Pathway to Japanese Literature

That love lies hidden within a gentle heart is said to resemble birds dwelling deep in the forest's green leaves, yet beneath this ephemeral young grass's shade, as if there lingers no scent to beckon dreams, how shall my unskilled heart's longing, which can neither take form nor hue, find its way?

Spring Song

Deep joy blazed forth

Even as it yearned for fragrance, the grass stayed tender

Slender leaves concealed it nestling close

The shadow of blushing hidden flowers

While they shyly concealed themselves thus

The flowers in their radiant guise—

The sky cradled dreams at play—

Crimson lingered faintly—

You who unsealed lips in song

Spring's artisan held hands high

In evening's glow wove colors anew

Light flowed into clouds

Hymn to the Sun Goddess

When life's sprout was nourished

The flowers here were fragrant.

Hatsuchio wove patterned cloth
At the divine high loom of dawn,
Variegated hues intertwined with their primal source,
The shadow grew faint—the star’s shuttle.

The clouds had been dyed deepest purple,
Drawing out pale crimson threads—
Koya Road’s dream poppies’
Buds unfurled in the dawn—
Truly boundless was the guise of—
How I longed to gaze upon this glory!

That timeworn winter night’s
Secluded shrine’s cocooned retreat,
Having shed and emerged into heavenly plains,
Spring mist’s countless wings
Though still they seemed frail,
There remained no part of sky left uncovered.

In the sky where night's darkness faded away,

Behold—feathered with white dove's wings—

The radiant cinnamon's true Kagoya arrow,

Bearing a quiver of a thousand fresh arrows,

The Sun Goddess restored spring.

She had emerged at that Young Shrine.

The sacred beads resounded loudly,

Resounding through heaven at dawn,

At the hour when starlight wavered,

Even the mortal forms of those who suffered in this world—

The chilled spirits too had softened.

May they turn toward the spring sunlight.

Now was truly auspicious, the eternal realm—

Sweet confections' new brew

In the agate ravine where it trickled down,

Welling and gushing white foam

Swelling like fragrance,

The Sun Goddess poured forth light.

Ah, splendid Amaterasu!

When heaven and earth were still young

When shadows stood clear in the dawn,
Clad in distant light,
Who gathered the gods at Takachi?
On this day we would convey the divine voice.

Maiden's Heart

“Deign not to touch with your hands.”

“Though I deem you joyous,”

“The field flowers still tender and young—”

“They cannot endure the day’s passionate heat.”

“Deign not to touch even in dreams.”

In my exceedingly fragile breast,
raging waves rose as white pearls'
tears—should they cascade, how cruel it would be.
"Deign not to touch at all."
For this pure love must remain secret!

If on such a night sin should find lodging—
If the stars were to fall, what should we do?

New Hymns

Part One

In thought, in dream,

In thought, in dream—who touches my

Has someone touched my hand unbeknownst to me?

The sky grazes as but a dream

Truly spring is what should be spoken of.

Unaware, I had lived until this day.

Those secret matters and joys—

But knowing them brought no peace.

Ah, my heart more than ever—

As I ponder—who would deem it strange?

Perchance they conveyed tidings through dreams—
Though one might yearn from that distant realm—
Precariously, the clouds hazed over.
Ah, why did it have to be so—
Wandering were my thoughts!
O delicate grasses, each so alluringly
What dream-state was this that burned?
In pondering—from where in spring
Though a distant melody was conveyed
Even upon strings that should have been faint—
If one were to touch these tender heartstrings—
Though I yearned for its hues, relentlessly—
Though I yearned for its scent, unchanged it remained.
Thus my heart—a maiden’s—
Awakened—and did I dream even then?

Part Two

From the field path alone,

Returning alone from the field path,

Mysteriously—why this bashfulness?

Flowers of grass adorned in hair—

Even that I would keep hidden and show not at all.

Flowers of grass adorned in hair—

Neither color nor scent would I let them perceive.

Should one insistently demand "Show me"—

Quietly would I clasp it to my heart.

Quietly then—keep it concealed—

Ah, I have deceived even myself.

The spring day was so blissful that—

Thus indeed did my heart heave turbulent—

Clinging to my wave-tossed breast—

The flowers must lie in slumber.
Even if I dream and never awaken,
To harsh people I shall not show it at all.

Iridescent Clouds

In spring's tender recollections
When even the sky's heart grew dim
Clouds streamed through ancient years
They must indeed have returned to joy
Ah, that figure so pale—
Black hair aglow in light—
As a maiden's comb holds perfume
There exists a form that unravels lightly
Ah, the stillness of that figure!
As if upon a distant sea
As if a small island floated into view

Beyond the waves turbulent with sorrow

Do I gaze up at the field's sky?

Before I knew it, I had forgotten my sorrow.

Truly, it is from sorrow that people drown.

Behold the clouds tinged with spring's hues.

Yet passion so fervent,

When compared to the whiteness of the breast,

Truly untouchable joy's

Dreams commune with spring clouds.

When I drift in longing and gaze out,

Like a ship sailing through the Milky Inlet

When I looked back again—sweet sake’s
Upon the great sea indeed did float—
Who could fathom this moment?

Mid-sky's lofty purple—
Clouds vanished into evening twilight.
That the phantom would finally cease—
O glorious fortune—your path ahead—
Without even being troubled by thoughts,
The clouds streamed through ancient years'
They must indeed return to joy.

Spring Meadows

The rejuvenating light, the meadows' hue

Spring's song—even its melodies dim
Ah, how few the years granted in this world...
People yearn for compassion's fragrance.
How delightful—the distant past's

On that day did they behold heaven’s hues.

The small koto too this day—joy’s

Is again enveloped in wondrous sound

Dawn fades away alone

Stars abandon your heavenly paths—
For a while descend to this mortal world—
Were one to wander spring's fields—
There where fragrant young grass sways,
When flickering breath becomes flame
In breasts yearning toward joy—

Hot thoughts dwell.

The flower field—the single face of a shield.

'Twas the craftsmanship of the great deity's hands!

O dream, gather these troubles—
War arrows having ceased their clamor hid in shadow.

Grass of Love

Was it not so? Indeed yesterday—

Has winter's pathos remained confined?

O shadow of the ancient well—today again,

Flowers of grass steeped in remembrance

Since these are grasses of profound memory,

Violets breathe their gentle fragrance.

As these blossoms exhale tender perfume,

Even their hidden hearts might shine with wisdom.

Thus could we know the joy of...

A koto's notes above the spring—

There someone played then cast it aside—

The world lies in fragile disarray.

Is joy truly so hard to grasp?

Has such a secret been so forgotten?
Nay, on days when noble ones lamented,

Deep was the violet flower's fragrance.

Layered with evergreen's verdant leaves,

Though the forest's scent rose lofty,

In thy sweet-scented kiss

I shall not return, oh violet flower.

The gods' hearts lay dimly,

Though beyond mortal understanding,

Even emotions forgotten through endless years—

Were hidden within this blossom.

Ah yes—the world is but joy's fleeting dream,

Though its spring runs dry unreturning,

In shadows of ancient wells—love's grasses

Breathe they not still with freshness new?

You? I?

When I come to the sea and think of love,
my love becomes a surging tide—
if I go to you and face you

My being—merely this lonely thought

My passion—to your tenderness
When I try to compare the two
How could my blue marsh’s water
Compare to the spring in your field?
The scent of southern flowers?
Is this the dream's small flute where waves resound?
You are the essence made manifest.

You are again the melody's form

I am again a small bird among the trees
The sky of your eyes looms suspended
The stars of your lustrous eyes—
Indeed, I rely on this hue-tinged shade
Thus in my life's vessel
Even the low stream drawing up mud
Your love's blazing flame
Has it poured forth into the sea?

You are again eternal joy

The green unending vast plain—
That vast plain: your hunt's shadow—
In the hunt's shadow was my self lost—
My anguish your joy—
My sorrow your harp's note—
You of the silver hunting arrow—
The fawn's wound mine—
Your love too high—
O light that knows no twilight—
Floating clouds' shade—alas,

My crumbling self shall not reach—

Oyster Shell

The body of the oyster within its shell—

In this boundless sea,

Alone, perilously finite—

That very thought—how sorrowful!

This body—sightless beyond remedy,

Though it slumbers beneath the rock’s shadow,
Rooted as it is in the great sea’s
Yet perceives tidal rhythms in dream.
How—the dawn’s morning tide,
Though bathed in hues of utmost purity,
The oyster’s body that merely decays—
The oyster's shell—too narrow—
Even if the evening dew were ever so pure—
Light shines upon the wave crests
In the semblance of Tōno's dove
What then is this semblance worth?
How pitiful! Watatsumi’s—
In the mystery of profound harmonies
Enduring neither night nor day,
A shell's dwelling sealed with sorrow
However, once a storm blows
On the day when storms rend the ocean's grove

The oyster's body that continues to decay

How could the shell not shatter?

Tree shade

The Leaf-Guarding Deity remains youthful

When it adorns the branches and summons the wind,

Even those who comprehend—if only briefly—

Summer must yearn for tree shade.

Thus yesterday’s spring of mine—

Pulling and binding grass, resting—

In the shade where young leaves glimmer—
The nights gone by must continue their tale—
What heart lies hidden—what manner of spirit?
In the leaf-concealed dream—even there—
Spring! The vanished flower's countenance—
O Spring—may your faded blossom appear but faintly!

Verdant field's flowers and grasses
Though the field path was not a path of love,
Wild grasses burned with fervent longing—
The green dream's fierce breath—
Fierce and profound lay the summer field
The shadow of the world vanishing yonder
The turmoil settled here
The verdant field's flowers and grasses dissolved under the sun
They resembled silver's sound
Light flooded in lofty deluge
At this hour when one drifted alone—
The deep sea where voices never reach
How elegant curved the small boat's form

Yonder harbor, how exceedingly clear—
Ah, the thoughts come to rest in young leaves' shade.
Yonder endless pearls—
To probe the field's spring—permissible perhaps—
Though love's path is not a field path,
The summer-luxuriant grass of sorrow
Even in shade—how comes this tranquility’s
How could there be no dream of profound joy?

Trifoliate Orange

Waves parted at the rocky shore—

Whose dried sand lay placed here?

Precisely because we were apart—at your house—

How I resented the bitter orange hedge!

The rain subsided in the green field,

In windless early summer, the day grew sultry.

The hedge stood so very quietly serene—

This day bloomed the trifoliate orange's single-petaled flower

Single-petaled white flower—ah

Ah—the dream harbored in a single petal—

My form was lowly—yet these thoughts alone—

My profuse self—to what does it compare?

Do I linger in twilight's veil?
You are not one known to lament.
The gate's trifoliate orange—
you never cherished its flowers.
This surfeit of blood squandered—
beneath young leaves grows cold?
Once your scent lingered—
dyed into my heart's depths—

Lovely Small Shore

Song Addressed to the Seagull

Somehow, boundlessly—
Ah, this self reverting to antiquity.
What surfaces are the skies from my journey's day.

Already three years had passed.

That day was the sea’s twilight.

As I rowed my boat into the waves,

The Seagull’s wings are white,

Alone through the tidal gloom the Seagull went.

In that time of bitter verse where even irises blurred,

As if divine light pierced the skull.

Seagull, when first I beheld you,
My heart was secretly startled.
Ah, the shadow of your unstained wings!
Contain my self thus utterly.
Sorrow rages—the clamorous waves'
Irrepressible—and helpless—
Seagull, your path grew distant.
Though I lament the vanishing shadow,

Where lies the lovely small shore—

I knew not even that you longed.

Thoughts did not cease, and another night came.
In a dream, the tide flowed in.

The great sea far and wide—limitless
I yearned even for its farthest reaches.
Has this lovely small shore been all in vain?

To ask—how many times? Where indeed—

Upon the open sea where eightfold tide-paths proved arduous

The dream-drifting boat’s end was sorrowful.

Seagull, thus endlessly—

For a moment returned to the past,

Lured by white wings,

How strange that my heart quivers
The one gathering water chestnuts—whose child could it be?
The one gathering water chestnuts—whose child could it be?
Black hair tousled by the wind
The one gathering water chestnuts—whose child could it be?

Floating alone in the ancient pond,

The rustic song's melody rang sweetly.

You seemed to sing carelessly.

The voice dream-faint in its hour—

How enchanting this bewilderment of hearing!

The basket overflowed—how deep autumn had grown!

In truth, they would not be so abundant.

Though the water chestnut leaves alone had decayed,

Indeed, the water chestnuts would not be so abundant.

Was the basket not full? Lightless—

How brief the day that fades to dusk!
Still I will not lament this youthful heart!
If you, who burn with compassion—

You who sell water chestnuts—your figure pure,
The market street dashed through twilight.

Pitying that figure,
Ah, who could bear such a face?
In the blossom's shade of your smile
Should it be touched, the fruit would fall—ah, there it is.
A single fruit deemed lovely
When did it spill upon this body?
The affliction of losing one's way on travels
For now, was briefly forgotten.
Do not wonder—I am merely
Yearning for the shadow of compassion alone.
Just as I am a young wheel tree's—
Only the small birds that came singing to the branches

The evening star,

“Offer up prayers,” from the realm of stars—
One of the maidens—that voice!
The fountain of love’s trickling drops—ah,

That voice—again, just as before—

The sacred brook veiled itself.

The rustling reed leaves whispered secrets!

That voice resonated clear and pure.

Distant waves of the Sea of Light

May they permeate heaven's profound depths.

“Come now, offer prayers in glorious

duty”—they knelt down

Spirit forms—again two beings—

One in lofty joy,

Golden iridescent clouds of distant skies

In their depths praised radiant hues

One from lingering sorrow,

Deep purple clouds of homeland

Yearned for realms being bound together

The two stood startled—there indeed—

Ah twilight—my realm...

The confusion of trying to speak had now subsided.

The prayers were finally fulfilled.

Sacred candles that encircled exalted glory—

The flames there too remained unlit.

Behold—the sacred candles' flames arose.

They blazed, they shone (Ah, why...

(Ah, why...the human world grants me but brief twilight))

Twilight shadows.
In those purple evening clouds,
that loneliness of twilight—
even gazing upward proved unbearable.

How profoundly the hues had steeped!
Longing drifted toward colored clouds.
In twilight tinged with sorrow's shadow,
the black hair of the soul's maiden—
the sky above bore not even a scent.
In my own breast: then farewell once more.
The golden hue had transformed utterly—
a memento of bitter recollection.

Does my disheveled hair not cascade?
Though my disheveled hair cascades,
My hand lacks the strength to grope

From a heart writhing alone

I merely gazed at the vast sky.

The ocean of a sinking heart

Although the waves' resonance surges,

The pain of darkness proved unbearable.
Try as I might not to listen, there was no escape.
Young blood sank away.
If love yet remained within my being,
at the Lofty Divine Throne of sorrow,
my wish to offer sacred candles—
"Cease this questioning."
The radiantly spanning realm of stars—
every light I so deeply longed for.
Even so, I singled out to cherish
how the cherished shadow illuminated my breast!
Like resplendent hues proclaiming a rainbow

That shadow spans from heaven to earth.
Bygone joys and ancient sorrows
The garden of rest invites dreams.

In the name of the maiden with whom I pledged,

Night after night, the stars awakened and cast their light.

Has the maiden vanished? Where lies her grave?
Cease asking which star is mine.

Melancholy

Melancholy drifted through endless skies,

As if starlight itself were vanishing.

The shadow of melancholy at times

Had sunk deep into my breast.

My joy was the new grass

Even on the day I deemed it a field,

Without even a flower of vitality's bloom—

Did evening shadows sink away, I wondered?

The shadow of melancholy came veiling

How fleeting this self become darkness!

Even the wingbeats of aeons' anguish

Yet my heart that perceived through hearing—

Truly, the mortal world's truths—

Even deep fragrance had faded into twilight.

The shoal's helpless affliction

In the flow, dreams lay scattered.

The soul's form was fragrant in cinnamon shade

Though I long for celestial light,
This flesh sinks fruitlessly away.
How shall I endure base suffering?

Memento Star

Light radiated with heavenly fragrance,
In my joy of ceaseless yearning,
I named it Rose Palace.

The star I had admired had fallen.
Tonight springs from pure sorrow—
When I behold the shadow moistly unfurling,
Recalling it as the lily's abode—

I shall wander through the sky again.

The radiance of profound remembrance—

This wandering self's sole reliance—

Shine therefore upon the rugged rocks

And on grave-shadows where darkness settles

Recollection

The light faint; the sun sank.

Melancholy pressed in at twilight.

Again my breast roared within—

What manner of heart conceals this?

What intent lies in this concealment?

Ah, to recall! Is this then good?

In the tranquility of evening's lingering calm,

Faint shadow, linger yet awhile.

I pursued the dawn over the fields—

Was even that intoxicated passing but a dream?

What purpose in such concealment?

Would it not be futile were I not to recall?

Merely praising stars in passing,

Merely a beautiful person passed by.

As one treads the dim path,

The passionate blood too had cooled.

But could I endure this concealment?

When I recalled, how joyful it had been—

The light that parted the treetops—

Hidden by clouds, had it gone—

Tonight the past had utterly ceased

May the pure harmony return!

To speak of concealment was from the very spirit.

Ah, would that I could recall again.

Ah, that communion at the field's edge!

Since that happiness remained eternal,

Without the flower of joy fading

The grass of life radiated.

In the end, I can no longer bear this concealment.

Ah, to recall! Is this then good?

Faintly in the breast,
Faintly in the breast—today again—
the ancient sea’s resonance—
In lonely doubt—

The Old Man of Mountain Edge murmured,

“Thus have I aged at mountain’s edge—”

No distant longings did I harbor.

What manner of jest is this day?

Wings had grown in my dream.

The clouds bore hues; the lofty peak—

When they enveloped the rough rocks,

Flourish! Departing from the tree shade,

The wings of dreams indeed exuded their fragrance.

Melancholy's stifling gloom dwelt in the valley's depths.

Thus having forgotten the homeland,

Now in the distance—earnestly—

I seek to listen to the sea's resonance,

Faint yet vivid,

The great sea swelled and surged—
O resonance of that sound—joy’s
My days-of-yore song-voice
Only when touched did longing arise anew.
If aging brought virtue—for endless days—
Yet at the rocky shore of my world
The waves passed but once.
The waves shattered and passed, yet
Now when I listened—the days to come—
In the recollection of a desolate heart
The longing for the sea's resonance
Why now, at this late hour, did I waver?
The wings of dreams languished.
Alone even thus in lingering,
If I were to swiftly reach the end, what would I do?
Ah, yet another layer of relentless tide.
Would that I had a dream to part the clinging mist!

Is the old shore truly just this?

How long would it remain unseen by me?

In midday's hour upon the path of fine sand,

The tide's blossoms brightly—

Though I yearned for the mirrored form,

I had grown cruelly powerless, it seemed.

Ah, unbearable—the distant sea's

When I listened vainly to its resonance,

That resembled that alluring charm—

In the fickle one's whispered words

I had forgotten all...

O Dream—what manner of falsehood were you?

Before the wings finally sank,

The wings had dimly faded at sky's edge.

Hymn to the Unheeded Verdure

Joy

Your swaying lofty ridge

Traversing the open sea expanse

O Tide, indeed you—

Though filled with light, overflow and become.

Joy

Your lips that glow

In that dawn when heaven rends its veil

O Flame—verily you!

Let fiery strings tremble and rise as sound!

Joy

What form is yours?

That visage lit by longing

Thus! Thus! Truly—

This praises the Most High!

East

Joy enthroned there

The Golden Throne ringed by Exalted Sun

Ah, who is here—
Would they not gaze upon the aura of the Divine Throne?
People of the land

Our offered hymn of praise

If only I might grasp pure white wings

Ah the sacred palanquin circles

With this day's glory may it reach heaven

Joy

Your desire without flaw

O radiant blessing and its manifold voices

Thus thus indeed—

It is indeed the praise of the most high

High tide

Dawn Hymn

Swelling, unfurled thousand-fold waves—
No wearied hue remained—
Embraced was the fiercely tensed harp—
Harmonized with the sound's high pitch.

Without probing depth or distance,
Filled the breast with myriad voices—
Lamented the night, dreams boundless—
Washed away the mortal shore—
Let the sea roar across at dawn!

Resound across the sea at dawn!
Surge forth against the rocks and rise up!
Surge over and gnaw the sand!

Gazed up at the dawn star—
Unfurled, the wavering cloud sovereign—
Lips imbued with fragrance—
It is the morning light that offers praise.

The dawn sky was exceedingly clear—
The dawn-breaking clouds lingered—
The light of radiant glory with hues—

That light had now been reflected in its breast.

At dawn, let the wind sweep back.

Sweep back, wind at dawn!

Light entwined the exalted heights,

Sweeping faintly and purely.

Since sorrow was the valley's mist,

Thoughts dwelled in shadowed marsh-depths -

My sorrow slender and most bitter.

Even my self that grasped the young grass

Was encircled by swelling high tide.

At the sea's edge I was reborn,

Clouds fragrant in dawn's first light.

I contemplated the blessing of burgeoning spirit.

At dawn, let the sea resound across.

Resound across the sea at dawn!
Surge abundantly into distant reaches!
Flow forth and touch the shore!
Reflecting and shining upon the sea.

As clouds drew apart and shadows gave chase,

In the joy of the motherly land,

Even dust at this time was once more holy.

O Transience, turn back but briefly -

Furl your wings and gaze upon the void.

Field flowers clung to tender locks.

The forest's fragrance entered a vigorous heart.

At dawn, let the wind sweep back.

Sweep back, wind at dawn!

Pass from extremity to extremity.

Descend from heaven to earth!

＊ ＊＊

Though layered years shift,

Are unforgettable days so rare?

Perusing time-honored texts,

Look upon the traces that stirred the world.

Beneath the Ashoka tree's shade, blossoms abound.

A star shines at the manger's edge.

Ah, that dawn of divine law—
The light too had someday withdrawn its shadows.
Aching and lamenting alone,
The traveler of doubt dashed.
O unbridled world!

Turn solely toward fervent longing!

Dimly dark sky—how measureless?
Had the cloud-blossoms not come softly dyeing?
The gasping sea returned here once more—
Would the tide not rise again?
Was it not so? Beholding the lofty and distant—
When I stood on the dawning shore
In this silver dawn
Like a hunting arrow snapping its bowstring
A valiant soul was born forth
In this dawn, the harp's tone—
Like drawing forth celebratory hymns
A gentle soul would lift its voice

I now stood in the pure dawn,
the time had come to yearn for color and scent.
The life that arose of its own accord—
was to live and flow endlessly onward.
Resonance rose high upon the waves,
light suffused the clouds.
Ah, in this pure dawn!
Let the wind sweep back, let the waves resound far and wide.
(Published in January 1902)