Pathway to Japanese Literature

Preface

I cannot endure being without friends.
Yet I have none.
To the hearts of those who kindly read them—these poor poems—I offer this very offering.
And please: make me your friend.

Kill your breath.

Kill your breath.

Kill your breath.

The infant looks at the sky.

Ah, I look at the sky.

White branches

White branches

Branches, slender and aching

in my heart

white branches

fire arrows of sadness

Piercing through the early autumn night—
the fire arrows of sadness indeed pierce sharply,
barely flickering silver as they rend through.
No matter how they strain to cast blame upon them—
this ponderous heart of mine, you see.

Ah, why—

Could such a joyous thing ever be possible?

Sunlit Day

Where—

Things—
As if falling
Soundlessly
How intensely it pains
Land of Fairies
Twilight
The one who walks through summer’s thicket—
Of the silent thicket—
In the distant depths, I perceive the land of Fairies.

The vast sky's heart

I—oh I—

Become a swan

Radiantly transparent, piercing through—

Streak across the vast sky

Let me flow into the vast sky's beautiful heart

Gardener.

A bright day.

Look outside the window—in a high place.

The gardener labored all day long.

A hot day.

Though I had no purpose—

In my heart,

Who on earth has been cutting since morning—

Hometown mountains

When he crouched in the mountains of his hometown—

Clearly, my regrets burned brightly.

In the exquisitely beautiful flicker of its flame—

For a while, I—
I came to feel as though extolling the mistakes of the past.
Quiet Painter

Everyone’s watching, but—
I paint in solitude,
This is the vast sky, the quiet sky,

I will paint my High Romance onto this sky.

Beautiful things

Even within myself would suffice

Even the world outside me would suffice

Is there nowhere that "truly beautiful things" exist?

Even if that were an enemy, I wouldn’t mind.

Even if unattainable, it’s fine.

If only I could understand the mere fact that it exists—

Ah, how long—this heart grown weary from chasing it.

A swarm of gnats

A swarm of gnats danced in the autumn sunset.

(Ah, I shouldn't exist—

—others shouldn't either)

Dizzily, the gnats swirled.

(If I were to live only through sighs,

Wouldn't it have been better had I died?)

Lead and a butterfly

Through lead
A butterfly flies away.

I want to become a flower
I want to become an angel
I want to become a flower
Careless clouds

Careless clouds,

I want to die near those clouds.

Journey to Yamato

The water of Yamato flowed like a heart.

Far and wide, the mountain ranges marking the boundary with Kii stretched on,

Ah! Drawn by a slender golden thread,

Autumn’s heart showers down.

I bit into a piece of sugar cane.

The sight of a dirty child suddenly jumping out from Tsukiji was also beautiful,

This small red flower too—joyful,

Quietly seeped into my chest.

Today was crisply clear, and the weather’s fine—

Without reason, I wander into the world of fairy tales,
The sun shone serenely as faint white clouds drifted.

In the mandarin grove, the dreams of boyhood days slumber.

Imperial tombs, and quiet clouds above the misasagi tombs,

Memories are born endlessly, beautifully,

In Shiki no Miya’s dance hall, stamping the floorboards and fluttering sleeves.

The white-robed goddess has red lips.

Blooming Heart

That which brings joy
Is the day when the heart emerges in bloom
When facing autumn mountains and sorrow stirs
My heart blossoms as a flower

The Sword Bearer

There is one who holds a sword,

Suddenly—around me—

I sense their very presence acutely.

The sword was calm,

The person who held the sword was calm.

All was calm like flickering flames.

Shall I do it?!

I don’t know when they’ll come slashing in.

A Day Like a Jar

A jar-like day—this kind of day

The heart of the universe

“I want to carve!”—such an impulse must have made me writhe.

Such a day

The owner of the "faint, thin voice"—
Light, darkness, and then again
A heart resembling the carver-owner's own
Quietly, strongly carved—there could be no variance,
Today—again—what should I call
This jar-like day it must be
Weary heart
Crimson November leaves

The day seen from the window—I think of a journey.

Though such things may indeed resemble a proud heart,

Truth.
Heart—because it was too weary.
Sadness.
This sadness—
Is there no power to unify into one?

Beautiful dream.

From this torn window
Twilight—the townscape tinted—I saw trees that night.
After so long—I had a beautiful dream.
Heart—
A heart faintly taking on color
Even I myself—O dear heart—
O you who flow onward
Go then—if that’s how it must be.
Yearning for "useless things"—endlessly
Pursuing phantoms, endlessly
Heart aflutter, charge onward!

Death and Pearl

Death and Pearl and

Again, a day to think has come.
An echoing soul.
Deliberately.

Abruptly, as autumn unfurled its twilight hour—
The soul dashed headlong through the town,
West, ever westward—it resonated onward.
Branches pointed skyward.
Pointed to the sky.

The tree is sad.

Its slender—
The ache of the treetops
The infant laughs.

The infant laughs.
The infant laughs.

I too laugh.

The infant laughs.

Bloom like a flower

O chirping insects, bloom as flowers!

Fall to earth

O autumn sun, bloom as a flower,

Ah, so clearly—

This heart—bloom like a flower, bloom!

Jar

Jar—how many I want to pierce

This day—ah

O jar, that jar floating in the stillness of the heart

There’s nothing.

O your hollowness

O jar, my chest—
While calling you "O jar!"
Strangely, I tremble

Heart—
O heart

Go on then.

But—

Do come back again.

After all.

This is where it must be.

O heart

Then go on your way.

Pearl.

I—

Shall I become a pearl?

For me—

For I can turn nothing into pearls—

The heart’s seascape

The illuminated heart’s seascape

What sunset sinks away?

Whitening away—ah, that sail’s shadow
The day fades away—

A white boat chant breaks through

Piercing light—

In the beginning, there was light.

Light was sorrowful.

Light—

all things—

pierced through and flowed—

Light bestowed breath upon all things.
The human heart too
was born within light
forever and ever

Be sorrowful and yet be blessed

autumn sadness

my heart

From there—that very there

Wanting to laugh

autumn sadness
When autumn deepened—
the sadness of—
all turned strange
so tormenting
Ears and eyes
Nose and mouth

All over
tickling autumn sadness

Tears.

Tears, tears.

Scatter-like.

At tears’ first meeting—

Thing desolate.

A roar—

Suddenly swept my tears away—I tell you!

Pebble.

Pick up a pebble.

Look thus—look here

Nothing but weeping.

I was gazing at a single pebble

After some time,

My heart leapt.

However,

Eventually, my heart ceased its leaping.

Agave

The agave's
In the agave's blue-white skin wells up
limitless—
water-hued desolation resonates
like flickers of sadness
like flickers of coldness
The agave's stillness—

I stood gazing up at the boundless sky.

A landscape of dignity

A landscape of dignity

Unwittingly
In my heart dwells
Waves—waves—waves—quiet as they are
Silence rages

Silence—rages—

Behold, the firmament’s wrath

Tormenting landscape

If I kept gazing at sutobu

I wanted to strike through sutobu

Seething and roiling

The strangeness of this sutobu!
Desolation!

Thin glass.

Thin.

The glass—

Ping—

It broke.

Leaf.

O leaf,

Piercingly,

The winter sun corroded onward,

You as well

Until it appeared as a leaf—

It must have been irritably cold.

O leaf,

Appeared as a leaf—

this day your majesty

But, O leaf,

Until now, it must have been cold.

Carved sky.

The stillness of the carved sky.

On that wood grain of boundless vigor,

Thwack!
It was struck.

Distinctly showed the mark of a single stroke.

Stillness.

One day

In blazing flames appeared

utterly boundless stillness

One day

Hatred’s torment

Lament and sadness’s unexpected apparition

A stillness like that of water

Oleander.

Under the vast sky, to die.

Early summer’s heart—ah—all alone.

The crimson of oleanders—

Seeping into early summer’s heart—

Memory
Memories are amber’s
tranquil beautiful dream

Even sighs that scatter and fall—
the golden leaves solemnly—
Ah, heart joyous shadow of purgatory—
The child of humanity wavers on
while in desolation—
days of agony following agony—

toward the boundless silence of Chaos—
carved into desolate expanse, burning—
a familiar landscape blazing upward

sea of sadness
Of sadness
The sea plain raced—
My jewel—I

I threw it into the sea.

O waves

My jewel—do you mean not to return it?

Cloud
Day of clouds
Clouds are sad.
Day without clouds
The sky is lonely

a day's heart
a day’s heart
becomes mountain
a day’s heart
becomes sky

a day’s heart
It becomes me—lonely
Childhood days

Days of youth—
The day water speaks
When trees grow
The day the resonance of growth resounds
Desolate hands

Desolate hands—those very hands—
they corroded hearts,
gnawed through eyes,
ate into mountains,
devoured trees and grass.

Desolate hands corrode pebbles

corroded the rice, corroded the dried bonito

Ah, they even corroded mouse droppings away—

me, my small wife,

the quiet sky and white clouds—

Desolate hands—you devoured and corroded!

Oh, absurd hands of desolation!

You—oh—

Even your own hands—were you devouring them now?

Yellow-beaked black bird

Yellow-beaked
It was a jet-black bird, I recall
Slimy pale white atop the ditch.

Clang in the cage!
I recall someone was saying—

Something thin, thin—

Tautly—as if someone was sobbing.

Such a midday it was, I recall.

Why does color exist?

Why does color exist, I wonder?

Long ago, Chaos was lonely.

Nothingness has grown hungry.

One day, a streak from the shadow of Nothingness's bosom

Smoothly, it drifted into bewitching jade.
Before long, the night sweats of a certain sleepless night
Appearing in April rain, flowed into blue
White resonance
When I bite—crunch—

Crunch—this apple’s white flesh being bitten into
Why this flurry—?
If I eat hastily—
The moistened juice at the tip of my nose

Ah, the apple’s white flesh drifts
A desolate white resonance
Climb the hill
When I climb and stand upon that hill
My heart finds faint solace

And yet,

Stood on the hill—all alone.

Envied the water—envied the sky—

Envied the great tree and descended.

Ponderous sadness.

When ponderous sadness pierced through,

how distinctly sadness was power.

Behold—the piercing power of sadness—

pierced joy,

piercing even anger and grief—it blazed on.

Sadness alone—

Did even the purified nest-spirits live on?

Butterfly—

Flapped and flipped—dashed—

The butterfly danced upward into the sky.

The path ahead was surely set, yet without reason.

The path ahead glittered without cause.

Single-mindedly it dashed onward.

Ah, O pure white butterfly—

Behold, behold! Ah—it dashed onward.

Its path unknown, no companion beside—

Single-mindedly, single-mindedly—

It contended with the slender, quivering silver thread of yearning.

The vast sky’s waters—

Through the vast sky, waters flowed.

In the water’s heart floated—

A rudderless silver boat—ah,

The clarity of flowing water
The serenity of the floating boat
The vastness of the sky
Heart

If one were to run through the sky’s vastness

Something suddenly existed and welled forth—it seemed akin to that phenomenon.

Ah, the heart pushed through and ascended

the quiet plateau of Christine

Fog falls.

Fog falls.

Fog fell.

Morning settled quietly.

Fog fell.

The sky stared.

The sky stared.

Ah, the vast sky was staring at me.

Terrifyingly heart-pounding sorrowful eyes

Eyes!
Eyes!

Expansive eyes, fathomlessly—
Boundless expanse of pupils’ open sea
Ah, that strength
Desolation clarity
Heart—dark day

Mountain butterbur flowers

Camellia flowers

Heart dark today—how I yearn to see

Mountain butterbur flowers
Camellia flowers
An ashen cricket
Passing through pallid crickets

The precariousness of that cricket—
it resembled the precariousness of a human child—
the phantom took on storm’s fury—
incense decaying into sickly yellow—
the tormenting serenity of marble—
the plain inadvertence of that calm—
reflected too starkly—I lamented—
white memories of regret—
behold—regret being gnawed—

The repulsiveness of that regret

The vastness of holy glory!

O child of man!

Do you shrink from that?

Night’s rose.

Ah

Far.

Night’s

Rose.

My child.

With my child.
Mounded sand.
Crumbling sand.
Playing at the beach.
I was weary though,
sad though—
a sorrowless early autumn midday.
Feathergrass plumes—
were they trembling?
So whitish, ah—
This was
the feathergrass’s bleached plumes.
“Bleached plumes, are they?
Wasn’t it me, huh?”

If one kills a person

Slash!
And then—
I tried doing it.
If one kills a person...

May the heart be pure.

Lamenting at water

Evening lamenting at water

Waves too,

Sobbing—ah, how pitiful!

Long hair

Entwined with sand

When I sing lowly,

The sinking sun

Flowed pitifully

Were I to touch this hand—

Blood will flow.
May your heart cease.
Your lips.
May it grow even sadder.
Your face.

May I tremble.

When the port and flute resounded in the distance
Sorrowful port
Chinu’s waters

Become as one—be!
To fly—what riddle,
A fish? Let it be—
Calm sea
When I restrain my—
Water brims full—

Too much—

Cold.

Prayers that gnaw

Smoldering.

Memory’s jeweled garland

Regret? Lamentation? Sorrow?
Oh, dazzlingly radiant!
Sadness's ghostly nest
Flutter flutter
A wavering heart's bewitching orb
Rustle rustle
Even death gives no comfort
Prayers that voraciously gnaw
Autumn of Sadness
What resembles my autumn of sadness—
Eyes diseased with ugliness—that forty-year-old woman's
A viscous, repulsively elongated chin

The dream I saw last night, within myself—
“Harakiri!”
The face of Saigō Takamori with a sword pressed against it

That damn cat, in the dead of night—
In the corner of my garden, it retched and slunk away.
Whitebait’s tepid silver glow.

Quiet flame

In each tree
Each shadow

The tree—

Quiet flame

I converse with stone

I talk to a pebble

My heart

It should grieve

I call it empty，

Thus unwearying—

My heart

Quietly rages

Struck the great tree

Fecklessness fecklessness—

I struck the great tree,

I don’t understand a thing—ah—
This self of mine—like some gaudy cut-glass trinket—

“Truth! Come out!”
“Come out to me!”
I strike the tree.
I am lonely, ah…

Lightning

Dark night,

Alone, I saw lightning.
And then I hurriedly took up the pen.
Within me too,

Because I thought there was a spark akin to lightning,

But it was futile.

I couldn’t bear it—

I clenched my teeth and collapsed completely.

Bamboo grass.

This bamboo grass

Slenderly extended

Why is it so slender?
Because it’s so slender, my chest aches.

The sky of emptiness—
to the deep sky of emptiness—
radiantly born and welling up: the heart of poetry.
The melody flowed like water.
All things ended there—ah, silence.

The heart's voyage

Hush, hush—the pearl sky

Ah, the purely white voyage of the heart

Were I to go alone to the sea's depths

The heart's hues know no bounds

I simply flow into the heart's hues

Ah white—purely white
Endlessly voyage
The pearl sky envelops my being

Morning’s precariousness

Sparrows fly.

Intense precariousness

Clear weather had spread across

This morning’s precariousness

Rainy day

White mushroom

Yellow mushroom

Rainy day

Quiet day

Remembrance

Atop the mountain

There was a field, I recall.

I crouched down at the edge of the field.

That the sky was so close.

How dreadful it was.

Seed of grass

Seed!

A single morning glory seed

You must be lonely, O seed.

Ah—you weren’t me?

Darklight

A small girl

At the edge of the muddy patch, she turned her neck.

Gray

Afternoon darklight

A stopped watch

A stopped pocket watch,

Three slender hands,

White night yet it was,

The hollowness of your round face,

Move, move

You who do not move are terrifying.

A dove flies.

In the autumn sky, a dove flies,

That will suffice.
That’s just how it should be.

I sat in the grass.

It was my mistake.

It was my mistake.

Sitting in the grass like this, I understood that.

Jellyfish of the night sky—

Jellyfish, jellyfish—

The cloud-hung resolute moon of night.

Rainbow

I and my small wife viewing this rainbow,

effortlessly we can praise this rainbow.

The two of us—today’s vastness of joys and sorrows.

Autumn

Is this what they call autumn’s coming?

Though I know not what it truly is,

little by little—then faintly—it takes on color…

My heart

Is my heart crumbling into something vaster still?

Dawn

Dawn clamored and flowed onward.

When the willow branches swayed smoothly, smoothly

Even my heart—so ponderous—

My heart, without knowing why, was softly carried away.

I marveled.

Suddenly nymphs danced in this weedy garden—

Even were an angel’s wingbeats to flow with utmost quietness

Even were a heavenly lotus adorned with seven treasures to bloom

My heart did not startle—

A weary exhausted wandering heart

Panting seeking agonizing heart

Strange it may be—if it blooms forth beautifully—

With all my being, I too want to dance.

Blue-green water’s shadow
If I climb a high hill,
the shadow of the Inland Sea’s water is blue-green.
My heart endlessly crumbles

So sad, so sad—I can’t bear it.

Human.

If a giant were born
They would undoubtedly turn all humans into plants.
I want to ascend pure and bright

If that were a day when the sky lies perfectly clear,

And if your heart beats too fiercely—
on a day when sadness—inexplicable, indelible—pierces deep,
would you not climb this slope path without end—

Higher still than that hill—
Don’t you wish to ascend pure and bright?

Dedicated to Keats

Beautiful autumn dusk

A lover’s white profile—Keats’ phantom

Sadness settling into accumulation

Sadness quietly accumulates.

Deeply, and then to overflowing

My sadness, accumulating ever accumulating,

Quietly, yet strongly, it pierces through and flows onward.

Thus I, like a fool,

Without end, I devour sadness.

Because there is nowhere to go—no matter where—

Without remainder, sadness is swept entirely into the depths and amassed away.

Furious Visage

The sky rages.

The trees rage.

Behold!
Does not the smile rage?

Desolation, melancholy, boisterous laughter, carnal desire—

Is there even one thing that does not rage?

Ah landscape! O maddened visage,

What do you wait for so exhaustedly?

Are you waiting for those who emerge from the earth?
Are you ceaselessly gazing at those who come riding clouds?
Faint image

Days I cannot go to the mountains
Days that are perfectly clear

Something wells up in the chest.

Faint image

Autumn day’s heart

Flowers bloomed.

Autumn day’s

In the heart, flowers bloomed.

White clouds

The distinctiveness of autumn

A white cloud that rent the sky’s azure and flowed sideways.

What are you saying?

I don’t know what that is, but
a clear-ringing sorrowful quiet cloud.
White path

White path

Straight cedars

I ascend,

I wish I could keep ascending forever.

Sentimentality

The red pine trunk is sentimentality.

Swamp and wind

Heavy.

It’s the swamp.

Quiet.

It was the wind.

I buried a caterpillar.

Midday.

I buried a hairy caterpillar in the soil.

Spring too late

Spring too late

Nowhere in particular,

Does water well up in the vast sky?

Does water flow?

Without quite knowing why—

A heart that cannot be viewed as sane.

What wells up in that vast sky—

Is it ponderous water?

A thought.

It seems I should return.

Autumn’s wall
White
Autumn’s wall
With withered branches

Were I to depict,

From withered branches

Quiet

Resonance flows.

Nostalgia

These days

Too much

I do not hate people.

Transparently piercing through

Nostalgia.

It flowed ice-cold.

A single flow
A single
Flow.
It seems to exist -
Where in the sky does it hang?

Flow, flow,

Seems to flow—

The conscience of the cosmos

The conscience of the cosmos—Jesus

Sky and Light

Carved

O Sky!

O Light!

Unexpected sadness

spring day's

Through a field faintly, faintly misted yet well-cleared—walked.

Ah, this unforeseen sorrow!

departing spring's evening

This evening is the evening of spring's passing—
the melancholy spring goddess
a grass whistle at tender lips

Firmly pressing down，she hung her head．
A quiet flow．
How intensely，how intensely—

Though I sought today’s water, unseen it remained,
My unconsoled heart danced
In the spring sky—
I perceived the quiet flow.

A small pouch.
This was a small pouch.
A time of back-carrying with the traditional cloth—
A red pouch dangling down the back.
A pure white silk cord was attached.

This morning.
Lithe Autumn.

“Look here.”

On the desk lay a red pouch also embroidered with gold thread.

“Do not cry.”
“Do not cry.”
“Do not cry.”
_Behold this milk._
It does not cry.
It does not laugh either.
Rage.

That day’s rage
came walking like a solitary creature.
Light exists—
then approached from behind like a black pearl.

Spring

Spring lingered lightly.

Where cherry blossoms bloomed wildly amidst the quietness—

Fourteen-year-old girl's

Around the small stray hairs

A sky lower than autumn—brilliant.

Ah, today I behold spring’s sorrow in vivid clarity.

Willows too lightly

Willows too sway lightly.

Spring too lingers lightly.

To each red float clings a red child,

To each blue float clung a blue child.

Willows too swayed lightly.

Spring too lingers lightly.

Today’s festival is like flowers.