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191 pages
First published January 1, 1955
When I went out
In the Spring meadows
To gather violets,
I enjoyed myself
So much that I stayed all night.
鈥擜碍础贬滨罢翱
In the empty mountains
The leaves of the bamboo grass
Rustle in the wind.
I think of a girl
Who is not here.
鈥擧滨罢翱惭础搁翱
I go out of the darkness
Onto a road of darkness
Lit only by the far off
Moon on the edge of the mountains.
鈥擨窜鲍惭滨
I dreamed I held
A sword against my flesh.
What does it mean?
It means I shall see you soon.
鈥擫ADY KASA
You say, 鈥淚 will come.鈥�
And you do not come.
Now you say, 鈥淚 will not come.鈥�
So I shall expect you.
Have I learned to understand you?
鈥擫ADY OTOMO NO SAKANOE
A strange old man
Stops me,
Looking out of my deep mirror.
I sit at home
In our room
By our bed
Gazing at your pillow.
An old pond -
The sound
Of a diving frog.
The mists rise overI also want to add a couple of tankas, translated more literally for study purposes but giving a good sense of the poets鈥� thoughts, by Arthur Waley in his . Rexroth highlights this book in his bibliography; it can be borrowed on archive.org.
The still pools at Asuka.
Memory does not
Pass away so easily.
~Yamabe No Akahito (along with Hitomaro, Akahito was a principal poet from the 惭补苍测玫 times, both canonized as kasei, 鈥渄eified poets鈥�)
In the Autumn mountains
The colored leaves are falling.
If I could hold them back,
I could still see her.
~Kakinomoto No Hitomaro (as in the case of Akihoto, only the approximate dates of their lives are known)
Your hair has turned white
While your heart stayed
Knotted against me.
I shall never
Loosen it now.
~this tanka by Hitomaro reminds me of the beautiful bond between the old couple in Ozu鈥檚 film Tokyo Story
Imperceptible
It withers in the world,
This flower-like human heart.
~Ono No Komachi (834-880), a poetess, also remembered for her 鈥渓egendary beauty鈥� and tragic late life
In the mountain village
The wind rustles the leaves.
Deep in the night, the deer
Cry out beyond the edge of dreams.
~Minamoto No Morotada, 12th century
This is not the moon,
Nor is this the spring,
Of other springs,
And I alone
Am still the same.
~Ariwara No Narihira, 9th century, several No plays are dedicated to this great poet, including Kakitsubata (鈥淲ater Iris鈥� which I also grow in my garden, better known in the West as 鈥淛apanese Iris鈥�) that attracted Ezra Pound to translate it
In the eternal
Light of the spring day
The flowers fall away
Like the unquiet heart.
~Ki No Tomonobi, early 10th century, he assisted his uncle Tsurayuki in compiling the Kokin anthology
I do not know
What they are thinking about
In my birthplace, but
I do know that
The flowers still smell the same.
~Ki No Tsurayuki (882-946), compiled Kokin Sh奴 and other collections, also renown for calligraphy (this version is from Rexroth鈥檚 alternative translation in the notes)
My existence in the world has beenRexroth鈥檚 introduction is informative as are his brief biographies of each poet. The poems are presented in his English translation along with their original text in transliteration as well as Japanese characters. In Ken鈥檚 hilarious and spot-on words, 鈥淟ots of white space here for medicinal purposes.鈥� :-)
(As transitory as) the reflection of the moon
Which lodges in water
Gathered in the palm of the hand
(About which one doubts) whether it is there or not.
~another tanka by Tsurayuki, annotated as 鈥渢he poet鈥檚 death-poem鈥�
When evening comes
I will leave the door open beforehand
and (then) wait
For him who said he would come
To meet me in my dreams.
~艑tomo no Yakamochi (718-785), a likely compiler of the 惭补苍测玫 anthology
The mists rise overThe poetry of later centuries is often tinged with a sense of melancholy, a Zen appreciation of the fragility of each moment, as in this poem penned by Bunya No Asayasu sometime in the early 10th century. It was written at the request of the Emperor during a garden party and poem-writing contest.
The still pools at Asuka.
Memory does not
Pass away so easily.
In a gust of wind the white dewOr this, written by Onakatomi No Yoshinobu sometime during the late 10th century:
On the Autumn grass
Scatters like a broken necklace.
The deer on pine mountain,Many of the poems speak of love and loss. Nearly half of the poems were penned by women. At this one, by Lady Horikawa, a 12th century attendant to the Dowager Empress, I found myself smiling and thinking, 'Oh yes! I know that feeling...'
Where there are no falling leaves,
Knows the coming of autumn
Only by the sound of his own voice.
Will he always love me?Lady Otomo No Sakanoe lived in the eighth century:
I cannot read his heart.
This morning my thoughts
Are as disordered
As my black hair.
You say "I will come."The collection includes a long epigraph from Murasaki's Tale of Genji. Rexroth notes that the poem is the pivot point of the novel so I should probably hide this small fragment in a
And you do not come.
Now you say, "I will not come."
So I shall expect you.
Have I learned to understand you?