100 poems
Richard Bear
1
Sleeves dripping
from arrival
through grey
Pacific rains,
I step through the glow
of the Art Library.
Here are tall books:
first drying hands,
I find one, lifting
heavy substance
down with care from
a high shelf: Hokusai.
Beautiful prints,
showing with love
hard country lives:
suddenly, tears.
2
She moves in spring
as one who
has carried herself
all winter among
famous people.
Yet she does
her own housework;
knows, as her
ancestors knew,
to spread white wash
over rhododendrons
in bright sun, like
remnants of snow,
or glimpses, which some
have seen, of the Sisters
in robes of blue ice.
3
I took a room
and called it
Susuki-Grass Room
to honor Narihira.
Tonight, however,
I think of
Hitomaro, who slept
alone. Streets
below grow quiet,
but I in dream climb
Mount Pisgah, checking
wayside benches.
I call, but the answer
is a wary rustling
of pheasant feathers
beyond the moonlit trail.
4
Remember climbing to
Honey Lakes basin,
and how, rounding
that last bend, we
were hammered down
by the glory of
summer snow on the flanks
of South Sister?
Even the gray jay,
alighting on our knees
to seek crumbs,
could not long bend
our eyes away.
5
Once, counting
Douglas firs for money,
I stood on a stump
wide as a double bed
and looked down slope
to an unknown sound:
buck, bugling for a mate
in his clearing,
framed in early red
of vine maples.
The question, from which
I had been hiding,
then dealt a stomach
blow: where is
she now, and how is it
I am alive here,
as snow begins
to fall?
6
Under stars,
heavy with brightness
they seem to have
with day near,
I cross the log bridge
where we once fed birds
by the lake called Clear,
with forest standing
under blue water
in the ancient bed.
I skate boots
like a young girl,
brushing frost flowers
from decking,
hoping to find you,
this time, cabined,
waiting a fire
on the open hearth.
7
I have gone West
twenty-three years.
Not strange that,
as I make new friends,
they express surprise
that I have a son
in the East. I tell
them how I go
watch the moon rise
with the evening star
and think of it shining
high in the ecliptic
above the home
he has made with his
young wife there.
8
I built my house-truck
on a flatbed Chevy,
lived in it two years
in Oregon mists.
No one came to visit
the abandoned quarry.
I had fish every day,
and short summer's
sun shone brighter
than it ever did
in town.
9
Did she remember
Narihira's sad dream
that she had died,
when she journeyed
across the land,
years after he himself
was grass? And I
have done as he,
lying awake hour
after passing hour,
filled with dread
of nameless evils
for love.
10
Semimaru saw not,
and I can barely hear.
In Susuki-Grass Room
I steam rice, make tea,
dress myself
to meet people all day.
I make them tell me
their names twice
and help them as I can.
Though in my work
I play no lute,
I hope my visitors
will when they turn away
feel as though
they had heard one
lilting among trees.
11
I walk on sand
at Cape Kiwanda,
and think to join
the gulls to seek
a land across waves,
leaving behind
a thousand troubles
of my own making.
The dory-boatmen
have a better idea:
launching through surf
they keep mind
firmly on a way
through rocks ahead.
12
When first I went
to the Country Fair,
players wove
their spell round us
in lazing noon:
no one sought to leave,
or thought the day
should ever end. Had we
all turned into crows,
who would have been
surprised?
13
When love is young, kisses
are salt: earth itself
moved, the lovers swear,
and they but ran
to keep up. But days
draw on, as seasons,
and this our life.
Love deepens,
as Yozei tells us.
His deepening river
flows toward sea:
it can then be enough
to sit together
without words,
as young couples
pass, all smiles
despite hard rain.
14
I have been lost
enough in love
not to know whether
I am coming to be
or coming to end:
yet wherever this is
your eyes in my mind
are the fixed point,
and if I am flooded
by all this emotion,
I am like smooth
river basalt,
indestructible for you.
15
I watched the nurse
with her blue spoon
badgering Grandmother
to eat hospital food.
The old woman
stitched up her mouth
with what will she had,
determined to choose
her time, her place,
her way.
16
When we worked
in the woods, we planted
fir seedlings in rows
across intractable slopes.
Trees not yet logged
whined in incessant
winds, and bowed
to one another on
the ridgeline.
I thought: my love
will not see me again
should one of these
fall while my back
is bent.
17
Removing our hot
boots, we hung them
by laces and crossed
the rock-rolling stream
with cold-shocked feet.
Work-weary as we
were, we stopped
to see maple finery
skip past our knees.
18
It is a great thing
to fall in love,
and to stand able
to acknowledge
love before the world.
Some, as they meet
beside some shore
must look both ways
before they kiss.
Even to dream
of one they love:
disaster. What name
did I speak to
the night?
19
How beautiful
she was, tapping
my house-truck door
twenty-three years
ago. She would not
leave her husband,
she said, but she would
hold me once.
Her heart knocked,
small fist,
against my ribs.
Whispering
her name, my lips
brushed hers. She
has been dead
almost half those years,
and, no: no time
has passed.
20
A man once threatened
my life on his wife's
account, as we sat
in a fast-food place.
A very young man
I was, so young
I thought not much
of the pistol
aimed at my belly
beneath the table,
but how sad for her
should that thing
go off.
21
I thought it Monday,
and went to a place
of waiting. People
passed, on their way
to church, and looked
at me curiously.
I did not mind; she
might arrive or not,
or maybe I was
mistaken, or not;
what mattered
then, as any time,
since it was for her,
was wait well.
22
Once, jobbing among
Christmas trees
on a wide flat
farm unsheltered
from Pacific storms,
my trailer flew
from its moorings
and slammed slap
on earth. I awoke,
made of my doom
the best I could
by eating tomorrow's
food, saying:
let me not
have wasted a thing!
23
In Atlanta, my birth
town, there were
many old oaks,
and people loved
in fall to walk
dragging their feet
in leaves to hear
their passage,
carefully rustling
as they went. Even
at night, lamplight
and moonlight, when
it could not be color
that brought them,
they would greet me,
words floating
on frost between us.
24
Like Sugawara
who offered hills,
I come empty-handed.
Even so, there may
be something. These
should go to Japan.
They are not, perhaps,
a worthy offering,
but intent may serve
to begin friendship.
One who understands
may follow to the
red mountain slopes,
and there accept
what only gods
can give.
25
She, who was
so beautiful stopped
to regard me as if
I were the beauty
to be seen. As her gaze
increased, my own
averted to the river,
lest my breath itself
be radiance-stopped.
Behind her, ivy
clung to cottonwoods
while sparrows
sang on.
26
My father is in Florida.
from time to time
he asks me to ride
his boat on the river
that flows north.
Once he, in his eightieth
year, slept in sun,
motor running.
Much later he awoke,
still bearing across
small whitecaps,
still leaving a white
wake, the shore's
dangers no closer
than when he last looked.
27
There was a woman
I barely knew:
where she lived
I knew not, nor what
family, if any, she had.
I knew only that when
I asked if I might
walk with her, she said
yes, and that when
she looked down, seeking
something in her purse,
she caught the edge
of my eye.
28
Once on North Fork,
all other workmen
left for days, I
keeping camp alone.
Rising, I found
snow had come,
deep, silent. In boots
I made rounds,
looking back to see
no track but mine,
and of so many chimneys
in camp, mine alone
made smoke.
29
In the woods, we often
planted trees in snow,
stopping when it snowed
deeper than shoe tops.
Climbing to the road,
my mind on nothing
but numbing cold,
I bumped into what
might be a dead fir,
only to find one
of my crew, lost in
thought, snow crusting
beard and hair.
30
Once we had made up
our minds that she
should leave at morning,
we each in our way
prayed dawn would never
come. Yet lovers
will exhaust each other
if not night. We were
betrayed by sleep.
When birds began,
she woke her two
small children by
the door.
31
On Fall Creek, by
the reservoir, snow
plumed straight lines
like river foam.
I knew where the trees
were, loading themselves
with white, but could not
find them.
32
My friend who later
died young, I remember
trapping red salmon
in a pool. They whirled
like autumn leaves.
It made him sad
to see them with no
place to go, upstream
or down.
33
Bloom on our pie-cherry
hardly seems to last
a day. So we think
of spring as swift,
but what season now
for me is not swift?
Do not the cherries
themselves disappear
in one day, when
birds come?
34
I have begun the age
some come to
when they realize
all their friends
cannot visit:
not busy, it's just
they have left
this life. When I saw
the place where I once
gathered apples,
Okikaze's thought
became clear to me.
35
My earliest meeting
with spring found
a sunning churchyard
in a Georgia town:
grass, not yet
mown, bowed before
wind. New sap,
rising in a solitary
old plum, ran from
an open wound in
wrinkled bark.
36
Planting in northern
Idaho, we followed
melting snow
to set new trees
and avoid the midday
sun of June. We
slept by day, worked
by moonlight. Sound
fed my dreams:
the river
flowing by my bed
all afternoon.
37
While traveling in
north woods
after freezing rain,
one becomes wary
of wayside
huckleberries: they
inveigle ice down
one's neck, no matter
how mindfully one
walks.
38
When I remembered
what I had said
to morning's child
concerning the gift,
I could no longer
assume I would sit
by fireside soon:
I drove through rain
for hours, seeking
one merchant open
who might give aid
to a man with a promise
in his empty hand.
39
For color
of her eyes I could
never forget her:
Stepping from the truck
on a mountain road
I saw in dawn's light
that color spread wide
on clouds below.
40
It is when I think
of all you have meant
to me, that my face
does a thing some
see, and they lean
across the table, asking
for my thoughts.
41
When she asked me
to stay one night
without touching,
we both tried,
as she had said:
in vain. The others
at the breakfast
table understood
as if they had
been told.
42
I have said: I will never
not love you. And you
have said in return:
your love will follow
wherever I go.
Now, when high
Sierra divides us for
so long, I must believe
what we said
was true.
43
I once thought
I knew something
of love, but now
I know what it is
I do not know.
Ignorance may be
my permanent
condition, but this,
unlike all that went
before, sheds
on my life
continual light.
44
One night, each lover
says, one such night
will do to make
me not have lived
in vain: but these old
words, so many times
repeated, surprise us,
being true.
45
I knew by the look
she gave me, then,
I had made again
some sad mistake.
Yet looking back,
I remember only
walking by the river,
looking in pools,
raking out pretty
stones to carry home.
46
You should know
by now, Lake Creek
in winter is to be
crossed by boat
only if you care not
where you will come
ashore. Some
have been known
to throw cables
across, and made
their boats shuttles,
tied, painter and pulley.
Now think about love:
can it be like that?
47
Waiting for autumn
alone, I met
no one, not even
a man to sell me
bait. I waded, rod
in hand, into cold
Deadwood Creek,
turning over stones
for caddis flies unborn.
48
She offered me water
in a glass, and said:
you must go.
I did; or tried to;
how was I to know
I was but a tide,
going, but returning
the same way?
49
I thought I had
no objection, but
when she returned
from loving him,
she looked into
my eyes with pity.
50
He said to me, as we
planted our trees:
I used to think
I would not live long.
Now that I have
met her, I want
my life to last forever.
51
Suppose this were
the last day we
could walk together?
I suppose I might
consider leaping
into the river.
Instead, I would
walk carefully,
minding my step
so that I could
keep watching
your face, to remember
it ever.
52
When I last saw you,
you walked me
to the station, and gave
me one quick hug,
backpack and all.
Then suddenly
you were gone.
How many times
I have remembered
how I hated that bus
when it rolled
serenely in
on time.
53
I know, when I
have been journeying,
how life in the house
can slow to a crawl
because she goes
on every pretext
to the window, again
and again.
54
I thought as I drove
by the river edge
she might do better
by my mistaking
this sharp curve
than my coming in
full of myself, of plans
that never arrive
at more than dreams.
55
He speaks of her
as if her ever
going away
would be his breath
going away.
56
I had almost died
under a distant
sun. I thought
I should write her again,
and perhaps this time
she would say yes.
At length in the mail
came a postcard
showing only a coral
reef, with on the other
side strange words
from Shakespeare.
57
When I sat with you
on the bench, it was
the only time I ever did;
the others talked
in groups around
the glittering pool.
We said nothing.
I knew then what
might happen, but
talked around it
till the moment
passed. Forgive me.
58
I know she carried
my heart as a diamond.
Why, then, was I troubled
when she talked of men
knowingly? Behind her,
chrysanthemums
listened attentively.
59
She had a knack that
if he failed to appear
she would walk alone
admiring the view
over field and wood
as if he were there.
If then he came
late to the evening
she would not reproach,
saying only: look!
The Canada geese
have returned.
60
You do not
know me; I come from
a green mountain
wet with rain.
My back twists
from a woodsman's years.
That is why
my writing is not
like some writing
you have seen.
61
I remember cherries
blooming along
the still Potomac
when policemen
broke our heads
for speaking against war.
Young women, young men
scattered like blossoms
before a blue wind.
62
If she wanted
astrology, he would
be an astrologer;
if she hoped for
music, a singer then.
As it was, she had one
wish only: that he not
run away.
63
I had thought to see
her in all mornings
that might remain
to me, but had not counted
on her religion.
Firmly gazing
on her book,
she saw only
her fears there.
A year later,
I rowed five ladies
to an island.
Only at landing
did I find she was
one of these.
64
Searching for a lost
crew-woman, we
forded three creeks
in deepening fog.
It was ourselves
we lost then.
65
Well, what have I
learned of love?
After thirty years
I still defend her,
still blame myself.
I should extend
such courtesy
to the living.
66
When my heart's string
snapped, I walked
ten days, straight into
North Carolina
on the ridgeline.
All day there
grey chestnuts
with their blight
told me the same story
I was telling them.
67
She had earned
through hard day labor
our respect;
why then, without
asking, did I suddenly
pillow my head
on her breast?
And why then,
with all she had said
against men,
did she easily rest
her hand on my head?
68
By moonlight, I found
a beaver serenely
floating, and spoke.
It woke; splash
of its sounding
soaked my shirt.
Thus you may spend time
when the world has
no use for you.
69
I slept in my truck
and dreamed a tree thrown.
Thump of the real tree's
falling shook truck
and all: terror time.
Morning, and the giant
lay wracked on wet stones:
brand-new waterfall.
70
Climbing to the top
of Brushy, deep
in Idaho wilderness,
I thought to make
a circle and wait
for spirit guides.
Mice all night
ate leather,
spoiling my dancing bells.
I thought all was off,
but after years I know
that I met them then,
my guides.
71
Hear the difference
when there is wind
against a new house
and against an old house.
72
By the campfire
there is privilege,
if it is not abused.
She listened as
we old-timers told
our moldy tales.
I said: full of ourselves,
huh? She said, Oh,
now I feel better:
For a bit I thought
you were just
full of yourselves!
73
The mountains and
the flowering dogwoods
never were so beautiful
as that day our brakes
completely failed
as we rolled down.
74
Where can I go now
having asked
all the gods there are
for one kind look
from you, and you
show me the door?
Mountain-stream places,
where wind is free.
There I'll go. Ah, that
was kindness.
75
He said, as we
rounded the trail's bend
among wet azaleas:
"He is proud of himself.
I suppose I will not mind
being a grandfather,
but there is a time
for such event.
Some come, some
are planned: some
wisely, some
not well. The child
is not at fault,
and will be welcome
here: the father
I do not excuse, but as
what is, is, he shall
be welcome also."
76
I rode in the bow
till we lost sight
of land. Waves
caught us athwart,
and I found myself
waist-deep in blue salt,
aiming for Japan.
77
Surprised, I rerooted
in the surreal
Oregon soil,
while she in my mind
still stood empty-armed,
on plush carpet at
Miami International.
Even as I turned
toward the green hills,
I plotted how I might
come to her again
forever. The green
hills had plans of
their own.
78
Along bright cliffs
above the broad
Columbia, a meadowlark
guarded her eggs
by practicing
on me the ruse
of a seeming
broken wing. I,
who ought to have been
a man, prepared thus
to guard my wounds
twenty years
from this good woman
the same way.
79
Turning toward me
with the momentary
moon still in her eye,
she said, how beautiful!
The more so to me,
for her having seen
it so.
80
They are most lovely
in mornings, with
cup in hand, enrobed,
no makeup, few words,
remembering what
was said in the night
and done.
81
Someone knocked
uproariously
at my cabin door;
three in the morning.
I rushed to open,
fearing to hear
death of a friend
or other sad work.
In frosted grass
before the door,
no footprints. The moon
alone, in full,
witnessed.
82
The monk, Doin, came
to his vocation
through disappointed love.
One good poem! After,
all bells and incense.
What if one might
come to vocation
by love acknowledged?
83
Even when my life
came to its low,
feet dying
from ninety miles
in steady rain, I did
ask God for dry boots;
in the very next
shelter to which I came,
ten miles of laurel hells
from nearest road,
one pair of dry boots
in my size stood
waiting.
84
I can never forget,
as I have grey hair
and a missing tooth,
how much my father
had learned in time
for my twentieth year.
So I wait, son,
since you are as yet
only eighteen.
85
My friend who left home
for Zen training
has arranged his affairs.
In room only
mat and pillow,
from window
only views.
Even so, he typifies
humanity
so beautifully!
I never, he says,
get mail.
86
When she sent me away,
I walked till I came
to green poplars
and hickory trees.
I built tall fire,
fed it dry bark
through the cold.
At midnight a cat
big as a small man
stepped through ferns
into firelight
and lay down there.
I think about this
when tempted by
unhappiness of mind.
87
Even when I thought
to buy my soul
and came to a cliff
suitable for a jump,
clouds opened, unexpected.
Before me in silence
a hawk rode wind.
I gazed at the sun
through its pinions.
88
She who seemed
least committed
longest stayed.
That is why
he no longer
panics, when his world
changes overnight.
89
The small room
in the barn loft
shook. We lay then
each regarding other
in wonder, and laughed
together, saying:
it would never do
in the house; we
are never silent!
At which thought
sudden silence came.
90
I had hoped to walk
with you along shore
at Cape Kiwanda.
You would know
immediately the meaning
of the dory-boatmens'
daily beaching
at full throttle,
risking all between
two waves.
91
While young
in Georgia, often
I went by night
beside still water
of lake or stream.
Not meaning to be
unthoughtful
I caught crickets
at their singing,
flung them out far
to hear fish rising
to my gift.
92
Even you do not know
why these tears
start in my eyes.
We stand together
looking to sea;
each mysterious
to other.
93
The dory-boatmen
do not like tourists,
and yet this one,
rough-spoken as any,
surprises himself
opening a beer
for me.
94
The clerk barcodes
and makes change,
then turns to me,
barcodes, makes
change yet again.
I look to see
if she's still in there,
but nothing doing.
What will it take
to bring us to life
again?
95
It was not until
my friends proposed me
to speak on gospel
things that I grasped
gospel enough
to decline. Walk
kindly, kindly walk.
How do you
talk about that
for an hour?
96
One is never
too old, it seems,
to remember falling
before a hundred
classmates to lose
the game. Still, as
time passes one may
begin to remember
what a fine spring day
that was.
97
Poet, you stand
empty-handed
on this shore.
Had you stooped
to gather shells,
you might at least
have made a necklace
for the one not here.
98
My daughter still
runs to me
when I come in.
I don't know how
to hold her; when
did she become
and so suddenly,
this woman, talking
of young men?
99
By serving on even
this small committee,
I have lost the right
to be wise.
No problem: this
world's wisdom
passes over me
like summer showers;
in my own mind
wind and sun
go free.
100
My last woods-working day
I came to a house
some Idaho pioneer
called home. One door,
no windows, earth floor,
darkness from rafter
to sill. Still, he could not
be sad; to sit by-door
mending gear,
he must have looked
west to east all morning,
and east to west
at will.
|
From Hyakunin-Isshu (Single Songs of a Hundred Poets) and Nori
no Hatsu-Ne (The Dominant Note of the Law)
Clay MacCauley
Yokohama: Kelly and Walsh, Ltd., 1917
1
Tenchi Tenno
Coarse the rush-mat roof
Sheltering the harvest-hut
Of the autumn rice-field;--
And my sleeves are growing wet
With the moisture dripping through.
2
Jito Tenno
Spring, it seems, has passed,
And the summer come again;
For the silk-white robes,
So 'tis said, are spread to dry
On the "Mount of Heaven's Perfume."
3
Kakinomoto no Hitomaro
Ah! the foot-drawn trail
Of the mountain-pheasant's tail
Drooped like down-curved branch!--
Through this long, long-dragging night
Must I keep my couch alone?
4
Yamabe no Akahito
When to Tago's coast
I the way have gone, and see
Perfect whiteness laid
On Mount Fuji's lofty peak
By the drift of falling snow.
5
Sarumaru Tayu
In the mountain depths,
Treading through the crimson leaves,
Cries the wandering stag.
When I hear the lonely cry,
Sad,--how sad--the autumn is!
6
Chunagon Yakamochi
If the "Magpie Bridge"--
Bridge by flight of magpies spanned,--
White with frost I see:--
With a deep-laid frost made white:--
Late, I know, has grown the night.
7
Abe no Nakamaro
When I look abroad
O'er the wide-stretched "Plain of Heaven,"
Is the moon the same
That on Mount Mikasa rose,
In the land of Kasuga?
8
Kisen Hoshi
Lowly hut is mine
South-east from the capital:--
Thus I choose to dwell;--
And the world in which I live
Men have named a "Mount of Gloom."
9
Ono no Komachi
Color of the flower
Has already passed away
While on trivial things
Vainly I have set my gaze,
In my journey through the world.
10
Semimaru
Truly, this is where
Travelers who go or come
Over parting ways,--
Friends or strangers,--all must meet;
'Tis the gate of "Meeting Hill."
11
Sangi Takamura
O'er the wide, wide sea,
Towards its many distant isles,
Rowing I set forth.
This, to all the world proclaim,
O ye boats of fisher-folk!
12
Sojo Henjo
O ye Winds of Heaven!
In the paths among the clouds
Blow, and close the ways,
That we may these virgin forms
Yet a little while detain.
13
Yozei In
From Tsukuba's peak,
Falling waters have become
Mina's still, full flow:
So my love has grown to be;
Like the river's quiet deeps.
14
Kawara no Sadaijin
Michinoku print
Of shinobu's tangled leaves!
For whose sake have I,
Like confused, begun to be?
Only yours! I can not change!
15
Koko Tenno
It is for thy sake
That I seek the fields in spring,
Gathering green herbs,
While my garment's hanging sleeves
Are with falling snow beflecked.
16
Chunagon Yukihira
Though we parted be;
If on Mount Inaba's peak
I should hear the sound
Of the pine trees growing there,
Back at once I'll make my way.
17
Ariwara no Narihira Ason
I have never heard
That, e'en when the gods held sway
In the ancient days,
E'er was water bound with red
Such as here in Tatta's stream
18
Fujiwara no Toshiyuki Ason
Lo! the gathered waves
On the shore of Sumi's bay!
E'en in gathered night,
When in dreams I go to thee,
I must shun the eyes of men.
19
Ise
Even for a space
Short as joint of tiny reed
From Naniwa's marsh,
We must never meet again
In this life? This, do you ask?
20
Motoyoshi Shinno
Now, in dire distress,
It is all the same to me!
So, then, let us meet
Even though it costs my life
In the Bay of Naniwa.
21
Sosei Hoshi
Just because she said,
"In a moment I will come,"
I've awaited her
E'en until the moon of dawn,
In the long month, hath appeared.
22
Bunya no Yasuhide
Since 'tis by its breath
Autumn's leaves of grass and trees
Riven are and waste,--
Men may to the mountain wind
Fitly given the name, "The Wild."
23
Oe no Chisato
Gaze I at the moon,
Myriad things arise in thought,
And my thoughts are sad;--
Yet, 'tis not for me alone,
That the autumn time has come.
24
Kan Ke
At the present time,
Since no offering I could bring,
See, Mount Tamuke!
Here are brocades of red leaves,
At the pleasure of the god.
25
Sanjo Udaijin
If thy name be true,
Trailing vine of "Meeting Hill,"
Is there not some way
Whereby, without ken of men,
I can draw thee to my side?
26
Teishin Ko
If the maple leaves
On the ridge of Ogura
Have the gift of mind,
They will longingly await
One more august pilgrimage.
27
Chunagon Kanesuke
Over Mika's plain,
Gushing forth and flowing free,
Is Izumi's stream.
I know not if we have met:
Why, then, do I long for her?
28
Minamoto no Muneyuki Ason
Winter loneliness
In a mountain hamlet grows
Only deeper, when
Guests are gone, and leaves and grass
Withered are;--so runs my thought.
29
Oshikochi no Mitsune
If it were my wish
White chrysanthemum to cull;--
Puzzled by the frost
Of the early autumn time,
I by chance might pluck the flower.
30
Mibu no Tadamine
Like the morning moon,
Cold, unpitying was my love.
Since that parting hour,
Nothing I dislike so much
As the breaking light of day.
31
Sakanoue no Korenori
At the break of day,
Just as though the morning moon
Lightened the dim scene,
Yoshino's fair hamlet lay
In a haze of falling snow.
32
Harumichi no Tsuraki
In a mountain stream,
Builded by the busy wind,
Is a wattled-barrier drawn.
Yet 'tis only maple leaves
Powerless to flow away.
33
Ki no Tomonori
In the cheerful light
Of the ever-shining Sun,
In the days of spring;
Why, with ceaseless, restless haste
Falls the cherry's new-blown bloom?
34
Fujiwara no Okikaze
Whom then are there now,
In my age (so far advanced)
I can hold as friends?
Even Takasago's pines
Are not friends of former days.
35
Ki no Tsurayuki
No! no! As for man,
How his heart is none can tell,
But the plum's sweet flower
In my birthplace, as of yore,
Still emits the same perfume.
36
Kiyowara no Fukayabu
In the summer night,
While the evening still seems here,
Lo! the dawn has come.
In what region of the clouds
Has the wandering moon found place?
37
Bunya no Asayasu
In the autumn fields,
When the heedless wind blows by
O'er the pure-white dew,
How the myriad unstrung gems
Everywhere are scattered round!
38
Ukon
Though forgotten now,
For myself I do not care:
He, by oath, was pledged;--
And his life, who is forsworn,
That is, ah! so pitiful.
39
Sanji Hitoshi
Bamboo-growing plain,
With a small-field bearing reeds!
Though I bear my lot,
Why is it too much to bear?
Why do I still love her so?
40
Taira no Kanemori
Though I would conceal,
In my face it yet appears,--
My fond, secret love:--
So much that he asks of me,
"Does not something trouble you?"
41
Mibu no Tadami
Though, indeed, I love,
Yet, the rumor of my love
Had gone far and wide,
When no man, ere then, could know
That I had begun to love.
42
Kiyowara no Motosuke
Have we not been pledged
By the wringing of our sleeves,--
Each for each in turn,--
That o'er Sue's Mount of Pines
Ocean waves shall never pass?
43
Chunagon Atsutada
Having met my love,
Afterwards my passion was,
When I measured it
With the feeling of the past,
As, if then, I had not loved.
44
Chunagon Asatada
If a trysting time
There should never be at all,
I should not complain
For myself (oft left forlorn),
Or of her (in heartless mood).
45
Kentoku Ko
Sure that there is none
Who will speak a pitying word,
I shall pass away.
Ah! my death shall only be
My own folly's (fitting end).
46
Sone no Yoshitada
Like a mariner
Sailing over Yura's strait
With his rudder gone,--
Whither, o'er the deep of love,
Lies the goal, I do not know.
47
Eikei Hoshi
To the humble cot,
Overgrown with thick-leaved vines
In its loneliness,
Comes the dreary autumn time;--
And not even man is there.
48
Minamoto no Shigeyuki
Like a driven wave,
Dashed by fierce winds on a rock,
So it is, alas!
Crushed and all alone am I;
Thinking over what has been.
49
Onakatomi no Yoshinobu Ason
Like the warder's fires
At the Imperial gateway kept,--
Burning through the night,
Through the day in ashes dulled,--
Is the love aglow in me.
50
Fujiwara no Yoshitaka
For thy precious sake,
Once my (eager) life itself
Was not dear to me.
But 'tis now my heart's desire
It may long, long years endure.
51
Fujiwara no Sanekata Ason
That, 'tis as it is,
How can I make known to her?
So, she may n'er know
That the love I feel for her
Like Ibuki's moxa burns.
52
Fujiwara no Michinobu Ason
Though I know full well
That the night will come again
E'en when day has dawned,
Yet, in truth, I hate the sight
Of the morning's coming light.
53
Udaisho Michitsuna no Haha
Sighing all alone,
Through the long watch of the night,
Till the break of day:--
Can you realize at all
What a tedious thing it is?
54
Gido Sanshi no Haha
If "not to forget"
Will for him in future years
Be too difficult;--
It were well this very day
That my life, ah me! should close.
55
Fujiwara no Kinto
Though the waterfall
In its flow ceased long ago,
And its sound is stilled;
Yet, in name it ever flows,
And in fame may yet be heard.
56
Lady Izumi Shikibu
Soon I cease to be;--
One fond memory I would keep
When beyond this world.
Is there, then, no way for me
Just once more to meet with thee?
57
Lady Murasaki Shikibu
Meeting in the way--,
While I can not clearly know
If 'tis friend or not;--
Lo! the midnight moon, ah me!
In a cloud has disappeared.
58
Daini no Sanmi
If Mount Arima
Sends his rustling winds across
Ina's bamboo-plains;--
Well! in truth, tis as you say;
Yet how can I e'er forget?
59
Akazome Emon
Better to have slept
Care-free, than to keep vain watch
Through the passing night,
Till I saw the lonely moon.
Traverse her descending path.
60
Koshikibu no Naishi
As, by Oe's mount
And o'er Iku's plain, the way
Is so very far,--
I have not yet even seen
Ama-no-hashidate.
61
Ise no Osuke
Eight-fold cherry flowers
That at Nara,--ancient seat
Of Our State,--have bloomed;--
In Our Nine-fold Palace court
Shed their sweet perfume today
62
Sei Shonagon
Though in middle night,
By the feigned crow of the cock,
Some may be deceived;--
Yet, at Ausaka's gate
This can never be achieved.
63
Sakyo no Tayu Michimasa
Is there now no way,
But through others' lips, to say
These so fateful words,--
That, henceforth, my love for you
I must banish from my thoughts?
64
Gon-Chunagon Sadayori
Lo! at early dawn,
When the mists o'er Uji's stream
Slowly lift and clear,
And the net-stakes on the shoals,
Near and far away, appear!
65
Sagami
Even when my sleeves,
Through my hate and misery,
Never once are dry,--
For such love my name decays:--
How deplorable my lot!
66
Saki no Daisojo Gyoson
Let us, each for each
Pitying, hold tender thought,
Mountain-cherry flower!
Other than thee, lonely flower,
There is none I know as friend.
67
Suwo no Naishi
If, but through the dreams
Of a spring's short night, I'd rest
Pillowed on this arm,
And my name were blameless stained,
Hard, indeed, would be my fate.
68
Sanjo-no-In
If, against my wish,
In the world of sorrows still,
I for long should live;--
How then I would pine, alas!
For this moon of middle-night.
69
Noin Hoshi
By the wind-storm's blast,
From Mimuro's mountain slopes
Maples leaves are torn,
And as (rich) brocades, are wrought
On (blue) Tatta's (quiet) stream.
70
Ryozen Hoshi
In my loneliness
From my humble home gone forth,
When I looked around,
Everywhere it was the same;--
One lone, darkening autumn eve.
71
Dainagon Tsunenobu
When the evening comes,
From the rice leaves at my gate
Gentle knocks are heard;
And, into my round rush-hut,
Autumn's roaming breeze makes way.
72
Yushi Naishinno-Ke no Kii
Well I know the fame
Of the fickle waves that beat
On Takashi's strand!
Should I e'er go near that shore
I should only wet my sleeves.
73
Gon-Chunagon Masafusa
On that distant mount,
O'er the slope below the peak,
Cherries are in flower;--
May the mists of hither hills
Not arise to veil the scene.
74
Minamoto no Toshiyori Ason
I did not make prayer
(At the shrine of Mercy's God),
That the unkind one
Should become as pitiless
As the storms of Hase's hills.
75
Fujiwara no Mototoshi
Though your promise was
"Like the dew on moxa plant"
And, to me, was life;
Yet, alas! the year has passed
Even into autumn time.
76
Hoshoji no Nyudo Saki no Kwampaku Daijo-Daijin
O'er the wide sea plain,
As I row and look around,
It appears to me
That the white waves, far away,
Are the ever shining sky.
77
Sutoku-In
Though a swift stream be
By a rock met and restrained
In impetuous flow,
Yet, divided, it speeds on,
And at last unites again.
78
Minamoto no Kanemasa
Guard of Suma's Gate,
From your sleep, how many nights
Have you waked at cries
Of the plaintive sanderlings,
Migrant from Awaji's isle?
79
Sakyo no Tayu Akisuke
See, how clear and bright
Is the moon-light finding ways
'Mong the riven clouds
That, with drifting autumn-wind,
Gracefully float o'er the sky!
80
Taiken Mon-In no Horikawa
If it be for aye
That he wills our love should last?
Ah! I do not know!
And this morn my anxious thoughts,
Like my black hair, are confused.
81
Fujiwara no Sanesada
When I turned my look
Toward the place whence I had heard
Hototogisu,--
Lo! the only object there
Was the moon of early dawn.
82
Doin Hoshi
Though in deep distress
(Through the cruel blow), my life
Still is left to me:--
But my tears I can not keep;
They can not my grief endure.
83
Kwotai Kogu no Tayu Toshinari
Ah! within the world,
Way of flight I find nowhere.
I had thought to hide
In the mountains' farthest depths;
Yet e'en there the stag's cry sounds.
84
Fujiwara no Kiyosuke Ason
If I long should live,
Then, perchance, the present days
May be dear to me;--
Just as past time fraught with grief
Now comes fondly back in thought.
85
Shunye Hoshi
Now,-- as through the night
Longingly I pass the hours,
And the day's dawn lags,--
E'en my bedroom's crannied doors
Heartless are, indeed, to me.
86
Saigyo Hoshi
Is it then the moon
That has made me sad, as though
It had bade me grieve?
Lifting up my troubled face,--
Ah! the tears, the (mournful) tears!
87
Jakuren Hoshi
Lo, an autumn eve!
See the deep vale's mists arise
Mong the fir-tree's leaves
That still hold the dripping wet
Of the (chill day's) sudden showers.
88
Kwoka Mon-In no Betto
For but one night's sake,
Short as is a node of reed
Grown in Naniwa bay,
Must I, henceforth, long for him
With my whole heart, till life's close?
89
Shokushi Naishinno
Life! Thou string of gems!
If thou art to end, break now.
For, if yet I live,
All I do to hide (my love)
May at last grow weak (and fail).
90
Impu Mon-In no Taiu
Let me show him these!
E'en the fisherwomen's sleeves
On Ojima's shores,
Though wet through and wet again,
Do not change their dyer's hues.
91
Go-Kyogoku no Sessho Daijodaijin
On a chilling mat,
Drawing close my folded quilt,
I must sleep alone,
While all through the frosty night
Sounds a cricket's (forlorn chirp).
92
Nijo-no-In no Sanuki
Like a rock at sea,
E'en at ebb-tide hid from view,
Is my tear-drenched sleeve:--
Never for a moment dry,
And unknown in human ken.
93
Kamakura no Udaijin
Would that this, our world,
Might be ever as it is!
What a lovely scene!
See that fisherwoman's boat,
Rope-drawn, rowed along the beach.
94
Sangi Masatsune
From Mount Yoshino
Blows a chill, autumnal wind,
In the deepening night.
Cold the ancient hamlet is;--
Sounds of beating cloth I hear.
95
Saki no Daisojo Jien
Though I am not fit,
I have dared to shield the folk
Of this woeful world
With my black-dyed (sacred) sleeve:--
I, who live on Mount Hiei.
96
Nyudo Saki no Daijo-Daijin
Not the snow of flowers,
That the hurrying wild-wind drags
Round the garden court,
Is it that here, withering, falls:--
That in truth is I, myself.
97
Gon-Chunagon Sadaie
Like the salt sea-weed,
Burning in the evening calm,
On Matsuo's shore,
All my being is aglow,
Waiting one who does not come.
98
Jozammi Karyu
Lo! at Nara's brook
Evening comes, and rustling winds
Stir the oak-trees' leaves--
Not a sign of summer left
But the sacred bathing there.
99
Go Toba-no-In
For some men I grieve;--
Some men are hateful to me;--
And this wretched world
To me, weighted down with care,
Is a place of misery.
100
Juntoku-In
O Imperial House!
When I think of former days,
How I long for thee!
More than e'en the clinging vines
Hanging 'neath thine ancient eaves.
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100
poems