Itsukushima  Shrine  in  Hamada

                               Return to Intro

What comes to my mind while I hear the 2^nd movement of Sibelius’
3^rd symphony is the dimly lit Itsukushima Shrine in Hamada City.
The Shrine stands on a small hill overlooking Matsubara Bay, which
once upon a time thrived as a major trading port of Japan, enjoying
its natural shape of a deeply intricate inlet, for the trade between
Japan and China, Korea, or other south-east-Asian countries. Now it
remains as a rustic piscatorial port. At night one can see the light
of a few fishing boats offshore; except for that, there is only a dark
sea. There is a long concrete seawall about a meter in height around
the bay separating a few tens of rather shabby houses from the water.
Between the wall and the houses, there is a narrow space less than a
meter in width on which you may plod. If you are lucky, you may come
across a few stray cats. The cats are not necessarily ownerless. They
do not belong to a particular house, but people feed them outside the
house. Some of them are friendly enough, so you can enjoy stroking them.    

The Bay area, at first glance, is nothing but a simple small rural
village. But you feel a sense of nostalgia for the old days of prosperity
soaked in the land as well as in the depth of the water. You may even have
an auditory hallucination of the sound of the Shamisen, a musical instrument
used by Geisha girls at a feast, every here and there.

              Dedicated to the marine God, an Itsukushima Shrine is found
in many seaside towns, the most famous one being the one at Itsukushima
Island in Hiroshima, a world heritage.




The Shrine in Hamada is small,
maybe smaller than 10 m square. At night the Shrine is lit with exotic
lanterns, looking like those of Chinese or south-east-Asian make. Looking
it up from the seashore, visible from place to place through the bush around
it, you feel a sense of sadness, exoticism, history, and strange enough,
energy and hope toward the future. It reminds us of such disconnected
objects, presumably related to a Scandinavian fairy tale which I read as
a child, as red candles, a mermaid, and old temple, a sea, lanterns, a
small piscatorial village, fishing boats, and so on.

              Sibelius’ 3^rd symphony, much simpler and milder than the
preceding ones, reminds me of the dimly lit Shrine standing on a hill
overlooking the dark bay.

                                

                                                       Matsubara Bay