Pathway to Japanese Literature

To my mother’s spirit sleeping in the mountains of my hometown

At the edge of the Iwanami Bunko edition

Akoya pearls, with age, deepen in luster and grow ever more exquisite in color, it is said.

My verses—clumsy in diction, jarring in rhythm—after ten years lost their radiance; after twenty, their fragrance vanished; now their form lies mostly scattered away.
Long ago, Ueda Akinari sank the writings that had long troubled him into the depths of a deep well and never looked back; I could not even attain that.
This year, having piled sixty-two years of age upon myself, my white hair hangs disheveled, my teeth fall out—there remains no semblance of dignity.
Only the memories of my youth bloom brightly.
Ah, this hollow text—is there anyone in this present world who would deign to behold it?

The midday moon hung in the sky
Pale white paper fragments
The hollow shadow’s sorrow
How uncertain my ancient songs
Were trampled underfoot by the light of a new era
The ephemeral mayfly was about to vanish

March 1938

Seihaku inscribes.

Preface

In these ruins there are no more prayers or curses, no exaltation or resentment—how could the grass of life take root in this lifeless world bereft of atmosphere? If by some marvel a discovery were made amidst these crumbling walls and broken foundations, it would be purely the discoverer’s creation—not a rebirth of the ruin itself.

March 1929

In Shima

Seihaku

Wandering

At the straw-mat door

The autumn wind blew.

Kawazoe’s inn stood desolate.

The pitiable traveling man

Gazed at the twilight sky.

He began to sing very softly.

The deceased mother
became a maiden,
her white forehead manifesting in the moon.
The deceased father
became a child,
his round shoulders crossing the Milky Way.
Through willows,
the night river gleamed white.
Crossing to smoke-filled fields beyond the river,
a faint flute sound lingered—
touching the traveler's heart.

Hometown’s

The song of the valley
Continued and faltered sorrowfully.
The sound of the sky’s echo
And groans from the earth’s depths
Intermingled and deepened their harmony.

To the traveler,

Mother had come to dwell.

To the youth,

Father had descended.

In Ono’s flute smoke,

A faint melody lingered.

The traveler

Continued singing.

He returned to infancy's dawn.

Smiling, he continued singing.

In Awaji

Shimaguni's ancient elder
Mingling in the fields, he picked raspberries.
He came to the gate of raw bells.
He summoned pride in their hundredfold tiers.
He received a white crystal plate.
He poured forth fresh milk
For June’s sustenance.

A thunderous rainbow streaked.
It emerged from the village of refreshing coolness,
Went to pines and departed from pines.

The great sea’s fishery

Torn was the picture scroll.

Child of Naruto’s sea bounty—
fish bellies transformed into tender flesh;
press close and look—you ten;
ascend together in unison.

Akiwa Village

White chrysanthemums drowned in moonlight,
Beholding a shadow untouched by autumn's chill.
The soul of the Chikuma maiden,
The soul of the Chikuma maiden had emerged, suffusing this place.
A corner of Saku Plain
Frost settled upon Akiwa Village.
In the hubbub of the sake-selling house
The evening voices of wild geese mingled.
Beyond Mount Tateshina lay

It is said an aged serpent dwells
The moon emerged dimly afloat
How even Yatsutani’s depths were illuminated!
When the traveler wandered that far-flung path

In the coldness of a torn garment,

Tonight, beneath a serene sky,

How the heart ached ever more!

To the traveler

At the rain-drenched ford

The pilgrim’s

A lonely figure

Dusk’s deepening

On the misty mountain path.
Palanquin bearers’

Palanquin bearers’ loud calls

Morning clarity
Travel holds fascination.

The pilgrim’s sack

Weight as memento

“Return, you.”

Demon trees loomed darkly.

Lurking.

People’s wealth—

even if they targeted—

At Celestial Maiden Spring

He alighted.
He washed the small vial.
It came into view -
mountain leeches on skin
should they fasten and suck -
valley with medicinal waters.

Overflowing.

Seasickness upon the sea

Though he suffered,
the Dragon God’s organ would heal him.

It shall heal.
Upon the bird’s corpse
the fire burns.
Hell’s in the mountain—
roaring gusts
an exotic fragrance in the tide.
As it scents
the sea’s subtle—

Fata morgana.

Dusk at the station—

Entered the town.

The inn’s gate—

The moment he passed through.
In the darkness of the rice,
he was startled—
the capital in the village—
Do not expound.

Lady Kataribe.
She leaned back.
The village’s history—

To expound—

Head Steward
Having caught a pheasant,

Delicious stew

He prepared.

Bashō’s straw sandals.
Treading firmly on them—
En’i’s hat—
When he donned it—
Mr. Fūzoku’s Kashima Departure.

Kashima Departure

The old man, weathered.
Ah, the absurdity!

Island

The Kuroshio surges and flows.

The island drifting in the offing—
Was it not a slumbering giant?
Only its head emerging from the waves,
Towering where rocks lay piled—
Eyes, nose, face—how strange they were!
Bare and uncloaked by trees,
A summit rose high and sheer.
Whether birds sang or fish darted in schools,
Whether rain fell or sun rose and set,
Whether azure skies or boundless seas,
Whether spring through winter's turn—
The slumbering giant knew nothing of these.

For thousands of years it has endured, cragged and unyielding.

The Sea’s Voice

The bamboo of Isasamura clattered and rustled.

At the end of the hill path,
twisting oddly, bend after bend,
shore pines grew densely along the coast.
Though neither flowers nor autumn leaves adorned them,
plovers frolicked on the sandy shore—
descending near the water's edge,
submerged blue stones of the sea lay visible.

"Shells to gather—namogomo seaweed—
from that time when they vowed to pluck—
singing songs and forming true jewels—
they walked upon the sandy shore."

Wave upon wave piled up—
grains of sand brushed against one another—
when they heard the murmuring voice of the current,
the ama of Iseo had grown so accustomed to hearing it
they could no longer perceive it merely as sound.

Passing by shrines, passing through temples,

They shook bells and struck gongs.
When they came upon the sea’s small harp,
it became a clear and sorrowful flute.

Goza Bay’s western reach
At Wagu’s narrow strait, they floated their boat.
Fuseta Village and the blue waves’

Children of the Sea Folk Crossing the Tide

Would that I set that boat afloat.

Would that I cross those waters.

Better to cast off the hawser

Today, Kazuko shall join us.

Though unseen, the Koshi-ga pines at the shore

Though unseen, the blue peaks of Hesaki

In the swaying and undulating,

The tide’s calm cannot be measured.

Is the calm only that of the tide?

The sun shone serenely over Shima Province.

Gold pooled in the sky.

The wind blew peacefully through Ago's mountains.

Ah—flowers must drift through the prefecture.

Well then—the sea folk's child—

What meaning remains if one does not sing?

Sing through the inlet—

Even its jutting rock would smile.

The inlet scarce in words—

Let waves be your companions—

Men upon the vast ocean—

The sea maiden in tidal waters—

Her robe no silken weave—

A cloak of kelp for nearing voyage—

Through depths she dove—womanly—

To Yomi's realm she might descend.

The hags of Yomi nurse their envy.

They spread Akuya shells in rows.

Luring children with fair faces,
They must fashion stone coffins too.
Behold, in the sea's deepest reaches—
Father sank, his only fate,
Mother lay down midst oak leaves.

Born into water they dove.
Might they have perceived the song's very cadence?

A comb too was cast upon the sandy shore.
A hairpin too snapped upon the rocky edge.

Within eyes sunk darkly,
Reflected was only the sea's mud.
The young ones' skin too—to the sea foam's touch—
Had been yielded to swiftness.

A decaying anchor in the rock crevices.
Even that stirred nostalgia for the village.
Since the sea offered no elegy,

The flower-grass boat drifted past.

The group of maidens too—the boat children’s—

Autumn dreams entangled in sleeves.

Because it was a dream, the abyss spanned a thousand fathoms.

The sea’s depths too must be visible.

That stone, round and—

The white must be the boundary of stars.

Now—the sea folk’s children’s oar rhythm—

How does it resound as clamorous voices?

As I now peered out at the sea,

Tokunaga’s face was pale.

"I beseech you to permit, O city person—

Your eyes shine brightly—

They must pierce through any sea."

It is heard and told that in this sea—
When a man’s shadow falls—

Never returning, never vanishing—the diving women’s
deep karma did they dread.

I could not contain my smile.

Tapping the shoulder of that childlike form,

I doubted the divine wings.

Could even that be called a dream?

The island floated in swirling undulation,

For this was an island in the inlet—

When had the feathered robe fallen and sunk?

They must have ceased to fly or soar.

Upon looking, it was clad in a purple sun.

Heat haze shimmered across jewel-like luster.

Lustrous, lustrous—I did not accept.

A form too insubstantial.

Pale pine grove, tiny shell-strewn shore.

Ah, the moored skiff at Funakoshi—
In ancient times, the tide must have flowed here.
This cannot be time’s destruction.
The glittering sand left by the receding tide.

Who but a child of the sea—
At such a shore faintly white—

Must one think there lies a mirror—

The open sea and the inlet—

Here approaches the sea god’s—

Is it solace for the heart? A hand’s idle diversion?

The chisel’s work that narrowed the land

Now the trailing of thin clouds across—

Kiji Road lies far—Mikumano—

On the coast where white cotton flowers bloom

The setting sun appears to fall—

Summer Day Peacock Rhapsody

Led by the master of the garden,
the arranged-stone garden and stone lanterns,
timeworn groves and sculpted hills,
passing through scenic spots,
arriving at the pond’s edge to look:
wisteria flowers cascading over a trellis
beneath deep purple iridescent clouds,
in the shade-hidden aviary,
the watchful peacock trod the sand.
A graceful form in harmonious display!
On the ground, dragging its heavy tail feathers,

Slow was the gait of the male peacock.
The hen appeared delicately charming.
Though she possessed a gentle nature,
in brocade-wrapped plumage,
she held her own dazzling elegance.

The hen and the male peacock stood side by side.

Shadows drifted upon the sand—shadow and shadow.

Ashamed of her poorly adorned form,

The hen retreated slightly.

Not a fallen feather was visible upon the sand.

the gardener who had swept cleanly

The broom’s traces remained undiminished.

A single wisteria cascade fell and scattered—

The male peacock pecked at flowers

Long flower clusters trailed upon the ground,

As it walked, the sand plain stretched far.

Behold, you come forth—male peacock!
Ah, now spread your tail feathers—!
Ah, how fully you have spread them!
Like a warrior with heart fully committed—
It resembles ceremonial armor.
Within the palace’s floral feast—
How like a cherry-blossom-layered robe!
When gazing upon a single tail feather,
It split into right and left—
The disordered and fluttering fine feathers’
Golden-threaded seams spread resplendent!
Upon the rounded and tautly spread tail

When gazing upon the rounded patches arranged in circles,

On a summer day when cloud peaks surge

Flames of the burning solar orb,

like a half-eclipsed shadow—
Ah, how richly hued its visage—
Truly velvet-soft its plumage—
This—how one longed to touch and behold!
In the fingers came a hollow sensation.
Ever more luxuriant grew its down,
the radiance enveloping its breast,
The deep purple of its feathered robe—
navy paper layered with gold leaf—
as though characters shimmered beneath.
Two plumes rose from its crown,
straight as—what?—
Of that famed bird proclaiming its station,
This was the sovereign’s ornament.
Its frame slight, tail spread wide—
How splendid! That pure white—
It walked across the sand’s face.
You there—call this not sand!

The place where this avian form took shape.

Did you not behold the wondrous light?

When they gazed up—how deep lay the wisteria trellis.

A canopy once adorning kings—

Wisdom permeated form—how profound!

The tail feathers spread out in all directions—

Encircling and wrapping it—a pale mist.

Though originally belonging to the birdkeeper,

How it loomed broader than the aviary!

What marvel is this—so perfectly rounded?

From the spread tail feathers issued forth wind,

Behold, as ripples drew near,

The wind swiftly passed between feather and feather.

Heavenly brocade feathers rustled,

Though fragrant grasses did not grow,

Would its soft down not be fragrant?

Though eight-hundredfold clouds did not fly,

Would their feathers not resound?

Lion, leave your hollow cave,

At the shadowy forest's rocky crag,

Shook its mane—

What availed its fierce visage?

Eagle flew high through the august skies—
In the sun’s course along and across,
Struck its piercing wings and flapped.
What availed its valiant shadow?

Who could know—gazing upon the bird’s form
In the flower’s shade—
A value that neither decays nor perishes,
That entered eternal light?

Who could know without a heart to comprehend—
Coming into the eye of one strolling the garden—
How in this human world of peacock aviaries
It bestowed a lofty revelation?

"Time—perish! Day—fade away!
Form—vanish! World—perish!"
Yet in that place remained something—
Limitless and endless—

Let me behold the radiance that suffused all!
Now I provisionally—that very thing—

I could but name it beautiful.

Casting one’s gaze upward—the vast sky’s
sun stood at midday in the south—
had lodged itself among the high clouds.

Of wisteria waves woven without gaps,
though their layered shadows exuded fragrance,
the crimson-burning heavenly sun’s
flame burned too fiercely—

Shuttles crisscrossed and arrows scattered,
casting plumes whiter than silver
there upon the peacock’s tail
where whirling eddies spiraled back and burst forth—

Now overflowing and spilling like dew,
now crystallizing like frost—
here and there they frolicked,
the presence of countless sunbeams

where even differences between deep and shallow
appeared on pale tail feathers—
the welling colors faintly yet—

Though its extremity appeared hazy,
From the spring of inexhaustible light
The ceaselessly poured golden waves—
Water of a pond verging on visibility—

The surroundings remained unchanged,
The windless noon's wisteria flowers
Hung quietly and bloomed without sound.

Now that it was summer's beginning,
At the time when sweet flags were cut and thatched,
How mighty was the splendor of all things!
Ah, the young greenery! The trees flourished.
Smoke lay deep within the garden.

Even stones burst into verdant leaf.
Drops spilled upon the moss.
The drops too held steadfast resolve.

Reflecting upon that distant winter day—

That beautiful tail too froze.

Enduring in a cold roost,

The north wind swept through gaps in the roost.

Its twin wings quivered.

Behold—this had ever been the divine bird’s

Yet its wings remained unruffled.

Abandoned by the dusty floating world,

Form grew faint, breast wasted away.

Though its life had seemed destined to perish,

Amidst such relentless trials,

The bird grew ever more beautiful.

Strange battle—winter was defeated!

Spring returned and summer came.

Behold—the laurel leaves in human guise!

The bird faced the sun in the august sky.

It spread its tail feathers and stood.

A scene worthy of praise—

Appeared upon the garden’s surface—
A heavenly steed drove through the clouds.
The wind from its wings was swift and strong,
There—hooves that may have grazed—
Rain cannot dissolve the profound verdure.
The dregs of new-brewed sake remained unsettled,
When one gazed upon the flow—overturned yet—
The depths lay utterly exposed—
The cup of heaven—as they call it—

What fell was a river of pale amber and lapis
Upon the earth lay a divine ornament of young leaves.

Whose carriage path was this that someone trod?

With both hands of morning and evening,

The uplifted jewel cast shadowed radiance,

Melting away into spring flowers.

How vigorous were the summer flowers when compared!

Having become the arrogant battle array!

O Peacock, splendidly!

Furthermore, faintly yet richly—

Countless upon countless hues—

Ceaselessly, timelessly dazzling though it was,

Behold the noble sign it displayed!

The grass bent low, raising hands,

The trees rustled, waving sleeves.

This stands as phenomena’s testament.

Returning,I ponder antiquity’s—

Upon springtide days of human life,

Miho no Matsubara’s fishermen’s

Celestial raiment said to hang visible—

A miracle mirroring that very sight!

Might I entreat but this slight boon—

Let this place too be named Suruga.

Thus, the peacock folded its tail.

Seeming to yearn for his mate, he called to the female,

As though holding discourse within the aviary,

The flowers bashfully beneath the wisteria trellis—

Pressed its body against the shadow of a pillar.

How poignant its hidden demeanor.

The wisteria scattered onto the sand.

Birds treading and entangled—bird upon bird.

Ah, how fitting the male bird’s

The female peacock entwined in his plumage.

Flower Seller

The flower-selling girl's name was Osen.

She began selling flowers at seventeen.

At eighteen, she began to know love.

Face flushed with shame's—

To have a leg severed after a viper's bite—

Though proven among mountain village children,

If love's poisoned arrow wounds,

Though you draw out the venom, the hour grows late.

Ask an old woman at the village outskirts—

In both past and present, among flower sellers—
There was none who did not love.
The flower’s enchantment must be an accursed art.
In the city, a beguiling flower seller—
A youthful throbbing blossom—a single stem.
Arrayed at a March window,
To taste love’s vital tide.

Moonlight Sunlight

Moonlight’s

Moonlight speaks thus:

What I saw was the First Princess.
She played an ancient verdant flute.
The night deepened; whitely
on the tower's steps
she stood.

she stood.

Sunlight’s

Sunlight speaks thus:

What I saw was the Second Princess.

The marrow of incense wood perfumed the air.

Trough beams and white milk—

Bathed and cascading down

The floral form of a celestial being—

The earth resounded with joy.

A rainbow had risen.

Moonlight’s

Moonlight speaks thus:

What I saw was the First Princess.

A lone boat upon the lake,

Beneath the mist, she wandered.
The hairstyle was troubled.
It became disheveled.

Sunlight’s

Sunlight spoke thus:

"What I saw was the Second Princess.

A face reflected in a round pillar,

Brushing against the prideful bird's tail—"

The wind rose and the waves raged.

Through the haze-veiled celestial hall,

Trailing a seven-foot hem,

Golden traces were imprinted.

Moonlight’s

Moonlight spoke thus:

"What I saw was the First Princess."

In the shadow of Death Island's rocks,
She lay pale and prostrate,
No flowers, only a lifeless form -
It grew cold.

Sunlight’s

Sunlight spoke thus:
"What I saw was the Second Princess.
She trampled grass near the castle."

The prince who had come seeking a wife
He did not wish to witness the swordsman’s disgrace
Onto the steed scattering sparks
Urging it straight ahead
When he departed the province

The spring breeze blew gently.

Nuptial Rites

Rishi at the mountain's base—
Having departed the temple—

The litter was at the mountain's summit.

The bamboo grove’s—

evening house’s—

He entered the gate.

Relatives and acquaintances

assisted with the banquet.

The clatter of small dishes
Echoed through the kitchen.
Voices called for candles;
Activity arose at the rear gate.
In the small bucket’s water,
Young greens were being soaked.
In cutting the young greens,
The cutting board remained unseasoned.
The new blade’s edge
Bore no marks.
Diamond-shaped
Outside the window,
Three-foot snow pressed against

The door was pressed.

The day quietly darkened.

Mountain Evening

Evening was

a joyful time.

Evening is

Evening was a pure time.
Evening—
A beautiful time.
This evening
There was snow.

This evening
There is a moon.

This evening
There was a banquet.
The hearth's vitality waned.
Worried,
He kept to the fire alone.

“Do not stand.”

He ENTERED THE ROOM．
HE BEHELD THE FLOWER-BEARER．
WITH THE FLOWER-BEARER，
HE SUMMONED．
THIS EVENING—
THE NAME REMAINED UNSPOKEN．

This evening—
Nameless.

Rishi took his seat.
The frost-tipped brush held authority.
Without wearying the tall attendants,
he sustained the evening.

Amber wine
For pouring stands a cup.
A cup’s color—
Crimson it remains.
The mountain people in their extravagance—
Can this be called prosperity?

Crimson remained crimson’s—
Of hibiscus flowers
In the autumn wind,
The day they broke
In the market’s alley—
Acquired at the shop.
Rishi was skilled in poetry.
On the box’s lid
“Crimson Flower Cup”
He inscribed and departed.
The Crimson Flower Cup—
Layered again.

Snow Night Banquet

The moon had risen.

The moon having risen,

The space beneath the Island Platform lay dark

Beneath the Island Platform,

Dark—
Penglai's
pine above—
cast its light obliquely
since it was light,

Silver pewter vessel—
Preparations—could they exist?

From mountain bamboo—
Plucking bamboo grass leaves—
Into the mouth of the ceramic vase—
They inserted them—nothing more.
In the manner of royal accoutrements,
Unlike them were sundry things.

The child’s obi—

Pale purple

Yuzen-dyed

Chinese crepe silk—

Lustrous hair—

At the time of tying—

The wind shapes form with skill—

As it gusts defiantly—

Grudging rancor

Now there was none.
The young woodcutter’s—
when looking at his eyebrows,
when trimming the candle—
cast in shadow.

A person with a pale forehead was within the chamber. Upon the hakama, hands laid one upon another. The troubled seat was a flower mat. The color of the mat—to appraise it—still, the crimson of lips—so deep—so deep the crimson—

From the northern house—
To the southern house—
Along the coming path—

The thought attained—
Not a flower
Not honey—
Than flowers—
Than honey—
Beautifully sweet—
The feeling overflowed within the chest.

Lightning struck—
When the thicket burned—
With both hands—arms—
The one who had forgiven—
Now faced each other—
With the moon between them—
Took the chalice between them—
The blushing pair—
In the heavens above—
Young stars’

Before the spring of wine
they stood.

In fragrant waves—
An air of trepidation—
Crimson Flower Chalice.

Amber wine

From white hands
Received by rough hands.
Though a hundred arrows pierce,
Do not depart, you two.
The temple pagoda’s
Carved on the doors—
Divine Maiden’s Revelry—
Playing the shō,
Outdanced by its strains,
The snowlit banquet.

The priest had his palanquin readied.

He went to the northern house.
The moonlit matchmaker

After he had departed,
the two slightly
relaxed their formal demeanor.
In appreciating the night,

There was the priest’s poem.

The poem hung in the moon’s realm—
The cassia tree draped—
On thousand-fathom branches
Donned silver.
Silver light overflowed.
If one were to enter the house,
the divining ground
proclaimed it auspicious
May Field

May Field’s noon pallor
The lapis-hued songbird sang.
A southern land of long grasses
On a day of extreme heat, fire burned.
A winding path entwined with mystery
At the edge of the deep marsh, it ended.
A doll-tree stood observed.

Blue water between stones

On round shoulders parting the water,
Parting the water lilies,
The beautiful one ascended—
Softly opened her eyes,
Seaweed-like tresses cascaded down,
Waves danced upon pure white skin.

The path through the trees leans against the trees.

She trod upon myriad grasses.
Beneath the leaves hung a rainbow.
The princess beat the golden path.

The Earth’s Field of Parting

The Shifting Hour of White Daylight

Hanging bells of Baekje

Upon stones ripe and bending

The Princess’s disheveled and cascading hair

Takamado’s day dried beneath the sun.

An arm-pillow rested,

Unfurling the white-jade dream.

The maiden’s breast—

The powerful arch of her foot.

May Field’s waterlogged path,

The deep marsh’s small black waters,

The hiding place of fallen stars,

Children of humans who hear and pass on,

Countless hollow forms.

The emerging shadowed recesses of the shore

In the surging high waters,

The sound of something now arising.

The princess’s awakened face,

Aflamed like crimson grain,

Luxuriant hair raised her body—

The jeweled figure of the radiant shrine.

Smiling, she descended.

The princess’s realm beneath the lake,

Feet treading the water’s ladder.

The sounds of things receded into the distance.

At the gaze’s end—shore trees stood.

The sun’s true grotto where noon never descended.

The depths of the path through the bewildering moor.

Who would know the Water Princess?

Flower Mandarin

Island Nation’s Flower Mandarin

A night fragrant in Takamado!

Even the maelstrom’s raging tides

Preened feathers smiled.

O ailing child of harmonious now—

Leaning against Tokohana’s window—

Scattering upon Star Village

Cried out again and again.

Halting life—the Moon Princess—

On a new vermilion plate
Heaped precious treasures for auspicious destiny

Bestow upon the child of joy.

A pure form transformed.

Journeying through May Field's distant path,

A floral wreath encircles the rainbow.

Silver rain cascades.

Unopened Interval.

A blizzard of petals

amidst the tumult,

Invited,

Graciously emerges

Mansion Princess.

Tarnished.

Ancient steps

Before the eyes.
A turret rose.
The Unopened Chamber.
Pickled vegetables.
Embers smoldered.
Resembling a fire-gathering woman.
The shadow stirred.
The shadow vanished.

Blossom of Dreams

A maiden’s

Blooms in the bosom—
The steps—
Do they ascend?—
Countless doors
Suddenly open

Like the wind
In the darkness.
Who goes there?
Ashen.

Mamiake

In courtly robes,
Ceremonial robes—
A figure stood.
Now reflected:
Sacrifice.

A century.
Human pillar
never decays.
Youthful
stalwart.
A lover,
holding while
unable to be entombed.
Mysterious gaze.
In flame,
body burned.
While dying,
glowing.
What could it be?
Forbidden.
Princess's hem
still unseen.

The door shut.

On the white wall.

A dwelling insect.

The spring day hollowed out.

Dusk had fallen.

The Anshō Child

The small village of Anshō at Shima’s edge.
The swift wind roared through the rocks.
The willow-lined path—trees were torn from their roots.
Fragments of slender leaves flew through the void.

Churning up the mud from the water's depths.

Stirring up the sea’s affliction.

Towering waves’ great saw.

Let the boat pass through; one would await it.

In a certain house, rice had been steamed.

Neither man nor woman remained—all had departed.

The acolyte alone sat in the small basket.

He smiled softly and faced the sea.

Rough-walled small houses—a village.

Hearts echoing hearts.

The acolyte alone knew no fear.
He smiled softly and faced the sea.
A scene of wondrous nobility.
Still now does it throb within the chest.
In youth, he went with someone.

The small village of Anshō at Shima’s edge.

Demon’s Tale

To the pale-faced youth—
seeking to hear the mysteries he concealed—
though many villagers came,
he only laughed desolately.

The previous day, he had left the village and—
the ascetic had climbed the mountain peak
as one who harbored fear—
the ascetic did not speak of the mountain's scenery.

It was said that this river...
where the path reached its extremity, there was a waterfall—
those who ventured beyond that point—
there was always the mountain's curse.

The toad exhaled its breath, rising to cloud the sky.
Parting through the bamboo grass field,

A cold hand appeared.
It touched the nape and face.
Heat haze rose twenty thousand shaku high.
Yellow Mountain, Red Mountain, Black Mountain's...
At the summit where swords were planted,
The Master of Secrets dwells here.
The first day of Bon had ended,

It had become a desolate rain.

The mysteriously glowing youth’s
eyes had grown chillingly clear.
Liu Bang, still young,
slew a snake at the valley path’s depths—
thus did he, the King of Han,
ultimately secure the throne.
This youth too, under Hibonzan’s influence,
though having attained equilibrium, remained hidden in his chamber.
Observing the prohibition, he did not speak
of the demon’s tale to the ignorant ones.

Playfully:
“Upon the earth of the house where I dwell
the black Emperor holds court—
since the earthquake’s dance flows graceful,
though edict commands ‘Descend!’,
I cannot go, for I am human.”

“In the great sky of the house where I dwell
the white Queen holds court—
since the stars’ festival shines resplendent,
though edict commands ‘Ascend!’,
I cannot go, for I am human.”

Since the star festival's radiance shone resplendent,
Though an edict commanded "Ascend!",
I could not go, for I am human.
In the old cabinet of the house where I dwell,
The distant Ancestors resided in majesty.
Since flowers falling through eternity endured,
Though They decreed "Open and come forth".

I cannot go—for I am human.

Within my dwelling's kitchen walls,

Calling halt to my laboring wife,

While making evening's preparations—

A favored fish being present—

I departed—for I am human.

First Campaign

“Father, release those reins.”

The evening sun lodged in spear tips.

When reckoned, it was autumn's ninth month.

The Red Emperor’s power waned.

The heavens soared high, resembling a clouded plain.

Should one sing of the first campaign’s steed whip,
Dreams distant, even the stars on the helmet
Glimmering, we shall take the eastern path.
Father, release those reins.
Beyond the forest where foxes cry
At the time when the moon grows slender and hangs—

Should a single beacon fire rise,

Sound the victory flute!

Upon my shoulder rests the God of War

Beneath silver candles' glow

Wash the cup and wait.

Father, release those reins.

Your hair has whitened; you've aged.

Flowers bloom young while my heart surges.

They destroyed bridges and arrayed cannons.

On high rocks they planted swords
A sheer drop—a thousand-yard cliff
Great thunderstorm in the abyss's depths
The wind was cold—ah, all awash in blood-tide.

“Father, release those reins.”

While you took a brief nap,

the picture scroll opened in reverse.

The evening star sank between waves,

mist lay thick upon river rapids,

fireflies swarmed through field grasses,

noxious vapors rose from stones.

“I would show you traces of the dead.”

“Father, release those reins.”

In my hometown temple’s garden

graves stood in solemn rows.

At midnight when chestnut boughs rustled,

alone I wandered through—

“Dear Mother, night grows late—”

pressed my forehead to my chest.

Were I to weep with all my heart as testament,

might my desires find fulfillment.

Even if I am not embraced by god’s hand

“Father, release those reins.”

Clouds thinned; the autumn wind blew.

Bush clover and silver grass; tall waves swaying.

In the shadow of soldier Komatsu,
He dreamed of distant ancestors' illustrious deeds.
Now resounded the hour-conch's call.
Whipping the steed of maiden battle,
He would gallop westward across the vast plain.

Steed Dialogue

Messenger

Moon-maned or coin-patterned,

Height: three sun; age: five years.

The coin-patterned steed of the Twenty-Eight Lunar Mansions in heaven.

The moon-maned steed bearing Mount Sumeru’s Thirty-Two Marks.

Azure Dragon’s forelegs
White Tiger’s hind legs
Does it tread upon loyalty or righteousness?
Each hoof’s ash-gray hue
Is it falling blossoms like snow, or whirling snow like flowers?
Raw-unbleached true-white cloth
Bamboo-stripped ears pointing skyward, their twin rustlings,
Bells hung facing earthward, twin eyes dew-laden.
Raised sinews, bulging flesh
The mane reaching its knees like an inverted Milky Way
A tail bundling white clouds, sweeping through grass.
The form of dragon hooves, the features of the Hualiu steed
Divine steed or heavenly steed?
Beyond words—a steed of unprecedented rarity.

The Castle Lord’s Official Missive

The tribute shall not be refused.

Steed Owner

This humble one must protest your unjust decree.

The Castle Lord’s fixation does not befit this object.

Now, the coming of this steed—

It stands as the foremost auspicious omen of this Holy Era.

In Emperor Shun’s reign descended the phoenix,

As when the Qilin appeared during Confucius’s time.

The statecraft for governing the realm and pacifying the people had not been attained,

Nor had we mastered methods to enrich the nation and promote industry—

Thus your request for this renowned steed cannot be honored.

Messenger

The esteemed steed’s trappings shall be enumerated as follows:

A dried-lacquer saddle with gold edging,

Plum and cherry blossom mother-of-pearl inlay—

This being the spring scenery of His Majesty’s garden.

The embroidery upon its saddle cloth:

Asuka-style peacock seven-treasure border ornamentation,

And Cloud Dragon’s great tread ridge.

Gauze saddle cloth

Now, the sappanwood-dyed reins—

[They] appear in the precedents of *Jinshaki*.

Iron-based stirrups

The iron-based stirrups are likened to a boat shaped like a single leaf.

𩋠鞅鞦は

Large and small braided cords were interwoven
With five-colored silk threads,
Adorned with ripple-patterned linked braid attachments—
Stay ropes, leading ropes, tether ropes
Gleamed through green-reflecting Chinese brocade.
Diamond-shaped bit and hoof irons of iron
Completed the array of horse trappings.

"Even had they been exhaustively prepared and reverently interred,"
The Messenger demanded, "do you defy the esteemed decree?"

The Steed Owner responded:
"This is indeed no trivial matter."
"The Steed’s august virtue abhors gold and silver."

Messenger

“Then speak of the Steed’s august virtue.”

“Relate to us its august virtue.”

Steed Owner

Now, as for the Steed’s august virtue—
No ordinary strong-mouthed, swift-footed steed—
Kasagake ceremonial archery, Yabusame mounted archery, and Inuoumono dog-chasing—
It is no common beast for playful farces.
India and China have ancient precedents.
The steed belongs to Kannon’s retinue.
The Saṃyukta Āgama Sutra also expounds upon four types of horses.
Through the merits of the Six Pāramitās,
Though of beastly kind, it performs bodhisattva deeds.

Prince Siddhartha upon golden dragon hooves
crossed a thirty-meter iron gate
and was revered as the Sole Honored One of the Three Realms.

Emperor Yao’s White Horse

King Mu’s Eight Steeds

The enlightened sovereign’s virtue had reached its zenith.
Emperor Guangwu of Han obtained a thousand-li horse in a single day.
He obtained a thousand-li horse.
King Ning painted horses morning and evening.
The Peach Blossom Horse was lost.
Though tales of foreign lands were many,
the rare steed of my stable—
The first steed’s countenance—
Its neighing voice reversed the setting sun,
turning through the midst of heaven.
The sound of hooves—stars’
night-shattering sound resounded.
When it leapt, its long mane roared in the wind;
when it crossed the bottomless abyss,
when it galloped, its iron legs emitted sparks,
it did not tire even after a thousand leagues.
A thousand-kin armor, a hundred-kan saddle.

Sturdy bit, stout whip.

Armor clinked and clanked.

Saddle swayed and creaked.

The bit was bitten through.

The whip was shattered.

On flesh that had been hardened to the utmost—

Agile trick-riding arts of myriad forms—
Go-board-standing bow-staff—
Single-line-stake-crossing—
Without being taught, it naturally mastered the method.
Moreover, perilous peaks and treacherous passes—sea voyages and mountain ascents.
When traversing land, it moved as if walking on flat ground.
When entering the sea, it resembled poling a skiff.
Kiso’s Ontake and Komagatake.

Echizen’s Hakusan and Tateyama
Prince Shōtoku astride a heavenly horse
The Fuji Peak where he reached Brahma’s Celestial Palace

Lofty peaks and towering mountains

Awa’s Naruto Strait and Onto’s Seto

Tenryū-Tone Lake Crossing

The roaring rapids and stormy waves—

With hooves clattering—clatter-clatter—
Undaunted, it galloped swift.
It would gallop across before one knew it.

Furthermore, on the battlefield’s occasions—
It perceived ambushes by the sound of the wind,
By looking at clouds, it discerned rain and snow.
Vanguard-forerunners breakthrough-charges espionage—
Or during the height of battle—
Spear-Pike-Arrow-Type Islands—
Turned its face and shifted its body—
The loyalty and courage that protected the master
Were no different from house retainers.
Such a famed steed was from the inner pastures—
Azuma’s Pasture—Ōyama—Kiso.

“Kai’s Black Steed—beyond those in pastures across myriad provinces—though ten thousand horses may exist, none could emerge to compare! The exemplar of famed steeds! The majestic virtue of thoroughbreds! Ah, how fortunate am I!”

Messenger

“Your tale is most extraordinary indeed.”

He hurriedly returned to the castle,

The Second Imperial Missive.

I humbly entreat your consideration.

Steed Owner

“Troublesome is this esteemed messenger.”

“Should this request prove beyond reason...”

“No matter what stratagems you exhaust,”

“No matter how many missives you deign to dispatch,”

“It shall not be requisitioned for His Lordship’s use.”

Conch trumpets blared, war gongs clamored, battle drums throbbed.

Flags rippled, sashimono banners fluttered, helmet insignia glinted.

A host of soldiers had been mustered.

The house stood encircled—ten layers deep, twenty layers tight.

Though they raised war cries and pressed the siege,

“It shall not be yielded for requisition.”

“Were I granted the honor of meeting a general of true merit,”
“Then might both steed and master find glory.”

Drawing forth the four-season tether—
In spring: the skylark-feather hue of heaven’s vault,
In summer: roan like deutzia blooms through fences,
In autumn: chestnut as fallen leaves,
In winter: dappled reeds bent low, snow-piled white—

“Among ten thousand noble steeds,”
“I shall submit my petition and await summons.”
“With deepest reverence shall I present this courser.”

This essay draws heavily upon *Treatise on Adorned Steeds*, *Complete Writings on Hualiu Steeds*, *Weaponry Studies*, *Complete Manual of Horsemanship*, *Debate on Saddles and Stirrups*, *Illustrated Guide to the Divine Steeds of Kasuga with Commentary*, *Taiheiki*, and the works of Sōrinshi, though it refrains from explicitly citing sources.