Pathway to Japanese Literature

Author: Kitahara Hakushu

Preface

Don’t burn, wildfire—Ho, hokeyo!

A dear young deer will burn to death!

This is said to be one of the children’s songs that the children of Odawara town sang long ago, when in late spring or early summer, toward evening, they would gaze at the mountains around Hakone where crimson wildfires burned.

Children of old learned in this way spontaneously from nature itself—whether in joy or sorrow—clapping their hands and singing in a manner true to their childlike hearts.

Yet when it came to children these days, from their earliest years they were oppressed by overly didactic school songs composed with adults’ utterly unnatural sensibilities, and by Western-style translated melodies lacking regional character—so much so that I felt they had increasingly lost the ability to innocently sing forth their own songs from the heart, as genuine Japanese children ought.

Today’s children were not being given the children’s songs and other things they desired by their schools and parents.
That was also because today’s society was too materialistic and utilitarian.

When we think back now on our childhood days, they remain deeply nostalgic and emotionally rich. No matter how much we who were children then may grow into adults, what we can never forget are those lullaby melodies we heard in infancy from our mothers and wet nurses.

The rattle of denden-daiko drums and shō flute melodies in “Where Has the Sleep Guardian Gone?”; the mountain-chanting song “Our Boy’s Sweetness Knows No Bounds—trees beyond counting, reeds beyond measure, climbing skyward as stars innumerable”; the “Thirteen-Seven Moon” refrain; the leaping “U-Sagi Rabbit” tune for harvest moon viewing; the “Red-Capped Firefly” rhyme proclaiming “This water’s sweet, that water’s bitter”; the ballad of “Three Little Sparrows” born of one sparrow’s tale—how limitless they seem when recalled.

There was no disquieting sense of loss as those folk songs—born spontaneously from the rustling of wild grasses in fields and mountains—and such purely Japanese children’s songs gradually faded away. As I held the conviction to revive such eternally fresh, purely Japanese folk songs rooted in our native soil, I equally believed we must restore these children’s songs from their current tasteless, school-song style back to their original form of old. And it was my earnest hope that without losing this essential heart, we might build up new Japanese children’s songs of today upon that foundation.

My coming to take an interest in children’s songs from this heartfelt place was something that occurred quite long ago. Perhaps I am the one among today’s poets who ventured into this field earliest. Moreover, even in my previously published lyrical collection *Reminiscences*, there were quite a number of pieces strongly imbued with the qualities of children's songs included. In this collection as well, the piece "Red Spider Lilies" was extracted from that *Reminiscences*. There were various others too, but as they were somewhat too mature for children to read, I refrained from including them.

“Nankin-san”
The two pieces “Roof Weathervane” were also ones I had created seven or eight years ago.
The rest were all new.

Since last year, just at the opportune time, my friend Mr. Suzuki Miekichi decided to publish that profoundly artistic and pure magazine *Red Bird* for children, so I too came to take charge of the children's songs section in that magazine, thereby finally gaining an excellent opportunity to advance toward my longstanding aspiration.

Most of these children’s songs had been previously published in *Red Bird*, but this time we decided to freshly compile all existing works and publish them together.
I intended to release this as the first volume and continue issuing subsequent ones successively hereafter.
Moreover, I considered handling not only my own works but also attempting translations of children’s songs from various countries for reference purposes.

My children’s songs are not merely focused on being beautiful or refined.
Rather than as songs for boys and girls aged thirteen or fourteen who have gained some worldly awareness, I aim for works to be read by children below that age—those grounded in simple, unadulterated childlike sensibilities, striving to directly capture the bare essence of children’s hearts through something rooted in such vibrant perceptions.

Genuine children’s songs must above all use language children can easily understand to sing from their hearts, while simultaneously carrying profound meaning for adults. However, attempting to ideologically nurture children’s minds often brings about undesirable results instead. Therefore, we must steadfastly become children through those very sensibilities, return to a life of freedom true to children’s hearts, and contemplate both nature and human affairs.

To illustrate how keenly sharp, freshly new, and vibrantly alive children's senses were—when those first vivid white snowflakes came fluttering down from a gloomy gray sky, children would leap with joy and sing:

"Snowflakes falling!
The sky teems with insects!
Blooming at the fan's curve,
Twirl crisply and dance!"

Had adults composed this scene, they would have sung: "Snow resembles goose feathers flying scattered."
Children exulted over each swirling snowflake as newborn winged insects bursting to life, while adults admired them as plucked feathers from a dead swan.
Children's senses thrived in motion; adults' senses lay blinded then slain by their own intellect.
This difference struck me as nothing trivial.

To return to children.
Unless we return to being children, there exists no way to truly comprehend even one aspect of this august great nature's flow of life.

That saying - "Children are the fathers of adults" - gives exact voice to this sentiment.
We perpetually wish to return, wish to return to childhood, yet find it profoundly regrettable how stubbornly we remain unable to become children again.

Should even the faintest whiff of adulthood linger in my children's songs, this betrays my failure to return to a true child's heart.
Contemplating this, I shudder at the vanity of me - an adult - presuming to create songs that ought instead to arise unbidden from children's own lives as natural utterances.
Yet I believe we must first draw forth those children's innate song-spirit into expression.
With this conviction do I compose children's songs.

I too will strive henceforth.
To gradually return to a true child's heart, so that I may create true children's songs.

I have now built for myself a small, childlike house called Owl House atop a certain mountain in Odawara—the sort one might find in a fairy tale—and am living there while growing flowers and cultivating vegetables. A good number of children come to play as well. I am always playing like a child in the world of children's songs, mingling among the laughter of those innocent children. I hope anyone with children will come join me in play.

September 1919 (Taishō 8)

At Owl House in Odawara, Sagami Province

Hakushu

Dragonfly's Compound Eyes

Dragonfly’s Compound Eyes

How enormous the dragonfly’s compound eyes,

Silver-glittering eyes, sapphire eyes,

Round, round eyes,

Globe eyes,

Restless eyes,

Within the eyes,

Elves dwell,

Thousands upon thousands dwell,

Each one with a magnifying glass, peering here and there.

Turn upward—glint glint glint.

Turn downward—glint glint glint.

Spin spin—glint glint glint.

If it perches on corn, corn is reflected.

If it perches on amaranth, amaranth is reflected.

Thousands and tens of thousands are reflected.

Beautiful, beautiful,

A five-colored panorama—beautiful.

Just then, a child darted out,

The birdlime pole came whizzing out.

Run!

Ah, run,

The straw hat came chasing after.

Thousands upon thousands came chasing after.

Oh terrifying,

Ah, terrifying.

Glint-glint-glint-glint, flicker-glint,

Whirling round, glinting bright, flash-glint flash.

Sunset Dragonfly

A big red crab emerged,
Snip-snipping through rush grass blades.
From within rush grass—fire burned,
Caught onto dragonfly wings.
Dragonfly fled but couldn't escape,
Came fleeing into cornfield rows—
Corn tassels turned crimson red.
Flew toward smartweed flowers—
Fire caught those petals too.
Alighted on Nogawa River's pampas tips—
Pampas plumes burst into flame.
"Let us rest in garden cockscombs—"
Cockscombs blazed in full flame then.
"Save me! I'll burn—death comes nigh—"

The dragonfly clung to the rush grass.
The dragonfly's compound eyes were perfectly round.
When it spun round and round, the mountain appeared,

From within the mountain, a monkey came out,

Turn that way—Red one,

Turn this way—Red one.

Greengrocer

Large loquats, small loquats,

Honey peaches, grapes,

Strawberries, vegetables,

put them into the basket,

placed it on their head,

Clop-clop, clop-clop—off they went,

Pale purple,

The potato field in full bloom.

Over there, cuckoo—

Over here, cuckoo—

The cuckoo calls,

The rain cleared,
The countryside is cool, so cool!
Cuckoo, cuckoo,

I too whistled briskly,
kept time with my feet,
In my shoes—clop-clop clop-clop—let us dance.
Clop-clop, clop-clop, clop-clop now,
Tararara, rarura.

“Auntie, good day,”

“Uncle, good day.”

Festival

Wasshoi, wasshoi,

Wasshoi, wasshoi.

It's a festival, a festival!

On their backs, flower hats,

On their chests, workman's aprons,

Headbands tied at the front, matching happi coats,

Wasshoi, wasshoi.

Wasshoi, wasshoi,

Wasshoi, wasshoi.

It's the mikoshi, the mikoshi!

It's the mikoshi procession!
A sansho peppercorn may be tiny, but it's fiercely pungent!
Even this makes us the valiant Sannō parishioners!
Wasshoi, wasshoi.
Wasshoi, wasshoi.

Wasshoi, wasshoi.

It was bright red, bright red - the evening glow ablaze.

Steadily they carried it.

Tomorrow would be fine weather too.

Now stir it up, stir it up, stir it up!

Wasshoi, wasshoi.

Wasshoi, wasshoi.

Wasshoi, wasshoi.

It was our mikoshi.
Never let go, even in death.

Fly, Crybaby Yasutsu.
They lifted and bore it round.

Stir it up, stir it up, stir it up, stir it up!

Wasshoi, wasshoi.

Wasshoi, wasshoi,

Wasshoi, wasshoi.

Spin it around, spin it around,

Goldfish vendors flee, Chinese lantern plant vendors flee.

Even if we crash into you, we won’t stop!

Clear out, move, move, move,

Wasshoi, wasshoi.

Wasshoi, wasshoi,

Wasshoi, wasshoi,

It's the children's festival, a festival, a festival,

Light the lanterns,

Offer up the sacred lanterns,

Harvest moon, oh moon, perfectly round.

Wasshoi, wasshoi.

Wasshoi, wasshoi,

Wasshoi, wasshoi.

Where is that voice?
What’s that flute?

Over there’s a festival, over here’s a festival!

Now, stir it up, stir it up, stir it up!

Wasshoi, wasshoi.

Wasshoi, wasshoi,

Wasshoi, wasshoi.

It's a festival! It's a festival!

It's Sannō's festival, it's the children's festival.

The moon is red, the sacred lanterns are red too!

Now, stir it up, stir it up, stir it up,

Wasshoi, wasshoi.

Wasshoi, wasshoi.

Wasshoi, wasshoi.

Dr. Clumsy

Mosquitoes buzzed.

Gorosukehou.

Tonight is the sixteenth day of Obon.

Enma-sama’s Bon dance.

Shall we start with the frog's leading song?

The frog’s aunt could not speak.

Is her throat swollen, or is it a stomachache?

If it’s a stomachache, let’s summon the doctor,

What doctor? Dr. Turnback.

Mosquitoes buzzed.

Gape gape.

In the sky hangs a crimson moon,
In the thicket squats a lumpy toad.
Tonight’s side dish is most delicious.

Just then, a rabbit came darting in,

“Hello, I beseech you, come out quickly,”

“Alright, wait now—I’ll be right there.”

“I can’t go on an empty stomach.”

Mosquitoes buzzed.

The rain drizzled.

Hurry as he might, he wouldn’t make it in time.

“Well then, I’ll go,” he lumbered along.

In both hands, a Western cane and a folding briefcase,

He came wearing a bowler hat,

Had the dancing already ended? Not a sound remained.

This had gone wrong—what a disgrace.
The rice paddy lay pitch-dark, swallowed by blackness.
Mosquitoes droned.
Gorosukehou—
Gorosukehoukou: futile wandering.
In the mountains above, an owl began its hollow laughter.

The rain began to pour down heavily.

"Oh dear oh dear oh dear oh dear, this is a problem!"

Blinking his eyes rapidly, Dr. Clumsy—

"Clumsy fool!" he cursed, scrambling into hiding.

Lord Enma’s—there it is—under the veranda, under the veranda.

Ho ho fireflies

Ho ho fireflies, bamboo-grass fireflies,

By day, a crimson cowl,

At dusk, glittering—bean hakama,

At the first shrine they received a lantern,

To light lanterns at the second shrine’s rice paddy,

The third torii stood in the thicket,

At the fourth shrine they passed through Tanuki Moat,

The tanuki began to howl, the rain fell,

"Hurry back, hurry back, the night is fearsome,"

"If midnight passes, one cannot return."

Ho ho fireflies, bamboo-grass fireflies,

Lord Water Deity remains distant.

Grebe’s Floating Nest

A light glowed in the grebe’s floating nest,

A light glowed.

Ah, is that fireflies? Stars' tails?

Or perhaps the viper’s eye-gleam.

Frogs too croaked and croaked,

They croaked and croaked.

Hushabye, rockabye, hushabye now.

The owl too began hooting hoarsely.

Goldfish.

"Mom, Mom,"

"Where did you go?"

Let’s play with the red goldfish.
Mom isn’t coming back,
Lonely...

He stabbed one goldfish to death.

Still still, she wasn't coming back,

Frustrating...

He strangles two goldfish.
"Why why won’t you come back?"
Hungry...
He twists and kills three goldfish.
Tears spill.
The sun sets.
The red goldfish die die.
“Mom I’m scared.”
Eyes glow.
Glitter-glitter the goldfish’s eyes glow.

Rain.

The rain falls.
The rain falls.

I want to go play, but there’s no umbrella,

The scarlet-thonged geta’s thong broke.

The rain falls.
The rain falls.

No choice—let’s play at home,

Let’s fold chiyogami paper; let’s crease it.

The rain fell; the rain fell.

The little pheasant cackled just now,

The little pheasant must have been cold; must have been lonely.

The rain fell.
The rain fell.

The child put the doll to sleep; still it did not stop.

He lit all the sparklers too.

The rain fell.
The rain fell.

Daytime poured and poured.
The rain fell at night too.

The rain fell.
The rain fell.

Red hats, black hats, blue hats

Here was the mountain stream; there was the log bridge.

A child in a red hat,

A child wearing a black hat,

A child wearing a blue hat.

To cross would be perilous; they could not turn back.

Everyone faced forward; one, two, three,

Everyone turned backward; one, two, three.

The red hat began to laugh,

The black hat started to cry,

The blue hat grew angry.

Everyone became nervous; one, two, three,

Everyone trembled; one, two, three.

Mr. Nanjing

Mr.Li, Mr.Zheng, Mr.Shanafuku,

"Why do your glasses shine,"

"Tears blur and glisten in the sunlight."

The bird shop’s glass blazed in the sunlight.

Japanese white-eye, canary, great tit,

Quail, Java sparrow, black thrush—

Among the many birds,

the Okame parakeet played the jester,

frantic and shrieking wildly.

Ah, how dear! Ah, how delicate!

Today’s sunset blazed crimson,

Young Mr.Nanjing wore a tear-streaked face.

Red Spider Lily

“Gonshyan, Gonshyan, where are you going?”
Red spider lilies on crimson graves,
Red spider lilies,
Today again she came to pluck them.
“Gonshyan, Gonshyan, how many stems?”

On the ground lay seven stems like blood,
like blood,
Exactly matching that child’s years of age.
“Gonshyan, Gonshyan, be careful.”
Even if one was plucked, the sun stayed at high noon,
The sun at high noon,
Another one bloomed in its place.
“Gonshyan, Gonshyan, why do you cry?”
No matter how long she picked the red spider lilies,
Red spider lilies,
How fearsome, how red—still seven.
Note: Gonshyan is the term for “young lady” in the dialect of Yanagawa, a town in Kyushu.

Chinkoro Soldiers

Chinkoro, chinkoro, clinkety-clink,

Clitter-clatter, Chinkoro, clinkety-clink.

Chinkoro Soldiers, trumpeters,

Trudging along, shouldering their rifles.

Hup-two, shouldered their rifles.

Chinkoro, chinkoro, clink clink chin,

Clink clink, Chinkoro, clink clink chin.

"There there," they urged them toward battle,

The crimson tassels on their pointed hats weren't mere decoration.

Chinkoro, chinkoro, clink clink chin,

Clink clink, Chinkoro, clink clink chin.

"No no—battle? Candy's what we want,

We can't march on empty stomachs."

Chin-koro, chin-koro, chirichirin,

Clink clink, Chinkoro, clink clink chin.

Chinkoro Soldiers, red breastplates,

They burst into tears at the candy seller’s bell.

Chin-koro, chin-koro, chirichirin,

Clink clink, Chinkoro, clink clink chin.

Tohosenbo

Red red balsam flowers.
White white balsam flowers.
Pass through their midst now.
Red flowers fall.
White flowers fall.
"No no—I shan't let you pass."
Chitter chitter little squirrel,
Squirrel squirrel little squirrel,
Flit-flit little squirrel,
The grape cluster ripened,
Chirp chirp little squirrel.
Squirrel squirrel little squirrel,
Flit-flit little squirrel,
That one’s tail grows thick,
Sway sway little squirrel.
Squirrel squirrel little squirrel,
Flit-flit little squirrel,
"Dangerous to leap alone—

Be carried, be carried, little squirrel.

Beyond the mountain,

Beyond the mountain,

I gaze out,

That mountain I long for,

The village I long for,

Beyond the mountain’s

O blue sky,

Why is the setting sun

so far.

Beyond the mountain’s

O homeland,

O that sky I long for,

I long for Mother.

Sleepy dove

Hush hush, lulla-loo, hush lulla-lo.

You’re a good child, now go to sleep.

The sleepy dove shall sing.

Don't cry—coo-coo, coo-lo now.

The boy has no milk, no mother.

Snow falls softly, the night is long.

Even if it cooed lulla-loo,

Why, O dove, do you slumber?

Red bird little bird
Red bird, little bird,
Why why red?
Ate red fruit.
White bird, little bird,
Why why white.
Ate white fruit.
Blue bird, little bird,
Why why blue.
Ate blue fruit.

Bird’s nest

"Oh, oh, what’s that?"

"Ah, a bird’s nest."

Let’s take that nest.

That tree is tall.

That mountain's ruggedness.

That mountain is cold.

Why, why so cold?

The sunset glow is cold.

The sky still glows red.

Even so, the wind bites cold.

Jujube.

Jujube.
Jujube.

Red jujube.

Stolen jujube.

What to do with this jujube.

Eat it—terrifying,

show it—scolded,

discard it—unthinkable.

Give to the parakeet,

The parrot flees.
Give to the crow,
The crow glares.
When given to the turkey,
Angry angry—turned bright red with rage.

Terrifying jujube,
Stolen jujube,
Placed in hands,
Tucked into sleeves,

When they returned home and slept,
The jujube began to buzz.
It turned into bees, turned into bees,
The jujube came in full force to sting.
Terrifying jujube,
Terrifying jujube.
Hop-hop rabbit,
Bounce-bounce handball,
Oh bounce-bounce handball,

Inside the handball,
What was inside bounced.
Bounce-bounce went the handless,
Swirl-swirl went the eyeless,
Hum-hum went the earless,
Hop-hop went the rabbit child as it bounced.

Let’s drive out one.

Let’s drive out two.

Three—let’s drive out.

Four—let’s drive out.

Five—let’s drive out.

Six—let’s drive out.

Seven—let’s drive out.

Eight—let’s drive out.

Nine—let’s drive out.

Handball bounce-bounce, snow falls steadily,

To the deep mountains far away,

Ten—finally drove out.

The roof’s weathervane

Let’s take the children, take them,

At the window of Kō no Su,

The glass glittered.

The Russian samovar, in the steam of black tea,

Glowed fiercely.

Edo Bridge, Arahabashi Bridge,
A blue light came on... On the roof beyond,
The corporate weathervane whirled round and round.
Clear skies, cloudy skies, sleet, snow—
The clouds were luminous, and the sunset was cold,
Even seven-year-old Nagamatsu at the shop,

He tightened his black apron slightly,
And whenever he gazed upward at skyward expanse - solemn countenance,
Solemn countenance.

Serious face.

Kō no Su is the name of a Western-style restaurant.

The Cold-Stricken Sparrow

Crossing over grassy hills, crossing over fields,

Big shoes and a small hat.

The house came into view—heave-ho,

When the big old man took off his shoes,

When the small old woman took off her hat,

They collapsed together exhausted, snore snore snore.

The sky was a red sunset glow,

The sparrows too, meaning to return as a pair,

They found something good, coo-coo-coo,

The bridegroom sparrow stealthily slipped into the shoe,

The bride sparrow stealthily slipped into the hat,

They collapsed together exhausted, snore snore snore.

The wind blew, the moon rose,

In the white buckwheat flowers,

It was so cold that they woke up.

When the old man and old woman went "Achoo!",

Inside the shoe too, the sparrow went “Achoo!”,

Inside the hat too—haa haa achoo!

Oh dear, this is terrible—they caught colds,

The mountain was pure white with snow.

Achoo! Haa haa achoo!

Achoo! Haa haa achoo!

The Flustered Barber

Spring had come early to the riverside reeds,
The crab opened shop; a barbershop it was.
Snip snip, snip snip, snip-snip-na!
The small crab muttered as he dissolved soap,
The old man proudly snapped his scissors.
Snip snip, snip snip, snip-snip-na!
There arrived a rabbit customer.
"Please hurry up and cut my hair."
Snip snip, snip snip, snip-snip-na!
The rabbit grew impatient, the crab panicked,
The crab hurriedly packed in the customer, faster and faster.
Snip snip, snip snip, snip-snip-na!

Those bothersome ears keep flopping about,

So in his panic, he snipped it off.

Snip snip, snip snip, snip-snip-na!

The Rabbit was furious, and the Crab hid shame,

He helplessly fled into the hole.

Snip snip, snip snip, snip-snip-na!

He helplessly fled into the hole.

Snip snip, snip snip, snip-snip-na!

The Tongue-Cut Sparrow

Where did the Tongue-Cut Sparrow go,
Where did he go,
Well then, let us set out to search.
Could that have been the sparrow’s dwelling over there,
Could that have been,
A tiny thicket peeking from the mountain’s shadow.
Tap-tap clatter-clack, clack-clatter,
Clack-clatter,
Inside echoed the clatter-clack of a shuttle.
When we asked, "Might this be the lodging?"—
When we asked—

"Ohhh, Grandfather, you've come!
The Tongue-Cut Sparrow's gift—
The gift—
A basket brimming with brocade."

Where could the sparrow's dwelling be,

Where could it be,

"Old man, perhaps I should go take a look."

As for Greedy Granny's basket,

As for the basket,

When she opened it—to her shock—monsters!

The Sparrow’s Abode

In bamboo thickets, small thickets, within small thickets,
swish-swish clack-clack—the sparrows wove.

In the distance came tap-tap,
here came tap-tap,
oh dear, so busy—the sun darkened.

Swish-swish clack-clack—swish-clack stopped.

Sparrow, sparrow, the young sparrows,
swish-swish clack-clack—retrieved the shuttle.

Went up,
went down,
oh dear, so busy—the day crowded in.

Swish-swish clack-clack—swish-clack stopped.

Blue stripes, brown stripes, brown-striped garments,

Swish-swish clack-clack—how many bolts had they woven?

From morning—one bolt,

From noon—another bolt,

Oh dear, so busy—the day darkened.

Swish-swish clack-clack—swish-clack stopped.

Monogusa Tarō

Monogusa Tarō was a late riser,

Even when the temple bell rang, his eyes didn't open,

Even when the rooster crowed, he still didn't notice.

Monogusa Tarō owned no house,

Though horses passed by, he stayed at the road's edge,

Even when the land steward appeared, he stayed at the road's edge.

Monogusa Tarō was a lazybones,

Even when starving, he just lay there,

Even when bush mosquitoes bit, he just lay there.

Monogusa Tarō was free from greed,

He did nothing but gaze at the sky's far side,

He did nothing but gaze at cherry blossoms.

Pheasant Cart

Pheasant, pheasant, pheasant cart,

What the pheasant carries on its back—

Chicks, their chicks, grandchicks.

Pheasant, pheasant, pheasant cart,

What pulls the pheasant’s cart—

Chicks, their chicks, grandchicks.

Pheasant, pheasant, pheasant cart,

The pheasant—the child’s pheasant—longs for its father,

The dove—the child’s dove—longs for its mother.

Pheasant, pheasant, pheasant cart,

Pheasant cluck-cluck, dove coo-coo,

They cried as they crossed the mountain this morning.

Pheasant cart toys are still sold today at Kiyomizu Temple’s Kannon in Chikugo.
This temple was founded by the Venerable Gyōki Bosatsu.

When I hear the pheasant’s cry in the mountain—do I think of Father? Do I think of Mother?
Gyōki