Pathway to Japanese Literature

Night.
Through gaps in pine branches, the moon shines clear.
Having heard what someone said, I composed this poem.

Flowers bloom.
Scattered remnants.
Through this gap

Cool and fragrant.
The moon's fragment.

Still.
And others.
There are more.
Leave it be.

——Kuzuhara Koto Diary——

はしかき

The person who informed me of the Kuzuhara Koto Diary was the playwright Mr. Imau Uhei.
It was an imposing tome of nearly seven hundred pages.
In Taisho 4 [1915], it appears that Koto’s legitimate grandson, a person named Kuzuhara [Compiler], had compiled and published [the diary], astonishing the public upon its release; however, due to my own lack of study, I only recently came to know of it after being informed by my friend Mr. Imau Uhei.
To me personally, it may have been an utterly novel and rare diary indeed, yet for the world's readers, it might simply be a universal book to be casually acknowledged with an "Ah, that one—" and a light nod.
In that regard, with a fool’s single-mindedness and without reserve, I shall press on and, with an air of being the sole possessor of this knowledge in the world, proceed to recount it henceforth in meticulous detail.

Until Taisho 4 (1915), when the late Koto's diary had been compiled and published through the efforts of Kuzuhara [Compiler], it appeared that even Kuzuhara Koto himself had not been widely known. The Koto Diary compiled by Kuzuhara [Compiler] also contained a preface by Wada Hidematsu, a historical materials compiler at Tokyo Imperial University, which stated: "Kuzuhara Koto was a man from my native place of Bingo who attained renown across the Sanbi region through his musical skills. I had long been familiar with Koto's name since childhood, yet I merely regarded him as a blind person skilled in music." However, upon coming to know Mr. Kuzuhara [Compiler], Koto's esteemed grandson in recent years, and hearing anecdotes of Koto's character and conduct, he realized Koto was not only a master of music but also found much to praise in various other aspects. From this preface, we understand that even someone who held the position of historical materials compiler and was born in Bingo—the same region as Koto—had not possessed such deep knowledge about the late Koto's character.

Furthermore, Principal Machida Norifumi of Tokyo Blind School had also contributed a preface stating: "One day, Mr. Kuzuhara [Compiler] visited my school and showed me his late grandfather Kuzuhara Koto's kana-character movable-type diary spanning over forty years, while speaking in detail about the general outline of Koto's undertakings during his lifetime and Koto's interests." Having listened to this account, Machida wrote that he had been profoundly moved and suddenly conceived of a great guiding star for our Empire's blind education. From his words, one could clearly see that he had been greatly astonished.

In this manner, both the late Koto's name and his diary had likely been known merely as those of a skilled koto player within a single region until Taisho 4 (1915), when his legitimate grandson Mr. Kuzuhara [Compiler] compiled his grandfather's legacy—alongside several photographs, Koto's chronological biography, and an anecdote collection—into a splendid single volume bestowed with the title Kuzuhara Koto Diary, publicly showcasing it to the world.

Nowadays, if one opens a biographical dictionary, an entry for "Kuzuhara Koto" properly appears; thus, the late Koto—having gained an excellent grandson—may be in the netherworld allowing a faint smile to soften his cheeks.

Kuzuhara Koto.
A man spanning the mid to late Tokugawa period.
Koto master among other vocations.
He was born in Bunka 9 (1812) in Yahiro Village, Fukayasu District, Bingo Province.
His name was Shigemi.
Former appellation: Yada Ryūzō.
From earliest childhood he exhibited an affinity for musical tones; at three years of age, having contracted smallpox and lost all sight, he intensified his monomaniacal devotion to the koto until at nine, importuning Oki—a blind female musician from a neighboring village—to commence formal training in koto and shamisen, reaching by eleven an age where none in the vicinity remained qualified to instruct him.
He promptly ascended to Kyoto and entered the tutelage of Matsuno Kengyo of the Ikuta-ryū tradition.
At fifteen, having completed his apprenticeship, he was permitted the rank of Koto and granted the surname Kuzuhara by Kuga Kancho.
This occurred in Bunsei 9 (1826).
That same year he returned home, thereafter spending over fifty years itinerating through the Sanbi region while instructing in koto music.
Concurrently composing, he devoted his entire existence to research and dissemination of the art.
He renounced the rank of Zato.
He steadfastly declined promotion to Kengyō.
Deeming vulgar the contemporary custom whereby rank could be readily procured through monetary tribute alone, he declared that station ought not be purchased with coin—resolving to abide by his status as a mere Koto until death.
In Tenpō 11 (1840), having invented a bamboo koto, he later journeyed to Kyoto to commission its manufacture from a koto artisan. Yet the shopkeeper remarked: "How curious a coincidence!"
"Only yesterday did a gentleman from Izumo called Nakayama command the crafting of this very same instrument," he said.
Kuzuhara Koto straightaway visited this Nakayama's lodgings for brief discourse. Discovering the koto's construction differed not one whit from his own invention, he instead rejoiced. Declaring "As you placed your commission a day prior," he effortlessly yielded the laurels of invention to Mr. Nakayama.
The "Yakumo-goto" presently circulating through society is this very instrument.
The inventor has come to be regarded as Mr. Nakayama Michisato.

Furthermore, he began having others transcribe his practice diary starting in Bunsei 10 (1827) at age sixteen during springtime. However, upon reaching twenty-six in Tenpō 8 (1837), he had wooden movable type created—consisting of forty-eight hiragana iroha characters, numbers one through ten, plus thirty-odd items including commonly used kanji (日, 月, 同, 御, 候), variant kana, voicing marks, and punctuation—totaling fewer than one hundred characters in all. These were neatly arranged in a box measuring 8.5 sun vertically, 4.7 sun horizontally, and 1.3 sun deep, which he carried at all times. Feeling and thinking exactly as things occurred, he continued meticulously imprinting character by character through tactile摸索 until his death, never ceasing this practice for over forty years.
It would not be an exaggeration to say that there already existed someone who had put movable type printing into practical use in a corner of Japan almost a century prior.
Beyond this, Koto’s anecdotes are too numerous to list.
Although it was a natural matter for a blind person of his artistic rank, with his exquisitely sensitive and precise tactile sense, he took pleasure in exploring and performing himself the cleaning and repair of special Dutch-made clocks called Ryūkyū clocks.
From his youth, he had bad teeth; though itinerant denture makers came from various places, he never encountered a skilled practitioner, and ultimately crafted his own dentures using a small knife.
Skilled in origami craftsmanship, he would sit within the kotatsu—a low heated table—listening to and correcting the sound of his disciples practicing the koto while secretly folding paper into difficult shapes such as mice, pheasants, crabs, monks, and lobsters that bore a mysterious resemblance to their real-life counterparts.
Furthermore, in late spring of Kōka 2 (1845) at age thirty-four, he meticulously arranged fragments from a split brush cap on his desk to create a house design and had his residence constructed accordingly.
However, in this house design alone there was a slight oversight characteristic of a blind person.
Being extremely sensitive to heat, he had designed his residence solely with good ventilation in mind; yet as if he had failed to account for lighting, the house that remains today reportedly has several dark rooms—a pitiful outcome.
However, these are all ultimately his minor skills; what truly commands admiration is none other than his innate musical genius and the life he led—one of diligent refinement that early established a distinguished tradition while contentedly pursuing his chosen path apart from worldly fame and gain.
The diary he self-recorded through tactile摸索 teaches us all those circumstances without omission.
Koto died of illness on September 8, Meiji 15 (1882).
Age: seventy-one.

The above constitutes an extremely rough brief biography of the late Kuzuhara Koto that I somehow managed to compile by borrowing without permission—piece by piece from various sources such as biographical dictionaries, prefaces and postscripts to the Kuzuhara Koto Diary by various scholars, as well as chronologies, anecdote collections, and photo captions written by the compiler. Regarding the man himself, I deliberately avoided including my own personal, unvarnished impressions. As for criticism of the diary's prose, I have no intention of offering that either. For now, it would be enough if readers simply read a small part of that diary. I intend to have my personal impressions and criticisms blend naturally into the text. I would like to explain the reason for this after you have read the diary.

Here unfolds only the diary of Koto at age twenty-six—a single year of youth.
The entire diary’s—so to speak—no more than one-fortieth.
However, there is nothing that would leave readers feeling unsatisfied.
The reason for this, too, I shall explain in the diary’s afterword.

Now, from the main text of Kuzuhara Koto’s diary—imprinted character by character through tactile exploration on New Year’s Day at age twenty-six—we began reading slowly together with our readers.
The main text was written entirely in hiragana and proved exceedingly difficult to read; therefore, I took it upon myself to render it with an appropriate mixture of kanji.
To the extent that the blind man’s sorrowful scent remained unerased.

Kuzuhara Koto Diary.

Tenpō 8, Year of the Rooster.

○ New Year’s Day.
Same day: Composed.

I return.
The beginning of the year—
Somehow—
The heart too—
It has renewed.

Mountain hag.
With the koto.
Five repetitions.

○ Same month: 2nd day.
Wechigojishi.
With the koto.
Twelve repetitions.

Ofue Village: Chiyomi arrives at eight o'clock.
Eastern Lion.
I combined with the shamisen—the count unknown.

In the midst of thought.
Investigate and amuse myself.
Exceedingly bamboo-like.
Drawn by the count.
Today too was spent.

Wechigojishi.
Same five repetitions.

○ Same month: 3rd day.
Nothing of note.

○ Same month: 4th day.
Practice begins.

Osen.
Koto.
Kinuta.

Aburaya’s Osetsu.
Koto.
Sayokagura.

Tomiyoshiya’s Onui.
Koto. Thin garment.

Oriyou.
Koto.

Snowy morning.

Sumiju.
Koto.
Sakura Tsukushi.

Oaso.
Koto.
Kiritubo.

Okyō.
Koto.
Violet.

Onomichiya. Fear.
Shamisen.
Four seasons' view.

Oteu.
Shamisen.
Iuzora.

Osetsu.
Koto.
Wakana.

Ofusa.
Koto.
Uki-ne.

Oriu.
Shamisen.
Yashima.

Shigeno.
Koto.
Wholehearted devotion.

Otoku.
Shamisen.
Kigisu.

Ibara, Osato.
Koto.
Mumegae.

Seigiyoku.
Shamisen.
Water mirror.

Obeya. Kosada.
Shamisen.
Six dan exercises.

Ebisuya. Oishi.
Koto.
Dōjōji.

Sumiya. Oiso.
Koto. Oki na.

Osawa.
Shamisen.
Plovers.

All are mere formalities.
Komatsuya’s Okaya did not come.

○ The same month, 5th day.
Oteu. Only.
I practiced.
Shamisen.
Iuzora.
Returned at the Hour of the Monkey.
Afterwards, I grew lonely.

○ The same month, 6th day.
Rain falls.

Okaya.
For discipline.
Fourfold contemplation.
With koto.
Thirty-two repetitions.

(Omission.)
(Dazai)

○ The same month, 27th day.
I departed for Kyoto.

Yanagiya’s boat.
I boarded at the Hour of the Dragon.
At the Hour of the Sheep, I also boarded one crane.
I also boarded one ivy.

○ The same month, 28th day.
I arrived at Tamashima and departed at the Hour of the Dog.

○ The same month, 29th day.
I arrived at Hibiya at the Hour of the Hare, departed at the Hour of the Dragon, and arrived at Sakoshi at the Hour of the Monkey.

○ The same month, 30th day.
At Yukishima, I moored the boat and waited for the sky to clear.

○ February 1st.
I departed at the Hour of the Hare.

○ The same month, 2nd day.
At the Hour of the Tiger, I arrived at Akashi.

I departed.
Now I suffer terribly.
Travel garments.
The sleeve hem brushes past.
The wind’s chill.

I visit Hitomaru-sama.

○ The same month, 3rd day.
I departed at the Hour of the Horse and arrived in Hyōgo at the Hour of the Bird.

○ The same month, 4th day.
I departed at the Hour of the Rat and arrived in Osaka at the Hour of the Snake.

○ The same month, 5th day.
Hour of the Snake.
Kyoto.

○ The same month, 6th day.
From.
To Lord Matsu’s: kishuku (lodging).

○ The same month，7th day.
I remain unchanged.

○ The same month, 8th day.
I idled.
Too much idling makes for a tedious affair.

○ The same month, 9th day.
All remains unchanged.

○ The same month, 10th day.
I handled luggage.
I received [items].

○ The same month, 11th day.
All remains unchanged.
In secret, I perform the purification.

○ The same month, 12th day.
At the mansion, I placed the koto and performed a dedication (奉納).
I heard the call of a parrot (鸚鵡).
[The same as above; middle part omitted.]

○ April 19th.
I unloaded the luggage.

○ The same month, 20th day.
Tomorrow: by boat.

Why can I not sleep tonight?
Thinking of trifles alone—it must already be the Hour of the Ox.

Truth does not exist.
The human heart—if one could truly know it—
What resentment remains?
Seed and wind cannot be exchanged.

When I ponder deeply—my hometown sustains me.
Father... Mother...
Still others linger...

I will return.
When tucked into the sleeve.
It became too much.
I picked young greens.
What am I to do?

○ The same month, 21st day.
I departed the capital at the Hour of the Dragon and boarded the Ono-michi boat at the Hour of the Monkey.

○ The same month, 22nd day.
The wind was strong.
Drank sake.

Boatman.
I left it to him and crossed.
The sea for sailing.
Waves crashed and surged.
If the wind blows, let it blow.

○ The same month, 23rd day.

At the Hour of the Horse, I arrived at Ono-michi and stayed at Tomiyoshiya.

○ The same month, 24th day.
Hometown, irises (菖蒲)

Nothing at all.
Uncertain.
In this world.
Your unchanging...
My heart was joyful.

○ The same month, 25th day.
Sumi Kotobuki.
With the koto.
Bonfire.
Three times.
I conducted practice.

[The same as above; middle part omitted.]

○ May 1st.
Such were the matters.
Truly, at this time, my tooth aches.

○ May 2nd.
Rain falls.
Oryō; shamisen; Nanakusa.
Ofue Village; Osute.
I arrived.
With the koto, I practiced Tenka Taihei.
Truly, truly, my tooth aches.

○ May 3rd.
Continued.
Rain.
My tooth also aches.
What sin or retribution has manifested that my tooth should ache so terribly?

○ May 4th.
The rain does not fall, yet my tooth aches.
What karma makes this stubborn man suffer so? Yet here I endure.

○ The same month, 5th day.
Because my tooth aches, I take medicine.
However, it has no effect.

Now.

○ The same month, 6th day.
Perhaps the medicine circulated well—my tooth healed, yet my stomach ached.
Until yesterday I was the tongue-cut sparrow; today I ate something resembling a human.
Next, with Otsu of Aburaya, conducted practice of Sayokagura on the koto.

○ The same month, 7th day.

From noon, rain falls.
If only my tooth would not ache again.

○ May 8th.
Alas.
This being yet another bout of toothache, what I took was medicine.

○ May 9th.
Rain falls.
One mosquito (蚊).

Without fail.
The one who pledged.
They did not come.
The early summer rain falls.
The loneliness of the dwelling.

○ The same night.
My tooth aches.
Ah, truly, truly.

○ May 10th.
Rain falls.
My tooth aches.
Okaya.
Koto.
Practiced Suenochigiri.
Having been told by Okaya, I hereby resolve to abstain from tobacco from this day forth.

○ May 11th.
Rain falls.
Still it aches, aches.

To live in this world while being hated holds no worth; yet being loved—would death not be preferable?

As in this ancient verse, though I too dwell in this world with aching teeth and find no worth in living, still I surpass a mouseless cat.
Ah me—how it pains.
That while life persists, this tooth must ache? To think on it fills me with sorrow.

Loneliness.
It surpasses even autumn.
This feeling persists.
Days pass by.
The early summer rain season.

○ May 12th.
It still ached.
From noon, the ache had subsided.
The weather cleared from noon today.
With the shamisen, I practiced.
I conducted training.

○ May 13th.
My tooth was also at ease.
From today, I resumed smoking tobacco.

The same as above; middle omitted.

○ June 16th.
Rest.
Ah, how tedious.
The heat. Relentless, relentless.

○ June 17th.
In a certain song:

"Slept past dawn, took midday nap, slept at dusk-hour,
Woke sometimes only to doze again."

So it goes.
Since yesterday's eve, whenever I sleep—whenever sleep comes—
Nothing but dreams.

Left Saru Province;
Returned to Yahiro (八尋) in Inu Province.

○ June 18th.
I cannot make sense of what I did.

○ June 19th.

I have nothing to do.
The heat, the heat.

○ June 20th.

Again, rest.
Lately, I am naught but idleness.

○ June 21st.

Departed Unokoku Province; arrived at Takaya (高屋) Kawamoto (川本).
Oteru.
With the shamisen.
Dew on sleeves.

○ June 22nd.
The cicadas' cries are relentless.

○ June 23rd.
Nagasaki. The inspector’s sound ceased.
Shita ni o re.

○ June 24th.
Hotter than yesterday.
Oteru, having finished practice, pressed me with childish curiosity—"What dreams do you see?"—so I replied, "Even a blind person sees dreams." Last night's dream went thus: puppets performed Etenraku with koto, shamisen, kokyū, flutes, hand drums, and taiko. The moment they finished, they threw down every instrument until not one remained unbroken.
Also saw another patchwork dream: a thief carrying a dagger ascended to the second floor; his robe sleeve caught on the ladder, then he stepped through the floorboard. When I asked "What is this here?" he produced tobacco—"Ah!" said he. Below, mid-fire, I tightened my koto strings and said I would return. Then Take no Jingō brought a great drum—"Look upon this ere you go," said he. When I told Oteru it was all nonsensical confusion, she rolled about laughing.
When I mentioned having seen a girl of fifteen or sixteen—perhaps seventeen or eighteen—in my dream, she immediately asked, "What was she wearing?"
"As a blind person, I cannot discern colors, but since they were winter garments," I said, "they must have been blue." Oteru was impressed.

○ June 25th.
The rain falls too.
The sun blazes.
A fox’s bridal procession?

The same as above; middle omitted.

○ July 6th.
For Tanabata's song, I compose.

A year's wait until
This night's meeting.
The Milky Way.
Cross now.
The waters must be rising.

Not meeting is better.

○ July 7th.
The person I had long entreated to return did not—truly—how dreary.
Not a single thing I wish for comes to pass—such is this night.
Yet here lies one pleasure.
To live at the wind’s whim—practice comes first.

○ July 8th.

Morning.
The towel rack was taken by the morning glories.
Osaku.
With the shamisen; Tanabata.
Ochika.
With the koto; insects' cries.

○ July 9th.

Everyone returns.
Truly, this heat—my, my, how sweltering.
With this, I can’t go anywhere at all!
If only it would rain once—wouldn’t that bring some coolness?

Very well—I would play.
Settling into position—as I sat there，various matters came to mind.
Then again，from Matsuyama in Iyo Province came a request for lessons—but going would take three years.
If I didn’t go，it wouldn’t do.
Hmm.
No matter what came，I had to go.
About that，I composed a poem.
Though heard，none will heed.

If there were no ears. Why then this heart's?
Let me be lost.
The past goes unheard.
How I longed.

○ July 10th.
The sky.
Ill.
Neither shining nor falling.

And I did something inexcusable.
Apologies, apologies.

○ July 11th.
Rainy weather.
Now.
I heard of an unusual matter.

○ July 12th.
My spirits were dull.
At Anrakuji temple came Morikane’s song contest.
Through daylight hours, sweat trickled faintly.
Come nightfall, rain streamed down without cease.
Barefoot I made my return.
A rent umbrella.

The same as above; middle portion omitted.

○ August 20th.
Okaya gave me a glass sake flask.
Rainy weather.
I tightened the strings just now. I stayed overnight at Tomiyoshiya.

○ August 21st.
Rainy weather.
From noon, the rain let up—ah, how busy I was, so busy!
The bustle ceased abruptly.

○ August 22nd.
Early morning.
I began "Seven Herbs" on the shamisen.
Shigeno’s Oriu.
With the shamisen, I sounded forth.
Today, the shamisen resounded well.
The bustle ceased abruptly.

○ August 23rd.
At Taizanji, conducted a memorial service.

○ August 24th.
At Tomiyoshiya，[I] engaged in counter-snoring.
The same night.
Rain fell.

○ August 25th.
I departed from Tatsunokoku for Omiya-ya in Kawaminami Village.
Kikuya played "Yūgaho" on the koto, but it resembled a mouse scurrying about.
Practice: thirty.

○ August 26th.
The weather.
I went here and there.

○ August 27th.
I combed my hair and entered the bath.
The voices of insects, as if water were flowing.
Unable to endure,

Nothing at all.
In people’s hearts.
This body left to fate.
When was it, or...
I could not determine.

Okaya.
Slept alone.
With the shamisen.

○ August 28th.
Practice; met.
What bitter eyes I’ve met!
Simmering, I am exhausted.
Four legs (足) I cannot match.
It goes unsaid.
It goes unheard.
Merely, merely, it is seen.

Hah.

The same as above; middle part omitted.

○ September 25th.

Lately, with mid-autumn upon me, I could not compose even a song—truly, I was at a loss.
I caught a cold and slept.
My right face swelled, and I found no pleasure in anything.
Then Daikagura—itinerant performers—came, but they were a clumsy lot.

○ September 26th.
I merely passed my days in gloom.
The cold had improved slightly.

○ September 27th.

I woke and met Mother.
Okaya's affair went unmentioned.

○ September 28th.

Due to overwhelming loneliness.

There was also sake.
There was also mochi.

An autumn evening shower.

The same night.
I gambled.

○ September 29th.
Practiced: one.

○ September 30th.
Okaya is pitiful.
Because it was too much to bear, I have recorded it here.
Practice from Minokoku.
Juyu no Ichi; shamisen; chrysanthemum dew.
Osawa; with the koto, Horse Chasing.

○ October 1st.
Morning; a little rain fell.
Next came fierce winds.
That evening, my words met immediate rejection.
Detestable curs.

○ October 2nd.
At the bridge, I met someone, and after a long time, we talked.

Cold though it be.
Of layered sleeves.
In vain.
Thus do I meet it.
Beneath the buried fire.

The same as above; middle part omitted.

○ November 16th.
Practice.
Night; snow falls.
When I consider it deeply, the days remaining are already few indeed.

In worldly affairs.
The day too was drawn out.
I lived through it.
Tomorrow would be the same.
I had come to know the truth.

Wherever I went, when told of deficiencies, I too spoke of peace.
There I was admonished; here too I was admonished.
Regarding this, my teacher had once said: "Think of your students as your own children."

○ November 17th.
I departed Minokoku and arrived at Obe Village Kuwada in Hitsuji no Koku.
Wherever I went, whenever the practice students were busiest with other tasks, my timing was never worse.
In everything I did, there was the hindrance of my disability and the constant concern for parents.
If things were so bad, why had I come here? I wondered.
Practice was no casual diversion.
The cold was severe; my legs ached.

○ November 18th.
I idled.

○ November 19th.

I had my first audience with Lord Kyuichiro of Idehara.
The tea master showed exceptional skill.
At that moment,

The pure moon—
Intensely.
Having transformed—
Winter arrives through the sky.
A vision worth witnessing.

Though invisible to the eye, having read it I realized Lord Kyuichiro must possess the mind's eye (shingan), and I struck my knee in admiration.
How wondrous a thing!

○ November 20th.

Otsui: with the koto in thin snow.
Oiso: koto on a snowy morning.
Sumi: koto at Dōjōji.
It became known.

I resolved not to know.
Wrapped thoughts too.
Brushwood-scratched,
now torn,
it had revealed itself.

○ November 21st.
At eight o'clock, I stole away to Komatsuya; then, as all had gone to worship at the temple—leaving only a thirteen- or fourteen-year-old child to guard the place—and being helpless to do otherwise, I lay down, got up, ate, played the koto, and thus passed a lonesome time.
I tightened the strings for that regular visitor.
Regret—still I could not sleep; such was the way of things.
In all matters, practice stands paramount.

There was no remedy.
The Buddha's sacred name.
I kept reciting.
The seed of hell.
Not a day passed without sowing.

The same as above; middle portion omitted.

○ December 25th.
When I thought it cold and kept still, from evening snow began falling anew, and verily it grew colder.
Ah, how bitter this chill!
Oh, this piercing cold.

○December 26th.

I tended to the kotatsu all day.
I was bored.
After a long interval, again—that same right one as before—unchanged, my tooth aches.
Throb throb throb throb.

Every day.
Like a fool I grow bored even in passing the days, and cannot go elsewhere.
There's no helping it.

○ December 27th.
Next door held a ceremonial celebration.
Night brought heavy snow.
This year I want to commit countless strange sins.

○ December 28th.
Truly, I diligently tended to the kiseru pipe.
I want to turn thirty soon.

○ December 29th.

From spring until today, all that has happened truly feels like a dream—ah, it is as if it were a dream.
Truly, there was such an ill-fated year.
In February I suffered; in April I wept; in May my tooth ached; in summer this and that—beyond that, there was not a day I did not cry.
Foolish indeed I was.
I have little hope for what lies ahead.

○ December 30th.
I composed the same.

The bell of jōya (New Year’s Eve).
Up to one hundred and three.
I counted.

I will be twenty-seven next year.
Joyous yet wistful.

Tenpō 8.
Year of the Rooster.

Afterword

How was it? Readers, did you truly find it engaging?
I must confess to you all.
This is not strictly speaking the diary of the deceased in its original form.
I beg your forgiveness.
If he was a heaven-sent musician, then I am an unfettered writer.

Though in form this constituted merely one-fortieth of the seven-hundred-page Kuzuhara Koto Diary—excerpting only the sensitive single year of his youth at twenty-six—I believed that in content, I had succeeded in conveying the entire life of the diary spanning over forty years.
Rude as it may have been, I crafted it in that manner.
I humbly asked that Master Koto’s spirit and his esteemed descendants might grant their forgiveness.
As a writer’s ill-fated karmic burden—whenever shown even a glimpse of beauty, I could not simply stand by with folded arms in admiration; inevitably, I reached out and left the smudged imprints of my own barbaric hands.
As a writer’s karmic expression of affection, I asked that you forgive me.
It was precisely because it was beautiful that I couldn’t resist laying my hands on it.
It was precisely because I felt an extraordinary empathy that I wanted to work my craft upon it.
The daily thoughts recorded there were none other than my own form.
"The secret bond with 'Okaya of Komatsuya' was also a fiction of my own presumptuous making."
That might have been an unshakable truth for me, but in the original Kuzuhara Koto Diary, it was not necessarily factual.
To put it plainly, that was nothing more than the writer's self-indulgent hasty conclusion.
However, I had no recollection of consciously attempting to disparage the late Master Koto.
I believed I had always respected the late Master’s spirit as that of a first-rate artist.
I appended this note then to prevent disputes from arising later.

Strumming.
If only the sound could be heard.
Here in this place -
that I make my dwelling.
Would you know?
(Koto)