Pathway to Japanese Literature

Tanka Collection: Himawari

My footsteps

The sound of my cane striking the path

I listened

The sound-tracks of my life

Himawari—the barber's quiet in the vegetable garden

Mountain bird

Grass-grown train tracks

Ah, these mountain-drawing

The mountain bird abruptly—

It darted past.

At Shirahone Hot Springs

In the back mountain

A gunshot echoed.

No time had passed when another shot rang out.

The thrush must have fallen.

Sunlit,

At the base of the stone wall, the chickens

Stood and walked about.

A single bird arrived

And entered the larch forest.

White-eyes,

Avoiding me,

Moved between branches.

Shifting between branches—
countless thoughts—
the farthest reaches of longing!

Perched on larch boughs still,
I breathe pine fragrance—

Ah, this—
seeping vivid through my breast—
in larch-scented air—

Ah, such yearning!

The hour when Hesperus tilts—

Valley between

Before the dwelling

A person splitting firewood
In dusk’s valley
The person splitting firewood in the valley
The swing of the hatchet
Ah, how poignant!
The wintry wind too
Traveled through the remote reaches of the surrounding mountains.

In the tranquil garden
a fox cried.
Last night too, this night too
it arrived at the waterwheel hut—
a single cry
the fox cried—ah!
Suddenly—
the fox cried.

I laid down the brush.

My lament too intends to step forth.

How glorious—

In the mountain gorge at winter's onset
A stout bear
The hunters' celebration of their catch
They split the bear
Reveling in sake as the night deepened—
When their singing voices reached me
The mountains were sorrowful
Autumn rainwater

An autumn day's
rainwater puddles at their edges—little sparrows
came one after another
as if performing purification.
An Indian summer day's
crape myrtle branches bent
swaying as
sparrows ate insects.
The warm medicine bottle—
how profoundly

How comforting in my hand!

I ail as autumn deepens.

Friends did not come.
At the eaves, little sparrows at play—
The shadow of wings
Fell upon my book.

Having recovered from illness,
I began yearning for mountains and rivers anew.
Like a shorebird—
this heart of mine!
So deeply
I ponder the world's brevity.

With heart calm

I shall behold the heavens and earth

For a time
The fallen leaves settled into soil
The temple hall's shadow
A yellow butterfly flies
Near Kanzakigawa River
Crimson spills
Deeming that sunset splendid
Crossing winter's bridge with Mother

A winter bridge—
New Year's Eve bells.
Something seems to be occurring across the river.

The distant rumble of a steam train—
roared on—
The steam train went—
The distant rumble was heard.

On the storage shed’s zinc roof,
the cat jumped down.
Stained with hues,
Fuji Boseki’s brick wall—
that back alley.

A motorcycle passed.

The canal’s

creaking oars moved through twilight.

All the chimneys

streamed their smoke

as the dried grasses yellowed.

Sunset spilled its light.

On the Korean person’s roof,

shoes.

The great bridge’s

base hung haze.

On the night soil boat,

a wagtail perched

in boundless expanse,

The winter bridge where the tide flows in
At the moment I beheld—
Ah—they had lit up
On a frosty night—my lamenting heart
With a clang—
Sleeves of armor
As if they clashed against each other

On the earth—
though there was nothing—
in human kindness' depth
tears fell:
a hundred cowhides
stretched on frames
in the drying square
where hail scattered down

The tugboat
Chugged laboriously upward—
That chimney’s
Sacred straw festoon...
Pale snowfall—
Uzunomizuko’s shrine pilgrimage—
Ceremonial silk whispering

The silk rustled too,

Snow fell.

On the camphor tree at the guardian shrine

Rubber balloons

Swayed as they hung

Nets were spread to dry.

Straw waistcoats too are spread out to dry.
Ducks quietly herded,
crying on.
From the back door emerges
a woman peeling mandarins.
Camellias in the hedge,
their buds still tight-clenched.
On zelkova branches,
winter-house radishes drying.
Even through piano notes,
how purposeless it feels.

Daytime Moon
I unexpectedly glimpsed
within the gate—
a leek field!

Panting, it came—
the cream-colored horse faced sunlight—
a long stream of urine
began flowing.

Kyōna greens and such

A boat loaded with spinach and such
Lay moored and shifting
In the evening water.
Dusk deepened
Through winter wetlands' salient forms—
A bull-headed shrike perched there,
Grooming its trailing plumes.

Starry Moonlit Night

The riverside where the tide had receded

All boats appeared tilted into mud

The boats all tilt into the mud.

Frost morning
In the water where they had kept watch,

Ducks quietly parted.
How quietly they had parted.
The tugboat’s sound came faintly,
clattering—

Beyond the forest,

the sound had shifted beyond.

On the bridge
Children playing at calligraphy practice
Bearing spring,
A carriage too seemed to approach.
Young greens glowed
In the starch factory’s back courtyard
Chickens battled
How poignant even the daytime

Dekijima—an island so called.

A beggar dwelt on Kawanakajima.
Spring's
Grass sprouted.
The boatman's wife

Sitting at the stern, she took a comb.

The morning scene too
How spring-like it had become!
Cargo unloaded
In the ship's hold
A domesticated rabbit—a white one
Hopped about at play.
Five ducks
They slept in identical forms
Closely resembling
Imprinted shadows,
Came into sunlight
The candy seller absentmindedly struck his bell.
Ducks on the tidal flat
Had taken on color.
Marubashi and
On the wall was inscribed; a blacksmith existed.

Under the southern eaves,
they keep Japanese white-eyes.

Spring had passed; the water's scent lay faint.
The distant bridge—

A horse-drawn wagon crossed.
The sound was pleasant.
He took his midday meal—
the hour must have been near noon—the shipwright
at the edge of the field
tended a bonfire.
Someone hewed stone.
The chisel’s sound rang clear.
Deep indigo—even the rows of distant mountains
the sunlight glistened upon them—

Spring snow

Soon disappearing,
the bark of forest trees—admirable—
soaked through.
A volume of writings was added.
On the stone statue of the female fox too,
spring’s

Snow piled up.
Sand-yellow,
At the sandbar’s tip ripples murmured.
The rippling waves too,
The scent of tide lay faint.
Spring day’s
In tilled ridges was
The Shrike’s Manner.
Insects swarmed thickly.
Spring was swift.
In bare field
Two ducks accompanied each other;
They crossed furrows.

Canaries

The canaries sing with echoing calls, perhaps.

The street corner’s miso-selling shop’s

A spring moment

Korean

The Korean elder makes baskets while

quietly sniffling his nose

he perhaps sniffles quietly

By the riverside
The winter vegetable field's stone path
After a brief interval
They had flown off crying
A yellow plum placed in the window
By the riverside
An old bicycle
A merchant's dwelling
In the square where cowhides were dried
Of the reddish-brown cow
Even as it grazed on grass
Ah how poignant

The spring field—

They came to the embankment

With mothers and hahasowa

They began picking chickweed.

Suddenly, a duck—

Raised one leg and pondered

The webbing of its foot

Translucent in the light—

By the roadside—

A noseless man

Set the saw's teeth.

Spring midday passed

Katamachi’s
White-eyed baskets fragrant by plastered walls
Still settling
Three lined up.

In the shade of blooming camellias
Crunchingly
They bite into apples.

Two horse handlers

The daytime moon
At the rice shop’s eaves—the skylark sings repeatedly
The skylark’s throat
Pale red, ah
Camphor tree’s
Spring’s fallen leaves have filled the ground
Letting a puppy run
All playing—
I sent my younger sister and older sister

The crematorium
was visible far away.

Ah, they came to the field

A girl who lives on a boat—she must be one.

From the temple well—
water in the bucket—
she was now returning.

Sputtering,
the motor's noise labored busily.

They hauled up the anchor.
The dredging ship—
Swallows came to this village.
Spring wind.
The spring wind roamed all day long.
Camphor tree forest.
Kites wheeling—I crossed the bridge.

White-bearded—

By a Korean laborer,

He was questioned.

In spring water
Swaying grandly, they had driven in the anchor.
Red-jacketed
Youthful boatman
Near the sea
The beginning of spring too is poignant.
The leprosarium’s

The red flag on the leprosarium's roof

Outcast hut—stands among the trees.

The sun is radiant.

People fishing for crucian carp too

They sat in silence.

A woman came.

Laundry was hung on the bridge railing.

The drift of smoke.

A swift spring day

From the dim bridge’s shadow

Riverside—

Two bridges visible.

Ducks swam.

At the crown,

an old nest of some sort showed through.

Aged and venerable,

the great ginkgo tree

Zennenji Temple.
This temple was said to be ancient.
It deceived people.
It was said to be inhabited by tanuki.

Peach Village

At Ōseki of Kuma no Ura called—

Light blue banners

The road where light blue banners flutter

The vegetable rows

Stepping over properly—
Tilting their heads back—
While keeping watch afar—a skylark sang.
Sparrows—
From the leek field they took flight—
In the leek field,
Entered and settled quietly.

Plowed the field
From oxen’s pace—
slightly faster
A ship loaded with cotton made its way upstream
Peach blossoms
A single tree bloomed and scattered
Through this railroad crossing
The distant sea came into view
Fresh greenery of

I came to the camphor tree path and sat.
This happiness—
I muttered to myself.
A yellow butterfly,
straight along the bridge railing,
flew and vanished.

It passed over a horse.
Young buds sprouted—the great ginkgo tree.

Here in abundance,
Scattered branches swayed in the wind.
All day long

Of the kittens

Three of them died.
One was about to die.
A garden of bitter oranges.
Hens
had emerged from the briar hedge.
In the sunlit sand,
pufferfish tumbling.
The misty rain’s
cat walking along the spring embankment
cried faintly,
its tail drooping.
Flowering mandarin
A single tree stood casting a round shadow.

Kawanakajima’s
broad bean field—
the mejiro bird did not sing for a moment;
gracefully

The cage lattice
Became one with shadow
As the wagtail sang ceaselessly
At intervals
Another joined its song—
What bird might this be
Raising tail

A black cow released urine.
Even in the flower field it stood.

How profoundly moving—
Bread was carried.
A cart sped through the powdery rain.
Smoldering May’s
The scent of morning bread

Suddenly against the cane—brushed and shattered

Dandelion seeds flying toward—
the direction where they fly—
factory noise.

Twilight's

When I caught the scent of the soy sauce warehouse—
as if I had stolen something—
this sorrowful stance:
stiffly upright,
ears of wheat that had pointed skyward
now lay motionless,
yellowed and withered.

Daylight lingered.

The old woman herded the flock of ducks.

The old woman's voice
Echoing through water—
Red-fruited dogwood—
Maidens hiding in garden shadows
Stealing tree nuts

How deep the day—

On the sand
A tailless lizard also comes out to play.
Kawanakajima's

A pumpkin field—

the cargo ship

moored there and called out something—
the man built
ah, a shiso field.

Mother and child's
Two sheep
Dusk—admired and chilled.

On the grassy embankment

The newly built

The boat neared completion—the sound of a chisel.

June 3rd

Eggplant flowers bloom.
A black kite.
It descends toward the sweet potato field.

Near the leprosarium
Near the riverbank
The sound of waves, the voice of grass leaves
At the river’s edge
A skylark sang.
A pale overcast sky—
Encircling the village cemetery,
stretched in rows
At the edge of the Yodo River,
A sweet potato field—

At the estuary’s
An island appears through the mist.
On the distant island, something stirs.
A crane is also visible.

Firefighters—
Three gazed upward
At the guardhouse eaves:
Swallow nestlings—
Summer had come—
The swallow nestlings called their parents.

From melon flowers
A yellow beak
At the lock gate's guardhouse garden
Blooming flowers—nail-clipping grass—
Crab—
Nail clippings
Sawing ice
The gallant sound of the saw
The eaves of the icehouse
Swallows emerge

A Song for This Moment

Persimmon flowers

Spring days scattered on the narrow mat
Days of youth too—
I had been loving someone

The season of cicadas

When I walked along the pine hill’s edge,

A sadness so deep—
Memories too are welcome.

Fire-eating bird—
Outside the net where earth was pecked,
How many blooms had opened—
Sunflowers
On the pine’s branch.
The mistletoe berries had ripened now—
A day spent awhile—
The bush warbler called—

About a hundred—
on the sunlit face of Karegaya Mountain
crows alighted.
How deep winter had grown!
Shinanomichi:
having bathed
mountain maidens—each and every one—
hiding navels
how they rose!
Ko-Asama’s verdant slopes
Ō-Asama—
when foreheads were hidden
napes bent low
the highland’s
birds swayed in cabbage fields
at Asama’s peak
a line of people faced
the raven
green edamame at ridges

Their shoulders glistening

Even as I look back,

At Happu Hot Springs

The mountain spring's
eaves-held cage—grown accustomed—sang:
crimson-cheeked bird—
a bullfinch.

The mountain spring's
eaves-held cage—grown accustomed—slept:
the small bullfinch—
candle raised, I watched—

Harvesting miscanthus
in Shinano Province while catching fleas—
the lamp wick
was trimmed anew.

The cicada's shrill—such stillness...
Birch forest—
pale at the treetops—
the daytime moon appeared.

To Shibu Hot Springs

Packhorses too descended.

After the thunder, the lesser cuckoo called.

Shiga Highlands
Wagtail footprints—there they lay
Having circled—
The tennis court’s—
A water puddle—

Snake skin

Tumble down, tumble down—it rolled away.

Behind the white chickens,

Close behind,

Hens

Cluck-cluck called through midday's heart.

On laundry,

Horseflies alighted—

A rainbow bridge—spanned over the valley.
Seven-colored—
At the bridge’s edge—
A bush warbler cried.

Female guest—white shoes removed

On the stone
Drying—
She stood there awhile.

A white horse
arrived carrying mail.
Swallows gathered
at the mountain hot spring inn.
In the mountain field,
potato flowers bloomed.
Swallows fluttered about keeping watch
through August's midday—
hazy dimness
at the back mountain's trail marker.
A wagtail
sharpened its beak.
A cicada came to the beech tree,
paused awhile—
the sound of river rapids—
and sang.
A mountain hare was kept in a box.

At times,

Stretching out to show—

How profoundly moving

The mountain opposite

The Maroyama uninhabited by people—

At Aokusayama

Cloud shadows appeared.

The guest’s—

A bumblebee alone occupied a table.

Pumpkin flowers'—

A yellow room—

Beside the path—what the children had built

This—this here
Mountain dove grave

A wild hare's grave
Higher than dragonflies—
autumn clouds flying slightly aloft
A shimmering radiance—
perhaps entering the mountains

At Yakushi-yu
in ochre-soiled gardens stood a horse
the shadow of its swishing tail
how luminous autumn was

At Tengu-yu
the playful drumming
of Tengu Shrine's small drum—
autumn seeped into bones

Horse dung mushrooms
ephemeral lives clustering to thrive
That Maroyama
gazing upon it—how profoundly evocative

The pumpkin harvest
rock swallows across the entire mountain
their numbers dwindling—

Autumn has deepened.

Kamibayashi—from the Shibu direction

swirling in—

In the evening shower

rock swallows dance

claw-yellow—

on the crab’s shell

ephemeral water’s spray—

transferred and lingers perhaps—

a black butterfly—

on the narrow eaves of the storage shed—

alights and moves—

Autumn morning—
The maid came—
In the room where I dwelled, she made a sound
Her sweeping came into view.
From this hillside—
In the mountain fields
Tomatoes at last took on color—
The 210th day—
Midday’s quiet—
Autumn set in—

In the leek field within the mountain's embrace
Wings of mica
Dragonflies resting
Dawn clouds
Kurohime Mountain enveloped—

At the tennis court.
Herding neighing horses.

Daytime clouds—
The boat moored and unmoving—
What they call Kashima Spear—
Indigo mountains—how striking!

Hens—
Two or three came—
On the path

On the path—

At the mountain hot springs

Raising bullfinch chicks

Autumn day—

The 220th day has arrived, I realize—

Autumn has set in—

The day of journey—

Of Kutsuita Chaya—

Ah, the cricket—

I waved something—

The crows seemed to call my name—
From Kutsuita Chaya's heights I saw—
Sky—blue

At the highland where I parted with someone—

Tinnitus had set in—

A sound was heard—

Autumn deepened—

A single black grasshopper perched—

Rubbed its wings to sing—

Ochre soil path

Valley mist

One hundred lamps at this hot spring inn—

Longed for the lamp

Swirled in—it seemed

Autumn deepened—

On stones and treetops—

Dragonflies were not seen.

Already they had perished—

In the western sea

Resembling the Heike clan's ruin—

Perished in the mountains—

Alas, the dragonflies

My song’s

To this extent—its melody so precarious,

A rabbit leaped—

Morning’s cliff—

A single chicken—

Sat sleepily here

Dawn’s rooster comb—

That too fell—

Swallows tracked mud—

The glass door of my room—still intact

Shirouma-dake
loomed into view.

In Okusawara—the deep grasslands of the plateau—stood three or four huts thatched with bamboo grass by mountain folk cutting kumazasa.

O foot-dragging mountains—

The autumn festival at the mountain's base

At Kusano's cottage—
Though no people remained—
Tonight again—
Shiranui lights appeared—
the town of Nagano's
lights—how I admired them!
Throughout the day—
the mountain path's fallen leaves—
I took joy in treading
Ah, this pitiful nature
Nuthatch
flapping its wings, hurried back.

Ah, how withered!
The valley of autumn leaves—
Nameless Mountain—
On this day across its face
Even as oaks shed their leaves
A bush warbler sings.

Kasagatake—
Tilting my hat, I looked back.
The plain of Hiratoko—
I hurried onward—

Hiratoko Plain's Minnamimi
Tinted with hues—
Flags erected—
Bear Hot Springs—

Ah, how poignant
The yellow butterfly that still remained—
This back mountain’s
birches being circled
Now that it’s come to this—
A yellow feathered mantle fluttered here.

The season of falling leaves—
The back mountain’s butterfly

In the distance—

Myōkō Peak’s prominence alone appeared
In the valley of autumn leaves,
thin mist drifted.
From where had this crow come—
flame-like in the autumn-tinted woods—
in the autumn foliage forest,
having cried for half a day.

Tsuru-saku’s
Dappled Sado cattle
Cutting miscanthus—Shinano’s bamboo grass
They carried it down.

Red fruit.

I placed spindle tree branches in a jar.

My heart found satisfaction.

A moment akin to fulfillment
Two and three fallen leaves
Beside the pillow
The spindle tree branches in the jar
The morning I had let them hang
What leaf—
A single leaf danced high in the sky
Above the valley
The lodging in the wintry wind
A lone carpenter
Shut away in the storage shed

Winter passed.

He crafted mortars.

In the mountain gorge,

Lit at snowy dusk,

The lamp chimney's

Finger marks—

Yarigatake

Had leaped between clouds,

Clear and splendid -

Ah, the Month of No Gods...

The traveler's ochre dog that had accompanied him ran as if chasing something vigorous through fruit-bearing persimmon trees whose drooping branches wound around the quietly standing house.

At Kamibayashi Hot Springs

Snow-covered village

This hillside bathed in sunlight

A slight amount

Bamboo growing—

Yearning for others

On the roof of a thatch-roofed house

A wagtail perches and calls.

Spring evening

Buzzing

Faint pollen scattering

The lizard's indigo

It brushed against and ran.

Hiusudake

As if vanishing,

Faint moonrise—

Evening closes—the Katakuri flowers.

Hiusudake—faintly visible,

My wife—

Against the notched moon,

She has stood there, ah—

Terraced fields'
Passing along the edge of cedar forest.

That snake catcher—
His nape bent low,
The snake’s belly
Dangled from that snake catcher’s hand,
Glowing,
How he crossed the hill—