Pathway to Japanese Literature

Mountain Scenery

Cliff-top wheat field

The crimson Mr. Sun rose.
"Heave-ho!"

When they lowered the hoes—clang, clang, clang…

The damned wagtail kept chirping,

Cliff-top wheat field,

The weather was clear, the grassy plain brimming with dew—everywhere around here blazed so bright I couldn’t stand it.

“Mr. Kyuemon, the wheat’s a bumper crop, ain’t it?”

“The broad beans look ready to burst open too.”

“Well now, what a fine calm—though the offshore’s still asleep, Mr. Kyuemon,”
The base of my cliff lay deep blue,
There—again came rustle-rustle, splash-splash, hmm…
Waves collided against jagged rocks,
“It’s so quiet it’s downright eerie, ain’t it?”
“Just like—ha—an abalone shell glimmerin’ all over, eh?”
The south wind rose.
“Gahd almighty—swelterin’ again since crack o’ dawn.”

Nothing matters,

Chest thrust out resolutely, he tried to suck in a deep breath like this.

The fully ripened ears of wheat glisten,

Undulating, dipping,

When flattened and smothered,

Whether it’s a witch or whatever—ha—I just wanna crush ’em all.

The crimson Mr. Sun blazed up,
Clouds puffed up thick and restless,
When they began raging wildly—though someone was startled—
The calf on the ridge started to cry,

A voice cried out, "Waah!"
The whole village began processing grains.
The village couldn't stay still.
I might as well thresh some beans too.

Sun-scorched wheat and broad beans,

He kept pushing through steadily,
it was unbearable… he was stark naked—

Planted my feet firmly on the ground—put all my strength into it—
The perfectly round Mr.Sun became hexagonal and pointed.
Mr.Sun began shining true yellow in all directions.—
There,I took a leak.

Sun-scorched wheat and broad beans.

“Look, Master’s got somethin’ spread out full in his hands.”

“You’re readin’ as you go along, Master.”

“That’s a mighty big newspaper—Tokyo newspaper’s, ain’t it?”

The paper reeked pungent.

Oh—a cicada was singin’.

What’s this now? This here’s downright peculiar.

There it sat singin’ all serious-like amidst ripe wheat.

Ah-ha-ha… This here’s plumb strange.

No matter what—clamped to the ground—

It kept singin’ its heart out.

Summer's come, oh summer's come,

From the sea, from the mountains, summer had come.

Ah-ha-ha-ha…

Ah-ha-ha-ha...

The broad bean field below the cliff.

The crimson Mr. Sun was sinking... And yet still,

Red sparrows sang ceaselessly.

The glittering wheat field atop the cliff,

Blazed up—cedar trees, pine trees, pomelo trees.

From the undulating slope,

A large fireball man bearing cut grain stalks danced away.

Heave-ho, heave-ho…

My field was the shade of a sunken hollow,

The dim triangular field's ritual procession,

Even when day broke, even when night fell, the gloomy field.

Chinese chives and broad beans,

On the crumbled cliff soil, sweet potato vines had recklessly crawled and spread,

The sodden earth, the clammy wind,

By chance, a true yellow glare reflected back,

Even though the sails of the great ship were visible,

The sea wasn’t even visible,

Relentlessly, only the sound of waves

Violently churned the empty stomach,

My field was the shade of a sunken hollow.

The crimson Mr. Sun sank away,
How long were you gonna keep lingering there in the middle?
Heavy dark broad beans,
Deep-shadowed broad beans,
Are you the broad bean or am I's like that,
Gah—couldn't make head nor tail of it no more.
With dusk coming on—how long was I stuck mute like this?
Deep-shadowed broad beans,
Green-stinking broad beans,

If you touch the broad beans,

From under the testicles—riri-riri…

Bell crickets fill the air with their chirping.

Oh, the pain—what a waste—
If I pray without thinking, it does no good—

Tears flowed,

Ah, damn you, beasts,

Even the very face of my meager soul

Was shining bright, I tell ya—these broad beans.

Green-smelling broad beans,

Oppressive broad beans.

As the sun was setting away,

No matter how long I threshed them, these unending broad beans,

Broad beans—three tanbu,

In my field,

I sowed them, cultivated them,

Even though I fertilized them,

What was there even to feel so gloomy ’bout,

Lonely? Wasn't it painful?

I couldn't make head nor tail of why, but tears flowed.

Why didn’t you go take a leak.

The crimson Mr. Sun was sinking away……from Misaki Hill.

A bell boomed down to the very depths of the sea.

Cedar trees, pine trees, pomelo trees—all blazed up in an instant.

When the wheat swayed and flared back,

a flame-like unsaddled horse,

Yah! Yah! Yah! Yah! tore free the reins and flew over the cliff—

“You didn’t get hurt there, did ya, Gonsaku?”

“I’m fine, I’m fine, I’m fine.”

The path where the old women were climbing.

From the dark slope looking toward its summit,

"The Plateau's sky was ablaze; the fields burned."

"The terraced fields on the mountain were all aflame."

"Heave-ho! Heave-ho!"

"The white-haired old women strained."

"The sun was about to set—dangerous now—"

A rocky slope, an upward path,

The leaves glittered, the foothills in utter darkness,

The sudden rain poured down,

The cliff soil crumbled—heave-ho, heave-ho.

The squirrel's eyes gleamed,

A dark slope, an ascending path; the wild mountain grapes ripened.

"Don't shed tears, Granny Kan,

Come on, you wipe your behind too, Granny Toki,

Get greedy! Put on airs! Dye that white hair, Granny Kuma!

Come now, look up and there's no end in sight, look down and there's no end in sight,

Don't you go resigning yourself—it's all karmic fate,

Cry all you want, fret all you want—once you're dead, it's Buddha's mercy,

Heave-ho, heave-ho,

Strive for long life—hell's sunset blazes.

The heavenly realm's ablaze, the world's ablaze,

Our whole lives still blazed,

"Come now—once more down we go, downhill slope,

Come now—once more up we go, uphill slope,

Heave-ho, heave-ho."

They flared up—burst into the field,

Millet ears crimson.
A light flickered on at the brothel in the foothills.

Field paths and winding paths.

Katydids chirr-chirr,

Heave-ho, heave-ho,

Ah! A dragonfly darted off, flames darted off.

Flames ignited on the telegraph pole.

The sweet potatoes rolled.
The field fled,

"Chase after and catch them—Granny likes it too, you youngsters!"

Huff-huff-ha, heave-heave-ho.

"The heavenly realm’s ablaze, the world’s ablaze,

Long life—how shameful—hell’s sunset,

Come on, once more down we go, downhill slope,

Come on, once more up we go, uphill slope."

Heave-ho, heave-ho.

The hill’s triangular field
Swung hoes, swung hoes,

Naked, they swung hoes,
The sky was a dome,
The ground was triangular,

The light was rose, indigo, Rikyū brown.

They swung hoes, swung hoes,

They swung hoes side by side.

The tobela trees were triangular,

The reflection was triangular,

The light was silver, rose, ash.

They swung hoes, swung hoes.

Scattered here and there,

They swung hoes in silence,

Over there rye; here carrots.

The light is Rikyū brown, green, gold.

They swung hoes, swung hoes,
swung hoes backward-facing,
swung hoes single-mindedly,
could not help but strike,
circling around the tobela tree as they swung hoes.
The light was rose, sky blue, Rikyū brown.
They swung hoes, swung hoes,
approached and swung hoes.
What glittered was the policeman’s saber,
over the fields steam waved like flags.
The light was rose, the inlet a deep blue.
They swung hoes, swung hoes,
looking back as they swung hoes.
Under the tobela tree a baby slept soundly,
a chicken clucked cluck-cluck-cluck.

The light was rose, indigo, Rikyū brown.

They swung hoes, swung hoes,

Facing each other, they swung hoes,

Praying, they swung hoes,

They could not help but strike; wholeheartedly they swung hoes.

The light was rose, sunflowers, gold.

With a sharp cry, the baby began to wail.

Road

The road winds its way like crimson.

To the south stand tall millet fields,

The heavily drooping waves of grain ears profoundly,

The pheasant cat’s tail sways,

Immeasurably lonely and hot.

The road glares back.

One side was burdock, carrots, taro fields,

Refreshing vegetables wafted pungently,

From soil to furrow ridge—all vivid blue.

A bell cricket chirped.…

Ah, the countryside—shouldering his hoe,

From the shadow of the square Western-style building

Came leaping a large farmer’s figure,

Bared from face to chest,

Gazing up at the glittering autumn sky.
“Good day,” he said.

The sun was already setting, as the elderly Mr. Stranger—

White helmet and lightweight navy suit—

His stout belly thrust out,

Passing by the pine grove ahead,

Two dogs went flying by like fireballs.

A shrike cried—kwee, kwee, kwee, lililili…

The perfectly round crimson sun, now,

On the coral trees of the terraced fields that twisted up

Suddenly blazed up—

On the sea sails gleamed, gleamed, gleamed.

The road like crimson danced onward,

From hill to hill, from valley to field—
it was as though it were a drunken man.
And yet, a lone road gleaming from within—
vegetables wafted pungently, millet rustled softly.

The day grew ever darker, and upon the uncanny horse droppings,
The silk-scattered afterglow arched,
Dew already climbed soberly up the blades of grass.
And on the cliff's dark vines,
A jewel beetle fixedly came and alighted—a gaze so beautiful it was terrifying.

Cliff.

The cliff’s treetops began to weary; ivy vines’

thick and blue sorrow filled and tilted.

The light lamented unhindered in all directions, first pouring down upon the large leaves of the uppermost layer. The leaves now startled, unable to endure the weight of light, as it tilted its shine onto the lower round leaves. The surging became too much to bear—when it shook the surface of the lower leaves, the next leaf shone even more intensely, swayed and toppled over. From leaf to leaf it twined through, radiant as flowing water, as leaping flame. All the while, something traced a silver ring,

Resonated in the sky—impossible to comprehend—

Brightly sweet, painfully, even tinged with moisture,

The ring gradually contracted toward a single point.

Tranquility—the vines' leaves,

The light, having overflowed to its limit, settled back as it was before,

Countless bell-clustered leaves also grew still.

At times the ring became a point, became a beautiful insect,

Shining, gazing intently,

Within it, blue upon blue, most thickly,

It alighted fixedly at the center of the deep-lustered leaf.

A green jewel of subtle solemnity.

A little before noon

The insect now turned to gold.

The horse.
What a mysterious evening it was—the light,
high and hot, dyeing far and near,
and faintly,
just now, upon an unforeseen slope's crest,

The reverent horse was positioned.
The horse stood with the glowing coral tree,
appearing between villages that reflected light.

Small and red,

Intermittently glittered—was it catching its breath?

The horse moved solemnly.
It was tranquil, merely distant.
What being’s resonance was there—within that,
the horse tilted its spirit as if listening intently,
was it that wisdom glimmering golden?
The horse came to rest crimson.

At that moment, from between the clouds—
The great solar disk half-emerged
A rainbow poured down upon the humble horse.
Crimson, crimson, crimson-gold light.

Alas, the horse became flame.

Ah, what an awe-inspiring and beautiful evening—the sorrowful horse,

that horse of subtle solemnity

in the blink of an eye emitted light from its impure form

and trembled briefly in the Buddha-like radiance.

Namu Horse-Headed Kannon; sudden attainment of Bodhi.

The horse rose crimson.
What divine ecstasy.
The horse ascended brilliantly to heaven.
Autumn musk

Autumn is abundant—an impenetrable sorrow
Grass and golden buttercups
Brewed by the musk of all manner of evils
This is the roadside; cat's-eye stones glitter opulently

At the base of the twilight cliff,

Amidst the hotly scattered flowers, a woman's—truly,

Though not childish yet alluring, and innocently,

The child lifted the pale rose-colored shirt,

buttocks also pure white,

That ailing, sorrowful, disordered sigh.

The great crimson sun shone in the sky.
All things lamented, leapt about, shone, were startled, and flew away,
And now sweetly resounded in the child’s heart.

At this moment, the child pressed face against the thicket,

He peered intently with single-minded focus,

The beautiful, ineffable fragrance deep within ecstasy.

Season confronted; sharp grass blades touched,

The sunlight about to sink grew ever redder.

The child’s hair caught fire, rendering him Buddha-like in his transparency,

Once more for a time—shining—the plump roundedness of buttocks’

Sleekly smooth, white, cold fleshy plumpness; silver down.

Grave

The graveyard shone; it sensed something.

The graveyard was resplendent with silver light.

It was autumn; a ceaseless breeze came,

Like a radiant breath.

The graveyard was resplendent with silver light.

Cool and joyous.

The grass glowed, leapt up,

The spring mechanism of single-minded focus.

The graveyard was resplendent with silver light.

Astonishment spread.

Amidst it all, a single entity leaped forth,

Whose beloved white cat was that?

In that solemn moment, the graveyard sensed something,

The graveyard is resplendent with silver light.

Loach

The loaches now dwelt in crimson-gleaming resplendent light.
The loaches' dance was suffering.
The glittering marsh contracted them into a mass of flames.
Deeply burning sorrow disturbed them.
The loaches danced; the reeds did not rustle,
Only the crimson sun flashed circularly.
The loaches' dance was suffering,
The glittering marsh contracted them into a mass of flames.

It was black with immense and weighty power.
The muddy swamp became gold, silver, lapis lazuli.
The arrogance of evil persisted wordlessly,
twisting itself through realms of fantasy.
The loaches suddenly entwined—no wave could
free those driven mad,
though pleasure's excess might let them unravel.
Their dance held singular purpose,
five senses resounding crude—astonishingly so—
this suffering dance
as they flew toward resplendent blazing light.

Distant trees.

Distant trees were golden armor,

Bright yet deeply shadowed,
Though they stood high, they were low to the eye,
Only the autumn wind blew him.
The third-day moon hung over distant trees,
Daytime rain lingered on distant trees,
The distant trees darkened yet glowed,
Brilliant yet desolate.
A person walked through the shadow of distant trees,
Their very body seemed to shine gilded,
When gazing upon the rain on distant trees,
Dim smoke permeated the field.
Scattered upon the distant trees were,

These silver oars of fishing boats,
Fading gently—then again how many—
Aglow, birds too take flight.
The third-day moon hangs over distant trees,
Daytime rain lingers on distant trees,
In the sky above distant trees, the sea’s—
Waves strike endlessly without cease.

The redness of distant trees, the darkness of the field,
The autumn wind blows fiercely.

In the distant view, shadows quiver,

As if praying reverently.

The distant trees are, ultimately, distant trees.

Bright yet steeped in dreamlike depth,

Though swaying high, still heavy,

A rainbow spans the distant trees' backs.

Sea Radiance

The Setting Sun of Jogashima

The sun was beginning to set.
An enormous, enormous great wheel of fire,
Blazing with overwhelming intensity, rotated.
Not a wisp of cloud remained, yet across the void,
Whirling golden light alone reverberated through the void.
Beneath it, a deep blue sea surged.
It shone back.
Endlessly, boundlessly, round and round into the far distance.
Swish, swish—then fell silent again,
Swish, swish……
At the foot of the mountain, someone cut grass with single-minded focus.
Not being drowned out by the sound of the waves, that sound—

The sound echoed all around—swish, swish……
He couldn’t help but cut—the sickle
moved as if sparks would fly at the slightest touch.
It was evening, there was no one outside—completely.
From the depths of his heart, he moved with all his strength.
Swish, swish……

“It’s a calm sea, isn’t it—just like ground smoothed by the sea.”

Such fine weather is rare even here on Jogashima.

Even though it's the equinoctial week, this heat—

Both arms and legs were drenched in sweat.

“Hey now, well now—what a blazing sun we got here, ain’t it? What in blazes—it’s like some vermilion basin spinning fierce!”

A man shaded his hand from beside the net shed, and upon the sea—
cormorant birds, hundreds of them,
chased after a female bird and streaked straight ahead.
In an instant, they were swallowed between crimson waves.
The surroundings flared into brightness in all directions.

It was an uncanny day.
Just a single boat,

They rowed steadily ahead.
The waves sent up spray.

An enormous, enormous human

stood out sharply black, emerging in gold.
And then,

From far along the vista, a slender cape jutted out sharply.

The solar disk spun, spun, spun—a sun so terrifyingly crimson

Now indeed it shone from the very heart of hearts.
Three, four, five,

Twenty, thirty, fifty,

Finally, azure solar hallucinations swirled wildly to fill the entire sky.

When one looked out to sea—there too they swirled in masses.

When he turned back to look at the mountains, great green fire wheels swirled in masses, flashing—they rolled around the slope of shining grass. What a spectacle. The man strained and shouldered the cut grass.

When the hallucinations settled—vermillion-like—
the sun that had regained composure sank perfectly round and flat,
larger and larger toward Izu's cape.
From beneath skies that had raged with brilliance until now,
mountains that ought to exist drew their forms resolutely where they ought to be,
the sun turned crimson upon crimson as it descended into that distant realm...
A sorrowful red-gold radiance from the depths,
the apex of a triangle.
Waves suddenly surged and crashed upon the shore...
And then some force that had been planning something since who-knows-when—

From the surroundings came a dark, ashy gray pressing in.

A line of saw-toothed clouds—ash and crimson with jagged edges—

As they drew into the distant cape, the residual flames of light

Snapped and reflected through all eight directions of the void.

“So it’s finally sunk then… Namu Amida Butsu.”

When the man reached the hill’s summit,

The offshore boats that had been invisible until now

Flickered like black sesame seeds—there and here, here and there—

In the distance, they formed into a single line—thousands upon thousands, dimly, faintly—

If they couldn't make ends meet, they'd work late into the night,

Crying as they caught squid, the dim lights of those boats—an illumination.

New moon

On the cliff’s pine tree

The moon hung slender,

Slender moon,

A solid gold moon.

In the inlet’s wave gaps too,

And again, the moon sank quietly away.

Profoundly sinking,

A golden hook.

The sharpness of solid gold,

After the silken drizzle,

Intensely,

That azureness surged forth.

The island turned black; and then，the sea turned black.

True darkness,

A single boat advanced,

Above it, a slender moon.

Something indistinct—

The fish awaken,

Bell crickets cry out with single-minded intensity.

The pinnacle of reverence.

In the dark night—the cliffs, the pine trees,

The shadows indistinguishable, the departing boat unseen,

merely a shining slender moon,

A solid gold slender moon.

Eel

By the night sea's edge resplendent with golden light,

Within the reverent ramparts, in the deeply shadowed grassy expanse,
the eel awoke, escaping from its captive state.
Now move—voices within voices, echoes within echoes.
In the sky hung a solid gold slender new moon,
bearing along a great silver star as it coursed onward, the air so pure it cleansed the mind—
at that moment the eel tumbled out—something only an eel could—
Who could know that joy? The eel slid.

The eel's sliding was no different from a snake's sliding,

Since this creature was born of the sea, it remained unaccustomed to land,

All lonely and pained, stumbling through the grass,

It became entangled in blazing crimson flowers in the dark.

The eel—well now—writhed with single-minded intensity, overcome by astonishment and joy,

Slithered through flower after flower, as though on the verge of weeping,

When it manifested and lamented, at times becoming a golden eel,

At times vanishing, it spilled the dew on grass blades.

Deeply, deeply, those endowed with life and wisdom in this world,

All have a destined reason to truly shine forth—even a mere eel.

Here, at the zenith of myriad joys, tears fall.

At this moment, what glittered resplendently in the distance was the great sea's waves.

Tranquility— O majestic and subtle night eel,

He indeed was the very dynamo of shining, surging power,
His entire being—the very embodiment of a sliding spirit—
Leapt over the darkness, then soared beyond blazing crimson flowers.

Rainy Scene

Rain fell, and in the misty veil of falling rain
A single column of smoke rose—whose life was this?
Silver-gray entwined with ancient purple,
In that sky near Jogashima it lay.

Was everything sky? Upon the sea’s surface,
some traced rings—the paths of water veins—while others drifted apart,
weeping deeply as they parted,

Above them lingered the faint trails of falling rain.

At the distant cape, waves crashed and sprayed,

In silk-sifted rain, a fisherfolk’s boat drifted languidly.

They raised their poles to gather clams.

Hokusai’s straw raincoat and hat hung hazed within.

Casting nets with single-minded focus—such was the unease of this day’s bewilderment.

Yet even so, how joyful this fleeting world was!

In the rain, occasionally piercing through the clouds,

The golden light cast upon fresh green

Stole back into the rain.

Though marked in sound,

They followed the wagtail’s voice that left no trace.

Waves

The waves undulated high, now and then,

From within the clouded tarnished silver,

They flickered golden soles.

Delicately, desolately.

The white sun

It was in the sky above the sea.
Endless waves piled upon waves,
light grew dark upon light,
weariness and sorrow layered upon each other.
Even in the wind that blew gently,
ecstatically,

There was something tormenting.

A scent beyond human ken.

Waves surged, countless—

The woman lay supine,

her full chest white

arching up to full width in unison,

surged backward,

Thighs floated; soles

They flickered golden.

On and on and on,

Waves piled upon waves,

Light layered upon light,

Dark upon the shadows.

The waves undulated high, now and then,

From within the clouded tarnished silver,

They flickered golden soles,

Delicately, desolately.

Auklets

Auklets, auklets,
Silver specks, auklets,
When waves come swaying, they surge up,
When waves draw back, shadows disappear,
Auklets, auklets,
Silver specks, auklets.

Seascape

Sails glided, their number roughly seventy or eighty,

At first white, they glittered yellow and red,

In the very center of the clear-spread open sea

Sails glided, and naturally a single circle formed.

Before one knew it, around the queen of great sails,

Finally, they spun white upon white.
Above them shone sunlight's five-colored reflection.
Sails glided from distant sawtooth peaks into skies where
rose-tinted haze streamed in,
summer clouds swelling to surge up in silver and gray.
Sails glided onward,
gradually heading toward open sea.

Sails glided endlessly, boundlessly.

The deep blue circular sea spread out.

Through that space the sails raced, forming a circle, all at once,

They began to spin like a top.

Some force acted from below.

The sails spun; as they spun, the sides of the sails
were pulled inward by some tremendous force...; the waves at times—
overwhelmed—sent up spray.
And yet upon the majestic and subtle sea that had spread clear under midday sun,

Intently the sails spun.
A dance of light and circle.

Sails glided—where were they going?—gliding away.

They glided away with terrifying force.

Clustering densely, spinning round—

The sails strove to break away—

Now, now striving to spin into perfect clarity—

Words, colors, and light—

The soul's religious ecstasy, overwhelmed to its limit.

Sails glided—where were they going?—gliding away,

They glided away with terrifying force.

Aburatsubo

The world shone dazzlingly, and so—

In the deeply silent inlet of Aburatsubo,

When the blue-silver laughter bursts, then—

Ripples from the very depths

Ripples rock the small boats at the shore.

Endlessly, endlessly they rock,

Unchangingly beautiful.

Ahtsu-hatsu-hatsu-ha,

Ah, hah, hah, ha.

Only still and silent, wordless—

A great laughter resonated through the sky.…

There hung a small platinum solar disk,

only shining and spinning.

Occasionally, a breeze shifted its wings,

it scattered like snow.

Forever and ever it endured without ceasing,

forever beautiful.

The naked child too, from the depths of their heart,

rocked their entrusted body,

all alone.

From the moored boat,

the slipping oars skimmed the waves,

endlessly, endlessly they skimmed,

Unchangingly beautiful.

Ah! Hah! Hah! Ha!

Ah! Hah! Hah! Ha!

Somewhere a ring resounded,
The rope that moored the shore and the boat,
The rope was pulling on some kind of ring.
The more the heart swayed,
The more the small boat swayed,
The ring rang,
Something rang.
Forever and ever without anchor,
Somehow beautiful.
Ah! Hah! Hah! Ha!
Ah! Hah! Hah! Ha!
Ripples from the very depths of the heart
Rocked the child's small boat.
Overhead loomed a dark,
Enormous pine tree.
The pine tree told tales of long,
Long ago.
In that pine tree there was a bird.

Forever and ever beautifully,

Just one bird, beautiful.

Ah! Hah! Hah! Ha,

Ah! Hah! Hah! Ha!

When the small boat swayed, the navel swayed,

When the navel swayed, the small boat swayed,

Forever and ever terrifying,

Forever all alone.

The child abruptly burst into tears,

Letting out a cry.

……

Gun Hunting

Resplendently, the sea now shone brilliantly,

What thing soared through the sky—

There was only this expanse of surging waves, with no way left to weep.
The silver oil melted together as the glare madly strove to reflect.
Everything was dazzling and agonizing, with no cause for laughter—
The small boat moved in circles and lamented along a straight line,
Though they sought to steady themselves as they strained to take aim—
The front sight rose above the rear sight,
The silver oars were deceived by the sun’s radiant light.
Something resplendent soared and circled,
The mica-sprinkled sky soared high before plunging low,
Terror spread its reverberations from silver wings,
The voiceless boat glittered intently upon the waves.

A gunshot resounded, the bullet shone—
The satisfying hand sensation startled the sky,
The gleam plunged like an arrow.

Turmoil arose on the water's surface.

Everything was dazzling, agonizing, with no cause for laughter,

The wounded bird and the mad boat—

Blazing resplendence,

Now was the time they had to hate each other, wordless words raging fiercely,

And then, for a moment,

The bird with deeply retracted wings attempted to flee once more,

Instantly pierced its eye.

Fire brigade lined up.
Mount Fuji stood crystalline and resplendent,
How splendid—the distant sea glided and rose.

The fire brigade lined up on the shore,
First, they bowed to Mount Fuji.
The fireman’s standard bore a golden sphere, the ladder of green bamboo,
Their gear utterly crystalline, the men resplendent,
They abruptly flipped upside down into spread-eagle formations.
The glittering members huddled and rolled,
They earnestly set the pump in motion.
The pump—one unit, single-minded focus, wholehearted devotion.
The pump’s water gushed forth—riuu riuu—

Crystalline and resplendent—Mount Fuji,

The pump’s nozzle—riuu riuu—
Water followed a single course—true wholehearted devotion,
Solely focused on Mount Fuji,
They flung it away—“Pour it out in full force!”
“Alright, here it comes,”
The pump in motion was of the finest quality.
Riuu riuu—resplendent.
Startled plovers and seagulls took flight.
“There! The snow scattered fiercely,”
“At last, the sacred mountain flowed!”

Crystalline and resplendent—Sagami Bay,
Just one more push! Heave-ho, heave-ho!

Sincere single-minded devotion—crystalline clarity in all directions—
The pump’s water gushed forth—riuu riuu—
Crystalline and resplendent—

Heave-ho, heave-ho, heave-ho, heave-ho,

The fire brigade lined up, united in single-minded devotion.

Vanish and be gone, Mount Fuji—heave-ho, heave-ho, heave-ho now…

Bay's Radiance

Countless basins stir in the light.

Upon the basins, children sit,

The naked children spread their arms

They spin the basins.
Over the sea’s surface spreads clear.

It is noon; all lies deeply concealed.

It is the time when the spirits awaken,

Silver stars appear in the sky,

Lovely voices gather in the bay.

The basins calmly gain speed.

The basins shine, like tops,

Simultaneously, that resplendent spray.

It is summer; the lapis lazuli sea

In a circle, it reflected the green cliff,

At the zenith shone a single sun disk.

At that moment, suddenly, laughter arose from within.

Vastly, vastly—innocence crumbled through laughter.

Ikisu

At Ogasawara

The great moon
Rolled out perfectly round.

Rubber tree leaves swayed luxuriantly.

Come now, let us walk, the two of us together.
At Ikisu lapis-lazuli ripples—
Swaying and swaying become a golden ring,
Ah now,
The splendid male hawksbill turtle
Gently lies atop the female.

Be still, dive deep—
The moon is now haloed in azure,
The beach tobacco sways green.
Ah, for a moment—

The hawksbill turtle dwells in happiness.

No voice—yet lovely,

Something melts into light,
as if quivering the soul,
The hawksbill turtles overlap again.
Rubber tree leaves sway luxuriantly.

Come now, let us sleep, the two of us together.

Rustic Chant

*Field Festival*

On a certain day in September 1913, during the Moroiso Shinmeigu Shrine festival in Soshu Misaki: a single festival float—its upper tier bearing dolls and its lower tier carrying a troupe of musicians—was pulled along by simple villagers who were both fishermen and farmers.
First, the festival float veered sideways from the Kamakura Highway and wound its way along the elevated hill paths through millet and foxtail millet fields toward Shinmeigu Shrine at the tip of a small peninsula.
Moreover, at midday, the sun stood at the zenith.
The path wound up and down gentle slopes.
As they moved along the high cliffs, a deep blue sea could be seen on both sides.
The path was so narrow—barely wider than the festival float—that they kept bumping into pine trees and mandarin orange trees.
And across the fields and whatever else, they kept pulling along without regard for ditches.
When they collided with obstacles, the men behind the dolls would snap off pine branches or hibiscus within reach from above—breaking some, bending others—as they went.
The potatoes were overjoyed by the raucous festival music, but the standing trees were pitiable.
As the festival float advanced, there came into view Aburatsubo Inlet facing Shinmeigu Shrine, and on the opposite hill appeared a dilapidated Dutch-style windmill.
Beneath that stood the white elegant Western-style building of the university's coastal laboratory.
A lawn came into view, Spanish daggers appeared, and two or three small boats floated in sight.
It was as though one had come upon a scene straight out of Southern Italy.
Sliding down Yukuoka's fields, one emerged onto a flat, brightly lit beach.
To both the right and left lay beach.
There stood the torii of Shinmeigu Shrine.
From there, it became a rounded, gentle ascending hill path, and beyond that lay the sea.
At the beach before Shinmeigu Shrine, several fishing boats had been hauled up.
In between them, red watermelon stalls and other things appeared.
There they rested the festival float, and the whole group drank themselves into a stupor, dancing and singing vigorously until the sun sank crimson below the horizon.

Among them were idiots and jesters.
There were also large bald heads wearing ceremonial festival robes.
And the Shinto priest here usually worked as a doctor for venereal diseases in the Misaki Yukaku red-light district.
Since everything had such an earthy quality, it might have been more appropriate to call this a "Field Festival" rather than a "village festival" or "country festival."
This folk song style had been created to serve as the festival float’s musical accompaniment.

Heave-ho, heave-ho! Pull now, pull! Pull, pull, puuull!

In Miura Misaki, women work through the night; young men lounge and wait,

Heave-ho, heave-ho! Pull now, pull with all your might!

Aye, well now, you know,

Autumn's come! From Misaki Moroiso's terraced fields bursts a shrike,

Eeeh-yah, horo-honi-yah, yah, horo-ho,

Kwi-kwi iro-ni-ya, kwi-ro-ni-ya.

Hooray! Bright suns! Fair lands! Seas lie calm,

This year’s a bountiful year—ears upon ears have bloomed!

Hey now! Clack-clack! Clang-clang! Clang-clang-na!

Hee-ave-ho! Haul-ave-ho! Come on now—pull with all your might!

O Gorōsaku!
Tarōbei! Mokujū! Come here quick!

The hills and fields overflow with bounty—oh! Our upland ears have ripened at last!

Come now! Let pumpkins burst forth! Let burdocks spring up!

Edamame! Green beans! Cowpeas!

Sword beans! Peanuts! Sesame seeds!

Pods burst open—reddened!

Monster cats! Pheasant cats! Sickle weasels—the millet hangs down yellow tails!

Barnyard grasses jet-black, jet-black—jet-black; corns and red beards, red-bearded foreigners' groin hairs.

A dragonfly got entangled—a katydid chirped—a squirrel dashed out—a kite swooped—

Roll out, sweet potatoes—potatoes, taros, kneaded yams!

Bear children, bear children, mountain yam.

Let our snouts multiply abundantly,

We too stay robust, grow stout,

Sow the seeds, sow the seeds—we can't bear not sowing, we'll drown in sorrow if we don't—seeds aplenty, fields prime and ridges tall,

Water works well, fertilizer works well,

Sow the seeds, sow the seeds, multiply aplenty,
Plow up every inch of this ground!
Bear children, bear children, earth's yam.
"Well now, whose child is that? It's my child,
A child born of your fields,
Still they do not rightly know whose child it is,
Is it wheat? Millet? Potatoes? Barnyard grass? Seeds aplenty, the field is one,
Whoever's child it may be—the child that's born is my child.
Hooray, well now, Misaki's a fine place—women's nightly toil,
Aye, calm seas mean good shark fishing; come midnight, we sleep sound,

When occasionally the wind blows, we strike the fields,

Heave-ho, heave-ho! Pull now, pull!

When love takes hold, even life becomes dispensable,

No—if parting pains you, then leave as you must,

By next night’s fall, it springs anew,

Oh ho, come now, come now—Misaki’s a fine place—men’s paradise in the afterlife,

Bear children, bear children, soil yam.

Hooray! Pull! Play the flute! Strike the gong!

Beat the great drum thunderously and play!

The children led the way, following Landlord-don’s directions,

They lined up the flower hats, aligned the fans—now pull with all your might!

Old women, come! Old hags, push from behind!

In the middle of the field—festival music and clang-clang, clang-clang,

Elated, frolicking, eating and drinking themselves drunk,

And yet, they persisted in weeping with utmost earnestness.

Hooray! Pull! Pull the float! The sea came into view,

The open sea splendid, the open sea shining bright, windmills turned, the shore deity's passing shower,

Heave-ho, heave-ho, heave-ho now—

Aye, that's right—they pulled back,

The officer fled.
The Shinto priest also burst out laughing,

Prop it up, prop it up against the pine tree—the hibiscus gets in the way, damn nuisance!

Chop it down! Toss it aside! Hoorah,

Dragonflies tangle, katydids rasp, squirrels bolt out, kites wheel—

Send rolling the sweet potatoes, the white potatoes, the taro, the yams,

Bear children, bear children, mountain yam.

Pumpkins, leap out! Burdocks, dance forth! Such divine favor!

That’s divine favor! This’s divine favor! Such divine favor!

Heave now, up it goes!
Up it went!

Farmers' Song

Can't we meet? Can't we see? If we wed, wouldn't that be fine?

If the house finds out, there'll be hell to pay,

The world'll disapprove.

Hey now, do it, do it!

What's all this fuss? So what if you've fallen in love?

If the household finds out, we can't even wed,

What's the world care?

Hey now, do it, do it!

Grass blades

Grass blades—when the wind blows, they quiver,

The ground resoundingly sways from below.

Cast everything away!

I too was by nature prone to tears.

When rain fell, grass blades came alive.

The ground was thoroughly soaked.

Everything was utterly drenched,

I too was by nature an earnest soul.

When the sun shines, grass blades dance,

From the ground, from the depths, it seeps through and shines.

Everything, radiate back the glare!

I too was by nature risking my life.

Miura-Misaki

The day-to-day woodcutter

Axes and halberds shouldered, nothing but tears.

The vines too split open bright red,

Birds too fly off cawing,

Heave-ho, heave-ho! What a fine place!

Hurry down before night falls.

Heave-ho, heave-ho! What a fine place!

In the morning, even the spirited boatmen—
The setting sun tumbled; the sky rang with piercing cries.
They were escaped by that fickle damned shark,
Row and row upon the waves,
Heave-ho, heave-ho, heave-ho,
Hurry up and move along—the child shouted,
Heave-ho, heave-ho, heave-ho.
Postal couriers risked their lives,
Itsu-san ran through the bean fields,

In Miura-Misaki, a light was lit.
Even while pissing, they fretted—

Heave-ho, heave-ho! Heave-ho, heave-ho!

If you don't run quick, your head'll get lopped off,

Heave-ho, heave-ho! Heave-ho, heave-ho!

Girl from Jogashima

Girl, girl, Girl from Jogashima,
You, bare-skinned in the sea's depths,
Early in the morning to the sea's depths,
Bare feet flickering, upside down,

When you dive into the waves, there's nothing but blue waves.

Girl, girl, Girl from Jogashima,
To gather abalone in the sea's depths,
With diving goggles in the waves' depths,
Contracting your life this way and that,
You swam around, yet nothing but blue waves.

Girl, girl, Girl from Jogashima,
The sea lay silent; your navel grew cold.
Breath held tight in the waves' depths,
You clung tightly to the rock,
Yet even clinging tight, nothing but blue waves.

Girl, girl, Girl from Jogashima,
How it must ache, with the scorpion fish's spines,
Your foot pierced and you tossed upward,

Though you surface, nothing but blue waves,
Both before and behind, nothing but blue waves.
Girl, girl, Girl from Jogashima,

You, bare-skinned in the sea's depths,
Tossed by the waves, her livelihood ceaseless,

She dove to gather abalone, but—
Having gathered abalone, she ended up with a child.

Rain on Jogashima

The rain falls and falls on Jogashima's shore,
Tea-master-gray rain falls.
Is the rain pearls, or dawn mist,
Or perhaps my hidden tears.

The boat goes on and on past Tōriya’s edge,

The owner’s boat, drenched, hoists its sail.

Ah, boats are worked with oars, oars are worked with songs.

Songs are the boatman's mettle.

The rain falls and falls, the sun hangs thin-clouded.

The boat goes on and on, the sail grows faint.

[From "Supplement to Field Festival" in Hakushu's Collected Poems, Volume 2]

Little Bird

The little bird flew, as if he had never comprehended even that act of flying.
As if he had never even comprehended that act of flying,
The little bird flew - flew into the golden light.

The little bird simply flew, flew along a formless line.

Like a winged spinning top—

Unstoppable in its swiftness.

Over the boundless ocean,

The solitary rolling sun’s

Vermilion orb.

The little bird flew, crossing that surface in a single streak.

The little bird sadly attempted to pierce through.

The little bird at this very moment truly took on the form of a little bird.