Poets From Japan

"Father is eternally tragic."

"Suppose a mechanical man has a feeling? It will be nothing but boundless sorrow."

"I love human beings. Nevertheless I fear human beings."

"Sometimes I escape from everyone and become solitary. And my heart loving everyone becomes tearful. I always like, while walking on a deserted lonely beach, to think of the crowds in the distant city."

"Nature anywhere oppresses me, and human kindnesses make me gloomy, rather I prefer walking in a bustling city park until I get tired, and find a bench under some lonely tree, I prefer to be looking at the sky absentmindedly, ah, I prefer to be looking at the smoke and soot flowing away far and sad over the city sky, or at a swallow flying away over the roofs of buildings, into the distance, small."

"And my heart senses tears it's the heart that always plays quietly alone the heart is lonesome the heart, early in its youthful boyhood, cast a shadow on my life the gradually enlarging shadow of solitude the shadow of terrifying melancholy grows."

"The dog that howls at the moon howls suspicious and fearful of his own shadow. To the dog's ailing heart, the moon is an ominous puzzle like a pallid ghost. The dog howls far into the distance."

"Why can't one love with one's body those whom one loves with one's heart?"

"Darkness is like waves. On the surface of the sea where life is desolate, they roll in and break, break and roll in again. Ah waves of lust, waves of will, waves of evil thoughts that roll out and rise again. Waves, waves, waves, waves, waves of dark melancholy with nothing special to be said about it. Indeed, this lonely view always repeats its depressingly monotonous echoes on the dark surface of the sea under a cloudy sky. Let us then pass by the seashore, let us go step on the footprints on the dunes that recede into the distance. Let us meditate on the eternal time of nature, of the ocean, that reflects in the Buddha's lonely clock. Now on the surface of the crepuscular sea, watching the whitish waves of darkness that roll in and break, break and roll in again. Hearts on the beach where everything is so sad, crumbling with melancholy."

"Buddhism's starting point is that all living things, we who are so full of pain and sadness, together with all these living things, want to liberate ourselves from this state of pain. … All living things have been repeating transmigration for immeasurable kalpa. … Sometimes a soul perceives itself as a human. At other times it is born in a beast, that is, what we call an animal. … As a result, the living things around us are all our parents and children, brothers and sisters, as they have been for a long time. People of different religions will think this idea too serious and terrifying. [Indeed] this is a serious world to a terrifying degree."

"In spring I stopped eating the bodies of living things. Nonetheless, the other day I ate several slices of tuna as a form of magic to “undertake” my “communication” with “society.” I also stirred a cup of ' with a spoon. If the fish, while being eaten, had stood behind me and watched, what would he have thought? “I gave up my only life and this person is eating my body as if it were something distasteful.” “He’s eating me in anger.” “He’s eating me out of desperation.” “He’s thinking of me and, while quietly savoring my fat with his tongue, praying, ‘Fish, you will come with me as my companion some day, won’t you?’” “Damn! He’s eating my body!” Well, different fish would have had different thoughts. … Suppose I were the fish, and suppose that not only I were being eaten but my father were being eaten, my mother were being eaten, and my sister were also being eaten. And suppose I were behind the people eating us, watching. “Oh, look, that man has torn apart my sibling with chopsticks. Talking to the person next to him, he swallowed her, thinking nothing of it. Just a few minutes ago her body was lying there, cold. Now she must be disintegrating in a pitch-dark place under the influence of mysterious enzymes. Our entire family have given up our precious lives that we value, we’ve sacrificed them, but we haven’t won a thimbleful of pity from these people.” I must have been once a fish that was eaten."

"Nor is it clear to me, as people are born and die, where they are coming from and where they are going. Nor why, being so ephemeral in this world, they take such pains to make their houses pleasing to the eye. The master and the dwelling are competing in their transience. Both will perish from this world like the morning glory that blooms in the morning dew. In some cases, the dew may evaporate first, while the flower remains--but only to be withered by the morning sun. In others the flower may wither even before the dew is gone, but no one expects the dew to last until evening."

"When you see the ridgepoles of the impressive houses in Heian-kyo competing to rise above one another--dwellings of people of high status or of low--they look like they might stand for generations, but when you inquire you discover there are very few still standing from ages past. Some may have burned down just last year, and been rebuilt since. Or a mansion may have disappeared, to be replaced by smaller houses. Things change in the lives of the people living in those houses, too. There may be just as many people, but in places where I might have known twenty or thirty people in my youth, I may only recognize one or two now. Some die in the morning; others are born in the evening. That's the way it is with the people of this world--they are like those bubbles floating on the water."

"Though the river's current never fails, the water passing, moment by moment, is never the same. Where the current pools, bubbles form on the surface, bursting and disappearing as others rise to replace them, none lasting long. In this world, people and their dwelling places are like that, always changing."

"Among the four great elements recognized by Buddhism, three--fire, water, and wind--are frequently associated with disasters, but earth is most often identified with stability. Still, in the Saiko era (540), I believe, there was an earthquake so severe that it damaged the neck of the Todaiji's Great Buddha so that the head fell off, and did unusual damage to many other things. But it was no match for the violence of the earthquake this time. Those who experienced this earthquake all talked about it that way at the time, that of all the miserable things in this world, it was the worst, seemed to be a thing of evil passions. But the days and months passed into years, and they came to deplore other things, so that you might go for a month now without meeting anyone talking about the earthquake."

"People respond to these disasters in terms of their own experience. Unless the disaster has struck them personally, their circumstances, their environment, it is dismissed as a superficial thing."

"When the Japanese Zen priest Mugaku Sogen (1226-1286) was in China and threatened by invading Mongol troops, he composed a fourline poem. Years later another Zen priest, Sesson Yūbai (1290-1347), when he was in prison and threatened with death, took Mugaku's poem and, using each line as the opening verse of a new poem,"

"Cutting the Spring Breeze Throughout heaven and earth there is not a piece of ground where a single stick could be inserted; I am glad that all things are void, myself and the world: Honored be the sword, three feet long, wielded by the great Yüan swordsmen; For it is like cutting a spring breeze in a flash of lightning."

"Hogo acquired importance as a calligraphic art expressing the personality and the cultural attainments of the zen priest writer... Typical of such is the hogo written by Mugaku Sogen (1226-1286) and presented to Ichio Ingo, ( -1281)."

"When the Japanese Zen priest Mugaku Sogen (1226-1286) was in China and threatened by invading Mongol troops, he composed a fourline poem. Years later another Zen priest, Sesson Yūbai (1290-1347), when he was in prison and threatened with death, took Mugaku's poem and, using each line as the opening verse of a new poem,"

"Endō Etsujin - real name: Endō Sadanori: azana: Fuminori, Izunosuke; gō: Chikurinsah. Etsujin, Atsujin, Gugenan, Fuzanō, Seiemon, Yūan (1758, 1836). haiga painter, haiku poet, fencer..."

"Watsujin (1758–1836). A poet in the Kyo ̄tai tradition, Watsujin was a samurai from Sendai who wrote haiku under a variety of art names."

"I do not like praises and honours Nor did I fear disdain I just stayed away. My mind, clear water, My body bound and tied For three years in Chang'an. I sing what I feel in songs In straight words, undecorated."

"Earth and metal ... although my breathing ceases time and tide go on."

"The poet's name... is pronounced in two other ways : Watsujin and Atsujin although the true pronunciation of... is etsu. It is not known how the poet pronounced his name."

"Going up to them, Not a pine-tree But has its bright moon."

":"Shinjo ni sugitaru mono ga futatu ari / Mae no ogawa ni Ota Hakusetsu""

"At peace,above my sicknesssummer smolders."

"新庄に過ぎたるものが二つあり前の小川に太田白雪 -- anonymous"

"The flowers and my love Passed away under the rain, While I idly looked upon them Where is my yester-love?"

"Kamo yama no Iwane shi makeru Ware wo kamo Shira ni to imo ga Machitsutsu aramu"

"Iro miede Utsurou momo wa Yo no naka no Hito no kokoro no Hana ni zo arikeru"

"Hito ni awamu Tsuki no naki yo wa Omoiokite Mune hashiri hi ni Kokoro yakeori"

"Masu kagami Soko naru kage ni Mukai ite miru Toki ni koso Shiranu okina ni Au kokochi sure"

"Outside dust mingling in it, hidden in town yet playing in — that was my husband's life. We helped each other get up and lie down, spending countless years and months together. Even when he was away on pilgrimage for just three months, five months, I used to lament the uncertainties of our intimacy. But, now, without waiting for the standing-and-waiting moon of seedling month, he departed forever, leaving me to feel as if the grief were mine alone, in utter confusion as to what to do."

"Oki tsunami Ki yoru ariso wo Shikitae no Makura to makite Naseru kimi kamo"

"Hito goto wa Natsu no no kusa to Shigeku to mo Imo to ware to shi Tazusawarineba"

"Asa ne gami Ware wa kezuraji Utsukushiki Kimi ga ta makura Fureteshi mono wo"

"Kurokami no Shira kami made to Musubiteshi Kokoro hitotsu wo Ima takame ya mo"

"Omoitsutsu Nureba ya hito no Mietsuramu Yume to shiriseba Samezaramashi wo"

"Aki yama no Momiji wo shigemi Mado inuru Imo wo motomenu Yama ji shirazu mo"

"In Kyoto Shokyu and Fufu settled down in a house on Gojo... near Takasegawa..., a man-made tributary of the Kamo river... In those days plovers frequented the river, so Shokyu and Fufu named their small abode Chidorian... Plover Hut, which Fufu proceeded to use as an additional haikai name. The house had been the residence of another Yaba disciple, Nukata Fushi... (1687-1747), and Fufu and Shokyu lived there through the generosity of Fushi' s widow and his son Bunge XT, even relying on them for rice and miso."

"Ito ga tame Hozu e no ume wo Ta oru to wa Shizu e no tsuyu ni Nurenikeru kamo"

"Aki yama ni Otsuro momiji ba Shimashiku wa Na chiri midare so Imo ga atari minu"

"I fell asleep thinking of him, and he came to me. If I had known it was only a dream I would never have awakened."

"Although I come to you constantly over the roads of dreams, those nights of love are not worth one waking touch of you."

"Kono ikku / shūgihan nashi / kogarashi no."

"He does not come. Tonight in the dark of the moon I wake wanting him. My breasts heave and blaze. My heart chars."

"Chori's humility is evident through his identification with such an anonymous form of nature as the leaves of unnamed plants. Like them, his body will be recycled. Perhaps actual noises are heard at the time of his death in the autumn of the year that can be interpreted as consoling. But the word "bell" is really a metaphor. There is no deliberate, personal or human commemoration of his life."

"This is one poem / people won't dispute / the winds of winter."