up,
Who will not collapse until the final thief is dead,
Though he is shot in the stomach.
No one cares that he is dead,
No one but Katsushiro, sinking to his knees
And letting go a fit of sobbing
When the melee is finally finished.
Katsushiro recognizes greatness when he sees it,
As he does in the quiet and humble Kyuzo.
All the swordsman allows himself
Is the faintest, smallest grin before sleeping.
He knows the fruits of his labor will be
No more than the three square meals
The villagers are providing their seven protectors.
He knows his sacrifice will go unheralded,
As it ultimately does.
Damn it, where is the recognition?
Why must the deserving go unrewarded
Time and time again, though they give their all?
Just once Id like the O-Ren Ishiis of the world,
The strong-willed females who
Occupy the world around me,
To pause after I reveal my character,
After I reveal my good heart and
Bend over backwards for them yet again.
I want them to whisper, That really was
A Hattori Hanzo sword, for me.
I realize, Kambei, that that example
Comes from a different era and
Derives from a different cult film icon,
But that is the recognition I speak of,
The recognition that perpetually eludes us.
Eternal stoics, we are, always having
To brace for that eternal recurrence
And take it on the chin, time and again.
Nowhere is there room for us to lapse.
That other icons words come to mind,
Suppress all human emotion and compassion.
For you and I, Kambei, that is our all.
For you, it means razing your enemies to the ground
With no second thought for ethics of right and wrong,
Knowing full well there will be no thank you.
For me, it means being everything for her
That I can a friend, a confidante, even a jester,
Knowing full well that my only reward will be
Another friendly hug when we say goodbye,
And another night spent sleeping alone.
No matter the task, no matter the effort,
Our eternal lot is to deal with it
And to disregard any pain that may come.
Rewards are not meant for us, Kambei.
Be it forty-three bloodthirsty bandits
Or eighty-eight suit and mask-clad bodyguards,
Or a conscious effort to make her laugh
Like shes never laughed before in her life,
I feel that proper recognition is
Long overdue to those who deserve it.
Tomodachi, we still have some sake left.
I propose a toast, for Kikuchiyo,
And Kyuzo, Gorobei, Heihachi,
And all the post-adolescent samurai
Who are stuck in the friend zone.
Bottoms up, Kambei.
Samurai Philosophy: A meditation on life in the friend-zone
I know now what it means to be a samurai.
Kambei, your words ring true to me
On this third occasion. Again we are defeated.
The great irony being that
Seven lowly samurai have just laid waste to
Forty-three blood-thirsty bandits.
It is true that four of those samurai
Died in the valiant effort,
But the feat remains none the less impressive.
Being a samurai is a thankless job,
No reward, no recognition, no remembrance.
I laugh when I think how much we two share,
How much of the humble warrior is in my soul,
How many of my efforts are thankless, like yours.
Kambei, lets you and I split a bottle
Of warm sake and let me fill you in.
My plight may seem nothing like yours,
Mine being bloodless and deathless,
Yours ripe with both.
You put your life on the line,
While all I risk is my libido.
However, Kambei, the plight of the samurai
Shares a common factor with
The plight of the guy friend.
Neither of us receives the thanks
That in any other situation,
If we were in any other position,
Would be duly expected of those we serve.
Just think of your comrades who died
Defending that village of poor farmers.
Kikuchiyo is the first to come to mind,
The man who does not give up,
Who will not collapse until the final thief is dead,
Though he is shot in the stomach.
No one cares that he is dead,
No one but Katsushiro, sinking to his knees
And letting go a fit of sobbing
When the melee is finally finished.
Katsushiro recognizes greatness when he sees it,
As he does in the quiet and humble Kyuzo.
All the swordsman allows himself
Is the faintest, smallest grin before sleeping.
He knows the fruits of his labor will be
No more than the three square meals
The villagers are providing their seven protectors.
He knows his sacrifice will go unheralded,
As it ultimately does.
Damn it, where is the recognition?
Why must the deserving go unrewarded
Time and time again, though they give their all?
Just once Id like the O-Ren Ishiis of the world,
The strong-willed females who
Occupy the world around me,
To pause after I reveal my character,
After I reveal my good heart and
Bend over backwards for them yet again.
I want them to whisper, That really was
A Hattori Hanzo sword, for me.
I realize, Kambei, that that example
Comes from a different era and
Derives from a different cult film icon,
But that is the recognition I speak of,
The recognition that perpetually eludes us.
Eternal stoics, we are, always having
To brace for that eternal recurrence
And take it on the chin, time and again.
Nowhere is there room for us to lapse.
That other icons words come to mind,
Suppress all human emotion and compassion.
For you and I, Kambei, that is our all.
For you, it means razing your enemies to the ground
With no second thought for ethics of right and wrong,
Knowing full well there will be no thank you.
For me, it means being everything for her
That I can a friend, a confidante, even a jester,
Knowing full well that my only reward will be
Another friendly hug when we say goodbye,
And another night spent sleeping alone.
No matter the task, no matter the effort,
Our eternal lot is to deal with it
And to disregard any pain that may come.
Rewards are not meant for us, Kambei.
Be it forty-three bloodthirsty bandits
Or eighty-eight suit and mask-clad bodyguards,
Or a conscious effort to make her laugh
Like shes never laughed before in her life,
I feel that proper recognition is
Long overdue to those who deserve it.
Tomodachi, we still have some sake left.
I propose a toast, for Kikuchiyo,
And Kyuzo, Gorobei, Heihachi,
And all the post-adolescent samurai
Who are stuck in the friend zone.
Bottoms up, Kambei.
VIEW 4 of 4 COMMENTS
As one of my friends has shared with me. It's like going to a job interview and having them say we're not going to give you the job. You're everything we're looking for and more, in fact, you meet every standard we have, and although you will probably do the job better than anyone else, instead, we're going to give the job to someone else less qualified even though he expects more compensation.