World as Unstable as the Asuka River (25)
The world is as unstable as the pools and shallows of the Asuka River.184 Times change and things disappear: joy and sorrow come and go;185 a place that once thrived turns into an uninhabited moor; a house may remain unaltered, but its occupants will have changed. The peach and the plum trees in the garden say nothing186—with whom is one to reminisce about the past? I feel this sense of impermanence even more sharply when I see the remains of a house which long ago, before I knew it, must have been imposing.
Whenever I pass by the ruins of the Kyōgoku Palace,187 the Hōjō-ji temple,188 and similar buildings, it moves me to think that the aspiration of the builders still lingers on, though the edifices themselves have changed completely. When Fujiwara Michinaga erected so magnificent a temple, bestowing many estates for its support, he supposed that his descendants would always assist the emperor and serve as pillars of the state; could he have imagined that the temple would fall into such ruin, no matter what times lay ahead? The Great Gate and the Golden Hall were still standing until recent years, but the Gate burned during the Shōwa era,189 and the Golden Hall soon afterward fell over. It still lies there, and no attempt has been made to restore it. Only the Muryōju Hall190 remains as a memento of the temple’s former glory. Nine images of Amida Buddha,191 each sixteen feet tall,192 stand in a row, most awesomely. It is extremely moving to see, still plainly visible, the plaque inscribed by the Major Counselor Kōzei193 and the door inscription by Kaneyuki. I understand that the Hokke Hall194 and perhaps other buildings are still standing. I wonder how much longer they too will last?
Some buildings that lack even such remains may survive merely as foundation stones, but no one knows for certain to what they once belonged. It is true in all things that it is a futile business attempting to plan for a future one will never know.
When I Sit Down in Quiet Meditation (29)
When I sit down in quiet meditation, the one emotion hardest to fight against is a longing in all things for the past. After the others have gone to bed, I pass the time on a long autumn’s night by putting in order whatever belongings are at hand. As I tear up scraps of old correspondence I should prefer not to leave behind, I sometimes find among them samples of the calligraphy of a friend who has died, or pictures he drew for his own amusement, and I feel exactly as I did at the time. Even with letters written by friends who are still alive I try, when it has been long since we met, to remember the circumstances, the year. What a moving experience that is! It is sad to think that a man’s familiar possessions, indifferent to his death, should remain unaltered long after he is gone.
To Be Governed by a Desire for Fame and Profit (38)
What a foolish thing it is to be governed by a desire for fame and profit and to fret away one’s whole life without a moment of peace. Great wealth is no guarantee of security. Wealth, in fact, tends to attract calamities and disaster. Even if, after you die, you leave enough gold to prop up the North Star,195 it will only prove a nuisance to your heirs. The pleasures that delight the foolish man are likewise meaningless to the man of discrimination who considers a big carriage, sleek horses, gold, and jeweled ornaments all equally undesirable and senseless. You had best throw away your gold in the mountains and drop your jewels into a ravine. It is an exceedingly stupid man who will torment himself for the sake of worldly gain.
To leave behind a reputation that will not perish through long ages to come is certainly to be desired, but can one say that men of high rank and position are necessarily superior? There are foolish and incompetent men who, having been born into an illustrious family and, being favored by the times, rise to exalted position and indulge themselves in the extremes of luxury. There are also many learned and good men who by their own choice remain in humble positions and end their days without ever having encountered good fortune. A feverish craving for high rank and position is second in foolishness only to seeking wealth.
One would like to leave behind a glorious reputation for surpassing wisdom and character, but careful reflection will show that what we mean by love of a glorious reputation is delight in the approbation of others. Neither those who praise nor those who abuse last for long, and the people who have heard their reports are likely to depart the world as quickly. Before whom then should we feel ashamed? By whom should we wish to be appreciated? Fame, moreover, inspires backbiting. It does no good whatsoever to have one’s name survive. A craving after fame is next most foolish.
If I were to address myself to those who nevertheless seek desperately to attain knowledge and wisdom, I would say that knowledge leads to deceit, and artistic talent is the product of much suffering. True knowledge is not what one hears from others or acquires through study. What, then, are we to call knowledge? Proper and improper come to one and the same thing—can we call anything “good”?196 The truly enlightened man has no learning, no virtue, no accomplishments, no fame.197 Who knows of him, who will report his glory? It is not that he conceals his virtue or pretends to be stupid; it is because from the outset he is above distinctions between wise and foolish, between profit and loss.
If, in your delusion, you seek fame and profit, the results will be as I have described. All is unreality. Nothing is worth discussing, worth desiring.
A House Should Be Built for Summer (55)
A house should be built with the summer in mind. In winter it is possible to live anywhere, but a badly made house is unbearable when it gets hot.
There is nothing cool-looking about deep water; a shallow, flowing stream is far cooler. When you are reading fine print you will find that a room with sliding doors is lighter than one with hinged shutters. A room with a high ceiling is cold in winter and dark by lamplight. People agree that a house which has plenty of spare room is attractive to look at and may be put to many different uses.
Determined to Take the Great Step (59)
A man who has determined to take the Great Step should leave unresolved all plans for disposing of urgent or worrisome business.
Some men think, “I’ll wait a bit longer, until I take care of this matter,” or “I might as well dispose of that business first,” or “People will surely laugh at me if I leave such and such as it stands. I’ll arrange things now so that there won’t be any future criticism,” or “I’ve managed to survive all these years. I’ll wait till that matter is cleared up. It won’t take long. I mustn’t be hasty.” But if you think in such terms the day for taking the Great Step will never come, for you will keep discovering more and more unavoidable problems, and there will never be a time when you run out of unfinished business.
My observation of people leads me to conclude, generally speaking, that even people with some degree of intelligence are likely to go through life supposing they have ample time before them. But would a man fleeing because a fire has broken out in his neighborhood say to the fire, “Wait a moment, please!”? To save his life, a man will run away, indifferent to shame, abandoning his possessions. Is a man’s life any more likely to wait for him? Death attacks faster than fire or water, and is harder to escape. When its hour comes, can you refuse to give up your aged parents, your little children, your duty to your master, your affections for others, because they are hard to abandon?
Gathering Like Ants (74)
They flock together like ants, hurry east and west, run north and south. Some are mighty, some humble. Some are aged, some young. They have places to go, houses to return to. At night they sleep, in the morning get up. But what does all this activity mean? There is no ending to their greed for long life, their grasping for profit. What expectations have they that they take such good care of themselves? All that awaits them in the end is old age and death, whose coming is swift and does not falter for one instant. What joy can there be while waiting for this end? The man who is deluded by fame and profit does not fear the approach of old age and death because he is so intoxicated by worldly cravings that he never stops to consider how near he is to his dest
ination. The foolish man, for his part, grieves because he desires everlasting life and is ignorant of the law of universal change.
Are We to Look at Cherry Blossoms Only in Full Bloom? (137)
Are we to look at cherry blossoms only in full bloom, the moon only when it is cloudless? To long for the moon while looking on the rain, to lower the blinds and be unaware of the passing of the spring—these are even more deeply moving. Branches about to blossom or gardens strewn with faded flowers are worthier of our admiration. Are poems written on such themes as “Going to view the cherry blossoms only to find they had scattered” or “On being prevented from visiting the blossoms” inferior to those on “Seeing the blossoms”? People commonly regret that the cherry blossoms scatter or that the moon sinks in the sky, and this is natural; but only an exceptionally insensitive man would say, “This branch and that branch have lost their blossoms. There is nothing worth seeing now.”
In all things, it is the beginnings and ends that are interesting. Does the love between men and women refer only to the moments when they are in each other’s arms? The man who grieves over a love affair broken off before it was fulfilled, who bewails empty vows, who spends long autumn nights alone, who lets his thoughts wander to distant skies, who yearns for the past in a dilapidated house—such a man truly knows what love means.
The moon that appears close to dawn after we have long waited for it moves us more profoundly than the full moon shining cloudless over a thousand leagues. And how incomparably lovely is the moon, almost greenish in its light, when seen through the tops of the cedars deep in the mountains, or when it hides for a moment behind clustering clouds during a sudden shower! The sparkle on hickory or white-oak leaves seemingly wet with moonlight strikes one to the heart. One suddenly misses the capital, longing for a friend who could share the moment.
And are we to look at the moon and the cherry blossoms with our eyes alone? How much more evocative and pleasing it is to think about the spring without stirring from the house, to dream of the moonlit night though we remain in our room!
The man of breeding never appears to abandon himself completely to his pleasures; even his manner of enjoyment is detached. It is the rustic boors who take all their pleasures grossly. They squirm their way through the crowd to get under the trees; they stare at the blossoms with eyes for nothing else; they drink saké and compose linked verse; and finally they heartlessly break off great branches and cart them away. When they see a spring they dip their hands and feet to cool them; if it is the snow, they jump down to leave their footprints. No matter what the sight, they are never content merely with looking at it.
Such people have a very peculiar manner of watching the Kamo Festival. “The procession’s awfully late,” they say. “There’s no point waiting in the stands for it to come.” They go off then to a shack behind the stands where they drink and eat, play go or backgammon, leaving somebody in the stands to warn them. When he cries, “It’s passing now!” each of them dashes out in wild consternation, struggling to be first back into the stands. They all but fall from their perches as they push out the blinds and press against one another for a better look, staring at the scene, determined not to miss a thing. They comment on everything that goes by, with cries of “Look at this! Look at that!” When the procession has passed, they scramble down, saying, “We’ll be back for the next one.” All they are interested in is what they can see.
People from the capital, the better sort, doze during the processions, hardly looking at all. Young underlings are constantly moving about, performing their masters’ errands, and persons in attendance, seated behind, never stretch forward in an unseemly manner. No one is intent on seeing the procession at all costs.
It is charming on the day of the festival to see garlands of hollyhock leaves carelessly strewn over everything. The morning of the festival, before dawn breaks, you wonder who the owners are of the carriages silently drawn up in place, and guess, “That one is his—or his,” and have your guesses confirmed when sometimes you recognize a coachman or servant. I never weary of watching the different carriages going back and forth, some delightfully unpretentious, others magnificent. By the time it is growing dark you wonder where the rows of carriages and the dense crowds of spectators have disappeared to. Before you know it, hardly a soul is left, and the congestion of returning carriages is over. Then they start removing the blinds and matting from the stands, and the place, even as you watch, begins to look desolate. You realize with a pang of grief that life is like this. If you have seen the avenues of the city, you have seen the festival.
I suddenly realized, from the large number of people I could recognize in the crowds passing to and fro before the stands, that there were not so many people in the world, after all. Even if I were not to die until all of them had gone, I should not have long to wait. If you pierce a tiny aperture in a large vessel filled with water, even though only a small amount drips out, the constant leakage will empty the vessel. In this capital, with all its many people, surely a day never passes without someone dying. And are there merely one or two deaths a day? On some days, certainly, many more than one or two are seen to their graves at Toribeno, Funaoka, and other mountainsides, but never a day passes without a single funeral. That is why coffin makers never have any to spare. It does not matter how young or how strong you may be, the hour of death comes sooner than you expect. It is an extraordinary miracle that you should have escaped to this day; do you suppose you have even the briefest respite in which to relax?
When you make a mamagodate198 with backgammon counters, at first you cannot tell which of the stones arranged before you will be taken away. Your count then falls on a certain stone and you remove it. The others seem to have escaped, but as you renew the count you will thin out the pieces one by one, until none is left. Death is like that. The soldier who goes to war, knowing how close he is to death, forgets his family and even forgets himself; the man who has turned his back on the world and lives in a thatched hut, quietly taking pleasure in the streams and rocks of his garden, may suppose that death in battle has nothing to do with him, but this is a shallow misconception. Does he imagine that, if he hides in the still recesses of the mountains, the enemy called change will fail to attack? When you confront death, no matter where it may be, it is the same as charging into battle.
[Translated by Donald Keene]
1. Kemari is the aristocratic game of hacky-sack, or sepia. Saigyō is known to have been a master kemari player.
2. This poem was composed seven months before Saigyō took vows. The opening phrase (sora ni naru kokoro) literally means “my heart that is the sky” or “my heart that is empty,” which suggests that the poet’s heart is becoming the sky, spreading infinitely until it becomes clear and empty. The verb tatsu means both for a person “to resolve” (on leaving the world) and for the spring mist “to rise.” The combined image suggests that Saigyō wishes to rise above the world, where he can freely gaze on the clear and empty sky of his own heart.
3. “The time of the moon” is autumn. Although Saigyō was a monk, it was not unusual for Buddhist priests to compose love poetry, based on experience or imagination. This poem is thought to have been sent to someone in the capital, most likely Saigyō’s wife. Uwa no sora (sky above) can also mean “vacant,” “restless,” or “distracted.” The poem implies that the poet is always thinking of the former loved one, although that loved one has likely forgotten the poet.
4. Like the moon of the previous poem, this moon is associated with worldly thoughts. As one who has forsaken the world, Saigyō must have some proof that he is free of worldly emotions. This proof is in Saigyō’s not thinking of the world, or of love, when he looks at the moon. This is not possible, Saigyō implies, if the moon is clear and beautiful.
5. Poems about Suzuka (Bell Deer) Mountain use words related to bells. Furisutete means “to toss away” but also implies ringing a bell (furu). Naru and nari imply the sound of a bell being rung, as well as “
becoming.” This poem calls on a long history of poetry by imperial princesses chosen to become the high priestess of the Ise shrines. Suzuka Mountain was on the route to the Ise shrines as well as being a checkpoint along the Eastern Sea Road (Tōkaidō), and a popular place to compose a poem expressing feelings concerning the journey ahead. The poet seems concerned about his future now that he has broken all ties with the world. Recent commentators, however, have pointed out that often bells were rung when praying for the fulfillment of a wish.
6. The spirit was thought to wander away from the body when deeply disturbed or fraught with jealousy. Here Saigyō’s spirit has left his body in ecstatic excitement at seeing the cherry blossoms of Mount Yoshino, famous for its mountain cherries. The poem suggests that Saigyō is disappointed that he cannot control his thoughts and desires, but Yoshino is also known as a sacred space and a site of religious training, where spiritual feats are not uncommon.
7. The poet has gone to Mount Yoshino to see the cherry blossoms. However, since Mount Yoshino is traditionally a place of religious retreat as well, perhaps he really wants to escape the world altogether. But someone waits, thinking that he will simply return to the capital once the blossoms fall. He is caught between his desire to escape the world and his thoughts for the people waiting for him at home.
Traditional Japanese Literature Page 58