Pathway to Japanese Literature

I. Concerning the First Edition

The first edition of *Suzume no Tamago* was published by Ars in August 1921 (Taishō 10).
In shiroku-ban format, 525 pages thick and heavy—by any measure, it became a monumental tome.
Bound through Mr. Onchi Kōshirō’s design, it employed mouse-gray medicinal satin cloth—the cover unadorned save for a white leather patch affixed to the upper spine, bearing simply stamped gold lettering.
Both the main title page and half-title page were graced with cuts fashioned by that same artist’s hand.
For illustrations, I utilized seventeen plates I had drawn and stockpiled since my Katsushika period.

There are two types of binding for this *Suzume no Tamago*. As for post-reprint copies, while retaining the same plain mouse-gray covers, they replaced the gold lettering on the spine patches with their own design and adjusted both main and half-title pages accordingly. The contents remained identical in all editions save for one poem that underwent later revision. This pertains to the second and third poems in the “Yamaka-shō” section of *Suzume no Tamago*:

*In the snowy sky, two mountains stand clear and white;
In their valley, the sound of a matchlock gun.*

The second line was altered to “sharpened.” I cannot clearly recall from which edition this change originated.

For this paperback edition, in accordance with subsequent editions, I decided to collectively regard everything up to that point as the original version. Having been out of print since then, I now produced a reduced-size edition. Naturally, I included it in the Hakushū Complete Works.

Regarding the publication history of *Suzume no Tamago*, I believed I had already exhaustively detailed it in its grand preface; thus there appeared no need to revisit the matter here.

As for poetic style, the few lines I wrote in the afterword to the *Kitahara Hakushū* volume of the *Modern Tanka Anthology* provided a concise summary.

"In this collection, the poetic style underwent a transformation."
"Toward the realm of serene solitude embodied by Eastern artistic principles, I sought to quietly refine my spirit."
"Having settled in Katsushika, I gradually came to relish mornings and evenings immersed in nature's true essence - much like sparrows do."

In the afterword to Volume V: Poetry Collection I of my *Complete Works* from the Shōwa 5 edition, I had offered some reflections on the transitions within these three sections.
My perspective had matured somewhat, and my self-examination had acquired greater detachment.

In *Rin'ne Sanshō*, the lingering influence of *Kiraishū* still shimmered; in *Suzume no Tamago* I escaped that sphere at last, and as my heart overlapped with mornings and evenings spent contemplating my physical decline, I sought to dwell quietly within the solitary heart of *Katsushika Kangingyōshū*. And thus, it had grown far distant from the poetic style of *Kiraishū*.

At the time of compiling this three-part poetry collection, *Suzume no Tamago*, I was residing at my villa in Odawara. Here I revised once more and created anew. Nearly nine years had already passed during this interval, yet all that came to fruition was this meager amount. Yet during that interval, it seemed as though the heart of discipline had first opened its eyes—it must have deepened gradually.

This too, when viewed today, shows that grand preface to have been overly self-important. Even as I managed to clarify myself, my spirit would rebound when confronted with reality. I think human beings are hopeless creatures. “Ultimately, it is due to immature discipline.”

That grand preface now fills me with a sense of chagrin, for speaking excessively of oneself in a preface tends to court public favor too easily and even invites backlash against the scrutiny of the poetry itself. However, there had been a significant reason why I could not suppress such intense excitement.

The completion of *Suzume no Tamago*, achieved through nine years of grueling labor, had been a boundless joy both for myself and for my family. I was filled with the desire to look up to the heavens and give thanks. Given that it was a fruit borne of enduring family hardships and many sacrifices, the fervor with which my younger brother Tetsuo, as its publisher, threw himself into the task was extraordinary. When the binding was completed, my younger brother dressed in formal attire, carrying a copy of it, visited Mr. Shikai Tamizō, and tearfully expressed gratitude for his past kindness toward this collection. We brothers had poured such profound deliberation into this single volume, solemnly shared a common sorrow, and deeply felt a shared joy. For the publishing house Ars, this had been truly the turning point of whether it would rise again or not. Because of this, even the author—this elder brother—conducted advertising so extensive it would make one wrinkle their nose in distaste. I trust that most will not harshly criticize the delicate nuances of these circumstances.

Thus, for this paperback edition—though it included poems I later revised to commemorate the original edition and contained portions that still left me unsatisfied—I deliberately refrained from making corrections.

Revised editions or definitive editions belonged to future considerations.

II. Concerning Revised Works

In the grand preface to this collection, I compared original works with their revised versions as concrete examples of my revisions.
However, even in poems I had deemed fully revised, unsatisfactory points later caught my eye; some I reverted to their original form, others I reworked further.
Several of these were reworked when compiling the anthology.
I had considered them finished, but as years passed, what was complete and incomplete grew increasingly distinct.
The unfinished portions became seeds of secret labor.
Whenever time allowed, I would add red ink corrections to my personal bound copy.
I applied corrections liberally across the pages—only to later find them inadequate, realize I had worsened the work, and reflect on my own hastiness.
And so at every opportunity, I found myself tinkering endlessly.
Once begun, there was no stopping this process.
The world’s wise have long mocked such lingering attachments and confusion—whether as obsessive deliberation or excess mirroring deficiency.
I can only smile wryly at their derision.

When compiling this *Sparrow’s Egg*, I felt my spirit returning entirely to the starting point with each poem I crafted. Yet the fact that I have since had to make additions is a circumstance whose shame I can scarcely endure. Had these been spoken words, they would have vanished in that moment; but precisely because written characters can be so easily altered on the page, lingering attachments take root. To claim I had cast it aside unfinished during that period would be entirely untrue. For myself at that time, it represented the utmost effort of which I was capable—something into which I poured every ounce of my strength. Can it only be said that this misfortune stemmed from my own immaturity? There was simply nothing more I could have done.

Thus I wonder: even if I were to revise them skillfully using today’s more advanced state of mind and techniques—twenty years later—as I wrote in the afterword to the paperback edition of *Kiraishū*, would that truly succeed in preserving the original vigor or poetic style of that time?
It might serve as personal study, but I have come to reflect that even if one had fully reached this path’s end—though that may be—as one still progressing year after year along the way of growth, one should not present works publicly in an easily completed form.
If something cannot be fully mended through revision, it is better to resign oneself to leaving it in its original state.

Thus, with this paperback edition of *Suzume no Tamago* (Sparrow’s Egg), I resolved not to meddle with those traces of red ink corrections. I confined myself to reprinting only those works already revised in anthologies here for reference. While I believe most were properly amended, there remain some where I fear I’ve repeated past transgressions. I intend to wait until the day a definitive edition sees publication before undertaking any final organization.

*Hanagashi*: Katsushika Contemplative Poems

*Through Fields and Mountains*

Grebes in Katsushika Ono’s evening haze—how earnestly they call; spring too must be departing. (p. 47)

My beloved’s face grows thin with loneliness—in sparse grass fields’ dewy morn she did lift her hem. (p. 48)

*Moonlit Night*

Azaleas blooming white in the moonlit night—pheasants cry out unseen through crimson shadows. (p. 50)

*In the Time of Rain*

Raindrops clinging to leaf edges—watching them sway and tumble brings quiet contentment. (p. 52)

Crab and Bamboo

Scuttling crabs stir clamor at the bamboo grove’s edge—waking from noon repose to bracing clarity. (p. 53)

The clarity of sight—through misty rain’s persistent sway—a crab tumbles down from slender bamboo. (p. 53)

Sunlit Repose

Like arrows, now and then soaring—the shadows of small birds / appear at the mountain’s hem / in the clear sky’s wind (p. 55).

Pine winds blow beneath; chinquapin’s trapped gusts still linger— / rain scatters past (p. 56).

Wind through mixed trees quiets— / pine winds grow ever clearer: / Manma no Kōbōji (p. 57).

Dusk

Moonlit early night—in fields, several houses have lit their lamps; potato flowers. (p. 61)

Ground mist rising—

Hibiscus and Sparrow

As petals scatter, sparrows take flight from the hibiscus hedge—does wind arise where flowers tremble? (p. 99)

*Sudden Shower*

Grows ever colder—a sudden shower comes;

Winter Barrenness of Farmhouses

With a rustling sound, rice sparrows scratch at the hems of hanging grain—through ears where sunlight lingers still, they pass. (p. 126)

*Late Winter in the Fields*

Led forth, then turning back—the bull’s single eye glitters in the wind through plume grass.

*Cattail Plumes*

The western sun grows radiantly full—
sleet-laden, the stand of cattail plumes.

*Sparrows’ Nest: Miscellaneous Verses*

By the reservoir, the withered willow too droops—
in midwinter’s thrall,
small yet clear—Fuji comes into view.

Uniformly withered and desolate though the garden is,
evening shadows deepen, shimmer with depth.

In the garden alone lies white—
the dog’s food bowl, smooth, licked clean.

By the pond, the river willow stands withered and voiceless; fluttering sparrows stir it—their whiteness. (p. 132)

Note: In *Modern Tanka Anthology*, the fourth line has been reverted to the original 「お庭に白し」 (“In the garden lies white”).

Night’s light seemed already to congeal; looking, slender trees’ deadwood branches intertwined (p. 133).

A rustling sound shook the shoji—wind from fluttering wings? Tilting my ear, I realized: a sparrow. (p. 136)

Spring Cultivation

In early spring's backyard rice paddy,
the fresh green root parsley
had been eaten by a horse. (p. 146)

Note: The third line’s “さみどりの” was reverted to its original form in the source text.
Appeared in the inaugural issue of *Mandara* in 1917 (Taishō 6).

In the rainbow’s ring, glowing even brighter—the rice seedling fields; / in the distant reaches of the paddies, a line of lights. (p. 148)

*Modern Tanka Anthology: Kitahara Hakushū Collection – Katsushika Contemplative Poems*

*Field and Mountain Wanderings*

Northern grebes in Katsushika Ono’s evening haze—
how thoroughly they brighten; spring too must be departing. (p. 47)

*Crab and Bamboo*

Small crabs stir clamor at the bamboo grove’s edge—
waking from noon repose to bracing clarity (p. 53).

Swallow

Swallow alights—immediately sways up the willow branch; momentarily touching water as it bends back (p. 50).

Moonlit night—above the stable’s emptiness, on a loquat branch a quail cries; dew drips thickly. (p. 63)

Rain

A single firefly sways upward—
breathless, the final rain falls
then briefly ceases. (p. 66)

*Fine Night*

Near Tsukuyomi’s visage, ringing clear—the autumn wind’s voice through blue citron spheres. (p. 104)

*Courtyard Vignettes*

The white cat—amidst garden horsetails basking in the sun, narrowing its eyes—still remains present. (p. 102)

In evening shade, a small butterfly moves to horsetails—startled, it rises, then alights once more. (p. 102)

*Frosted Fields*

In diamond shapes, white frost lays on the paddy’s banks—chill, chill—the frost extends across the fields.

Frost-white wildfield’s drying rack—wind from behind; a horse passes through, a straw mat tied to its rump.

*New Sake*

Northern grebes—Katsushika's early rice, newly pressed into sake; simmering, the night settles into goodness. (p. 115)

*Multifarious Verses*

At times, the sun’s color warms on the shoji screen—joyfully I see it, yet swiftly it fades. (p. 135)

In the garden alone lies white—the dog’s food bowl, smooth and licked clean. (p. 132; reverted)

*Evening Rainbow*

At the zelkova’s rain-laden tip, buds near sprouting—the rainbow that seems to vanish still slants obliquely (p. 148).

*Sparrows of Katsushika*

The sparrow chick, trying to fly, flaps its wings vigorously; raising its voice, it returns to the swaying young leaves. (p. 45)

By the gushing well's edge beneath irises—overflowing water; a sparrow drinks from glittering liquid. (p. 59)

In varied hues upon the tree, sparrow chicks play—how enviable their carefree voices. (p. 83)

Coolness, coolness! Into the summer chrysanthemums the wife heaped in the *suribachi*, a sparrow flies. (p. 86)

Late Autumn in the Open Field

Revealed by the wind’s bearing, rice sparrows flapped their wings—parting the rustling heads of grain as they were blown through (p. 108).

Scattered sparrows are blown through waves of drooping grain; the wind, beneath the setting sun's glare, blows wildly. (p. 108)

Autumn deepens—the evening sun’s glow; / among withered dwarf bamboo, sparrows flap wings— / this tranquility— (p. 110)

Perched on a branch, one peers out—frost sparrows in the garden, solemnly aligned and puffed up. (p. 120)

In the harvested field, village sparrows rejoice over fallen grain—turning their backs, tails flickering restlessly. (p. 127)

Village sparrows ceaselessly take flight in the day’s cold; at the branch tip, a single red guardian persimmon remains. (p. 131)

At the old pond, a broken reed screen fence casts its shadow; this morning too, a single sparrow seems cold. (p. 131)

By the pond’s edge, a river willow withered and voiceless; a sparrow’s white belly lightly stirs it. (p. 132)

Fluffed up, sparrows huddle on the treetop—evening comes early as the sun dims. (p. 134)

One emerges—when will they scatter? Village sparrows; the field path too chills, perhaps, tails quivering as they move. (p. 139)

*Hanagashi*: Three Karmic Notes

*Rubber Leaves*

In the rubber tree field, the saplings’ heavy leaves—their large leaves gleam resoundingly. (p. 159)

Note: In *Hanagashi*, the fifth line has been reverted to the original "futo hibiraginu."

Thick-fleshed and weighty rubber leaves have long gleamed, naturally exhaling deep breaths. (p. 159)

*Island’s Enduring Day*

The day is hot—from the rustling leaves of summer’s wild palms, I think there can be no taller trees. (p. 158)

*Farewell*

In this fleeting world, all vows made for myriad things prove empty—they make us part and go. (p. 173)

The parting word my wife left was indeed true—how well I listened. (p. 173)

In this world where she claims no home exists, I pushed the woman away—never to see her again. (p. 173)

Helplessly unable to leave the door, I wept; already I departed; the day darkened. (p. 174)

*Full Moon and Crow*

When gazing—in the full moon’s light fly crows: one, two, three, four, five, six. (p. 185)

Note: These five lines have been reverted to their original form from the previously published *Chijō Junrei*. They now reflect the work as it first appeared.

A crow flies past the vermilion full moon; vividly appears its large beak. (p. 185)

Note: However, in the later *Kaizō Bunko* reprint of *Hanagashi*, these three lines had been reverted to the original "sugiru toki."

*Fine Night*

The full moon’s light—inexplicably, suddenly darkening—comes the depth of night. (p. 189)

The white sky mist of the moonlit night flows ceaselessly, endlessly, above the night lamp. (p. 189)

*Generator*

The midsummer day’s light fiercely reached its peak; the sound of a generator entered one’s ears. (p. 192)

*Hanagashi*: Sparrow’s Egg

*Bamboo and Landscape*

The winter mountain rain stains everything uniformly black; having passed through, it seems—all bamboos bend. (Viewing an Ink Painting) (p. 205)

Note: This has been reverted to the original poem before corrections.
The book was created through viewing ink paintings.

*Enma’s Cough*

Winter’s light pierces; in Madakehara bamboo field, Enma the Great King’s cough resounds. (p. 207)

*Yamanouchi Shower*

At Sanzensan Zōjōji's vermilion mountain gate falls the passing shower—oh how it has fallen through the day's span. (p. 213)

Azabu-Jūban

Evergreen hardwoods, Tokiwagi trees—their leaves do not fall, yet as time truly passes, frost has descended. (p. 215)

*White Cow*

The blizzard has ceased, the moonlit night brightens; / multitudes of oxen’s distant bellows well up. (p. 221)

*Morning on the Road*

Wiping the glass door cleanly this dawn—
the neighbor’s snow appears beside my eye (p. 228).

Scattering snow flurries, sparrows kicking at each other
suddenly take flight—come right to the eaves (p. 229).

Though faint was the fall, the snow that gathered overnight
on chinquapin leaves—such gladness (p. 229).

*Crane of Dawn*

A crane with slender beak looked up—
into the snow-hazed sky’s lingering dark.

*Spring’s Awakening*

Sleep awakens unbidden in fleeting instants—still dimly lingers a childlike heart. (p. 290)

*Rice*

Though day by day I grow accustomed to eating rice, I do not think it delicious—yet neither do I tire of it. (p. 253)

No particular taste or aroma has rice—only by chewing thoroughly should one truly come to know it. (p. 254)

Lithographer

Everyone’s eyes watched in surprise as a single person drew a lotus flower (p. 256).

O mother—this is my mother! / The good mothers of my companions too have aged. (p. 265)

*Meager Repast*

While eating vinegared leeks—“This leek’s a tough one”—Father declared. (p. 270)

When I heard my mother’s deep sigh—I, her child—had touched directly upon her heart.

*Bamboo House Magnolia*

At Takegashi’s bamboo scaffold, spring chilled; when examined closely, their tips quivered.

Pressing densely, the bamboo thicket has grown; their tips pierce through—cold over the storehouses. (p. 289)

*Modern Tanka Anthology: Kitahara Hakushū Collection – Sparrow’s Egg*

Blizzard Night (White Cow)

The blizzard has ceased; the moonlit night brightens— / multitudes of oxen’s resounding bellows well up. (p. 221)

*Snow Night*

Still awake—keeping the embers alive—
the rustling sound of snow sifting through the surrounding silence. (p. 224)

Stone Mortar and Pestle

Stone mortar and pestle and pure white depths of the road—how clear it is! This morning, a field of snow. (p. 230)

Deeply piled snow buries the stone mortar; even the pestle’s handle protrudes pure white (p. 230).

*Sparrow’s Short Day*

The cold light of the short day—on small bamboo leaves, the rain falls steadily and has come (p. 208).

A slanting shower—glistening wet feathers—winter bamboo branches bend as a sparrow takes flight—ah (p. 209).

*Spring Miscellany*

Sparrows flying among white magnolia trees—not venturing far—the loneliness of their voices (p. 286).

As the crows’ voices retreated into the distance, the sparrows’ voices followed along into the brightening rain mist. (p. 213)

*Spring’s Awakening*

The bell tolled—already children’s voices arose; / dimly still lingered spring’s awakening from sleep. (p. 290)

Morning awakening—gazing intently at my palm stained with vermilion ink, I make no move to rise. (p. 290)

*Nanga Aesthetics*

The person who does not drink sake leans their face out the window and gazes at clouds in every direction all day long (p. 244).

*Personal Reflections*

When I rub my eyes—unexpectedly—things forgotten like fire trickle down (p. 247).

O mother—this is my mother! / The good mothers of my companions too have aged (p. 265).

Having my mother shave my throat, I drifted into a drowsy sleep; Father lay with his mouth open.

The deep sigh from mother's bosom still lingers in my ears; though I hurried outside.

If I speak, tears will flow—what could I defy in this father? Being the father’s child. (p. 272)

*Azabu-yama*

With Mother I came and gazed at the playing children; the children playing here gazed back as well. (p. 275)

One time

Suddenly tears began to flow as Mother quietly folded the futon from the hem of her robe (p. 277).

Regarding the above, I wish to add that *Hanagashi* was published by Kaizōsha in October 1928 (Shōwa 3), and *Modern Tanka Anthology: Kitahara Hakushū Collection* was released by the same publisher in September 1929 (Shōwa 4). The poems corrected in previous editions received similar treatment in later ones. Furthermore, *Hanagashi* was republished in Shōwa 5 as part of the Kaizō Bunko series. At that time, one or two corrections were incorporated into the first edition.

Ⅲ Regarding Supplemental Poems and New Works

When compiling *Hanagashi* and the *Modern Tanka Anthology: Kitahara Hakushū Collection*, beyond revised works, I selected some pieces from past compositions and—inspired by the moment—supplemented them with a modest number of new creations, which were also included in *Complete Works of Hakushū* Vol. VI: Poetry Collection 2.
And so, I excerpted them here.

*Katsushika Contemplative Poems*

*Firefly*
On a rainy day’s cold veranda, the faintly glowing corpse of a firefly was picked up and discarded. (Current, New Work)

*Late Autumn in the Open Field*
Even in daylight’s span, a cold sparrow perches on a branch; since it does not puff up, how sorrowful its earnest face. (Current, Supplemental)

*Moonlit Night*
In mountain shadows, at Mama’s hermitage—white azaleas fragrant; with my younger sister, we enjoyed the night. (*Hanagashi*, New)

*Rainy Days*

The sound of birds shaking budding trees—still innocent, a summer shrike’s voice? (*Hanagashi*, Supplemental)

*Mama*

Purple irises; stacked straw; village sparrows—the sound of wheat threshing in the farmhouse’s yard (Current Edition, Supplemental).

*Sparrow’s Dwelling Miscellany II*

When I hear the wingbeats of a sparrow clinging to a sunlit patch amidst the ceaseless cold tempest— (New)

Note: In Complete Works Vol. VI, the fourth line 'すがふ子雀の' is a misprint.

Repeatedly rustling the shoji—the gust of wingbeats; when I tilt to listen, it is a sparrow. (New)

*Evening Rainbow*

In the east, an evening rainbow rises—rustling hat, turn around! O young girl’s companion. (New)

*Three Karmic Notes*

*Wind Musings*

In the wind-swept moonlit night at palm frond tips—should clouds clear, they’ll vanish; no path remains to return. (*Hanagashi*, New)

*Sparrow’s Egg*

*Frost’s Night Voice*

In this night hour, sounds lose their edge at the town’s margins; has the night frost congealed and deepened there? (*Hanagashi*, New)

*Blizzard Night*

With a whoosh, some voice calls through the night; the town’s blizzard intensifies to its peak, it seems. (Current Edition, New)

*Sparrow’s Short Day*

Evening showers fall without cease; on a small bamboo branch, a sparrow has long been huddled still (Revised, Supplemental).

*Nanga Aesthetic*

People with sake measures swaying cross the log bridge; shouldering a gourd, they go their way. (Supplemental)

*Mr. Ōgai’s Garden*

The stones of Nebukawa—how intriguing their forms! At the transient peak of sal blossoms. (New)

*Parents’ Poems*

The unsteady rhythm of Mother’s breathing clings to my ears; though I turn my back, O my beloved mother. (Supplemental)

Lovingly, parent and child together hold chopsticks—even at morning’s meal, I find no way to laugh. (Supplemental)

*Azabu Hill*

When I visited Tarechine and looked, at Azabu Hill children were playing where sunlight gathers— (New)

I came with my mother and gazed at the playing children; they too, gazing this way, played on. (New)

*Borrowed Clothes*

Perfectly, my father’s clothes fit my frame; would his lingering scent ever remain constant? (New)

*Yanagawa’s Toy*

The child pheasant longing for father and mother was dyed red and blue. (New)

IV. Concerning the Supplementary Volume of the Complete Works

In *Complete Works of Hakushū Vol. VI: Poetry Collection II*, there was an additional chapter titled "*Sparrow’s Egg Period*" within the supplementary volume. It included works from that period omitted from *Sparrow’s Egg*.

Breaking it down:

*Katsushika Contemplative Poems* Sixty-three poems

However, one poem among them—"Purple Irises and Stacked Straw"—overlapped with the *Kitahara Hakushū Collection*.

*Three Karmic Notes* Forty-two poems

However, the original version’s inclusion of *Gazing Out, the Moonlight Fills…* leads to duplication.

*Sparrow’s Egg* 163 poems

The total came to 268 poems.
Thus, subtracting two poems made a supplement of 266 poems.

Various Magazines and *Indian Sarasa*
These are works that appeared in the first installment *Shinshūshō* (Pearl Notes).

Among these had been included a small number of works that were original versions of poems from the collection. Upon re-examining them, I found several pieces that I felt need not have been discarded—though in truth, the majority might well have been cast aside without regret. Yet I refrained from including these in the paperback edition; those wishing to consult them may turn to the complete works. In time, I intended to address these matters when publishing the definitive edition.