by Donald Keene
My companion answered in favor of autumn and I, not being willing to imitate her, said:
Pale green night and flowers all melting into one in the soft haze—
Everywhere the moon, glimmering in the spring night.
So I replied. And he, after repeating my poem to himself over and over, said: "Then you give up autumn? After this, as long as I live, such a spring night shall be for me a memento of your personality." The person who favored autumn said, "Others seem to give their hearts to spring, and I shall be alone gazing at the autumn moon."
He was deeply interested, and being uncertain in thought said: "Even the poets of the T'ang Empire could not decide which to praise most, spring or autumn. Your decisions make me think that there must be some personal reasons when our inclination is touched or charmed. Our souls are imbued with the colors of the sky, moon, or flowers of that moment. I desire much to know how you came to know the charms of spring and autumn. The moon of a winter night is given as an instance of dreariness, and as it is very cold I had never seen it intentionally. When I went down to Ise to be present as the messenger of the Emperor at the ceremony of installing the virgin in charge of the shrine, I wanted to come back in the early dawn, so went to take leave of the Princess whose installation had just taken place in a moon-bright night after many days' snow, half-shrinking to think of my journey.
"Her residence was an other-worldly place awful even to the imagination, but she called me into a pleasant apartment. There were persons in that room who had come down from the reign of the Emperor Enyū.4 Their aspect was very holy, ancient, and mystical. They told of the things of long ago with tears. They brought out a well-tuned four-stringed lute. The music did not seem to be anything happening in this world; I regretted that day should even dawn, and was touched so deeply that I had almost forgotten about returning to the capital. Ever since then the snowy nights of winter recall that scene, and I without fail gaze at the moon even though hugging the fire. You will surely understand me, and hereafter every dark night with gentle rain will touch my heart; I feel this has not been inferior to the snowy night at the palace of the Ise virgin."
With these words he departed and I thought he could not have known who I was.
In the eighth month of the next year [1043] we went again to the Imperial palace, and there was in the court an entertainment throughout the night. I did not know that he was present at it, and I passed that night in my own room. When I looked out in early morning, opening the sliding doors on the corridor, I saw the morning moon very faint and beautiful. I heard footsteps and people approached—some reciting Sutras. One of them came to the entrance, and addressed me. I replied, and he, suddenly remembering, exclaimed, "That night of softly falling rain I do not forget, even for a moment! I yearn for it." As chance did not permit me many words I said:
What intensity of memory clings to your heart?
That gentle shower fell on the leaves—
Only for a moment our hearts touched.
I had scarcely said so when people came up and I stole back without his answer.
That evening, after I had gone to my room, my companion came in to tell me that he had replied to my poem: "If there be such a tranquil night as that of the rain, I should like in some way to make you listen to my lute, playing all the songs I can remember."
I wanted to hear it, and waited for the fit occasion, but there was none, ever.
In the next year one tranquil evening I heard that he had come Into the Princess's palace, so I crept out of my chamber with my companion, but there were many people waiting within and without the palace, and I turned back. He must have been of the same mind with me. He had come because it was so still a night, and he returned because it was noisy.
I yearn for a tranquil moment
To be out upon the sea of harmony,
In that enchanted boat.
Oh, boatman, do you know my heart?
So I composed that poem—and there is nothing more to tell. His personality was very excellent and he was not an ordinary man, but time passed, and neither called to the other. . . .
TRANSLATED BT ANNIE SHEPLEY OMORI AND KŌCHI DOI
Footnotes
1 The custom of the court obliged the court ladies to lead a life of almost no privacy-sleeping at night together in the presence of the Queen, and sharing their apartments with each other.
2 Some words are lost from this sentence.
3 A pipe made of seven reeds having a very clear, piercing sound.
4 He ruled from 970 to 984. It was now 1042.
POETRY IN CHINESE
[The first two poems, although they were written in the Ancient Period, are preserved in a Heian collection, and are therefore given here.]
In praise of Buddha
The sun of his wisdom lights a thousand worlds;
His merciful clouds all creatures hide.
A myriad destinies are fulfilled in His love;
The voice of His law—how it strikes my heart!
Empress Shōtoku (718-770)
The small hills
How march the four seasons in succession
Unwaywardly, from the eons past!
Grasses that greet the spring in flowered tapestry;
The summer trees curtained in leaves;
In the sad breath of autumn, the falling fruit;
Bare branches before the shrill winter wind—
When I see these seasonal things, I know
How man too must flourish and die.
Of the hills of Paradise have I heard but never seen;
Toward the land of the gods I gaze, knowing not the way.
I know only that to make a mountain
You must pile the little clods one by one.
Where then should I seek nobility?
In what delights the heart there is nothing mean.
I roof the narrow grotto in the garden end;
Lead the thin streams to flow before my hall.
Hills beneath heaven;
On the broad earth, trees—
These things that the small man spurns
The wise shall nourish.
Though I want in the straits of distress,
How should I decline the defenses of virtue?
At my ease I draw off the lakes of the west;
My gaze governs the northern waters.
And these ragged hills
That shut not out the coursing sun;
This clear bright pond.
Ruffled in the wind;
Pines that nod from their crags in greeting;
Rocks shining from the river bottom beneath drifting watery mirrors;
Scattered clouds that cloak the summits in shadows;
The half-risen moon which lights the vales,
When from tree to tree dart crying birds:
To these will I abandon, will I entrust my life.
The Great Creator, in the variety of his works,
Blesses as well the lowly and small.
When all philosophy I resolve in this one act,
I may stride the leviathan seas and they will not hold me!
Into the dark heart of all being I shall ride
And dwell in the spacious halls of the ant.
Truly need one seek not beyond his door for wisdom;
Must a man see all mountains and seas to love them?
In these lines have I entrusted
The writing of what my heart has learned.
Isonokami no Yakatsugu (729-781)
The banished official
Wine and feasts I followed with the host of officials;
Unworthy, yet I stood in the Court of the Emperor.
With reverence I received the rites of investiture—
Next day I was banished from the council chamber.
On that noble ground, no room for my anxious feet;
From high heaven came accusations, to whom could I cry?
I left the company of the virtuous, the ranks of the adorned;
>
To me alone the sea-encircling dew came not.1
I listened outside the palace to the sound of singing;
Below the stairs, apart, I watched the ladies on the terrace.
I returned in the dusk to face my wife in shame;
Through the night I lay talking with my children in bed.
Great faults and small merit were mine, I know.
For mercy and light penalty I am forever grateful.
Though I may never again enter the gate of my lord,
I shall speak from this far land and Heaven may hear me.
Nakao-ō (Early Ninth Century)
Composed when her father, the Emperor Saga, visited the Kamo Shrine, where she was a priestess
Silent was my lonely lodge among the mountain trees
When to this far lake your fairy carriage came.
The lone forest bird tasted the dew of spring;
Cold flowers of the dark valley saw the sun's brightness.
Springs sound close by like the echo of early thunder;
High hills shine clear and green above the evening rain.
Should I once more know the warmth of this fair face,
All my life will I give thanks to the azure skies.
Princess Uchiko (807-847)
Washing my hair
I look at the comb, I look at the water, I look at what has fallen.
Age and youth are far apart; I cannot have them both.
Do not tell me that my hair gets thinner by the day—
See, instead, how the beards of my grandsons grow out!
Shimada no Tadaomi (828-891)
To comfort my little son and daughter
Michizane, a high official, was forced into exile. All of his twenty-three children were detained or sent to different places except the two youngest, who were allowed to accompany their father to Kyushu.
Your sisters must all stay at home,
Your brothers are sent away.
Just we three together, my children,
Shall chat as we go along.
Each day we have our meals before us,
At night we sleep all together.
We have lamps and tapers to peer in the dark
And warm clothes for the cold.
Last year you saw how the Chancellor's son
Fell out of favor in the capital.
Now people say he is a ragged gambler,
And call him names on the street.
You have seen the barefooted wandering musician
The townspeople call the Justice's Miss—
Her father, too, was a great official;
They were all in their day exceedingly rich.
Once their gold was like sand in the sea;
Now they have hardly enough to eat.
When you look, my children, at other people,
You can see how gracious Heaven has been.
The spider
There is craft in this smallest insect,
With strands of web spinning out his thoughts;
In his tiny body finding rest,
And with the wind lightly turning.
Before the eaves he stakes out his broad earth;
For a moment on the fence top lives through his life.
When you know that all beings are even thus,
You will know what creation is made of.
Sugawara no Michizane (845-903)
The puppeteers
These were a gypsy-like people who wandered about Japan making a living by singing and dancing, operating puppets, and performing feats of magic.
Ceaseless wanderers from of old, the puppeteers,
Over all the earth searching ever a new home.
They pitch their tents and sing in the night to the mountain moon;
Resdess they seek new paths; I see their smoke in the spring fields.
Youth in the bright capital, their women pampered favorites;
The years of age alone, watching over a hut of thatch.
The traveler passing far off casts suspicious eyes
At the white hair, the vacant, wrinkled face.
Fujiwara no Tadamichi (1097-1164)
TRANSLATED BY BURTON WATSON
Footnote
1 That is, Imperial favor. In reading Chinese and Japanese poetry, one should keep in mind that since the Emperor is the Son of Heaven metaphors relating to the sky, dew, etc., often refer to the throne.
RYŌJIN HISHŌ
During the middle and late Heian Period a new verse form came to be widely used, especially in connection with popular religious movements. This was the imayō or "modern-style," which generally consisted of four lines, each containing 7, 5 syllables. Most of the poems in the "Ryōjin Hishō" are in this form, although there are many variations. The "Ryōjin Hishō" is an anthology, originally in twenty books, of which only a small part still survives. It was compiled over a period of many years by the Emperor Goshirakawa (1127-1192), being finally completed in 1179. The surviving poems are of three kinds: Buddhist hymns, songs about Shinto shrines and festivals, and folk songs. The folk songs are by far the most interesting; the following translations are all of this type.
May he that bade me trust him, but did not come,
Turn into a demon with three horns on his head,
That all men fly from him!
May he become a bird of the waterfields
Where frost, snow, and hail fall,
That his feet may be frozen to ice!
Oh, may he become a weed afloat on the pond!
May he tremble as he walks with the trembling of the hare, with the trembling of the doe!
. .
When I look at my lovely lady,
"Oh that I might become a clinging vine," I yearn,
"That from toc to tip I might be twined about her."
Then though they should cut, though they should carve—Inseparable our lots!
. .
Things that bend in the wind—
The tall branches of pine-tree tops,
Or the little twigs of bamboos,
Boats that run with spread sails on the sea,
Floating clouds in the sky,
And in the fields the flowering susuki.
. .
For sport and play
I think that we are born.
For when I hear
The voice of children at their play,
My limbs, even my
Stiff limbs, are stirred.
Dance, dance, Mr. Snail!
If you won't I shall leave you
For the little horse,
For the little ox
To tread under his hoof,
To trample to bits.
But if quite prettily
You dance your dance,
To a garden of flowers
I will carry you to play.
. .
Oh gods almighty!
If gods indeed you are,
Take pity on me;
For even the gods were once
Such men as we.
TRANSLATED BY ARTHUR WALEY
THE LADY WHO LOVED INSECTS
[from Tsutsumi Chūnagon Monogatari]
Next door to the lady who loved butterflies was the house of a certain provincial inspector. He had an only daughter, to whose upbringing he and his wife devoted endless care. She was a strange girl, and used to say: "Why do people make so much fuss about butterflies and never give a thought to the creatures out of which butterflies grow? It is the natural form of things that is always the most important." She collected all kinds of reptiles and insects such as most people are frightened to touch, and watched them day by day to see what they would turn into, keeping them in various sorts of little boxes and cages. Among all these creatures her favorite was the common caterpillar. Hour after hour, her hair pushed back from her eyes, she would sit gazing at the furry black form that nestled in the palm of her hand. She found that other girls were frightened of these pets, and her only companions were a number of r
ather rough little boys, who were not in the least afraid. She got them to carry about the insect-boxes, find out the names of the insects or, if this could not be done, help her to give them new names. She hated anything that was not natural. Consequently she would not pluck a single hair from her eyebrows nor would she blacken her teeth, saying it was a dirty and disagreeable custom. So morning, noon, and night she tended her insects, bending over them with a strange, white gleaming smile.1 People on the whole were frightened of her and kept away; the few who ventured to approach her came back with the strangest reports. If anyone showed the slightest distaste for her pets, she would ask him indignantly how he could give way to so silly and vulgar a prejudice, and as she said this she would stare at the visitor under her black, bushy eyebrows in a way that made him feel extremely uncomfortable.
Her parents thought all this very peculiar and would much rather she had been more like other children; but they saw it was no use arguing with her. She for her part took immense trouble in explaining her ideas, but this only resulted in making them feel that she was much cleverer than they. "No doubt," they would say, "all you tell us is quite true, and so far as we are concerned you may do as you please. But people as a rule only make pets of charming and pretty things. If it gets about that you keep hairy caterpillars you will be thought a disgusting girl and no one will want to know you." "I do not mind what they think," she answered. "I want to inquire into everything that exists and find out how it began. Nothing else interests me. And it is very silly of them to dislike caterpillars, all of which will soon turn into lovely butterflies." Then she again explained to them carefully how the cocoon, which is like the thick winter clothes that human beings wear, wraps up the caterpillar till its wings have grown and it is ready to be a butterfly. Then it suddenly waves its white sleeves and flits away. . . .
This was no doubt quite accurate, and they could think of nothing to say in reply; but all the same her views on such matters made them feel very uncomfortable. She would never sit in the same room with her elders, quoting in self-defense the proverb, "Ghosts and girls are best unseen"; and the above attempt to bring her parents to reason was made through a chink in the half-raised blinds of the living room. Hearing of such conversations as this, the young people of the district were amazed at the profundity of her researches. "But what things for a girl to play with!" they said."She must be an oddity indeed. Let us go and call upon the girl who loves butterflies."
