Pathway to Japanese Literature

Author: Doi Bansui

Preface

"The ideal of poetry is precisely this: 'to lift mankind to heaven or bring heaven down to this earth.'"
Poetry is not the idle talk of dreamers; poetry is not some trifling craft like insect-carved seals.
As for our national poetry's journey through these several hundred years—what indeed could I say?
When I consider that barely over ten years had passed since what we call new-style poetry emerged into the world, its current immaturity being laughable was only natural.
Yet as years turn and literary fortune progresses, its imperfections must surely find perfection in days to come.
Poetry forms a nation's very marrow; no great nation has ever existed without great verse.
If we make our land's future ripe with promise, then our poetry's path too must swell with hope undimmed.

The works collected in this book—over forty pieces old and new of mine—contain not a single one worthy of bearing the name of poetry.
If this single shred of sincere intent may serve as even the slightest contribution to the development of our national poetry, that alone would be my fortune.
Though the author is untalented, he does not presume to learn the folly of making himself a poet.

In Tokyo

March 1899, Doi Rinkichi

Explanatory Notes

1. The majority of pieces collected in this book were previously published in Teikoku Bungaku (Imperial Literature) and Hansei Zasshi (Introspection Magazine); through the kind permission of the Teikoku Bungakukai (Imperial Literature Society) and Hansei Zasshisha (Introspection Magazine Company), we have been able to reprint them here. We humbly express our gratitude to both societies.

2. That poetry has long been treated as mere amusement, as idle words, as the petty craft of carving insects and seals—unless this corrupt practice perishes, true poetry shall never arise.
I believe that renewing the fundamental ideas about poetry held by general readers is an essential element for the development of national poetry today.
The appendix contains discourses on poetry or poet critiques by eminent Western figures.
These translations were made incidentally during my casual reading of various books; though they do not exhaustively probe principles, they are not without minor benefit to today’s poetry-reading world.
I earnestly entreat careful reading from all quarters.

Hope

Offshore, the tide winds rage,

When the white waves roar fiercely,

When the evening moon sinks into the waves,

When black darkness assails the depths of night,

To the far reaches of the sky, my boat—

There exists starlight that guides.

When I awaken from life's prolonged dream,

When I return to earth as mortal clay,

When heart's torment concludes,

When sin's fetters unbind,

When my soul dwells beyond graves,

There resounds divinity's guiding voice.

Of lamentation, affliction, anguish,

Upon seas where life's vessel floats—

Do you weep even in dreams, o child of dust?

The fleeting world's waves rage hostile,

However fierce rain and wind may storm,

Endure—for Tokoyo's blossoms exude fragrance—

As harbors proclaim spring's arrival,

In coursing rivers dwell speech,

In blazing flames reside thought,

Through drifting clouds come revelation,

Within midnight tempests lie admonition,

And human hearts hold hope.

In the burning flame there lies thought,
In the sky-traversing clouds there dwells revelation,

In the midnight storm there is admonition,
In the human heart there is hope.

Song of Clouds

Evening lay in the depths of Kunlun's valley.

This morning on Furō Peak’s heights
The ten-thousand-league roc's journey's end
The path to be traversed stretched endlessly afar.
The infinite storm—my wings.
The great sea of the sky—my journey.
The great sea of the sky—the stars’ abode.
In the very midst where green gathered,
A single suspended mote of shadow
Surged forth thousands of miles as one watched,
Bearing tempest and wind,
Obscuring the light as it raced onward.
Thunder raged, wind raved.
When mountains and rivers roared and trembled,
The celestial shore tilted high,
Pillars of rain poured down to the mortal world.
When it ceased, the sky heavy with lingering traces lay distant.

A seven-colored rainbow spanned its edge.

Dawn’s purple deep-violet

The pure, glimmering Morning Star’s
light faintly slept when
awaiting impatiently the awakening sun—
soon adding flame-winged ascent—
it climbed high through mid-sky’s firmament.

In the tranquil midnight firmament,
The faintly emerging Princess of the Moon
Longed for mortal blossoms below—
Her countenance half-shy with hidden fire—
To veil my yearning heart's desire,
She changed her form with gauzy sleeves aglow.

A luminous haze of myriad flowers shone—
Her adornment outshone nature's own—
Then swallowed returning birds' shadow-flight
Beneath strange peaks in summer twilight
Where distant seas stretched vast and white—
Cold shadows of mingling sails took fright.

Woven—my vernal verse's tidal grace—
Dyed skillful hues on autumn fields' embrace—
As feathered canopies coalesced above
For Heaven's Chariot poised with cosmic love—
Brocade banners reversed their course above—
The Celestial Procession readied to move—

Yet Nature's artistry remained unchanged—

Nature’s artistry—my fragrance.

Over the peaks where dusk lingered hazily,
Celestial maiden’s figured gauze dancing robes—
Fragments streamed in the wind—
"I am the lone full moon in the clear sky."

Ethereal shadows in the distant sky—
Evening’s lingering—my form—
After mindlessness came sentience—
Whose high tower’s vista was this?

The bead curtain faintly leaked—
The choking koto’s edge—slender too—
A sheer cliff towering a thousandfold—
On the peak towered a single pine tree—

Leaning against green branches—
When the wind waved its sleeve—
As the clear cry came through—

Tonight’s dream lodging shall be lent.

The willows on the shore, together with all,
When their shadows dwell upon the water's surface
In the distant rivers and mountains, a single pole—
How shall one perceive the unwritten sage?

Pure in thought, light in body.

Spontaneity—this form akin to mine.
Nature’s form, eternally.

I remain yesterday's self.

Ah, Hangu Pass's purple—

The vestiges of antiquity—so distant,

The imperial homeland far—its silhouette pale.

When I float adrift—who becomes the friend I yearn for?

Stars and Flowers

The same Nature’s honored mother
Nurtured elder sister and younger sister in her hand—
The sky’s flowers we call stars,
My world’s stars we call flowers.

Though separated as that and this,
Their fragrance—the same stars and flowers.
Each evening’s smiles and light
Never exchange these gentle flowers and stars.

Thus when dawn clouds turn white—
When celestial flowers wither—
Behold a single drop of white dew:
In my world’s stars, tears exist.

Eagle

Purple-hued horizontal clouds—
Dew must have dyed the violet flower.

Bees and butterflies frolicking among flowers—
Love or resentment—in the real world’s

Setting aside ephemeral spring—

A single eagle ascending the vast sky.

The storm was cold; the road was desolate.
Spring's form had ceased,
yet though flowers' fragrance lingered,
Lovelier than that spring,
More fragrant than those flowers,
While aiming for distant heavens,
High in vast sky—a single eagle.

The storm was harsh; the road was hard.

On its back, it bore the infinite heavens.

Green clouds were pierced through by its wings,

Where lay the end of its flight?

It brought the dawn of hope,

Retaining traces of lofty fragrance,

A single eagle circled the vast sky.

The storm was cruel; the road was forbidding.

Ah, the Caucasus peak stood high

With thousandfold storm clouds massing thick,

Where echoes of the mortal world fell silent,

Having stolen the heavenly fire,

Was his kin among the azure clouds?

A single eagle soared through the vast sky.

The storm was fierce; the road lay distant.

The Universe and the Poet

Atque omneimmensumperagravit mente

animoque. Lucretius.

"O Chaos, having exhausted your bounds—"

The bosom of Time 'Eternity'—

The pale dawn of my world arisen

Adorned with the Morning Star’s glow,

Resonating the koto with light

O poet, did you sing?
Streaming light’s subsiding shadow—
How many generations’ springs and autumns have passed!
Rocks shift and mountains depart;
The abyss too—how many times has it transformed?

How beautiful the vast universe—
Artistry endures now as in ancient days.
Ah, the sea’s foaming blossoms!
How they resemble silver snakes in flight!
Gazing upward, a rainbow stands high in the sky.

My heart remained unenchanted even by rainbows.
My heart stayed unresponsive even to waves.
My sole reliance was your song alone.
The living flame's Baptisma—
It scorched and swept away this fleeting world's dust,
Made clouds tremble and called forth winds,
Guiding both light and darkness,
Soaring through distant firmament.
"Do you hear the Muse's song?"

Morning sunlight—evening light—
Exchanged their hues between them.
Though skilled indeed were heaven's clouds
In gauzy robes and floral gowns
Trailing night's crimson hem—
"Do you see the Muse's silhouette?"

"By springside streams and forest shade,
Is it only hills bathed in light—"

Where the winds of morrow blow,
Where twilight's clouds abide,
Where dewdrops softly fall—
Could song ever hide?

Where flowing waters wend their way,
Where glistening stars bestow their light,
Where verdant grasses rise and grow,
Where eagles beat their wings in flight,
Where lions summon tempests' roar—
Song dwells forevermore.

Where could song be absent?

Spring in Yoshino at dawn’s first light,

the crimson of the thickening haze,

The distant view blurs into a floral peak.

Summer is the Rhine at twilight.

The current flows far, the water pure,

Reflecting too the shore’s deep green.

The rippling waves of Miluo's abyss,

Though the clouds of Wushan vanish not,

Still the soughing voice of autumn.

The tide too freezes in the Northern Ocean.

The crimson illuminating the crags
Is it the midnight sun whose light never ceases?

On the road lay a fallen caravan—
Withered bones crumbled into dust—
Even souls' mournful cries of resentment

The great desert intermingled with the storm—
All things perish in the kalpa of emptiness—
The visage—you shall behold it here.
Black clouds towering in the vast heavens'
They engulfed the sun's radiance,
Crimson lotus flames raged fiercely
A mountain of fire melting even rocks.
The chaos of undivided heaven and earth—
The visage—you shall behold it here.
Weary from chasing phantoms,
A fleeting refuge at the wilds' edge—
What dream do you weave, O you—
When chilled, the heart turns crimson—
Perfuming the ambient breeze,
Is it the gentle wild roses that smile?

Thoughts overflowing with tears (2)—
The flowers of the field path that heard no singing,
The empty seashells in the shadowed hollows of a desolate shore
Who among mortals can hear the voiceless?

The sea's melody and heart's core
In its fragment might they have heard(3).
On the high peak's cliff, flowers perfumed
In the abyss of passion's waves, songs welled up,
The formless made voice—so they say—
Where the ear of your heart listens:
What did heaven's thunder proclaim?
What did the midnight withering wind expound?
What did the midnight withering wind expound—
Like "Sleep," like "Death,"
The gentle dove's wings faltered
As if descending through evening's sky
When the Muse's soul descended

When it filled your heart,
the night’s fragrance rose,
the universe quietly slipped into dream,
and within existed neither voice nor word.

In the flickering window’s light,
Gazing at the form of the wind,

What thoughts dwelled within your being?

Pushing open even the window of the heart,

In the sky being gazed upon flowed

Where did the stars trace their course?

Was it the banks of clear Avon (4)?

Is it the field of blooming Tuscan (5) flowers?
Is it the wooded shade of Weimar (6)?
The Big Dipper was distant, its figure lofty.
There was the light of hope, the hue of love—
Even there, marked in Shenxiu (7)—
In the midst, light shone brilliantly,
(The shaped figure is Truth-Goodness-Beauty)
The three stars indeed stood arrayed.
The terrestrial sphere—a single orb pierced through.
Gazing upward as if one were beholding—
Below too glittered countless
If one could gaze upon the abode of stars,
Even the names of the mortal world would seem vain—
One would know our world to be awful.
True light, true beauty—
Shrouded and sealed by narrow mists,

In darkness wandered my heart.
My sole reliance was your song alone.
The fragrance of purple orchids, the hue of lily blossoms—
For your song's sake did they bloom.
Both melody and pitch grew ever loftier,
Calming the fierce storm,
Transforming into subtle music, it was said—
You strummed your jeweled zither,
Smiling amidst tears,
Even within darkness, radiating brilliance.
The deeds of Orpheus—
Releasing souls bound to Hades;
The teachings of Pythagoras—
He heard star-music in celestial skies;
The vision of Plato—
Be drunk on dreams of lofty ideals.

――――――――

(1) Paradise Lost, Book III

(2) Wordsworth

(3) Rossetti

(4) Shakespeare

(5) Dante

(6) Goethe

(7) Orion's Constellation

――――――――

Spring Night

The master—Tasoya’s white plum,
A spring night choked by fragrance,
Relying on the hazy moon,
Might they have stealthily listened for their grandchild?

In that Judas tree’s idle play,
The human heart that smiled aimlessly
Through faintly seeping lamplight—
The flower’s form reached its end, they say.

Never shall cease the loom—the flower branches.
Birds cry at their accustomed dwelling.
From the hazy moon’s lingering sorrow,
That spring rain has utterly ceased.

Words made futile, roots severed,
Now at last endures he alone.

Ah, the fragrance of plum blossoms on that night.

Ah, the moonlight of that midnight.

Elegy

The same yesterday’s deep emerald green remained,
The Hirose River’s flow stayed unchanged,
Yet it was no longer water from before.
Cherry blossoms at waterside scattered,
The fragrant and elegant wisteria robes—
Where now was the water that once reflected?
The heart’s spring departed,
All colors had completely faded.
When evening waves grew cold and winds rose...

Ah, the wandering soul of flowers—where does it roam?
The lingering fragrance slips away unnoticed,
Fading far across distant waters.
Does this wind bear ancient grudges year after year?
Zuihō Mountain's vernal breath
Mists Onoe's slopes in scarlet hues—
Petals arrayed like dyed silks
Whose evanescent perfume
Could endure twilight's veil?

A lone spring cloud over dusk-clad peaks
Brushes verdant tresses
Where sleeves graze falling combs—
Elegance bound in deep violet
Too frail for brocaded splendor—

Weeping boughs share the blossom's fate
The flowers had scattered completely—the evening sky,
When one gazes upward, even the stars are tears.
The pond’s ripples, the sky’s rainbow—
How fragile the path of this world—
I shall weep in the shade of the flowers
In the evening wind that swept those flowers

The butterfly’s dwelling rustled,
“How was yesterday’s dream?”
Bees and butterflies lured spring—
As if departing to the distant sky,
The jade hairpin shattered; stars fell—
Ah, where now wanders that sweet spirit?

What remained was the withered branch of flowers.
Endless was the spring rain of resentment.
Endless was the spring rain of resentment.

In the deep night where lamplight dimmed,
What was I to do with the realm of dreams?
In the vestige of yesterday’s visage,
Still holding its unchanging smile,

A branch of flowers renowned in name
Ah, those slender jewel-like hands.

Crabapple
Upon crabapple blossoms resplendent in their fullest bloom,
Heavy poured the spring rain.

The flower's resentment or joy?
I try to ask, but the dew remains silent.
I try to listen, but the flower does not answer.

Evening quietly, the wind blew.
The lingering dew remained unwiped.

Is it the wind's affection or jealousy?
I try to ask, but the dew remains silent.
I try to listen, but the flower does not answer.

Untitled

Dew brims with jewel-like radiance.

Lilies, roses, orchids—
If there were a garden overflowing with fragrance—
I would make it the path beneath your feet.
Guiding the drifting blossoms,
Carrying their scent across distant seas.
If there were a clear river through the fields,
I would make it the mirror reflecting your face.
Appearing in the evening sky,
Within light that smiles upon this dusty world—
If there were a star offering solace,
I would make it the jewel crowning your brow.
Pure, noble, untainted—
Love, tears, compassion—
If there were a tender heart overflowing,
I would make it the home where your spirit dwells.

Poet

Poet, if I were to compare you,

Is it a maiden drunk with love?

Amidst the storm, hearing music,

You see flowers amidst the wilderness.

Poet, if I were to compare you,

Is it an innocent child unaware of the world’s sins?

In the mouth resounds the voice of God.

In the eyes dwell heavenly dreams.

Poet, if I were to compare you,

Are you the ocean expanse with eightfold tidal paths?

On the surface lies a storm.

In the depths hides stillness.

Poet, if I were to compare you,

Are you a fire mountain towering amidst the clouds?

Stars gleam upon the brow,

Waves of flame surge within the chest.

Poet, if I were to compare you,

Are you the evening moon with its cool light?
Leaving your body in heaven,
The shadow entrusts itself to the dust of the mortal world.

Evening Thoughts

“Où va l'esprit dans l'homme ? Où va l'homme sur terre ?

“Seigneur ! Seigneur ! Où va la terre dans le ciel ?”

Hugo: Les Feuilles d'Automne.

“O life as futile, then, frail!

O for thy voice to soothe and bless!

What hope of answer, or redress?

Behind the veil! Behind the veil!”

―Tennyson: In Memoriam.

“Behind the veil!behind the veil !”

―Tennyson: In Memoriam.

(I)

Setting the pensive sun before me,
In the great sky where twilight drew near,
A cluster of clouds floated and drifted
As evening deepened on this day's lingering traces -
The dazzling variegated hues.
What work tinged them with such radiance?

Somewhere in layered skies' expanse,
Some upon peaks of tiered ranges,
The lightly flowing crimson

The lightly flowing crimson showed the flags of Seraph and Cherub,
The gently hazily drifting purple
Trailed the hem of the heavenly maiden.
Above the evening skies,
The shifting visages of myriad forms,
When gazed upon with unchanging love,
Became but the starting point for reverie.
Clouds, spread your wings of freedom

To what distant end do you soar?

Ah, the evening clouds scud onward.
How dear lies the sky's beyond
Where the heart's thirst should cease -
There must flow the river of life,
The portal of truth that must be opened.

There must lie the secret key.

Ah, upon the wings of evening clouds—
Who would abandon the "valley of tears,"
forsaking

A wild eagle soared; the wind faltered.

To distant skies it would fly.

Unknown in the transient world's darkness,

The light should be shining there.

From flower to flower they swarmed and flew

Like bees gathering honey—

From star to star taking light,

They must have gazed upon soaring souls—

The wondrous vision of the Poet (I)—

Who could bring them back to the waking world?

(II)

The garden of vanished Eden

These memories remain unforgotten still -

The bitter dregs of a parched cup,

To drink deep of the lees at its bottom

In this dust-laden transient world, a dust-bound body—
How long shall it remain thus?
Wandering through the valley of tears

When startled by the dream of a sleepless night,
here Byron wept tears of blood,
“Child of Death and Doubt” he proclaimed.

Here Schiller raised his voice,

“Ideals vanish!” he cried.

The Avon’s flow (II), quiet,

Though coolly cradling the moon,

Waves sobbed at unseen flaws.

On Glasmere’s (III) watery surface too,

When one saw this transient world’s shadow reflected,

Ah, how dear was the sea god (IV)!

Thus along Rhine’s distant banks,

With thoughts laden (V), people departed.
Geneva’s summer evening—
they added another’s song of resentment (VI).

The deep lament of Naples—
Could even the waves have washed away (VII) the deep lament of Naples?
The moon in the sky shone upon the waves.
Spring butterflies danced among the flowers.
Nature’s work, wondrous as it was—
To torment this dust-bound form in the world,
To lead astray into darkness the jeweled cord—
How unfathomable the heart that wrought!
She adorned the sky with shining stars.
She adorned the earth with jewel-like dew.

To the gods I shall ask: For what reason—
These half-formed bonds of human children—
In their hearts lies a wish for wisdom.

In their hearts lies a yearning for enlightenment.

(III)

In this human world where desolation only grew,
At least there bloomed the fragrant flower of love.
Whose fault was this brittleness?
The stars had eyes, the moon a brow—
Merely seeds of memory now.
Where vanished that phantom?

They leaned against a mother's breast,
How they yearned for those spring dreams harbored.
To see this—even the Devil would have smiled.
Had even the infant's slumber been disturbed?

Then approached the world's tempest,
That cruel storm must have stirred.
Were one to liken that ruthless tempest,
To Yomi's groaning gate it compared.

Taking brittle and weak as offering,
Voices of generations cried to preserve living—
Within lay a cry of resentment.

Within lay tears of sorrow.
The people's very bones had withered away.
They preached that one person's noble act was accomplished.
Yet more heartrending still—
The lament and sorrow of the individual,
Purchased with tears and blood—
For whose sake was society's glory?
The tide of eons flowed eternally,
Surging rough waves, receding waves,
Rising and falling, until at last

Merely traces of bubbles through countless nights.

What time, what age?

Was there ever an era without chaos and clamor?

The world's wealth gathered,

Rome's splendor vanished like a dream.

Gold-inlaid jewels arrayed,

Nineveh and Babylon's plains lay desolate,

The Tower of Babel built on sand—

What now remains?

Ah, people prospered and people sank.

Nations rose and nations fell.

Thus it revolved without end.

Thus it flowed endlessly.

O Time! O Floating World! From what abyss do you arise—

O Time! O Floating World! Whither do you go?

(IV)

Lost in solitary thought,

Shadows standing still, lingering clouds—

Vanish into hollow twilight:

Is this the corner of God’s merciful eye?

In the vast sky deepening toward emerald clarity,

The storm-dyed glimmer of stars.

Ah, beloved shadow of stars

In this human world passing like a dream,

Still bearing traces of “Eternity”

From when heaven and earth were rent asunder,

Persisting through ancient times unto forever,

Suffused with youthful light—how it glows!

That visage of Eternity—

When I looked up, tears filled my eyes.

Lofty and sublime beyond measure,

Fanned by spirit’s breath,

In sky’s far reaches shadows coalesced.

Gasping onward after "Hope."
In heaven—light; on earth—darkness.

Between them wander my thoughts,

Gathering the sorrows of the floating world,

The storm cried out, “O Anguish!”

Revealing a glimpse of God’s glory,

The stars whispered, “O Hope.”

(Note 1) See “Paradiso” in Dante’s *The Divine Comedy*.

(2) The river in Shakespeare’s hometown.

(3) The lake beside Wordsworth’s residence.

(4) See the famous poem *The World Is Too Much with Us* that references Proteus and Triton.

(5) *Childe Harold*
See Part 3, Chapter 50 and its continuation in *Childe Harold*.

(6) Lamartine saw Byron here and later, reminiscing about that time, composed a profoundly sorrowful and heroic poem titled "Humanity."

(7) Shelley’s “Stanzas written in dejection, near Naples.”

――――――――――

Riverside Cherry Blossoms

The spring-quiet village river’s
Along the bank bloomed fragrant cherry blossoms.
Longing for the shadow on the water’s surface
How many times did they shed tears?
The flowers knew not even their own shadow.
In the serene light of the morning sun

Fixing their form upon the water's surface,

Ah, how many times must they have gazed?

The shadow too remained silent as water departed,

Unnoticed, the flowers' faces aged.

Gazing upon their fading hues,
What thoughts did they harbor in evening's dim light?
When spring too departed in vain,
Ah, flower detached from the branch
While meeting your shadow on the water's surface—
Where does your path lead to such distant ends?

A single blossom on a branch:
Picking flowers on the Rhine's banks,
To the friend from whom I parted, I must have offered a blossom.
Studying poets, I too
Present you with a sprig of evening cherries.

The willow awoke to tomorrow’s dew
Intoxicated by dusk’s cherry-blossom wind.
The capital’s spring vestige—
As if urging myself, “Endure this at least.”

The railway stretched toward distant futures,
The capital’s spring being the village’s winter.
Before noble jade hands could touch—
Will you wither completely, ah flower?

This single branch shall wither away entirely,
You would never discard it vainly.
Dye it in the heart's color

Emblazon it upon the drowsing window.

――――――――

Summer's Vestige

Dream

A robe of crimson flowers

Enshrined with burning passion,

Permeated with the lingering fragrance of orchids and musk,

Wild roses scattered and floated upon the Isasa River.

The river’s flow was shallow though,

At the deep shore's rocks

The maiden weaves her summer dream.

The distant summit’s evening haze

To what did they liken it while tracing its course?

Exchanging silken bedding

Now a green moss mat

Water flows eternally away.

When the flowers have scattered unnoticed,

Was it a dream—even yesterday's world of spring?

Bathed in the rising morning sun,

The colorless dew radiates with color.

A dazzling dawn to behold.

The verdure of young leaves as summer deepens

The treetops resound, yet the birds—

Though they sing "How delightful this world!"

Will they never cease their sorrow?

At the solitary cry of the hototogisu,

When the early summer rains at last cleared away,
From between tattered clouds
At last glimmered the summer moon—
The silver wheel washed by dew.
"I declare this world so refreshing—"
Will you never cease your sorrow?

Fireflies flitting through the dusk.
A cool breeze rustled through the midnight sky.
The flowing, flowing valley stream's
Though the water's sound never ceased,
Though the water's path might change,
Will you never cease your sorrow in the breast?
A summer dream of burning passion.

Summer Night

The tranquil sky of a summer midnight

When listening to the distant croaking of frogs,
Was silence not greater than desolation?
The water's murmur invited sleep—
Though hearts flowed calm,
When the evening moon sank behind mountains,
No vessel remained to steep its shadow.
The starry night's faint glimmer
Lured minds toward distant realms while
The cool wind's rustling whisper,
Upon gods' jeweled zithers touched,
Resounded through celestial chords—
Grieving over yesterday's dream,
Though mortal springs may shift and fade,
Do you not see—eternal spring's blossoms,
Unscattered till their withering,
Smiling beyond the vaulted stars?

Light

“Hail, holy Light, offspring of Heaven, First-born!
Or of the Eternal coeternal beam!”
―Milton.

Or of the Eternal coeternal beam!”

―Milton.

Became the wondrous spirit of heaven and earth,
I dwelled in this world as the Way,
Existing in hearts became wisdom,
Shattering delusion and banishing darkness,
Raising hope while spreading love -
How noble it was to gaze upon the Light!

Pure, sublime beyond compare,
High in vast skies it shone among stars,
Below smiled bountiful on flowers,
Seven-hued rainbows for children,
Western dusk's glory for elders -
How noble this suffusing light!

Was the lofty one mountain or beyond?
The pure one water or beyond?
Dew lovelier than dew itself,
Flowers fragrant beyond flowers -
Surpassingly wondrous beyond compare,
How noble to gaze upon the Light!

Like water first welling up,
Like an infant's first cry raised,
Like the trembling of Zion's harp,
Like angels flying through the sky—
All at once, freshly and truly,
How noble it was to gaze upon the Light!

Alpha and Omega combined in one form,
It had been now, it would be hereafter, it was of old—
On banks where mystic blossoms bloomed,
On Sinai's peak where clouds billowed—
Amida and Jehovah, both eternal,
Smiled within the Light.

Alone in my world that was permitted to exist,
gazing upon light's lingering traces,
night became hues of ten thousand stars.
Dawn broke pale through riven clouds,
and when Morning Star veiled its countenance,
the rising sun blazed forth with dazzling radiance.
Upon peaks robed in verdant stillness,
as I beheld that visage smiling with profound grace:
"The primordial Utterance of God (1) lies hidden here."

"When the Journey to the Demon Realm (II) Ended,"

"There appeared upon the path where two walked,"

The clear morning waves illuminated.

Dusk lay upon the distant western mountains.

“May the floating world find rest.”
Evening light,

crimson-stained, sank.

When life thus faded away,

thus breaking free from the mortal frame,

when the soul departed to the other world,

night’s black curtain hung heavy,

the stars faintly glimmered.

Who would know it as a sea of flames?

The dazzling light of the radiant sun,

the boundless sky’s oceanic expanse—

who perceived its unified stillness?

The sun shone and shone—days without end.

The vast distant sky of azure

flowed with light, waves of color,

leaving no shadow unilluminated.

The storm glared, the wind blazed.

They could weave countless layers of brocade.

In the very midst of that vast sky,

What my imagination beheld

Was green fading into gold,

The light dazzling—heaven's gate,

Adorned with myriad treasures.

When passing through those cast gates,

The sky showered flowers profusely,

Like the sound of a flowing torrent.

Resounds heaven's song of love.
Crimson flows through drifting mist.
Spring preserves eternal youth.
Does the wind carry blue lotus fragrance?

Ah, beautiful illusion!
Since reality's tempest proved harsh,
Like dew upon a hair-adorned flower,
It shattered into fragments, leaving not a trace.
Now to the mortal world I return -
Dreams were but fleeting illusions.
Two wings dove sharply through the heavens.

Unable to endure the celestial steed's saddle,
O child of dust (3) who fell to the mortal world,
Was resentment not but poignant?
The illusion faded powerless.

Now my koto chokes indeed.
Darkness mingles in this light.
Here the sweet wine's dregs turn bitter.
Within this love dwells resentment.
Within this song lie tears.
Though Nature ever smiles,
the world is not an eternal spring.
Flowers bathed in light, birds in fragrance,
Drifting clouds wrapped in evening's veil,
The rustling wind upon morning waves—
What replaces them are love's own words:

“Though Nature ever smiles,”

The world is not an eternal spring.

Behold the green willows by the river.
Late at night，pale through the leaves，
As the fragmentary moon sank，
Behold，in the heavens a shadow trailed，
Like a soul quivering in terror，
When the flowing star fell.
――

Paler than a dream—the Northern Lights (4)'s
The light faintly faded
When it clung to the ice mountains
Or the Bull and Dipper's shadow froze
By the sorrowful light waves
When the shipwrecked companions yearned.
――
In the dusk-dark sky, soundlessly—
The shadow too, forlornly, of lightning—
When it vanished in the blink of an eye
Who could be trapped by sorrow?
In the loneliness of longed-for light

The state of our world defies comparison.

Should a thousand autumns pass away—

Would paradise ever take form?

In this strife between person and person,

If our world's sorrows know no end,

For whom then do flowers breathe their fragrance?

For whom do stars cast forth their light?

They compile lessons of frailty and brittleness,

To witness strife—how long must this persist?

The light of enlightenment grows dim,

Though the signs of the times could not be discerned,
How long must we hope, my friend?
“Power” must oppose “Justice.”
Thus did the clouds over this fleeting world part—
The sword melted away, the heavenly sun’s
Light illuminated the dawn.
In people’s hearts lay no resentment,
Between nations dwelled no anger,
Upon our world existed no strife.—
Of love and freedom and equality

The true light shines forth,
When the heavenly kingdom comes—
Ah, how we yearn for that hour!
O friends, let us join hands,
And traverse this dim-lit world.

(Note 1) Milton’s Paradise Lost, Book III

(2) Dante’s Purgatorio, Chapter 1

(3) Bellerophon

(4) "Aurora Borealis"

――――――――

Moon and Love

Awakening at midnight—beyond the window lay night's depth.
For a moment it emerged through cloud-gaps,
When I beheld the shadow stealing quietly,
The moon resembled love itself.
Yearning for this floating world each night,
What value had approaching light?
When massed clouds thickly blanketed the sky,
"Love proves fleeting, O Moon Princess."
Like flowers nurtured in hands
Of children weeping over transient love—
The hue turned bluish, the shadow thinned.
Does it too vanish beyond clouds?

Evening Star

Tattered clouds drifted aimlessly.

In the evening sky hung a single star.

Though its light still lingered faint,

Profound indeed was the celestial sea.

Ah, Chaldea's shepherds—

Four thousand years had passed since they first beheld it.

The light remained ever young,

While the world had grown so old.

The twinkling light bore tear-dew.

Did it now weep for others?

Amid weariness, conflict, and troubles,

The happiness of our world lay distant.

Flowers on the Grave

Of death and sorrow and resentment

On the grave bearing traces

Of beauty and joy and life

A single flower that shows the heart.

Light, dawn, days of the year to come,
He reveals the shadow of hope

Darkness、 twilight、 years past、

Here were shown the traces of tears.

What message do the hued flowers bear?

What meaning has the voiceless grave?

The same morning’s white dew

Let fall upon that and this.

Sorrow’s grave lies in humanity’s wake.

The flower of life is God's work.

The same evening starlight

Let shine upon that and this.

“Darkness” and “Sleep”

The dusk-wandering bat’s

The river willow sways to the flutter of wings.

Their disheveled hair coiling,

“Darkness” and “Sleep” setting forth together,

Darkness and Sleep descended quietly through the treetops.

An ink-dyed robe with a long hem

Darkness’s steps make no sound,

Though the scattered dew remains unseen,

Where the shadow of Sleep falls

Human eyelids grew heavy.

In sorrow over remembering what has passed,

In the trouble of measuring days to come,

Though the day's work is sufficient,

“Darkness! Sleep! Come forth...”

Grant rest to the children of men.

Alas, those with sin and those without

Those who rejoice and those who weep
Those who have fled the dream of this world
"Darkness, don your robe."

“Sleep, be immersed in dew.”

In the starry dusk sky, soundlessly
Serenity stood still now.
"Darkness" and "Sleep"—those twin shadows—
Upon the mortal world, universal grace...
How cherished this bestowed benediction!
Hirosegawa

Having fled the capital's dust,

Now my returning hometown's
cool evening Hirosegawa
saw wild roses' fragrance vanish.
Yesterday's spring left no trace.
On the shore stood a silent self alone.

Forgetting time, forgetting self,
when my heart lingered in the void,
the wind turned cool, shadows sharp.
Through clouds filtered summer's moon -
a lone orb veiled in hazy dusk.

Where now dwells the flower's dream?

O sorrows! O thoughts of spring's full span!
Like dreams passed without remnant trace -
when bitter tears rose to mind,
there lay now an essence infinite.

Abandoning the floating world for burial mounds,
to sleep eternal in darkness -
this wish too proved fortune's gift.

The current flows gently, the water clear.
Amidst joy's light and waves' midst,
The coolly pure midnight moon—
Ah! With nature's very heart-soul,
Were there no thoughts within my breast,
This mortal world that should be joyous...

A Caged Bird's Lament

Ah, youth's dreams soared high,

Yearning in pursuit of ideals.

When youthful blood surged,

Humans too had wings of freedom.

The wings of freedom stretched no more.

Imprisoned in the cage of the present,

When forced to squeeze songs from feed,

Who heard the frenzied cry?

The frenzied cry too quieted.

Gazing upon the cage as one's entire world,

The distant heavens would be forgotten.

The dreams of ideals had completely faded.
Imprisoned here; here they ended.
O fleeting moment of life!
Hateful ephemeral waking world—

Should I lament? Should I laugh?

A Dream Before the Steed

“Etre d' un siècle entier lad' pensée etla vie,

Émousser lepoignard, dècouragerl' envie,

To shake, to steady the uncertain universe,

By the sinister gleams of thunder that roars,

Twenty times against **the gods** **to** **gamble** **the fate** **of** **the world**,

“What a dream!!! And such was your destiny!”

Lamartine: Nouvelles Meditations.

The firmament permeated the oceanic plain.
The star amidst the waves faded away,
The hue of darkness pervaded heaven and earth.
The night storm swept through the darkness,
Time itself raved as darkness fell.
How fearsome the demon god's roar!
The sound of rain soon began to fall,
The sound of waves answered the rain.
Silver mountains shattered and scattered -
In the darkness gleamed bright tidal mist.
White-robed specters swarmed,
Resembling souls lost in the underworld.
The wind and rain grew ever wilder,
The Four Elements raged in Chaos,
The world's true form lay bare before one's eyes,
Soothing the night's afflictions,
Within the clouds where the thunder chariot raged.

The demonic flames' radiance pierced through.

Ah! What a savage rainy night!

The storm and waves both raised their voices,

Singing and mourning over that distant isle—

The crown once worn by His Majesty,

Now hung heavy on his bowed head.

He lay upon his final bed.

Tormented by wounds upon the sandy plain,

Was it a wild lion mourning beneath the moon?

Mast shattered, into the sea—

A great ship sinking into oblivion?

The crimson flames subsided,

A snow-covered extinct volcano?

The land grown familiar, the comrades,

Separated by distance, the remote exile isle—

A fleeting dream of the capital in spring

Driven to wander by the tempest on the shore,

The spirit enveloping the world—the valiant warrior—

Now he slept upon his final bed.

His name compiled the annals of an age.

His person governed the power of all Europe,

Crushed envy and struck down foes,

The great waves of darkness and light

Having poured upon the world for twenty years,

Now raged the maddened rainy night,
In the storm, his soul sought to wander
Where he who was no god had envisioned.
The hundred thousand iron horses of Arbedo (1)
Had kicked through the tempest and charged;
Three thousand elite cavalry of the Rubicon (2)
Had crossed in disarray—
What could ever compare to him?
Viewing mountain ranges far below
While the Alps towered in the sky,
Lofty stood your name indeed!
The guillotine shed blood

Pushing through the waves of revolution,
The Titan emerged—

When the dazzling light illuminated,

“Where is the voice of democracy and freedom?”

The raging tides of this whirling age—

With his single hand, he briefly stayed.

Fierce was your majesty indeed.

Like a soaring water serpent,

Gathering black clouds, driving the rain,

Roaring through the wind as if calling,

Shaking mountains and drying seas,

Advancing your course—

What could ever have withstood him?

With hurricane wings borrowed to their bodies,
They kicked up towering clouds of battle dust.
The brittle-crumbling Mamelukes (3),
At the sound of voices chasing fleeing men,
The specters of four thousand years
Lay beneath the tomb of the slumbering colossus.

Saint Bernard's peaks stood lofty (4),
When snow buried the mountains whole,
The avalanche roared with fearsome might.
They endured hardships, surmounted perils,
Looking down upon the great plain's verdure,
Their horses grew sturdy at Marengou (5).

In Austerlitz's morning wind (6),
The allied forces' banners flew high.
They rose in fervor at the Supreme One's command -
Over two hundred thousand Austro-Prussian troops -
When your vanguard faced them,

They scattered like leaves in the storm.
Jena, Wagram (7)—clouds darkened over
Friedland (8)—windstorm raged
Thunderous artillery shells fell—
Parting the swirling smoke,
The eagle banner you held aloft
When the lightning sword gleamed,
Kings knelt upon the earth,
Behold, the peoples of all nations—
They trembled and roared like the sea.
The Seine’s calm flow
The riverside willows' pale green
Soared into verdant sky
Even if the Triumphal Arch stood tall
To what could even you be compared?
Celebrated the Emperor’s return,
The voices of cheers were like thunder

Paris was filled with spring’s song.
Flowers bloomed in fleeting fragrance.

Fragility was ever the world's decree.

Wealth and honor—all such things—

How were we to keep this pledge?

Even those who mocked the glyphs of 'cannot'—

Ah, you proved no god at last.

The jeweled tower's spring proved brief,

Where fish-dragons haunt autumn's desolate waters.

Blossoms lay scattered, fragrance gone.

When honor's star had fallen,

Where then your peerless valor?

Flames raged through Moscow.

The blizzard raged at Borodino (9).

Was it France’s golden scepter?

Was it Lombardy's iron crown?

The supreme power over all Europe?

Now behold the end of glory.

The sunset’s shadow fell upon the Kremlin (10)

On that lonely tower.

The lingering light dazzled yet,
Piercing through clouds to emerge—
On Waterloo Hill,
What resentment could defeat warrant?
Do you not see yonder golden lion statue (11)
That speaks not of enemy victory,
But proclaims your final valor?

No corner escaped light's reach.
The ever-victorious sword lay broken,
Alone on narrow waves for pillow—
Nightly visions too dissolved at dawn's
Plover cries when waking came:
"You've grasped this truth—'Tis fate."

"Is this 'enlightenment' or 'ill-starredness'—
The unjust name you're doomed to bear?"
Though sun and moon still skyward shine,
Worldly sorrows resist calm's design.

Though the light disappears,

Can blindness forget to see?

Evening's countless ripples upon the waves,
Dyed brocade across waters, laid figured silk.
At the hour when the sunset's shadow vanished—
From the open sea, dusk's hues crept in.
The heart's darkness churned within—
How boundless your emotion must be.

The relentless flow of days and moons, the world's ordained course—
The past that does not return—now, at this late hour—
Countless hidden thoughts—
Just like the surging of a great tide,
Like the night's black curtain draped down.

When iron pressed upon his chest,
Did that fierce heart not falter?
To calm his tormented mind,
("Give thanks") With footsteps light,
Now death's shadow drew near—
Ah, upon the final bed,
The restless soul's
Dream—where did it wander?

His birthplace—where among waves?
The known capital veiled in clouds.
On a rainy night, distant isle,
Past glory blazed like fire,
The end's remains—cold as ash.
All joy and sorrow,
Buried with flesh—
Sleep now, dreamless.

Through rainstorm's mournful tune,
Here lies the sea of form's resentment.

Guiding the tormented soul,
For him, the formless gate opened,
May rest come to the anguished Shadow.
May blessings be upon the departing soul,
Having buried sin and anguish—
Ah, peerless was its fragrance.

Let glory be upon his grave.

(Note 1) The place where Alexander the Great decisively defeated the Persian army

(2) The river crossed at Sezia during the return from Gaul

(3) Soldiers defeated in the Pyramiddo War

(4) The rugged path through the Alps—the so-called Saint Bernard Pass

(5) The battlefield in Italy where Austrian troops suffered a crushing defeat

(6) Here the Austro-Prussian allied forces met great defeat

(7) At Wagram the Austrian army fell; at Jena the Prussian army was routed

(8) Site of the Russian army's decisive defeat; these mark Napoleon's most glorious battlefields

(9) On the retreat path of the expeditionary army against Russia; here begins the hardship of blizzards.

(10) The palace within Moscow; Napoleon takes position here.
(11) On Waterloo Hill, the Allied Army erects a golden lion statue commemorating their victory.

Flower and Star

In the evening, gazing down upon my world,

The Star spoke: “Ah, Flower,
If these drops of sorrow are bitter to you,
Does not joy in this world remain unending?
Should you not ascend high into the vast sky?”

Lifting a wilted face,

The Flower asked, “Ah, Star,
‘Does joy in that realm never end—
In the distant sky’s domain—are there no tears?’”
The Star answered: “Nay.”
“Were there no tears, there would be no love.”
The Flower refused and bowed its head,
“Let my world’s sorrows persist—

“Even were joy in that realm unending,”
“What use is a place without love?”

――――――――

Fleeting World’s Love

Evening lost in thought,

Gazing at the sky’s layered clouds,
The crimson-dyed splendor of dusk—
Hues vanished fruitlessly;
What vestige remained to be drawn?

Flowing light, sinking shadow
In the hands of declining years

Ah, if only there were a way to hold it back!

Buddha preached beneath the twin sala trees—

The very sound of Gion Shōja’s bell

That at dawn had burst open—

What shall I do with these sleeves of parting?

The deepening night’s torment of the vigil eve,

Tears upon tears adding to their number—

Ah, how sorrowful is love in this fleeting world!

Ah, how intense is the love in my world!

The wind pursuing sleeves heavy with farewell—

When I gazed out, wondering where it goes—

Spring! The senryu of old.

Verdant tresses now belatedly

Deepening, disordering, entangling—

The mirror too—what of the Isasa River?

Do you not see—with each step taken into—

Here too, the transient world’s visage.

The young crane that took flight from the village

The single pine left behind never returns.
Though blossomless, its hues remain unchanged.
Withered thread cherries lament their fate.
Winds blow desolate and fierce,
Through countless ages' fleeting world—
Gazing at life's transient shore,
How sorrowful approach the waves of age.
Before those hostile tides draw near,
The flower's star-bathed countenance,
Burning thoughts and ardent blood—
Let them vanish as they are.
Vain wishes for eternity—
O unchanging love! O undying beauty!

What of the poet’s dream?
What then of angelic bliss?
The seven hues of the rainbow—the sky’s color—
Shall we briefly tinge the foam?
When the rising sun’s light illuminates—
Ah—is this joy a sickle’s weight or sin?
Blessing or curse—though I cannot discern—
O love! My world’s spring dream!
If I wake at Yomi’s gate—
“Living”
Summon the corpse!

Ascending Heights

Smoke sank; water choked
Beneath Five City Towers at dusk

When I climbed to heights and paused,
Far away, mournful thunder resounded.
Blowing through the sky of the heart—
Led by the wind's lament—
The hues themselves mourned: the evening clouds'
Return to mountain ridges—how dear!
Ten years—were they dream or phantom?
Though time's flow did not cease,
Rezu's waters did not well up in this world.
The thoughts of old remained unforgotten—
Now here I stood alone.

If I stood before the setting sun,
In autumn hues imperceptibly tinged,
The mountains towered high; the waters stretched afar.

Night.

In black clouds pregnant with storm,

The midnight moon was expelled and emerged,

Revealing faintly Yomi’s light—

How dreadful was the shadow of shattered fragments!

On unseen wings, “Time”
flies

Scattering delusions and sweeping away dreams,

In the town, embers resembling smoke—

Weary of darkness, they sink into sleep.

My world's tears—the sky's dew
Heavy with dew, the stars too fade away
If the heart's darkness remains unilluminated
Vanish then, light—to what avail?
O God, let me ask of this jet-black night—
Enveloped in Night's hem
How many choking tears exist?
How many tranquil dreams persist?

Child

Of heaven and earth’s strange wonder—

To what might I liken this infant?

Pure, sublime, beautiful—

Your heart’s essence and countenance—

In fragrant lily petals:

Is it lingering dawn’s white dew?

In deep-green vast skies:

Is it evening’s crimson glow?

Where mist meets stilled waves—

Is it spring’s tranquil morning calm?

From lark’s nest sprouting forth—

Is it young grass coloring fields?

When autumn of my life drew near

Upon crimson-fragrant visage

Radiating love’s light—

Was that spring’s serene day?

When storms raged through my world,

Upon lips mistaken for a bud
Resounds a heavenly maiden’s song—
Art thou that living music?

When humans wither into lonely age,
In heart-pounding kiss
That lets youthful life drink deep—
Declare this inexhaustible!

When people sink into sorrow,
Breath soft and warm—
The wind of paradise bears fragrance:
Art thou the eternal flower’s scent?

Art thou the fragrance of eternal flowers?

Inscribed on a Painting of the Red Cliff

Grasping Shouyang's bracken shoots,

Come, let us angle in the Miluo's waters.

Cease this tragic melody of Li Sao.

Within nature's infinite storehouse of creation

I possess the art of flying immortals.

The orchid oar of the misty waves of the Five Lakes

The view stretched vast; the wind hung pure.

Who dares decry yesterday's faults?

Though pine and chrysanthemum grace this garden,

Does not the floating world's wine suffice?

The wind's voice over moonlit currents,

The war-cries of ancient Asura—

An autumn night remains as testament,

A single leaf—light yet glad—

Let us sail now to Penglai's shore.

Summer River

Wild roses scenting, dew scattering,

Lonely evening Sasa River

Lingering in the mind's firmament

When I recall yesterday's spring,

How shall I lament thee, ah, summer!

Fireflies drifted and the water cleared,
The Sasa River cooled in evening's veil.
Floating clouds in the heart's firmament—
A cool breeze swept through with clear resonance.
How could I love you—ah, summer!

Ripples wove as moonlight shone,
The Sasa River delighted in evening's glow.
In waters that flowed ever onward,
Gazing revealed autumn drawing near—
How was I to part with thee—ah, summer!

Aoba Castle

Autumn dwelled in the trees' shifting hues.
Aobayama lingered now in name alone.
The wings of southern flight—the wind grew faint.
Regret endured eternal; name soared noble.
How fared your castle's ruins now?
The crescent moon sank, deepening dusk's veil.
Starlight chilled the Hirose River's flow.
Resentful sobs froze sharp in bitter air.

River waves rose; the night deepened.
Autumn too would flow; the waters journeyed far.
On another sleeve,
Falling upon the sleeve of parting.
Even pure tears had dried.
The surging lifeblood of joy,
This love too would vanish ere long.

All things shift and pass away—
the twilight of my dust-laden world—
when I gazed up at heaven's vaulted height—
a single star of wordless light.

A single silent star shone.
In the human world,
Leaving treetops to scatter like snow,
They returned to motherly earth.
Who knows flowers' secret heart?
If scatter they must—let them scatter in this mortal realm.

Wash shores and break upon rapids' teeth,
Flow ever onward to meet the sea—
Who fathoms water's hidden thoughts?
If leave they must—let them leave in this transient sphere.

Yesterday's blooms wore crimson masks—
Today bears frost's pale countenance—
Who reads time's cryptic intentions?
If change they must—let them change in this fleeting world.

Tears pressed as keepsakes into sleeves
Had dried unnoticed with passing hours—
Who deciphers love's labyrinth?

If they must change, let them change in this human world.

――――――――

Crimson leaves, verdant mountains, swift waters.

“Gone is that sweet belief
In beings my dream bore,
To harsh reality’s plunder,
What once was fair, divine.”

――Schiller : Die Ideale.

Was einst so schön, so göttlich war”

――Schiller : Die Ideale.

A single paulownia leaf leads the way,

A sound has visited the sky of the transient world.

Autumn had deepened indeed.

Through autumn fields where insect cries grew thin,

Yesterday’s dew and frost that had dyed—

When the bush clover's blossoms brushed and shifted,

The shifting tapestry—evening slopes of the mountain.

On days steeped in contemplation, a deer cried—

Upon the floor woven with crimson leaves.

The valley darkened early yet—
The lingering afterglow detained awhile—
Evening crimson leaves on fragrant slopes
Though no master of blossoms

In the mountain's bosom of white clouds,
How do they vow in midnight's abode?
In the depths of a thousand-fathom valley

The source of the flowing river

Where—the layered clouds over mountain peaks?

The sound of rapids' waves scattering gem-like droplets.

Being far from the capital’s dust,

There is no one to cleanse their ears.

Robes whiter than snow

Brushed by the Sayama-oroshi

Who lingers on the shore—he or another?

Fusō and Rakusen of ancient times—

The maiden who showed her countenance—

Was she a mortal of this transient world or a divine child?

――――――――

By the side stood a youth,

A single boat moored at the shore,

Rowed out upon the waves of this transient world.

The lingering remained unexhausted even then,

Upon sleeves that could not part,

Tears and dew abounded.

“On the clear water’s surface—not a speck of dust—
You are the Isasa River of Miyama,
Shattered and flowing, I emerge into the world.
I am the ephemeral Otaki Harbor—
Though we share the same single watercourse,
Parted far lie source and downstream.”

“Lured by the flowers of lofty peaks,
The sleeves that came through parting must have been fragrant.”

Crimson-suffused evening mist—
Emerald threads entwine the jade willow.
When I beheld you in the depths of deep mountains,
The Peach Blossom Spring revealed itself here.

“With eightfold rising clouds dividing the world—
What manner were those bygone days?”

In the dawn when horizontal clouds part,

The lark’s spring song is heard.

At dusk by the misty riverside

The violet’s flower bed is visited.

“With the future sky so delightful,

"Ah, even this fleeting spring dream,

Blowing away the sorrows of the fleeting world

When startled by the storm’s sound,

The evening clouds vanished without a trace,
Autumn came to both field and mountain.
“Vainly in this mortal frame of dust,
If I harbored no lingering thoughts,
Could there be this present lament?

She called back the dream of days gone by.

The wind of the skies ceased its blowing,
For resentment knows no hour of birth.
Though her form showed no crumbling,
In eyes brimming with sorrow,
Wearing a crown of dew-jewels,
The young maiden bowed her head—
“With no recourse on this ordained path,
In deep mountains I cannot keep you,
Reflecting on fated separations past,
How I resent being called heartless!

“Where eternal flowers bloom fragrant,

Shut out from God's divine garden,

To the sinner lingering at the gate,

The wind carried the heavenly music.

Having wept and heard in ancient times,

Could one not feel pity for these precedents?

"Push the oar into the Isasa skiff,

The destination of our rowing remains far off.

The resting place of your oar on this voyage,

The moon of waking shone with piercing clarity.

On nights when the wind howled fiercely,

Remember my village.

“When the long voyage ends,
When the wild storm subsides

Waves near the misty rocky shore
With the blizzard of scattering flowers
Tying the small boat, thatching its roof,
“And indeed await the time when we meet again.”
As if bidding farewell, the evening waves too—
A brook choked with lingering sorrow!
The mist-shrouded valley stream
Though one gazed back, no trace remained.
The autumn of the transient world descended in full unison,
Flowing on and on into the far distance.

Withered willow
Bidding farewell to the sinking sun,
The withered willow on the lingering shore—
Though its unvanishing form brought pain,
It could not endure even a brief respite,
Would have itself wrapped in darkness’s raiment,

The downstream-flowing water grows lean,
Choked with sorrow—autumn's voice.

Nature's Artistry

Ah, the beautiful artistry of heaven and earth—

How shall I extol this craftsmanship,

The days and months turned, the years journeyed on.

Such wondrous scenes unfolded!

Where spring’s advance reached its end

On earth, flowers exuded fragrance, grasses took on hues,

Where spring’s breath traveled

In the sky, butterflies danced and birds sang.

Pure was the summer evening riverbed.

To behold the cool vista,

The moon shone in the sky, the wind whispered.

Dew formed on the earth, and water flowed.

Showers and clouds danced in flourish,

O the hues of autumn dusk!

The valley was a brocade of autumn leaves.

The mountain ridge echoed with the sound of a stag yearning for his mate.

Winter—the color of tomorrow's dawn.

The hueless sky bears color,

On snow-laden boughs, plum blossoms exude fragrance,

Clouds drape over plum branches.

Ah, merciful Heaven and Earth's—

How shall I extol this craftsmanship—

The same day's sky aspect—

Such shifting multitudes of vistas!

From heaven's edge to earth's farthest reach
Spread light and darkness alternating
Here lay twelve hours of day
There lay twelve hours of night

Streaks of pale purple clouds
Gazing upon trailing cloud-moments
Bathed in iridescent dew
There bloomed a smiling 'morrow'

The crimson-chilling mayfly's

When I gazed upon light's descent,
The mist lifted its sleeve,
And dusk existed—calling back the birds.
After the passing shower came the rainbow's radiance,
After the rainbow came the moon’s radiance.
As the moon descended far away,

To you, the morning star attests.

Ah, magnificent Heaven and Earth's—

How was I to extol this craftsmanship—
Droplets coalesced, dust settled.
How manifold were the forms that coalesced!
White clouds were detained
Midway on the slopes detained,
The mountain swallowed the setting sun, swallowed the moon.
Lofty stood the mountain’s form!
Both spring haze and autumn wind
At the shared pathway’s distant reach—
The tide surged back, waves leapt.
Vast stretched the sea’s expanse!
Black smoke billowed high,
Snatching sunlight from foothill villages,
Raising waves of crimson lotus flames
That scorched the starless darkened sky—
Do you not behold the volcano’s form?
The white snow piled over a thousand years
It poured down while frozen still—

Surmounted countless mountain ridges,

The glacier journeyed far across the ocean expanse.

Did you not behold the glacier’s flow?

Ah, wondrous heaven and earth’s—

How was I to extol this craftsmanship—

From a single essence,

How manifold were the fragrances that permeated!

A lion radiated beneath the desert moon,

A butterfly was choked by autumn fields' dew—

That mane and these wings,

Who could know them as a single hue?

Through the bamboo grove ran a tiger,

By the shore's reeds slept a crane—

This coat of fur and that hide,

Who could know them as wrought by the same hand?

Having fallen to the starlit earth, that next morning—

When one saw the lilies blooming in the valley,

The dew's traces vanished—that evening—
When one saw clouds surging at the peak—
Yearning for its own form,
Though it had become Flower (1)...
From the pure Maiden (2)'s mortal remains—
Why would the violets not bloom?

(Note) (1) Narsissus.Ovid : Metamorphoses. B. III.

(2) Ophelia――Shakespear : Hamlet, Act V. Sc. I.

Hymn to the Still Night

All dreams are profound—the myriad phenomena's
Sleep and night both at their midpoint,
The veil of mystery fell.
Now, even the mortal world must be holy.

Rising through the eastern sky,
Stars upon stars—voiceless they rise.
Sinking away toward the western sky
Stars upon stars hold thoughts.

Countless dewdrops vanish only to coalesce—
In them dwells light.
Countless coalesce only to vanish—
In them beats a heart.
At times, a breeze's faintest sigh—
Whose soul drifts past unknowing?
How many stars course through time?

Unknowingly, what soul comes falling?

Ah, the tranquil hue of night
Awakening from the dream of this fleeting world,
Within eternity’s embrace
Let the children of sorrow enter.

Sorrow and Joy

The moon faintly pale; the forest black.

The storm sleeps in midnight’s depth,
Two souls departing the earthly realm,

One voice whispered.

“How delightful was the dream of this world.”

Another voice murmured.

“How sorrowful was my dream.”

Ah, is it joy or sorrow?
The dream-world of years unfulfilled—
What cosmic act wrought this distinction?

When gazed upon, the stars twinkled.

The moon faintly pale; the forest black.

The storm sleeps in midnight’s depth.

In the mortal world, two souls took form.

Starfall, Autumn Wind at Wuzhang Plains

(1)

The sorrowful autumn wind at Qishan deepened.

Battle clouds darkened Wuzhang Plains.

The tracery of scattered dewdrops grew dense,

Though the grass withered, the horses grew stout.

The Shu army's banners lacked their luster.

The drums and horns now fell silent.

＊ ＊ ＊

The Chancellor was gravely ill.

The Qingwei’s flowing waters had dwindled.

The choking voice of heartless autumn—

Night—the wind of Guanshan weeps,

In darkness wanders the lingering toll,

The wind and frost showed their fearsome might,

Outside the walls of the guarded fortress.

＊ ＊ ＊

The Chancellor was gravely ill.

Within the tent, sleep lay faint,

If the short lamp's light was faint

Here too were seen autumn’s colors.

Though clad in sturdy silver armor,

Behold—in the shadows of the guards' faces,
Where infinite sorrow overflows.

＊ ＊ ＊

The Chancellor was gravely ill.

Wind and dust lay distant—the three-shaku
sword's gleam did not cloud.
When autumn was wounded, the pine and cypress's
hues too inevitably faded.
The Han cavalry—a hundred thousand—now once more—
did they behold their homeland's dream? How did it fare?

＊ ＊ ＊

The Chancellor was gravely ill.

Never forgetting his sovereign even in slumber,

Revering his lord's final command at this dire hour,

He burned his heart and spent his body—

How many years had he borne this exposed duty?

Now came the rain-like sound of falling leaves.

Should the great tree once fall,

What would become of the Han dynasty's fate?

＊ ＊ ＊

The Chancellor was gravely ill.

The four seas’ turmoil did not subside,

The people suffered and heaven wept.

When would they see the peace of

A spring dream with tranquil hearts?

The warlords all rose up.

Though they vied for the deer of the Central Plains,
Who would learn from the king’s teacher?

＊ ＊ ＊
The Chancellor was gravely ill.
In the end, the Yellow River’s waters ran turbid.

The origins of the Three Dynasties lay far in the past,
Where now lingered the traces of Yi and Zhou,
The Way declined and literary practices grew corrupt.
Guan Zhong had departed nine hundred years prior,
Yue Yi had perished four centuries hence—
Who would now recall kingly governance?

＊ ＊ ＊

The Chancellor was gravely ill.

(II)

Alas, Nanyang’s old thatched cottage—
The bygone days of twenty-odd years:
How tranquil was that dream?
Enveloping light and concealing fragrance,
When mingling with the people in the fields,
Even one endowed with king-counseling wisdom—
Left only a single piece: the *Ryōho Gin*.
Idle clouds and wild cranes beneath the boundless sky—
Alone, he hums in the wind.

The moon shattered upon the lake's surface,
Its fragments tracing paths for lone boats amid waves.
Drawn by dusk's lingering bell,
The pine wind came visiting mountain temples.
Rivers and mountains chilled beneath dawn's gaze,
On snow-drifted paths where donkeys plodded.
Winter plums grew gaunt with spring's premature arrival,
Their boughs piercing secluded forest shadows
To wild birds' vesper accompaniment.

Inside the cave where purple clouds drifted,
Who remained as the companion at the go board?
That separate realm of Longzhong

When he gazed upon the distant sky,

Warlords vied and proliferated,

raging wildly—their glory persisted as if

the wind were sweeping dead leaves.

Reflecting on order and chaos, rise and fall,

the world was but a single game of Go.

He governed the world and saved it.

Though strategies overflowed in his breast,
Because he sought not glory and profit in the mundane world,
The hill too had borne the name of Crouching Dragon—
Even in this turbulent age, flowers bloomed.
Flowers fell again through spring and autumn’s
Here now, the passage reached twenty-seven.
Lofty slumber could not endure forever.
Loyalty and righteousness overflowed throughout the four seas—
Your threefold summons—
To turn one’s back completely on a benefactor’s kindness—how could one?
A feather fan and silk headscarf in a gentle breeze—
He emerged without altering his appearance.
Whose was the thatched hut at dawn?
Friend of the old koto—farewell, come now—

The chill of dawn at the western window—

O shadow of the waning moon—farewell, come now,

White crane, return to the pine on the ridge.

Azure ape, sleep beneath the valley’s bridge.

O hill, change too the name of Crouching Dragon,

The thatched hut at dawn had no master.

Strategies held close within the breast,

Heaven and Earth here—a single game of Go.

As if merely tracing upon one's palm,

When the Three Kingdoms Strategy had been accomplished,

Behold, the clouds of the ninth heaven hung low

All seas' waters surged forth.

The flood dragon flew beyond the abyss.

(3)

Brilliant talents swarmed like clouds.

The world too—a phoenix soared a thousandfold high,

Companions soaring through celestial heights—ah!

The summer grass of Higashi-Niino,

The autumn waves of Nanlushui.

How many years had warhorses crossed these strategic passes?

In the midst where the storm of war darkened all,

How many valorous deeds had been achieved?

Having left Jiangling, the destination—

The autumn campaign at Wuchang and Xiakou
A lone boat gently poled,
If he persuaded Wu with his three-inch tongue,

Behold the great river's wind raging,
Flames raged chaotically—the villainous hero's
Violent waves of unyielding ambition.

Sword Pavilion towered into the heavens,

The storm roared, the clouds scattered.

With metal drums and gongs resounding, a hundred thousand brave warriors surrounded Chengdu Castle.
The valiant army encircled Chengdu's walls.
Hanzhong soon fell,
The Three Kingdoms' foundation stood firm at last.
The fog over Dingjun Mountain cleared,
The moon above Mianyang's crossing shone crystalline.
When the Red Talisman reappeared in the world,
The Han's destined resurgence—
Had Heaven drained its chosen pillars' vitality?
Xiangyang finally stood defenseless.
At twilight upon Yquan Mountain,
Resentment lingered in the clouds' hue.
Gazing north from the Central Plains—
The imperial crown lay soiled with dust,
The Fiery Essence showed no trace of lament.

Farewell, one branch of the House of Han.
Having received my sovereign,
I would humbly have him ascend the Nine-Five Throne;
Heaven’s ordained course here succeeded.

The twenty-sixth year of Jian'an dawned
As the Auspicious Star cast its glow upon Jinjiang's flow,
Where flower-shadows drifted upon the current's face.
This was no spring of eternal blossoms—
At summer's fiery peak, clouds descended low
To burn and sweep away the imperial encampment's trace.
Where now lie those forty-some camps' remains?
Clouds and rain o'er desolate terraces—no fleeting dream sustains.

Towards Mount Wu's reaches, autumn grew cold.
Even the name lay within White Emperor City—
How long would the imperial carriage remain halted?
The distant road of the Three Gorges...

Yong'an Palace's night rain
At the imperial sickbed, he listened through tears
To Your Majesty's final decree
"Endure," spoke the ancient vow renewed
Here again—the Three Visits' sacred trust
The depth of your grace reiterated
He whom kings revered as father
Ah, what thoughts weighed that night!

Parting clouds over distant frontiers
Through miasma's dread and savage rains
When they marched into barren lands
Dark hung Lushui's midnight moon
A stratagem unmatched in mortal realms
At the vanguard where wisdom met benevolence

The southern tribes were awed countless times,
"They worshipped you as 'divine.'"

(4)

The southern regions now pacified,

The troops were elite, the provisions ample.

Having taken up the sovereign's ambition,

Now was the time to expel the villains,

The Yangtze and Han rivers—the eternal martial ways of old—

We now witnessed here the proof.

The Jianxing 5th Year dawn sky,

The sun warmed—the great banner’s

Spring clouds where even dragons and snakes stirred,

Horses neighed and men grew bold.

With the commander of the three armies in entourage,

They advanced north into the Central Plains.

Six times upon Mount Qi's peaks

Wind and clouds stirred, flags turned.

Heaven and earth resounded with the Han army,

The division had erred in its discipline.

What was the Jieting defeat but—

Leviathans roared as waves seethed with fury.

The storm raged madly; the grass lay prostrate.

The royal army of a hundred thousand beneath the lofty autumn sky
subdued Wudu and Yinping,
and stood upon Weinan's southern banks.
Who would dare resist? The enemy forces—
he, that singular genius of the Central Plains—
though profound in stratagem and covert in maneuver,
found no means to confront you.
They would neither accept what was offered
nor receive it—this scorn of plain robes and women's headdresses—
but fortified their formation and gathered their strength.
The Wei Army held fast behind their defenses.

The grand endeavor should have reached fulfillment,
yet heaven withheld its favor then—
mid-campaign, the Chancellor fell ill.
Since those distant days of the Three Visits,
your grace had never left our thoughts, even in dreams—
to repay in full with sincere hearts...
Does this crimson blood we spill now proclaim it?

In mid-autumn of Jianxing's thirteenth year,

The Chancellor was gravely ill.

(5)

The Wei Army’s camp fell silent,
The night lay still at Wuzhang Plains.
He lingered in thought at this very moment—
His loyal heart could not forget the realm.
Supporting his ailing frame, he raised himself up,
Lifted the bed curtain and emerged
Beneath a vast midnight sky devoid of clouds.
The watchman’s bell hung mute as dew descended;
Banners stood chilled in the pristine wind.
Three armies uniformly held their breath,
Reverently welcoming their Grand Strategist.
Feather fan and silk headscarf—his skin grew cold,
This body worn beyond bearing—
Did the heartless midnight storm even know?

Having patrolled all fortifications far and wide,
The wheeled carriage creaked softly as it moved,
The stars unfurled heaven's battle array.
Mountains and rivers pierced through earth's encampment,
The sword shone, its shadow sharpening.
Resembling forged bonds—the midnight frost.
Alas, appearing at the battlefront—
When would be the time to meet the enemy again,
Advancing swiftly to the summit of Mount Qi,
Their hearts grew bold in the face of the wind,
The royal army immediately turned north
To water their steeds at He Luo—
Was even that wish rendered vain?
Within his breast lay a million soldiers,
Though three thousand generals under his command sufficed,

How could he now contend with time?
Victory and defeat rested ultimately with heaven’s decree.
Events could not have been foreseen,
The old capital once more welcomed the imperial carriage
As Lin Tai enshrined the name for eternity.
The blossoms' hues of spring at Jade Tower
Transformed into a rocky shore at Nanyang—
Would he once more make zither and books his friends?
Had hope at last proven futile?
To repay the sovereign’s grace with this body’s single death:
"Though I spare myself no longer now,"
What would become of Han’s fate in days to come?
Enduring what had passed, cherishing what followed—
Boundless thoughts, boundless passions—
Where now was Nanchengdu’s sky?
Yulei now deepened into autumn.

The Brocade River’s waters remained undiminished,
Armored steeds roared in the tempest,
The clouds over Jianmen Pass seemed to sleep.

Having received the wise lord's favor upon his person,
Unexpectedly repaying the Three Visits’ grace,
Having risen from his old thatched hut,
Alas, the phoenix finally declined,
Even now, let there be the song of the Chu Madman.
When moved by life's vigor,
Who would debate success or failure?
Who would debate success or failure?
The wholehearted devotion of one who gave his all unto death,
When gazing up, the Milky Way's image sharpened clear,
Countless stars gathered their thickening light,
Instantly illuminating the hero’s
Heart of solitary loyalty forged through hardship -
When stirred by its unyielding fire,
An autumn wind arose that would make demons and gods weep.

(6)

An autumn wind that would make even demons and gods weep,

Go forth to the banks of the Wei River

Seek out that lingering willow-grove's sorrow,

Since the kalpa's dawn, ceaseless—

The boundless tempest blew through.

The field—a cluster deep with dew.

The world—Beimang's tombs stood tall.

Orchids did not break where dew gathered.

The cassia did not break before frost.

The color of flowers wrapped in mist

Bees and butterflies slept in the grass's shade.

Colors and fragrances had faded away.

Sentient beings too shared the autumn of all ages.

Heroes fell one by one,

Grand ambitions resembled a wild goose's departure.

Mountains and rivers—countless autumns' hues.

All glory and ruin came without exception

If they vanished away into the empty sky,

The world was a spring dream.

Those who were struck and those who struck
Now looked back here—
Together, clouds on dusk-clad peaks
Scattered by the wind like
The two kingdoms of Man and Chu upon a snail’s horns.
Thinking of the snail’s parable—
Such has been the way of all ages.

Having buried the golden coffin’s ashes,
The monarch bound by fish-and-water ties,
Imaizumi-dai’s guest of the night—
When gazing north across the Central Plains—

The spring moon of the Bronze Sparrow Terrace—
Now but a distant shadow between clouds—
South of the great river lay Jianye—
How long would flowers in full bloom last?
Where now were the Five Tiger Generals—
Jiangnan where divine stratagems had reached their zenith—
Where now was he too—that genius—
Guarding Kassui's northern shore—
Zhongda—how long would he too endure?
Overwhelmed—the spirit grew distant—
Hearing of Wei's midnight formation—
A lone melody drifted afar: reed flute's mournful cry—
And yet above azure skies—
Stars quietly illuminated their hues—

When one gazed upon the faint light,
Mystery ran deep in the formless world.
Ah, in the infinite great sea,
Dissolving bubbles—their end—
Upon what shores might they drift,
A thousand-fathom-dark sea’s
White jades of the depths—who could obtain them?
The abyssal depths—a realm without end.
Who could behold the traces of gods and demons?
Ah, Wuzhang Plains—autumn midnight.

The storm cried out; the dew wept.
The Milky Way was clear; the stars were high.
Shrouded in hues of mystery,

When heaven and earth glowed faintly,

Bringing measureless thoughts,

Stand in the “Abyss of Infinity” and behold—

Where now are glories? Mere traces of dreams.

That which does not perish is sincerity alone,

Having devoted heart and body,

Should one entrust outcome to heaven,

The soul departed into the distance—
lofty, noble, peerless—
"You must thank Heaven for misfortune,"
the Blue Annals illuminated and witnessed.
Guan Zhong and Yue Yi—ah, where are they now?
When he gazed upon the peerless duo of Yi and Lü,
"A single feather in the eternal firmament"—
the shadow of a phoenix that soared a thousand fathoms,
in his thatched hut he lay with the dragon,
ventured into the four seas and flew as a dragon.
At the end of millennia, even now—
his name remained renowned: Zhuge Liang.

Evening Shore

Behold the evening sun's reflection upon the waves,

The crimson hue that briefly sways—

Should it sink, this single day would fade.

However much we cling to lingering traces,

No vestige shall long stay.

Behold the aged one upon the shore,

His countenance immersed in thought once more—

Were he to depart, my life would cease.

However bitter these bonds may press,

No mortal breath finds lasting lease.

Ah—clouds withdraw as stars take flight,

The evening sun has drowned in night.

The last remnant of my days，my world.
Evening waves churned;the wind grew fierce.
Ah，where had the old one’s figure gone?

――――――――

Evening bell

“La cloche !écho duciel placé près de laterre !

Voix grondante qui parleà côté du tonnerre,

Faite pour lacité comme lui pour la mer !

Vase pleinde rumeurqui se vide dansl'air !”

Hugo : LesChants du Crépuscule.

To the forest roost—evening birds,

To the foothill village, travelers;
In the quiet grave, the corpse;
Through the dream path's darkness, heaven and earth sent forth—
Resounding as they departed—the evening bell!

Spring's thousand mountains in blizzards of blossoms,
Autumn's fallen leaves—the sound of rain—
Beckoned generations through twilight's veil
As kalpa winds roared without cease.

Heaven’s echo, earth’s cry.

Is it the voice of rancor or solace?
Is it sorrow mourning what has passed?
Is it joy summoning what approaches?
Is it a warning teaching impermanence?
Is it Dharma's voice heralding hope?

At Obashima in Tomodaka Pavilion
When farewell weighs heavy on sleeves,
Dew upon desolate castle ruins
When steeped in remembrance profound,

At the saint's silent window
When contemplating formless heavens,
Raising a cry to vaulted skies -
The vesper bell tolls "Now!"

Where people dwell and wander,
Where lament and death abide,
Where song and music linger -
Tears, griefs, tribulations

Laughter, joy, and delight,
Where they shifted into one another,
The shade of flowers on the capital’s avenues,
The remote village beneath deep white clouds,
By rugged shores where white waves crashed,
To innocent children’s ears alike,
Upon silent mounds’ resting beds—
The evening bell resounded equally.
I—a drifting-cloud self—alone,
Beneath Five-City Tower’s distant spring,
Through capital skies have wandered,
On remembrance’s hill...

I too heard the evening bell.

Crows at dusk echoed its resonance,

While sunset's lingering shadows grew faint.

As if within your forest,

They swarmed and rose without hindrance -

My thoughts arising unbidden.

The vast sky fell utterly silent,

Then stirred the waves anew,

Reverberating through cloud after cloud,

Its echoes growing faint and distant.

Though mortal ears might lose its sound,

Does it reach beyond formless heavens?

The mortal world's dreams - their fleeting veil -

Through lingering peals would be revealed.

There exists a lofty and noble spirit.

Parting the host of angels,

Ascend further still to the seat of the Infinite?

Bell, at the gate of light’s door,

What cries of "Let it resolve itself!" must resound,

The mortal world's darkness lay dense,

The saint's sorrow never ceases, they say.

The flowers of the transient world are brittle,

The poet's tears never dry up, they say.

Long, faintly, and distantly

Now continued a single reverberation.
Is it calling—the voice of souls in Jambudvīpa?
From eternity’s abyss,
“I too am battered by this floating world’s tempests—
A solitary leaf-boat adrift between waves.
Spring’s inlet lies beyond reach,
Halfway along its course submerged.”
Endless stood fate’s decree,
The infinite future drawing behind,
While before me stretched time’s immemorial wake—

I now find myself in perplexity here,
Yet here lies hope—

Laughter,
joy,
fleeting sorrows;

Darkness and light intertwining,
Each verse of this transient world’s song—

Now let evening’s bell resound,
To souls departed,
To souls yet unborn.

Thus exchanging thoughts while—
The single current of a great river—
As though binding spring to sea.

The eastern evening storm blew.
The western cloud waves drew near.
They gathered in midair,
For a time sharing no words—
When the two parted once more.

“Secret!” he too must cry out.

Life, ideals, and secrets.

O dream of the poet, O bewilderment,

How many times have I laughed,

The midday light shone radiant,

Like the star of hope being extinguished,

Covered in the dust of this floating world—

"Is it sin or a corrupted age? I cannot tell."

This mortal realm steeped in dust,

Each evening lifting voices

Toward infinite eternity—God's own era—

The bell's toll both warning and proclaiming,

The pure source now grown distant,

In these latter days of churning muddy waves,

Though preaching silent lessons,

Do they summon forth sentient tears?

The eaves of Gion Shōja decayed,
Though the scent of garlic and wine alone grew strong,
St. Sophia’s tower lay in ruins,
Even though the Gospel flattered the secular world,
Listen! Amidst the evening bells,
Vulture Peak and Olive of ancient times,
Noble, sacred Voice of the Law.
The Sentient Universe’s twilight

My dream of riding a phoenix-drawn chariot faded,
The Phoenix Tower had vanished without a trace before one knew it.
Flowers and fragrance and evening moon—
Reality—how fragile this spring world!
The haze atop the summit parted—
The brocade robe sewn by celestial maidens,

Though storms rage against sleeves,

Shaking Nature’s bosom,

The subtle voice of music resonates

That single note resides here.

The majesty of heaven, the beauty of earth.

Flowers fragrant and stars aglow,

Though Nature’s artistry does not change,
Afflictions through generations remain unceasing—
As the dream of ideals fades away,
Let it resound ceaselessly through eternity:
One embodies both earthly murmur and heavenly song.

The sound of the evening temple bell.

Moon Over the Ruined Castle

Created around Meiji 31 (1898) in response to a request from the Tokyo Academy of Music; the composer was the still-lamented prodigy Taki Rentaro.

Spring’s lofty tower, a banquet of blossoms
Cups go round, casting their shimmer,
The thousand-year pine’s branches have parted.
Where is the light of old now?

Autumn encampment’s frost hue
Crying geese fly onward, showing their number
Gleamed upon the planted swords
Where is the light of old now?

Now the ruined castle’s midnight moon
Unchanging light—for whose sake?
On the wall remains only ivy.
In the pines, only the storm sings.

Though the celestial form remains unchanged,
The world's visage shifts through flourishing and decay.

The cycle of flourishing and decay—the ever-shifting visage of this world.

Is it to capture this that even now—

Ah, the ruined castle’s midnight moon.