Pathway to Japanese Literature

This book is dedicated to Mr. Goto Toranosuke.

The sea I journeyed toward

The path I took—into a cauldron where moonlight poured,

The sawara tree sank with weary arms,

The Akamegashiwa's leaves wept through furtive whispers,

Rhododendrons breathed in mountain depths—"Silence" and,

It could not be a wood where "Stillness" strained.

The path I took—where wild walnuts burst with mirth,

Golden citrus bowed branches low.

Niwabi Ono's rough field; wild fruits'

The brewed sake perfumes the small jar—"Rest" and,

It cannot be the place of “the Delicious Banquet”.

The path I took—through leaves of half-withered reeds—
where sunset’s bloodshot light lapped wave upon wave
across water-rusted surfaces—dazzled drunk on their shimmer—
there an aged heron thrashed through marsh waters—“Lament”—
yet this could never be Reminiscence’s dwelling place—
the path I took—where eight-hundred tides roared—

Distant seas—Ah, morning’s departure, towing the water’s vein

The god stands firm—the Aramitama, the child who hunts whales,

With sun-darkened broad shoulders, lo—"Mercy" and,

"summons the sails of 'Effort'."

Ah, had it been in Yamato—

Ah, had it been in Yamato—
Now, Kannazuki—
Along the narrow path of Kamunabi Forest, where the upper leaves scatter and thin,
With hair wet by dawn dew, go and tread the path—

To Ikaruga.
Heguri’s vast plain, tall grasses—

A golden sea rippled under the sun—

The dwelling’s window grew pale in the faint sunlight—

The golden characters of the rare sutra from ancient times,

On the Baekje ochigen, the ritual jar, and the painted walls—

The dimly glimpsed presence concealed behind pillars,

The Palace of Ritual Art adorned with eternal flowers, deep within the purification hall,

The smoldering incense—akin to the eightfold salt vessel—

In the bewilderment of the fine sake’s jar,

Truly, one must have been drunk.

In the newly cultivated path’s cleared field,

Hidden among reddening citrus leaves, the midday sun glimmered faintly,

To the beautiful tones of a silent song from an unknown place—
In distraction, I caught sight of the Narcissus Flycatcher
on the branches of an ari tree, resembling a dwarf musician—
playfully it frolicked.
The awkwardness of its tail feathers and body whenever it moved—
the drifting of leaves fluttering and flipping—
amidst the hedges, between the trees—could this too be one of the rustic child monk’s
phantoms? In the depths of the evening temple, a voice-like resonance—
sutra chanting—was it now? A tranquil heart—
the aimless wandering of one who exists here—
may it have seeped into the very soul.
The sun hid behind trees; all doors—
in the cold evening garden of Yumedono Hall, faintly creaking—

The dry, curled leaves rustling swiftly—

Hackberry, enoki, chinaberry—names though they bear—the broad-leaved bodhi tree,

The murmuring of passersby, listening as if reciting from memory.

The stone corridor’s presence; gazing out,

Tall pagoda—the setting sun casts its light upon the weather-beaten Nine Rings,

The evening view, with light shining upon the flowers,

As though the long hem of a black robe trailed upon the ground,

The floating walk of those who seemed like students of old—

Ah, had it been in Yamato—

Today, Kannazuki—the evening of day,

The fleeting moment of a sacred mind,

Would that I knew—within myself.

Soul’s Constant Well

Ah, the plains were veiled by dawn’s—

A maiden’s mirthless floating walk in solitude,

Behind the auspicious trees—flowers, small plants,

Stems and leaves dampened beneath heightening their fragrance,

Along the morning-trodden shaded path’s passing,

If there were a youthful land of eternal summer,

Would that I go, entwined with my heart’s leaves—
Crimson—may it bloom as a flower of burning fire.
Ah, the argent Takamikura of this world,
Amidst the imperial seat where the aroma of fine sake wafts,
The eight maidens dancing in their patterned weave—
The women’s ensemble of the Music Bureau, the sound of the kugo—
Resound, O waves of the great sea, surge!
If there were a palace that holds banquets through long nights,
Would that I go, with my intoxicated heart—
Would that I might attain the name of an illustrious song master.
Ah, the sun has hidden itself in the evening gloom—
The grove’s held breath, its spirit slackening—
Rinryōsei plunges its wings into the Water Rust River.

In the silence, the pale moonlight cast a bluish shadow,
A faintly glowing depth—in the empty room,
If there were a temple where the ritual lamp’s flame dims,

Would that I go, my heart in night’s seclusion,
Would that I could hear the heaven-borne palanquin’s passage.
Ah, thus in fields, in palaces, in night’s seclusion,

Though there were days of wandering in longing,
In the end, the wild heart spread its wings,

Would that I return—to your longed-for hand.
A wavering half-smile, a tender countenance—
Soften—O youthful soul,
When one is fevered on the journey, must scoop up—
Verily, it is the Constant Well of True Pure Water.

a spouse

A delicate smile—the deep azure of the heavenly firmament,

Your gaze—the day’s tepid warmth,

When the withered field of a lonely heart was abruptly illuminated—
the deciduous trees that had scattered their leaves in the days of the bygone world—

And once more, on young saplings' new verdant branches they budded,

Of joy—and the shade and light of sorrow,

Along the path beneath playful interlacing boughs, beautiful tears of

Raindrops dripped; a quiet ambiance trickling through,
As *Bewitchment*'s wind obeyed each treading sole's touch,

Here and there, the flowers of Reminiscence paled,
Flickering faintly, the hue of Whispers took on kerria’s tint,
The sweet fragrance of a kiss was like mist,
Swaying languidly, the dreamlike spring warmly,
In intoxication, wandering lost through a fleeting moment—
Ah, how sorrowful—the tender sunlight suddenly—
The sun dimmed, the wind of *Manifest Heart* stirred,
The flowers did not wither, the sprouted green leaves did not fall,

O path thick with standing dead trees—of the bygone world,
The Days of Prosperity rushed by, bright and swift,
The heron-legged ‘Lament’ alone turned pale blue,
Sighs wandered lowly—it must have been a dream,
Ah, married woman—
Truly, the ephemerality of that tender gaze—
When the day seemed to mend into calm—soon again,
The darkening winter day’s sky—such was its aspect.

Winter Day

It was the day of the Niiname Festival.

In the afternoon, on the exposed riverbed,
Venerable ladies—'Winter' had arrived,
Their bodies wavered.
The frailty of heart in these counted days—
The atmosphere of a tearful day,
Shadows of things swayed faintly,
In a softened hue.
The folds of clouds grew faintly dull,
Across the low sky glided a gentle canopy,
Of the bygone world's remembrance grasses—
Prosperity—and Illusory Flowers.

Tangled and prostrate—the pale roots of tall miscanthus grass,

Aged Last Leaves stood disheveled—

The air grew cold; voices thinned to whispers.
The sound alone pained.
Now, the day seemed to fade from thought,
Veiling faces—the heavens clouded over,
The evening drizzle wept in stealth—
Muffled sobs welled softly.
On such a day, even the birds in their nests,
Under the desolate gaze’s weight,
Ceased their idle chirpings—
They bowed low as if in reverence.
A brief moment—and soon the day cleared,
The winter day began to smile.
Pale blue cheeks—noses whitened,
Faces flushed.
On trees, on stems, on fallen leaves, on stones,
The moisture from weeping glistened.

A lament without equal—
Ah, the beauty!
The feel of the day—in this grieving body,

Recalling those beautiful days of old,
In loneliness—not being the child who smiled—,
Who could comprehend?

Bulbils

Half in sunlight, hidden by a humble dwelling,

Alongside a thorny old tree,

The summit was reached, the tendrils' grasp slackened,

Bulbil vines.

To the Eight Maidens' servants of the field,

A solitary self—a humble one,

Hidden by leaves—ah, a scant...

Let the fruit indeed be borne.

The ripe-hued golden raspberry,

Sorahijiri, Akazura Tsugumi,

A day came; they pecked and departed.

Drunken revelry.

The Japanese pepper tree, its core formed, at the mountain’s edge—

Beans drop; a squirrel gathers them,

Though small-jar sake is brewed,

In the cave’s depths.

Unlike [others], alone beneath stems and leaves,

(Hidden love—though none may know—)

The fruit bears, the fruit ripens,

The vine sags heavily.

Whirlwind, the stirring of underleaves,

Helter-skelter, the bulbils scattered.

Ah, ill omen—the high thorns' scattered rosary beads,

Scattered beads.

The bulbils indeed lurked in the subsoil,

Awakened to the sun, swelled with dampness,

Someday extended their sprouts once more,

May their second generation thrive.

Though I am but a dwarf of the wild field,

Dawn's glow—it was there once more.

Evening gazes—had I drunk my fill of seeing,

Countless returns.

In deeds slight as befits my station,

Their allotted nature fell short.

Ah, ripe fruit—my era has fallen,

They would never return again.

Autumn harvest—the field’s hectic bustle,

The fluttering of old shoes—now,

In the murmuring of poignancy,

The leaves gasped.

Song of the Flycatcher

Indeed they must have come—those of the grove,

Hōshikohitaki——

In those days—(Kuni may have been of the era of aesthetic men.)

The taboo garments of the Toyoakari Festival—a young boy,

on the path beneath trees where shade ivy trailed to and fro,

having wed Princess Leaf-Dye—you who were born,

the smoke tree’s upper leaves crimson,

the hazel tree’s hollow fruit falling to the roots with a sound,

since it was the era of the ever-maiden Mother Shrine...

Was aimless wandering permitted,

There, alone on a wild tree’s branch,
they lingered with an omen-seeking gaze.
They must be waiting for the founder’s people.

A year had passed,

Kasuga Shrine’s Envoy Princess, wearing autumn’s twofold mantle,

The late autumn warmth drifting between the nagi trees,

At the capital’s outskirts—autumn bamboo grasses—

*The 'Fragrant Clear Water'—water-rusted in the old temple’s

In the profound depths of the Hall of Decadence—
the heavenly august form of the Celestial Maiden of Artistry’s statue,
in a jade-like glow, the countenance—

the border of Tokoyo—that splendid divine land—
Imbued with longing, the journey back—
Suddenly, upon the rotten branch in the desolate evening garden—
listening intently to your serene song,
to the strings of my uplifted heart,
in the harmonizing of strings’ tremulous tones—the song’s master,
indeed, as a harmonious-souled friend—
she had conceived—

Another year—it was Kannazuki (Month Without Gods),
The day when stealthy rains showered Fukakusa Ono’s—
On the upper branches of the persimmon tree, beautiful preserved fruits remained ripe—
In the evening dampened by the setting sun—a face flushed crimson with shy embarrassment,

Aimlessly wandering along the way—

On the path of Take-no-Ha Mountain where raindrops scattered and glimmered,

You—a lone yellow flycatcher’s

silent crouch I glimpsed,

＊Of that rare one from lingering past thoughts—

Bewitched? Through the scent of smoldering things across rain-drenched fields,

I recalled nights of old,

With tearful eyes, the bird seemed to lament—
The gaze lingered.
Ah, you were indeed Kobayashi’s—
Noriko’s Flycatcher—in the human world’s comings and goings,
How fitting—children whose souls might meet again—
Truly, though but a slender thread of fate, it was no illusory flower.
In the field of my soul,
Where “Effort’s” moisture and “Thought-Wisdom’s” abundant shadows had been purified,
Now bloomed the rare flower that ought to blossom—
That tender young bud—
The shrine door stayed shut and silent,
While words dripping too soon bore their beautiful fragrance—

Until even the fire of life was consecrated,
the fragrance began to manifest subtly.
*At Akishino-dera Temple stands the Kōzui-dō (Fragrant Water Hall), the historic site of Ajari Jōgyō’s Agai (ritual well).*
*The lower path of Take-no-Ha Mountain is traditionally held to be the historic site of Fukakusa Shōshō’s visiting path.*

Song of Nostalgia

My homeland, where sunlight and cicadas bathed in a small river,

On the branch of a tree, the plumaged bird’s song lingered through the long day—

The capital women’s shrine-visiting steps and the listless equinox festival—

Katsura Otome, at the river’s edge, proudly built a weir and caught sweetfish,

In mid-spring day, drops from the small net might have caught the scent of clear sake,

The young people of the Mountain Cherry Blossom Gathering rowed back with the gentle sound of oars,

Beneath the sacred tree’s shade, lovers’ whispers; the Kabuki actors of Mibu Kyōgen—

With playful flourishes of skillful gestures, they smiled broadly and enjoyed themselves together.

To yonder—come, let us return together, you and I.

My homeland—where young camphor leaves faintly exuded their fragrance—
the oak leaves spread like palms as early summer swayed in winds;
in dappled light through foliage along Tadasu no Mori’s sacred grove path—
Konoe emissaries crowned with hollyhock and kudzu performed divine rites;
a lacquered oxcart glided on shafts painted for sacred birth’s day;
and at Minazuki’s Gion Festival where sun whitened mountain floats—
carts creaked down Hirokoji Avenue through crowds seeking offerings;
Hishi’s monks and flower sellers mingled while crumbling away—
To yonder—come—let us return together—you and I—

My homeland was the field path where alder trees’ yellow leaves fluttered,
In the rice-pounding maidens’ quiet song, the yellow oxen returned,
The sun, now in its final shifting of light, gazed intently at the Nine Rings Pagoda,
In the quietly dimming twilight, the deciduous tree, now somewhat scattered and sparse,
As if an old funeral woman lazily dragging her mourning veil—
A mournful figure; the evening moon faintly visible through the trees’
Dreamlike gaze adrift; the bell’s resonance in bluish pallor,
The pilgrims on temple circuits—unexpected families they might conceal—
To yonder—come, let us return together, you and I.

My homeland—in the morning-frosted fields of true vines, maple leaves,
The Frost Month rushing swiftly by—the grand lecture’s capital entry lay becalmed;
The sun declined past noon; evening crossing’s—

The traveler’s heart was lost on the path; those who lamented with tearful eyes,

In the Lower Capital, a drizzle fell; the lonely days grew short,

The young man of the path was in the sutra repository where the scent of things decayed,

The shadow of the dusty abode; the characters of the ancient sacred sutra were cherished,

In the brightness of the crimson evening, even the golden shore must have yearned.

To yonder—come, let us return together, you and I.

Song of the Goldstar Grass

I

In ancient times, on the mountain’s first day, all plants and trees,

Ah, Goldstar Grass,

In the glorious affairs of permitted hues, smiles bloom profusely,

Ah, Hitotsuba,

Alone with empty hands, they await the Mountain Princess’s decree,

Ah, Hitotsuba.

II

In spring, the Ezo violet adorned the Japanese andromeda with blossoms.

Ah, Hitotsuba,

In sorrow over unmatched adornments, they went to the palace,

Ah, Hitotsuba,

Though they pleaded, the Princess ignored them, feigning ignorance,

Ah, Hitotsuba.

III

In summer, mountain lilies; Naniwa roses' fragrance faintly emerged,

Ah, Hitotsuba,

Desolate at having no fragrant scent, they spent a day in the cave,

Ah, Hitotsuba,

Though they lamented, the Mountain Princess merely smiled with feigned ignorance,

Ah, Hitotsuba.

IV

Autumn was fennel; the ebine vine’s fruit had ripened,

Ah, Hitotsuba,

Lamenting the nature of barren wombs, they soaked the night with tears,

Ah, Hitotsuba,

Though they withered, the Princess’s gaze had already passed into the void,

Ah, Hitotsuba.

V

At last the leaves scattered, the fruit decayed.
In the mountain of winter-bare trees,

Ah, Hitotsuba,

When they sat alone, the Princess came and said, “Do your thoughts reach—”

Ah, Hitotsuba,

“The world—only I and my knowing make it so; thus does existence persist.”

Ah, Hitotsuba.

VI

The Princess smiled, “Today again, they covet fragrance—

Ah, Hitotsuba,

“Do they covet color now? How? Shall this purification child thus deign to bestow it?”

Ah, Hitotsuba,

From that very day, they parted from the golden-mottled patterned leaves,

Ah, Hitotsuba.

Dusk Voices

The sun had set; the fields lay low,

The mist smoldered in wavering drifts,

Purification and ascetic devotion—a night of confession,

Souls sank in brooding thought—this they must have been.

On the golden road of evening glow,

Returning birds faded into the distance,

A stain in the heart vanished,

Now at last, the second had vanished—how?

Amidst avenues of leaf-clad trees,

*Quiet Heart*'s floating walk,

The branches of every tree drooped in stillness,

They drew breath in that manner.

Now the clouds' evening crimson,

In the great hall of the sun that shines upon heaven,

Women's music, echoes'

A faintly resonant dream-feeling.

The depths of the purified soul,

The sacred heart was attuned,
A beautiful sound indeed resonated.
It longed to go beyond the sun.

*A Day in Shiwasu*

I

Winter had fully come; / The day had ended,
All day long,/ It raged through / The forest,
The swift-footed autumn storm—/ With a chill at its back—
Its disheveled hair tangled,

It hurried toward the vicinity of the northern mountains.
The ancient grove's deciduous forest,
The trees' held breath tremulously,
The remaining leaves endured the wind.

II

The sky, now clear—as if,
having forgotten the love that once existed,

In the garden of dharma beneath the bodhi tree,

the saint who dwells in wisdom without defilements,

the presence or absence of passing birds—

not even the slightest stain was permitted.

Purification? —The severity of purity,

even to behold it was unbearable—the raw heart.

III

Ah, upon Dainichieda’s brow,

The jeweled crown of the setting sun’s

O light! Heavenly beautiful gaze—

To the east, gently over the peaks—

The tranquility of pale clouds gliding,
Is this the final day of the soul,
The heart sways aimlessly,
A beautiful name that must recall what once was.

IV

It was but a fleeting moment—the evening glory.
Now even its faint light has faded.

And so, the day darkened into the dullness of a funeral,
The day likely entered the tomb of true darkness.

At this quiet deathbed,
I sought to know the nurse’s heart,
the day’s profundity stole in,
I longed to trace the secret heart as well.

*From Shimookazaki Village in Rakuto

Composed while gazing toward Mount Hiei

Demon “Ego”

I

Truly, an apparition did I see—a wooded plain where withered trees stood thick,
In the deep recesses of a path where colorful birds thronged densely,
A single Aoki tree, concealed within a thicket's broad leaves,
Yearning for golden bell-shaped fruits,
The day I went to pluck a cluster fully ripened,

A dwarf in black-dyed attire came into view,

“Ah... this unforgivable fruit of wisdom,” they muttered under their breath,

Covering their face and hastily wrapping a hooded robe around themselves,

The sound of a walking stick clopping steadily along the path beneath the trees,

Now visible... they traced their way with heron-like steps.

II

Truly， an apparition was seen—princess lilies bowing low in the tree gloom，

In a sunlit garden where rhododendrons dream,
The serenity of the day spent in mutual embrace with Aeka’s companion,
The whispers fluttered like a tiny bee’s wings,
Pleasant words, treasured as dew from clear sake,
Intoxicated heart, the bewilderment of cherishing—ah, forgive me,

The hem of the ikime-patterned ochi robe fluttered,
In the shelter of trees, at the retreating figure moving deeper into the depths,
The hand that would crown came undone—and within the sack’s core,
A chill ran through me; my body stiffened in fear.

III

Truly an apparition did I see - the midday sun shone brightly,
In the new hall where a beautiful fragrance faintly wafted,
Through the first music hall came strumming of the Shingyoku Tang qin -
The hues and sounds of *Tachi-gaku* swelled like waves,
Flushed faces showed rising excitement midway through the progression,
Among seats between men of refined taste and rosy-cheeked maidens,
A tall figure of foreign bearing - one among young boys -
Troubled by slender shoulders in a frayed wisteria robe,
The left hand - like a crumbling beam; sweetfish cascaded in summer rain -
The harmonized melody's threads ceased midway.

IV

Truly an apparition did I see—the temple lantern's flame burning drowsily,
In the ancient temple where flowers in the offering basket sighed faint breaths,
On the night when the attendee of the evening gathering had withdrawn,
Myself alone in ascetic seclusion's confinement,
In thought-wandering haze at eternity's edge—the beautiful golden
Solemn garden... Amidst celestial maidens' mutual dance,
What I saw were Touhaku's venerable attendants—ah, in time's brief space,
Princess Nayobika concealed herself, leaving only—
That which stood desolate as a tomb behind,
A foreboding stirred; then abruptly, the phantom dissolved completely.

V

Truly, an apparition did he see—on that single day of the Minazuki festival,
Amidst the creaking procession of adorned carts and towering yamaboko floats,
The sun indeed blazed upon the capital’s grand avenue at high noon,

The crowd surged toward the throng of festival spectators,

Once more unseen, wearing a dull robe—others knew not,

In the melancholy of one venturing even into the barren field’s wilderness,
Though they pursued with resolute heart and broke into a jog—
The apparition ceaselessly advanced ahead,
They indeed could not reach—legs faltered—ah! Breath choked—
By the roadside, their body collapsed limply.

VI

Amidst the torments of a sickbed burning with fever tonight,
The world blazed intensely with raven-hued flames,
In a sea of flames—swaying molten—I, like fallen leaves,
Looked left and right along a path of unknown destination,
Suddenly caught sight of familiar-looking figures in the distance,
Chased straight ahead while clinging on—losing my voice—
“When I called ‘You!’—they halted mid-stride and half-turned—”

“Come now, in this time of torment,” they slipped off their robe.

When he peered through the gap in their veils—ah, “’Twas I!”

His chest choked with horror—yet he was not in mortal peril.

The sun at its zenith

The season is midsummer,

The sun—true noon—,

The sunlight upon the wheat—
The ears whitening,
Along the country path,
Flickering,
Like turbid sake,

It surged up.

In the meadow of the pasture,

A row of trees,
Their languid arms

Their leaves hung down.

Bloated and bluish,

Water Rust Swamp,

In the dizzying swirl,

Breath ceased.

A wisp of cloud,

drifting feebly,

gasping as it drifted,

in flickering presence,

In time, it vanished.

In time, it vanishes.

Navy blue—

Sky, oh void—

A grave, perhaps.

The water's surface—water rust.

The air grew slack.
The salamander submerged.
It slipped through.
Amidst the scent of kiln soil,
Breath choked.

The snake has hidden,

It hid among the leaves.

Over all things
shone high
the Stern One’s scorn—
ah, the loneliness—
a soul without regret’s
nobility—

Truly, Minazuki's—
Would that this were Minazuki's day.

*The Sound of the Flute*

Towering on both sides of life’s path,
The “Sorrow” mortise and “Joy” tenon,
Tonight in the damp shadow of a shaven pate—
Aimlessly did Kodama lament,
Through heaven’s blessed night wandering silence’s depths,
Wounded by flute-notes’ mournful ache,

The upper branches rustled softly, whispering as they scattered in disarray,

The fallen leaves of two trees drifted down softly.

"Dampened in the shade,"

"Sorrow’s

A fragment of yellow decayed leaves

"stained with color."

"Fluttering in sunlight,

"Joy’s

A fragment of green leaves'

"fragrant with the scent of verdure."

"Ah, my homeland—

Sacred world’s—

Silence—dwells solemnly

“Solemn Garden.”』

“And my Main Palace—”
“the harp’s strings tuned, resounding—
“a beautiful land.”』

“There—golden

“The fruit of ‘Wisdom’—and there—”

the shadowed Ashoka tree’s

“the fragrance of leaves.”』

“There—Satanzurafu,

“The flower of ‘Love’,”

“Effort’s eternal beacon,”

“the sunlight.”

“There—the ritual woman’s

minor purification robes,

candle flame, golden characters,

“aura of the hymn.”

“There—the Eight Maidens’

women’s music,

cup vows, murmured words,

“the scent of white sake.”

“To yonder—ritual abstinence,

during the nocturnal retreat,

Now indeed they must return—
“Wings,” if they say,

They speak again: “On such a night—”

They hold banquet.

To yonder—come, vermilion’s

“Bring forth the ochre boat.”

“In the garden reigns a god.”

Though it has a name,

Oh awe-inspiring, heavenly—
“Woman of ‘Wandering’.”

“It is meet that you now dwell—
Earthly deities,
revered as those whose name is heavenly—
‘Man of Wandering’.”

The sensual tones ceased—amidst the intoxicated exaltation of heart,
the rustling scattered fluttering leaves,
the threads of entangled dancing wings—suddenly danced forth,
then fell silent; settled down below.

On life’s path, on hen feathers and cock feathers,
lips touching, they slept together.
Fallen leaves in disarray—in beautiful intimacy where souls mingled—
the moon remained unblurred through the night as it watched.

＊One Night in the Month at Autumn’s End at Kachōzan, Eastern Kyoto

Composed upon hearing the sound of a flute within the temple grounds.

The Grebe’s Purification

The prime of midsummer had passed,
Kutara Field’s hidden old marsh,

“Silence extended its wings.”
Nurtured, the water’s surface.

O grebe, truly a maiden of purification,

It appears to be the Reverend Nun’s assembly.

With wings engaged purely,

The grebe floated upon the water rust formed by muddy water.

Waterlogged leaves of common reeds in disarray,

the joints of the prostrate reeds’ stems,

Withered tips—truly, the purification ground,

Slowly, the grebe glided away.

Even in the sound of the fisherman’s clogs,

Sniffling, the child hiding their face—

The child looked back and teared up,

Into the water’s concealment they sank resolutely.

Dreaming of the lotus’s summer,

The palace at the water's depths smirks,

Princess Sukugi, scooping up ‘Devotion’—

The Life of Perpetual Youth had filled.
Unseen for a time—now at last floated,
the purified sacred heart—
Ah! worthy grebe—
daylong persisted in purification.

The Maiden Heart

I

Golden raspberries hidden among the leaves,

Her eyes moistened and were drenched in weeping.

In the morning fields of Blue-Water Minazuki,

Is there sorrow like mine?

II

Happiness, hope, and peace,

Have gone and vanished beyond the sea.

This world is too vast,

And the maiden’s heart grows desolate.

They went and vanished beyond the sea.
This world is all too vast,
The maiden heart abides in sorrow.

III

In the whisper of the morning-treading wind,

The raspberry’s cheek sparkled.

The god—the maiden on the brushwood path—
The god would not deign to see even a single leaf of her.
Unforgotten visage.

I

The noblewoman of the summer field held in her hands

A silver basket, peach herbs—

Though perfumed with fragrance, reminiscence—
Reminiscence does not resemble the visage of people.

II

Eyes cast down, hanging faintly—
A day—the white Naniwa Rose—
In the sunset’s concealment breathed,
A day recalled the fields of Tsunokuni.
III

A day—in dewy moonlit night—
The reed leaves at water-soaked rocky shore，
The Uzu Waves swayed，and kissed—
Recalled Deep Day Inlet。

Parting

I

Parting—the white poplars of Ono,

In the sunset's concealment, the falling leaves—

O long sigh, forsaken by the thicket,

And so, it quietly departed.

II

In the path of mementos, the feet’s torment,

Days slackened, burdened by forgotten memories,

Beautiful was that ancient time,

In the glory of things, perhaps there lay solace.

III

In the fullness of admiration, unwittingly,

This day too, soon to join the bygone world’s
reminiscence that departs never to return,
It was thought—nay, believed—to vanish away.

Whisper of Fragrance

I

In the hush of that evening’s dusk,
the soul breathed stealthily,
somehow into reminiscence,
and caught the scent of two flowers.

II

One was the damp gardenia—
on the evening of parting, drenched in tears—

In Aeka’s chest, still now—
“The Day shall not linger,” it whispered.

III

One is the fragrant wild briar—

Now, not yet withered—there it remains,

And a new Day buds anew,

The Day whispered, “May the flowers bloom.”

The Day After Time

Time had split the two apart,
And returned to atone,

In the sorrowful wound of reminiscence,
Time caused sweet tears to well up.

Beautiful Name

Today, in the dusk-dark of Uzuki,

The Izayoi Rose was fragrant with perfume.

Something dear—

The golden-lettered name alone.

The god summoned the maiden,

Though she went to an unknown place,

Because the divine heart was profound,

Only the lingering name has He not erased.

Pastoral Reminiscence

The evening moon cast its light; the field froze.

Having grown utterly weary of daily toil,
they collapsed and lay prostrate on the mown grass,
thinking of the one who had departed—of that person’s plight.
And yet, in this jade-paved noon—
since you stood in the Imperial Garden—
at midnight, in such a Kutara field,
you wandered aimlessly.

Kiss.

This morning, at the bay of dawn,

I beheld—my face aglow,

Indigo pupils, the lapping—

The kiss of sky and sea.

You the azure sky, I the sea,

Ah, drunken ecstasy—to draw into embrace,

My chest quivered—ah, surely even that...

Ah, even the vast sea trembled.

Large-leafed yellow violet

An evening awaiting someone—the day’s remnant,

The large-leafed yellow violet bloomed,

At love's zenith, inexpressible,
The desolation seeps into the very flesh.
Flower and maiden are tormented.
Sorrow, do not come—O heavenly sun,
In your interminable age, but a single day—
Two souls intoxicated by today.

Fig

The leaves scattered indeed—in midsummer’s
In the shadow of Blue-Water Muzuki，I glimpsed—

The dream of that day first awoke,

Today—you—ah, fig.

It was yesterday—evening, dawn—
Dew-dampened were the two selves,
Tomorrow, to the heavenly divine hand—
Entrusting also—yet—Ah, fig.

Spiritual unrest.

On the first day of Eleventh Month, at morning departure, Ono’s tree guardian,
Thorny tall-barked Ariwa Tree’s roots had scattered and piled up.
Startled by the sheer number of fruits, they swiftly turned back,
As if moving the lid of an eyeless basket behind their back,

When they caught sight of someone, the graceful figure—

In the radiant purity, love receded,

Though it had hidden deep within the heart's innermost recesses,

Falling and settling, it then bloomed resplendently, appearing at the ear.

Parting.

They did not part, the two.
The selves whose souls had united—even in Tokoyo—
Though they had agonized never to part, it proved indeed a futile struggle.
The fallen leaves too scattered thus in mutual dance, yet—
They parted not; the wind drove them asunder.
Well then—unseen, unknown.

It was an illusion.

It was an illusion—as phenomena's reflections faded away—

The imperial-granted winter's eyes flickered and glinted into being.

Ah, Kannazuki—the leaves in the thickets scatter and thin,

The deep blue sky smiled; thus did it glimmer faintly.

The evening primrose sings

The dusk-drawn sun, a golden-feathered chariot,

Sea Palace, sink now—

The heavens creak.

In the shallow growth of field grasses,

The dream path of slumber does not awaken,

Eyes do open.

The evening mist, its form drooping,

Coiling around the Mejikigi tree thicket,

Coiling slantwise.

Blue-feathered horned owl, forked branches drooping low,

Half-asleep, wordless—

Perched figure.
In the field of stillness revived—
All the blue—the self and blessed soul’s
Moonlit grass.

Behold—yonder—amidst the trees of the forest,

Pale whitens—Ah, moonlit white—

Glimmers faintly.

Now, the blue of the trees’ partial branches,

Eventually, the field’s silver-white hue,

Hikoromo Anihime.

The flower’s eyes, now near,

Satiated with the day; even upon the day smiled,

Rosy-cheeked maiden.

Unlike Wanami the Young Nun’s—
In night’s seclusion, the Sasarae maiden
Was tormented by what she saw!
There—the Princess’s flowing tresses,
The floral crown with congealed dewdrops—
A heart’s bewilderment.

The Princess? Or perhaps the grand palace of the soul—

Tokoyo’s edge—ah—of supreme nirvana

The austere straw mat.

The kindled flower’s calyx—

The night’s—soon my golden world’s

The ritual fire basin.

The kuyuri incense steams amidst stems and leaves,

The sacred world’s first-night austerity,

The ritual ground is purified.

A quiet heart, swaying below,

Soul-binding—the thoughts do ascend.

The now of rapture.

Even if the old fox of the field tramples and breaks,

Ah, do not decay—O fragile self, weak grass—

Sacred heart.

Wild chrysanthemums sing.

Having bloomed forth, today marks the seventh day,

The thorns of wild brambles entwine.

Clumsy in birth.

The courted capital woman’s snipe,

Beneath the trampling of yellow legs, they break,

Stems and leaves bend.

Kannazuki—the pallor of the setting sun,

Tremulously, the light seeped,
Arm pain.
There, now the flowers withered,
The fragrance decayed—the aging resounded—
Riverside mugwort.

There again the roots had covered,
The tangled-tailed bitter sophora lay dormant,
Arm heavy.
Entangled grasses beneath fallen leaves' underside,
Ripe white petals—tepid ember droplets—
The fruits indeed were bedewed.
Now at last—the poetess of Uranuno—
The cricket slackened its strings,
Entering—the cultivated soil.
Loneliness—in the grave's depth,
"Ah! Heard—'past karma's footsteps'—"
Stealthily they went.
Would that the root of refuge spread below—
Even now in trembling—to Ama,
A sensation of return.

The moment awakened from a dream.
Awakening from the dream—now indeed I have heard—
The snow-white retreating feathers of sleep,
Fluttering away.

Is it a dream?—That was my world’s harvested moor,
A patch of sunlight through late autumn warmth—

In the waning sunlight,

The splendor of bygone days

Extended sprouts from harvested stubble -

The flowers indeed bloomed.

Flowers steeped in yellow fragrance,

Circumambulating Buddha and clinging children -

One was to 'Refuge'.

Flowers burned in droplets of fire—
Withered below, decayed beneath sheltering leaves—
'Love' stained crimson.

Or between fluttering leaves' intervals—
A hollow laugh—O counterfeit sages—
"Happiness" bleached white.

Or where eye-corners glistened wet—
Bowed countenances—the uncanny's
"Genius" tinged blue.

And in shadows hung slack spiderwebs—
"The Past"—and the daddy-long-legs'
Chill-stiffened corpse.

Leaf-green abruptly withered—
Wasting away—my world of dullness—
The wisteria robe's decay.

O bluing self—of the Decaying Nun—

Growing old, gazing for a while—
The soul too did not waste away.
The color of dullness had somewhat faded,

First light—ah, dawn!
Let eyes grow cold.
The field of spreading dawnlight—it was indeed
"The Future"—ah!—in my new self’s
solemn abode of truth.
First light—verily Eternal Spring’s—
gazing afar leapt
the chest’s sacred heart.

Memories of the Sea

I

Evening waves grew weary—indeed, I.
Snow-white wings swayed gently, drifting—
The seagull in the current—indeed, my
Soul, drift and waver!

II

I lamented—the reeds, their undersides withered,
The upper leaves quivered unsteadily.
Yesterday—together—the reed mold’s

It was the young days I sang of.

III

Ah, a fire ignites—in the evening dusk’s

In the reeds’ midst, shadows steeped in blue.
Although I know it will vanish—indeed, I
I recall the visage of a person.

Dappled Willow

I

It was such a night—the white poplar
In hazy-gray moonlight,
Reluctantly parted and turned back,
Embracing each other, they lamented.

II

That night drew on—the nun’s robe

The day when the soul first began to wear—

The purified boundary of 'Love'—
How lonely it was, unbeknownst to others.

III
Even in the celestial solemn gardens—
Ah! Could it be—the commemorative white poplar—
One night thus hidden among trees—
Behold even the mortal world.

Naniwa Rose

I

Now, the white moon’s speckled surface,

In the faintly stirring evening hours,

At the roots of the true hedge, long accustomed to waiting,

The Naniwa Rose blooms fragrantly.

The Naniwa Rose blooms fragrantly.

II

If you were to come waiting,
Even a thousand nights thus spent—
To merely forget—in any age,
The day of our meeting shall never come.

III

Even if I depart from your noble heart,

“Love alone shall clasp the feather.”

Since dawn’s first light, drenched in weeping,

Destiny is alike—O Naniwa Rose.

White Violets

I

O unforgettable one! Of Tsunokuni—

Tōri Ono’s white violets,

Beneath the tree long accustomed to waiting,
They bloom fragrant with the scent of having been plucked long ago.

II

The day passed like water, yet—
Now alone—of that divine one’s
To whispers of one who knew their heart,
Violets that stirred melancholy.

III

Suddenly, the familiar chime of silver—
In the soft-voiced, stealthy sound,
On the evening of parting, entwined—

The face of Aeka too could not be conjured.

Capital’s Main Road

I

With the impromptu festival concluded,

The Capital’s Main Road too, in its numbered days,
Is it growing desolate—yesterday and today,
So it seems akin, my thoughts.

II

Once, when auspicious trees flourished in divine abundance,

The leaf-guarding deity too had dreamed,

O tree-shaded path, now were those of 'Reminiscence'
The fallen leaves alone lay sunken and still.

III

Each disarrayed leaf,

Stumbling， dancing， drifting away—

In time， they would vanish.—So it was， my...

Even days unforgotten faded into oblivion.

Hope

The day flowed like water, bearing Kotoeshi’s fallen leaves,
It did not flow.
Soon winter came, urging deep sleep.
The body was a riverside white poplar, sprouting anew once more,
In the flower garden of eternal summer’s shade, new leaves whispered.

Sacred Heart

Arrowheads deepened; from wounded hands—the sacred heart—
Day and night, ceaselessly the pus boiled yet did not flow—to the god.
In the small grove of blue-water Midzuki, the lacquer tree—indeed—

From the pores of the tree bark, beautiful sap dripped ceaselessly.

New Life

How sorrowful it was—yet again, it hid below.

Having scooped up even the Sacred Heart—this resurrected self—

Now, why did these tears refuse to be dammed?
――So it was,

The diving woman of the offshore island, Akuya pearls in hand—

The wet hair that held them afloat—this, indeed, dripped.

Apparition Amidst the Trees

I

Leaves scattered thinly, *Kannazuki*,

Such was the day,

In the shade of a smoke tree, bowing down,

One beheld a person telling tales of love.

II

Leaves scattered thinly—afternoon waned,
Such was the day,
People embraced one another,
In kisses alone did they become intoxicated.

III

Leaves scatter thinly—days of old,

One of the two,

The phantom of a day that once was—

I gazed, captivated by such a form.

Fragmentary Vine

I

When they first met in early summer,
The sky too dreamed on that sacred birth day.
The many vines adorning their crown—
As mementos they shared them.

II

As for our next meeting—when would it be?

Though there was never a day I did not weep myself drenched,

In **the** end，I was summoned by **a** heavenly maiden and went to **her** realm beyond **the** sky.

III

Ah, how the commemorative hollyhock plant,

The remaining katsura tree has withered away.

Indeed, hearts too have withered blue,

“Reminiscence” alone exudes its fragrance.

The Unforgettable

I

Tonight—in the heavenly flower garden’s
Beauteous golden isle—

All night long might you stand aglow—
My heart flutters aimlessly below.

II

If spoken, they merely slip beyond,

Since it is you—the one who parted—

That I should drift so in sorrow—

How could you ever glimpse this even in dreams?

III

The Unforgettable’s “Reminiscence”,
In the bosom of a secret heart,
On a night when Ono’s moon dimly reflected,
Wandered to that distant sky beyond.

Withered Rose

I

Withered, the rose.
Crimson-stained,
The flower’s youthful vigor had not waned.
Now notched, the sigh’s
Fragrance faintly lingered on the lips.

II

In love’s bewilderment, unwittingly,

The married woman with a stiffened face—

In the haggardness of her visage lingered fading,

The day’s vivid glow drifted into view.

III

Suddenly, once more he heard—the hazel tree’s
As twisted leaves scattered, hidden among the trees,
Secretly—from that day they met’s
The whisper of long-forgotten times.

Taboo of Love

I

A white dove with a nun-pale forehead

Even if bound with crimson at the shins,

My heart would not go to where you dwell

To your distant august garden in the sky.

II
Tonight’s damp evening moon,
In solitude that intoxicates,
The whisper that wasn’t even there
Was discerned in familiar hues and tones.

III

Wandered toward where you dwell,

Lamented Iwaharu’s love,

Stole into enshrined heart,

A sigh brushed against heaven—halting it.

Kiso Woman's Song

I

Even now lingered the remnant of a visage,

Whispering as if a dream,

Even tomorrow—thus ushering evening—

On Minegoe path longed I to wait.

II

Yesterday, O hand of Asamano field—

Princess Minazuki’s bell-offering—

The lily of the valley swaying between the trees—

The beautiful fragrance soaked in.

III
Tonight, at where the hair falls,
The white morning dew of Kai-ga-ne’s
At the foothill meadow bloom drenched,
She caught the scent of the Izayoi rose.

IV
Along the way, in distant fields’
Even if I pluck not the fair-faced flowers,
Kiso’s mountain Ezo violet—
Forget not the hue of Aeka.

Summer morning

On the hillside,

The sun blazed forth,

On the sturdy tree’s branches,
Birds sang,
Fresh water,
Scattering a smile,
Bashfully,

The field glided.

Morning treads

On the wind’s hem,
stiff blades of grass
swayed gently,
quietly scattered
dew—ah, truly,
jewels swayed,
the jewel-like sound resounded.
The clouds now
stretched white linen wings,
morning departed,
on the open sea,
raised sails—
the fisher boat’s
heart revealed itself?

Lady’s
white attire—
Ah,‘Morning’?
Childishly
she smiled—a restrained smile—

'Day' vanished abruptly,

'Day' has already,
'Day' has taken its stand in the meadow.

Whispering snow
Evening frost’s
Ono, ah—with downcast eyes,
darkened—
The sun declined.

Leftward gaze, rightward glance—
Ah, fine snow—
Eternal bliss’s
Palace entwined with
Listless
Journey—ah, ah.

There and yonder—
Hazelnut shells—
Again dry and curled—
Fallen leaves’ disarray—
On the small tree’s branch—
Bunting stiffened——

Ah, here—
Land of sorrow—
Leaden-hued
Abode it would be.

Whispered,

Sighed again—
snowflakes’ sorrow—
oh, falling
on leaves, on stones:
rested, grew weary,
flickered—

Vanished abruptly—
Faint life—
Life?—dampness.

Smoke

Burning upon the sumac’s dried, curled leaves, and upon the oak’s
bursting seed pods’ husks.
—And now,
the leaden-hued cloak draped its form limply,
leaned against the harvested field, soaked into the hidden marsh’s tarnished waters,
clung to the prostrate wood and dreamed of yesterday’s spreading fire,
misted with tears in the chill of now,
drifted listlessly, wandered aimlessly—and soon—
from the tree’s upper branches, slender and tall, drifted the smoke—
floated as clouds of existence and nothingness,
melted into the heart of heaven.

Desolation.

The haggard nestling star of the night watch:

With eyes brimming, it flickered—
The ancient nagi tree, in its drowsing dream,
Breathed tumult through restless slumber.
Midnight—
I alone
Felt faint stirrings—
A whisper-sensation where loneliness’s
Scent wafted faintly, seeping into flesh.

Hidden Marsh—
The early winter day had dimmed—
Hidden Marsh—Yamada’s nursemaid—
A sigh of memory, faint
Haggard visage.

On the leaf-laden avenue of trees,
The cow—mottled yellow legs troubled—
Hid within evening mist’s dullness,
Hooves heavy.

Karikoda no Meji—as if,

The evening of the purification child’s funeral,

Purifying the site—in the pillar’s concealment,

A lingering presence.

The tearful kingfisher of the small tree,

The nest first built—it has forgotten to see,

Listlessly, oh how swiftly it moves,

Away with you!

At the crumbling bank of evening’s condensation,

Rustling—the riverside reeds’

This—ah, the aged summer’s

The echo of a dream.

Buddha’s Birth Festival—the high noon of his nativity,

In a chest where flowers floated, tonight—

The willow of the field—the princess’s hair falls,

The leaves lie soaked through.

Desolation—‘Yesterday’ has passed away,

‘Tomorrow’ was again akin to a phantom sound.
Sinking into the deranged ‘Now,’

The water stagnated.

In disarrayed makomo reeds,

A water-soaked fire—tonight too,the stars,

In lamplight's shadow—heaven's gate:

Guard it!

Through murk of water-clogged heart,

Eternal light's reflection—

In quivering blue-white pallor,

The marsh wrinkled.

Riverside Grove

Silver horns bent,

A moon's sickly pallor—

The gaze: heavenly Amida's

Compassion dripped down.

Through night where Water Rust's scent smoldered,

Riverside Grove lingered—

Ah desolation! Purification vigils,

Devotion held in trees' stifled breath.

Bats on utsubo trees,

They taste the membrane.

The bewitching wingbeats ceased,

Dampened tree gaps—

A single leaf fragment whispered,

Two fragments whispered again.

O splendor of days gone by—truly,

It seemed to have fallen upon heron legs.

Ah, liberation—so much in

The profound depth of the solemn night,

At times like these, the tenderness of a woman’s sigh—

Ah, that tenderness—how faintly it was glimpsed.

Song of the Water Lilies

Water warmed in Minazuki's—
In the hidden marsh where summer's shade grew dark,
Flowers bloomed! The day of contemplation—
The day—a water lily's wan smile.

In silvery calyxes,
A single stick's incense burned and smoldered
The stamens, through the karmic permeation of the marsh's aura throughout the day,
Imbued with the marsh's essence, drifted.

In the interstices of unfurling leaves,
The glimmering sway of unopened lotus buds
Each one clung to days yet to come,
This day bound their wish—so it seemed.

When evening came, the water's edge of Amida's Princess's bosom—
In the bosom of Amida's Princess,
A day—soon hidden in the sweet slumber of present meditation—

It was hidden in sweet slumber.
In the marsh, the lone Child of the Dharma—
not a kingfisher—descended.

In the devout dark night of water lilies' sacred realm—
who could cherish its memory?

By the seashore

Leaden sky, leaden sea,

Ah—this self alone—

Incoming waves swayed richly,

Evening fell.

The sea god of sleet seas,

Coconut fruits ripened,

Longing for lands under eternal summer’s shade,

His heart stirred restlessly.

The distant roar of the open sea, the scent of the tide—

Ah, this intoxication—

Somewhere unknown—the soul’s

The soul longs for homeland.

My world drifts toward an unknown faraway,

During the day, and again at night,

The restless wandering of wild ambition

The wingbeats of effort.

“Even if Time were to suddenly die and perish,”

Until the final day,

How I wish to remain eternally fresh,

Wadatsumi and I.

The unknown beyond

I

In the hidden leaves of Kariu in Ono,
In the prostrate second growth of the dry field,
The quail nurtured a dream.
So it must have resembled that of ancient times—
The love of days when sleeves were trailed.

II

In the blushing maiden’s pale hands,
the lingering eve—a kiss’s
fragrance—how it was cherished.
And yet—
the soul sighed stealthily
and drifted toward an unknown faraway.

III

In the faint whisper of tonight,
It suddenly listened entranced and teared up.
The heart knew not—not even once.
That place—never once known, that faraway—

And again in that time of reminiscence—

Evening’s roar—

I

The new moon has risen—the fragrance of things,

In the May fields where fragrances faintly lingered—
In the dreamlike fringes of the capital,
Amidst the evening’s distant rumble, it could not be discerned.

II

Once did I too dwell in delicacy—
With one frail and tender did I commune—
The world’s transient splendors—
How many nights steeped me in beauty’s draught?

III

The day passed and vanished.
Even now, still—

the faint lingering of memories,

Not knowing what, the evening’s voice—

I entwined myself in that form.

Passing through the gate of tears,

Passing through the gate of tears,

There indeed lay my dwelling—
the flower of “Laughter” and “Lament’s” drooping leaves—

Drooping leaves also grew—the evening garden,
Cloaked in dun,
[It] fell silent as a tomb.
[I] passed through the gate of tears,

There indeed stood the tree of “Silence”,
Beneath the shade of silver leaves;
Plucking and eating the fruit of “Thought-Wisdom”,
Life—the hollow fruit of hazelnut—
I savored only “Solitude”.

Passing through the gate of tears,

The gods do sit, O ancient ones,
On the aged tongue of the Heavenly Oracle,

That day—unknowingly harsh—
Ah, well—it was elegant yet fraught with vicissitudes,
Fate God did I endure.

*The Lament of the Morning Glory Princess*

The sound of the golden pivot resounds,

Now, as Dawn emerged,

The First Gate of Heavenly Shade

swung open.

Doyomi struck the chest,

And day's reminiscence had awakened.

Ah, dawn—how nostalgic

those robes of quince blossoms.

In eyes brimming with tears,

In their shimmering celestial wheels—

Ah, dawn's quivering surface—

robes of quince blossoms.

Of the beautiful ancient times'
With the fragrance of dreams seeping faint into her body,
The tendrils of delicate arms—
Trembling, they bent.
The palace service under heavenly aegis,
Summoned by the name of Asagao Princess,
As one among seven throned stars,
She had danced once, long ago.
In the august abyss of divine intoxication on a serene night,
At daybreak when wed to Hiko,
Confined to the sacred mat,
She lived as flowers.
Bloomed as flowers, yet in 'darkness'—
Crouching at the prison window,

Ah, dawn! All through the night,
It is you I wait for.
Having been granted this time of waiting for you,
She glimpsed the celestial sun's path.
O time of presence and absence—this ache—
Her heart too wandered adrift.
In this ephemeral present form,
The light had long grown unbearable,
Ah, dawn—how blinding—
My eyes have indeed gone blind.
Golden sunflowers follow the sun's course,
Though they chase its burning tracks,
Trembling sightless with bowed heads,
They know not which way to turn.

"Grief is a young pregnant woman,"
Daily pregnant with five hundred eyes,

Ah, dawn! Eyes straining—
I have indeed waited for you.

*The Asagao Princess is one of the Tanabata Seven Princesses.*
*She is one of them.*

*Tsukuba Murasaki*

The night did not end.
At the dawn of the second new reign,
As for the stately form of the land's elder princess—Fuji was questioned,

The silver veil quivered—"O Tsukuba,

The cord of eighty companions—the jade-rimmed crown sits lofty,

As for guarding the Heavenly Palace’s sacred fence—why,

With easterners of foreign mien—and you alone,

The jeweled courtyard beneath august protection—unseen by you these many years—

Do you grovel in the lower realm’s shadowed valleys?"

From Tsukuba’s roots rose an eastern voice: "Heavenly Palace—

‘Emissary Princess’ you may be styled—but I am Governor,

Attended by the sun’s soaring winged chariot,

Sevenfold each dawn and dusk, through land-surveying rites reflected—

Your hopes, your wanderings, your verse-making, your raucous mirth,

“Effort, youthfulness, and love’s resplendent throne are here—Murasaki’s ever-youthful form, radiant as blossoms—let this mournful beacon of the mortal realm be raised high!”

*Preface to the Poetry Collection "Tsukuba Murasaki"*

＊The Caprice of Music

Robes draped, arms slackening,
Evening moon, do stay at the gate.
Silence, like clear sake,
Fields and mountains, drowsily drunk.
A single riverbank alder,
The drooping tips of lower branches,
The fourth string sings in the wind,
The silver tone quivers faintly.

"In the first of my strings: celestial
The flying chariot; the stars resound.
In the second string: the azure sea,
The laughter of the Sea God's waves.
"In the third string: the sacred tree's concealment,
The supple maiden's summer night dream.
In the fourth string: there is the small lily at the rock's root,
The whisper of dawn's fragrance.
"Tonight, risen in thought,
The beautiful sound—may even the gods hear it—
the Land of Eternal Bliss and Yomi's
Soul-binding—for this fleeting moment—’"
The sound of the koto slackened low,
Ah, now at last—even the grass of Ono,
The mysterious spirit leaf too quivered,"

In the sound of the quiet song—must it be?

*Preface to the Poetry Collection "Four-Stringed Koto"*

＊The Granting of Art

The Tachigaku melody did not slacken.
Listen now,

In the garden of divine favor, wings beat sharply resonant,

May Seraphim voices resound: 'Heavenly world's

O Days of Abundant Life, deeds' glory remains unhindered by intoxication.'

Enraptured by the ensemble’s beautiful tones,
The elevated heart soon again longed to behold—
Would they not behold—even in the painted pillars of the palace gate—
The heavenly visage—the august radiance of the Great Divine Form.
Behold—now rainbows upon the heavenly path, flowers upon the fields,
In true darkness—stars; in dawn’s sky—brightening,
The chosen one who colors Watatsumi’s waves

When they commanded, "Summon him!", the second great gate clanged resoundingly.

The silver pivot creaked; all doors
As the doors abruptly parted, the painter ascended the stairs.

*Preface to the Pacific Art Association Art Collection*

Song of the Lily of the Valley

I

“Even on the small branch of the sacred star anise deep in the mountains,

“On days when flowers smolder faintly,

“Hizuka, Hizuka Woman—have you no mother? No child? Why do hues and tones grow damp?” said Kiso Woman to Hizuka Woman.

Sassa—Iyoko’s,

Kiso Woman.

II

“Since my mother does not know, and I have no child,

My sole husband-bird,

On the day he was taken by a hawk,

The youthful vigor of song was forgotten—

“To think I’ve become the very body of a widow’s bird—”

Sassa—Iyoko’s,

Hizuka Woman.

III

“In the sparrow-hidden hunting ground,
The yellowlegs too turned sharply away,
That captive—after the day,
In memories of the wild tree’s old nest,

“Does he spend his days only in tearful sorrow?” said Kiso Woman, addressing Hizuka Woman.

Sassa—Iyoko’s,

Kiso Woman.

IV

“On the morning after I was parted from my husband,

So great was my longing, so desperate my desire to meet him—

Through the grove of smoke trees beyond the mountains—

I visited the falconer’s abode—

Though permission was not granted—how bitterly I lamented!”

Sassa—Iyoko’s,

Hizuka Woman.

V

“Birds of the deep mountains—in sorrow’s
Drippings strained into the sake jar—
Must one drink with no means to refuse intoxication?
In the end, the nature of youth’s
Alas, so alike in karmic fate!” said Kiso Woman, addressing Hizuka Woman.

Sassa—Iyoko’s,

Kiso Woman.

VI

“According to what the falconer lord says,”
Sachi was led by Ichime—
May well serve as a dish, but for you—
As Yamairo’s substitute, pecking at—

“the grass seeds that they eventually took.” said Kiso Woman, addressing Hizuka Woman.

Sassa—Iyoko’s,

Hizuka Woman.

VII

“Envoy princess of the Mountain Crone,

the cursed seed that the bullfinch dropped—

one grain was ingested,

in the forked branches of a wild tree’s nest,

sprouts—the bewitchment of calamity.” said Kiso Woman, addressing Hizuka Woman.

Sassa—Iyoko’s,

Kiso Woman.

VIII

“Hidden by fox—cleared field’s—”
“Let it down even into patchy sunlight—”

“Mountain Princess of the leaf-woven robe—
even to these seeds spilled from sleeves—
I offer them as solace.”

Sassa—Iyoko’s,

Hizuka Woman.

IX

“As recompense for grass fruits—
autumn’s lingering *Kannazuki*
brings withered ends to Ono Plain—
the Sun nurtures even leaden leaves—
has it bloomed now? The forget-me-not.”

“Has it bloomed, the forget-me-not?”

Sassa—Iyoko’s,

Kiso Woman.

X

“At the foot of mountains lay fields of podocarpus—
where they sowed seeds beneath ancient boughs,
moistened by flower dewdrops,
the sprouts stretched winged leaves each passing day,
and softly emerged—the lilies of valley.”

Sassa—Iyoko’s,

Hizuka Woman.

XI

“Ah sorrow—what I saw as the Mountain Princess’s
heart-workings—was this but a jest?
In the Kiso maiden’s very person,
would I ever see it again—the lily of the valley’s
name resurrected as happiness?
The name is happiness resurrected.”

Sassa—Iyoko’s,

Kiso Woman.

XII

“In the forked branches of a tree, bowing down,

In day and night’s abstinence,

there faintly glimmered a phantom—

the white-clad Princess Rou—

‘The flowers smiled in unison—the first bloom.’”

Sassa—Iyoko’s,

Hizuka Woman.

XIII

“Ah—this resurrected joy,

“Before daylight’s arrival, presented—the lily of the valley’s

Upon each single petal,

‘Do you not see golden characters too—

‘The enduring love’s abstinence.’”

Sassa—Iyoko’s,

Kiso Woman.

XIV

“The joy that awaits—on another day,
The Dawn of a rosy-cheeked maiden,
At the mountain’s foot, in the small field’s morning rite,
The fragrance steeped in the jeweled robe’s hem—”

“The flowers bloom in unison—the second bloom.” said Kiso Woman, addressing Hizuka Woman.

Sassa—Iyoko’s,

Hizuka Woman.

XV

“Once more, the dangling blossoms have started to smile—

On hemp-leaf-shaped lips,

Tasting the heavenly refined wine,

Have you not heard the whispers,

‘The purity of consecrated love.’”

Sassa—Iyoko’s,

Kiso Woman.

XVI

The large jar left entrusted to draw,
How profound this world—to scoop what exists.
Overwhelmed by humiliation,
In the leafy concealment of those tree branches there,
“Today, of all days, wait—the third bloom.”

Sassa—Iyoko’s,

Hizuka Woman.

XVII

“Single-minded heart—in your eyes,

The flowers blaze as Mars along heaven’s path.

Tomorrow, at stem and leaf’s third station,

‘Do you not glimpse even the crag’s radiance—

“The absolution granted to love made pure.””

Sassa—Iyoko’s,

Kiso Woman.

XVIII
“In the glory of awaiting flowers,
Truly they consecrate themselves—whenever compelled—
In meadows’ fragrance through blue-watered Kannazuki’s haze,
The dreams of old lay withered,”

“When they see their old nest, they falter,”

Sassa—Iyoko’s,

Hizuka Woman.

The Third Lily

Ah—O honored one—through early summer’s long day,
where do you wander,

She crossed the lukewarm stream’s waters,

She crossed to the mountain beyond to gather flowers.

Flowers of every kind—mountain lilies,

Catalpa bark with drooping fresh branches,

In the shade, she plucked a single stem,

She offered to an unknown 'Past'.
In the deep mountains, the mountain bunting called again and again.
In the leafy concealment of the Sixteenth-Night Rose,
having found yet another stem,
she celebrated 'Today' with a wreath of flowers.
The first adorned her hair, the second her chest,
then in her hand—for 'the future's'
wishes to fulfill all these things—
if only there were flowers to offer.
The surface of the dawn dew was damp
along the path beneath the forest not yet dry.
When she ventured into Mabora's depths,

A door hidden deep in the mountains came into view.

“Addressing the Princess of the Summer Field,

“To the maiden of the pasture—a single stem of flowers.” When she knocked on the door,
the dark palace clattered open.
In the shadowed side of the palace threshold,
a figure in white garments stood,
faintly revealed by an unbearable fragrance—
bloomed, the mountain lilies of Aeka.

Being the flower bestowed by Her Highness,
as her heart fluttered eagerly and she drew near,
an unforeseen tail-rustling—
a snake began to appear, hidden among the leaves.

The flowers I long to pick—the viper’s
leaf-guardian’s visage looked ominous—
in Asano, lilies do not bloom—
what offering could one present?

Swiftly advancing her hand—
The snake’s tepid flame flickered out—
In the darkness beyond, a faint glimmer—
“Flowers—ah!” But looking closer—’twas but a dream—
In the shade beneath fresh beech boughs,
Leaning against Her Highness—pure white lilies:
The first adorning her hair, the second her breast,
The third cradled in her palm.

Poppy

Plant the flowers, here and now—

Plant the flowers, plant the poppies.
In the poppy’s—here and now—fragility,
To the poppy’s fragility—its crown.

Kosuzume and Katsura Woman

I

Longing to meet the one she had parted from,

Katsura Woman, who came to the field again today,

Amidst the foliage of verdant trees along the path,
she listened intently to the beautiful sound—
swiftly, here and now—

Kosuzume Woman.

II

“Ah, Kosuzume Woman! While human children lament through this world of withered memories,
You alone sit at ease,
Chanting poems aloud like birdsong.”
Swiftly—here and now—

Katsura Woman.

III

“Ah, wearied by this world of hollow hopes,

Only one who has wept through nights drenched in tears

Could know the quiet songs that birds compose—

The melody of Ono lies in subtlety.”

Swiftly, here and now—

Kosuzume Woman.

IV

“Many nights you’ve spent alone drenched in tears—
since you’re not Ono’s nun—
amidst the trees in hushed daylight,
indulge in tales of old.”

“Indulge in tales of old.”

Swiftly, here and now—

Katsura Woman.

V

“Once, in the deep green mountains, nesting in the branches of an ancient tree, I sheltered our chicks with my wings—the days I waited for my husband were many as well.”

Swiftly, here and now—

Kosuzume Woman.

VI

“My husband took even our fledged children along,
In the interval when the mountain thrush does not come,
At the terraced fields of Old Pass,
He picks golden raspberries.”

Swiftly, here and now—

Katsura Woman.

VII

“When he pecked at the tree’s fruit for a day,”
“he descended into the splendid valley and remained there,”
“by the mountain crone’s bewitchment,”

“My husband has lost his way and will not return.”

Swiftly, here and now—

Kosuzume Woman.

VIII

“So then—enchanted by a young lad,

at the hidden palace, bearing

a silver hand vase each day—

does he scoop from the bewitched Mana Well?” she said,

Swiftly, here and now—

Katsura Woman.

IX

“A day that dawned—I questioned my husband,

Though I cried out in the fields and again in the mountains,

The nest was covered—the prideful one’s droop—

The cry is not heard again.”

Swiftly, here and now—

Kosuzume Woman.

X

“Ah, these sorrows—forced upon me, a small burden added to the heavy load—hidden among leaves—in Mother’s absence, does the viper come prowling through this desolation?”

“In Mother’s absence—does the viper come peering through this desolation?”

Swiftly, here and now—

Katsura Woman.

XI

“Having descended from the tree he had grown accustomed to alone,

As he descended into the mountain valley,
The plumage obstructed even this sorrowful body,

“Once more it conceals—in my world,”

Swiftly, here and now—

Kosuzume Woman.

XII

“Even as one soars through heavens along rugged paths—must these wingbeats remain unstruck? Ah! How akin to those whose mortal frames bear such torment—their tormented hearts,” she said,

Swiftly, here and now—

Katsura Woman.

XIII

“Well then—to the mountains we shall not return,”
“The fields are indeed my home—and also my grave,”
“Quails rising across the plains,”
“The loneliness of eight hundred days of wandering,” she said,

Swiftly, here and now—

Kosuzume Woman.

XIV

“The wandering through unknown distant lands—
Though the path be fraught with many obstacles,
Having passed through this world without incident,
I sing of spring even in wild trees,”

Swiftly, here and now—

Katsura Woman.

XV

“One day we went to meet at Kibara—stopped by Ono’s elder sister princess—‘Tomorrow in the cypress grove—even now it is the nest we build.’”

Swiftly, here and now—

Kosuzume Woman.

XVI

“In this splendor of permitted things—

A dream? Or ‘bygone days’…
Even now—

stealing through the pasture’s flute—

is this lament loosed—even now?” she said,

Swiftly, here and now—

Katsura Woman.

XVII

“Thus does the august sky hold its bearing—
to the extent that one knows the dawn and dusk of the fields,
the heart attuned,
a feeling unlike yesterday—”

Swiftly, here and now—

Kosuzume Woman.

XVIII

“So then—the soul of that trembling time,

The soul’s wavering calms and settles

In the present serenity of Masumi,

What new thing does one gaze upon?” she said,

Swiftly, here and now—

Katsura Woman.

“In this still-tender world,
Devote your steadfast heart—
Cast off sorrow’s dull robe,
Approach that sky beyond yours,”

Swiftly, here and now—

Kosuzume Woman.

XX

Though the birds' counsel held true,
yet an ulterior motive lingered somewhere—
a feeling hard to accept,
now she parted from the path through the fields.

Swiftly, here and now—

Katsura Woman.

The White Sheep Palace — Concluded