How well we have slept
to feel so fresh this morning,
dear chrysanthemums!
What a perfect night
for doing almost nothing—
cool enough for a stroll
Trying to pick up
the dewdrop, the child’s amazed—
it disappears!
EIGHTEEN
“Find shelter beneath the biggest tree,” as the saying goes. There are always those who are all too eager to bow to the rich, who oil their tongues whenever they are in the presence of those who wield power.
Near Suwa Shrine in this village, a huge old chestnut grows. Although it doesn’t seem unusually heavy with nuts, no one who passes every morning can resist picking up at least a few chestnuts.
NINETEEN
From Nashimoto’s house in Takaino, I watched the full moon rise:
All alone at home,
my wife, like me, is watching
this full moon rise
I watched an eclipse of the moon beginning at ten, reaching total eclipse at midnight, and continuing until two in the morning.
The nature of man:
the moon gazers vanish
more quickly than the moon
In this temporal world,
even this bright full moon must
endure its eclipse
Pretending wisdom,
a man tells a woman all
about the eclipse
After emptying
our cups, we sat down to view
the late night moon
No one recognizes the smell of his own bean paste:
Village peasants sing
praises for this “Soba Country”
under a full moon
In September I attended a chrysanthemum-viewing party at the home of my friend Shōfūin:
Like an aging harvest
god, my hoe rests on his
among chrysanthemums
With wine cups in hand
we wander in a garden
of chrysanthemums
With a stick in hand
like a priest, our host lectures
on chrysanthemums
A towel for a headband,
a bald head labors slowly
among chrysanthemums
How beautiful! these
chrysanthemums—but sadly
our host does not drink
In a dream I saw my daughter’s smiling face:
My daughter brushes
her smooth cheek with a melon
only in my dream
Driven from the fields
by men, wandering birds
pass through the village
Among hoop-shaped twigs
and leaves, titmice show off
performing tricks
His patience expired,
from high in his treetop
the old shrike cries
With body and soul
this skinny little mantis
met every struggle
Written on the mountainside above Takaino village:
In the autumn wind
I study those old mountains
using my compass
Lit by a lamp hung
in a pine, village women
are washing their clothes
You remain with me,
old wild goose, no matter where
you roam—same autumn night
Advice written on the fan of a young priest:
There’s your long shadow!
For shame! Wandering around
on a cold dark night
Hakuhi wrote:
Passing high above
our village, migrating birds cry,
“Nobody needs you!”
And Shiei wrote:
The old wine seller
offers a brand-new saké
from his green shade
I dreamt of finding myself in peaceful old age:
Secretly saying
heartfelt thanks to my children
this cool autumn night
No more than shadow,
a cricket in the yellow dust
of the harvester
Little chrysanthemum,
unlike the snared thief, you
needn’t feel ashamed
Lost in the dark:
“The sewage ditch
is over here!” the old horse
calls in midnight cold
No quarreling
on your migration, dear birds—
help find the way
Standing side by side,
two bucks lick ice and frost
from each other’s skin
“Wolf scat!” Just the words
are enough to send icy
shivers down my spine
Used for scrubbing wine
barrels, these fresh maple leaves
were plucked in their prime
With just the slightest
parting of my lips, thousands
of plovers take flight
A good day begins
with charcoal popping hot
and a good deep cough
An autumn drizzle—
faintly, the wooden Buddha-drum—
bathhouse workers come
Blown by gusts of wind,
the blind masseur blows his whistle
unsuccessfully
Watching a beggar on the walkway at Zenkō Temple:
The beggar remains
sitting in evening rain—
few coins in his box
Backwards, ass over
teakettle, the small boy held
fast to his radish
The first snow has fallen
and now lies alone and white
out behind our house
A servant scurries
across Bridge of Frost into
the teeth of the wind
After the sermon,
a gracious farmer invites me
to stroll in his field
Just a few snowflakes
from the sky above Shinano:
I don’t know one joke
Suspicious character
maybe, but no crook, though I’m
confined by winter
On hearing about burglars roaming around the village:
Frosty autumn nights
my house is overrun
by noisy watchmen
What’s said of snowmen
doesn’t last any longer
than the snowmen
Mother proudly
demonstrates how to make good
rice cake offerings
Happy, the children
tell of hearing rice cake pounding
at our neighbor’s house
On approaching New Year:
Don’t complain: rice cake
flowers will soon blossom
on our willow tree
When year-end beggars
dance down our street, elders sing
louder than children
Along the road to Edo:
An easy target:
on the main road, they call me
“another starling”9
In Gojiingahara:
The old prostitute’s
tawdry hovel shudders in
piercing winter wind
At Ryōgoku Bridge:
Time to purify:
midwinter water dragons
writhe across men’s backs10
Someone told me about a man who, retiring to the far side of the Kamo River, vowed never to cross it again. Lacking his strength of conviction, I left my mountain village sanctuary, white hair blown by the wind, to return again to the famous city:
Another year older,
ashamed to be returning
to Edo again
“Good luck begin!
Throw out all the demons!”11
—voices of children
Left to their own devices, people often choose harmful ways:
In my hermitage
winter poverty drives me
to eat many strange things12
Winter solstice, the beginning of spring:
On this holiday
they say, a single cry
drives demons away
From today forward,
each green new stalk of wheat adds
to our New Year riches
At the year’s end, it is the Shinto custom to hang New Year prayer cards and wishes all around the shrine:
The blossoming plum
stoop-shouldered like an old man
loaded with wishes
TWENTY
A week after solstice, a beautiful day:
My wife rose early to make a fine breakfast. On this day in years past, our neighbor Sonoemon had always made rice cakes and generously sent us some. So it was natural that we anticipated having his fresh, warm rice cakes with our breakfast. We waited. We waited longer. Nothing arrived. Eventually, we turned to our breakfast, which had long since grown cold.
Only a memory:
our neighbor’s tasty rice cakes
at our gate as before
TWENTY-ONE
People who believe that only faith can bring salvation and who think on nothing else are snared ever more tightly by the web of their own willfulness. Their hell is their own clinging to the idea of salvation. Likewise, there are some who remain inactive, believing they are enlightened, believing that Buddha, more than they themselves, can rectify their hearts. They too fail to understand. So where is a solution? The answer is simple: we should put aside the issue of salvation; neither great faith nor personal virtue is enough. We must place our trust in the way of Buddha. Whether we find ourselves in heaven or in hell, he reveals the innermost secret. Only in following his way can we surrender our self-obsessions—busy spiders weaving our webs of desire across the world, greedy farmers stealing our neighbors’ water. When our minds are at peace, there’s no need for constantly reciting prayers with an empty voice. We follow the way of Buddha. Salvation is the peace of mind found in the teaching. Blessings in the name of Buddha:
Beyond good or bad,
with Buddha, I say good-bye
to the passing year
WRITTEN DECEMBER 29, 1819, AT AGE FIFTY-SEVEN
SELECTED HAIKU
So much money made
by clever temple priests
using peonies
Kane moke
jozu na tera no
botan kana
New Year greeting-time:
I feel about average,
welcoming my spring
Medetasa mo
chūgurai nari
ora ga haru
Simply for all this,
as if there were nothing else,
heavy wet spring frost
Korekiri to
miete dossari
haru no shimo
Even my shadow
enjoys good health and is safe
on spring’s first bright day
Kageboshi mo
mame sokusai de
kesa no haru
Even the turtle
can tell the time by watching
this bright spring moon
Suppon mo
toki ya tsukuran
haru no tsuki
It is New Year’s Day,
but nothing’s changed at my
unkempt hermitage
Ganjitsu mo
betsujō no naki
kuzu-ya kana
Once snows have melted,
the village soon overflows
with friendly children
Yuki tokete
mura ippai no
kodomo kana
The small butterfly
moves as though unburdened by
the world of desire
Chō tobu ya
kono yo ni nozomi
nai yō ni
A bird is singing
somewhere within the grove, but
no plum blossoms yet
Tori no ne ni
sakō to mo sezu
ume no hana
By the entranceway,
waving invitingly,
a willow grows
Iriguchi no
aiso ni nabiku
yanagi kana
It is not very
eager to blossom, this
plum tree by the gate
Hitasura ni
sakō de mo nashi
kado no ume
Today and today
also—a kite entangled
in a gnarled tree
Kyō mo kyō mo
tako hikkakaru
enoki kana
As simple as that—
spring has finally arrived
with a pale blue sky
Assari to
haru wa ki ni keri
asagi-zora
At the very edge
of the contaminated well
a plum tree blossoms
Kusa-mizu no
ido no kiwa yori
ume no hana
The young sparrows
return into Jizō’s sleeve13
for sanctuary
Suzume no ko
jizō no sode ni
kakurekeri
“Let’s visit bamboo!
Let’s go visit the plum tree!”
mother sparrow cries
Take ni iza
ume ni iza to ya
oya-suzume
All around my house,
pond frogs, from the beginning,
sang about old age
Waga io ya
kawazu shote kara
oi wo naku
Entering the gate,
he is simply oblivious,
the wandering frog
Waga kado e
shiranande hairu
kawazu kana
A child has drawn
a river from snowmelt lakes
leading to my gate
Monzen ya
tsue de tsukurishi
yukige-gawa
A gust of spring wind—
unhappily—lifts the skirts
of the roof thatcher
Harukaze ni
shiri wo fukaruru
yaneya kana
In falling spring mist
the cat learns festival dance—
taught by a small girl
Harusame ya
neko ni odori wo
oshieru ko
As old age arrives,
considering just the day’s length
can move one to tears
Oinomi wa
hi no nagai ni mo
namida kana
Like the poet Saigyō,
he sits there singing his song,
this skinny old frog!
Saigyō no
yō ni suwatte
naku kawazu
He glares back at me
with an ugly, surly face,
this old pond frog
Ware wo mite
nigai kao suru
kawazu kana
He’s the overseer
croaking orders from his throne,
Big Boss Frog!
Oyabun to
miete jōza ni
naku kawazu
With such a voice
you should also learn to dance,
bellowing frog
Sono koe de
hitotsu odore yo
naku kawazu
Among tea flowers,
the little sparrows play
hide-and-seek
Cha no bana ni
kakurenbo suru
suzume kana
If you are kindly,
they will shit all over you,
happy young sparrows
Jihi sureba
hako wo suru nari
suzume no ko
In the middle of
a horde of noisy children—
one tired sparrow
Ōzei no
ko ni tsukaretaru
suzume kana
At Zenkō Temple,
as if tired from their pilgrimage,
small sparrows look back
Zenkōji e
itte kita kao ya
suzume no ko
Lonely Ojizō!14
Smiling serenely among
pink flower blossoms
Ojizō ya
hana nadeshiko no
mannaka ni
The sleeping puppy
continues gnawing on
the willow tree
Inu no ko no
kuwaete nemuru
yanagi kana
The little puppy
doesn’t know autumn’s arrived.
But he’s still a Buddha!
Aki kinu to
shiranu enoko ga
hotoke kana
In falling spring rain—
such an enormous yawn from
a beautiful woman
Harusame ni
ōakubi suru
bijin kana
He sits all alone
in freezing rain for us all,
this great stone Buddha
Hito no tame
shigurete owasu
hotoke kana
All of us foolish
The Spring of My Life Page 5