Oriori no Uta : Poems for All Seasons

Loneliness is not
a single
color:
Cypress covered mountains
in the autumn dusk

Priest Jakuren

Sinkokinshū, Book Ⅳ, Autumnⅼ. The first of the collection’s so-called “Three evening poems,” which see within autumn’s loneliness a beauty even deeper than ordinary beauty. Maki is a general term for evergreens like cypress and cryptomeria. The phrase “autumn colors” usually brings to mind bright red and yellow leaves. But here evergreens silently on a mountain in the autumn dusk and the poet, seeing in them a loneliness whose source he can neither pinpoint nor define (sono iro to shimo naki), is struck by a profound and mysterious beauty.

寂しさ(Sabishisa)は(wa)

その(sono)色(iro)と(to)しも(shimo)

なかりけり(nakarikeri)

真木(Maki)立つ(tatsu)山(yama)の(no)

秋(aki)の(no)夕暮(yūgure)

寂蓮法師(じゃくれんほうし)

『新古今集』巻四秋上。新古今のいわゆる「三夕の歌」の第一。「三夕(さんせき)の歌」は、秋の寂寥の底に通常の美よりも一層深い美を見ている三首を並べている。真木は杉・檜など良材の総称、槙。秋の色といえば紅葉というのがまずは常識である。しかるにこの歌は、常緑の真木がしんと並び立つ秋山の夕べに、どこがどうと特定できない（「その色としもなき」）いわく言い難い寂寥相を見て、そのふかぶかとした美と幽玄味にうたれているのである。

All
Spring
Summer
Autumn
Winter

As far as eye could see / there were no blossoms / or scarlet leaves: / On the shore a thatched hut / in the autumn dusk

Fujiwara no Teika（Autumn）

When I look up and see / moonlight filter through the trees, / I know that autumn, / heart-exhausting autumn, / is already here

Anonymous（Autumn）

I send you home / in the morning, the snowy path / crunches under your feet / Oh snow, fall with / the scent of apples!

Kitahara Hakushū（Winter）

Awake, / eyes closed, / I listen．．．．that faintness / must be winter rain / begun to fall

Oka Fumoto（Winter）

Count the stars: there are seven. / And of gold lighthouses, nine. / In the shadows of the rocks, / write oysters breed, infinitudes, / but of my love there is but one, / alone.

Saijō Yaso（Winter）

The curved stick might be / a crescent moon flying across the sky / The rushing ball resembles / a comet tumbling to earth

Saga Tennō（Spring）

If I lived with the fishes / in the deep blue ocean, sea / flowers swaying beneath / the waves, would this / pain, this anguish be eased?

Akutagawa Ryūnosuke（Summer）

It`s a fact: autumn’s here. To the eye it’s still not quite apparent, but with the sound of the wind, I suddenly became aware.

Fujiwara no Toshiyuki（Summer）

Bit by bit a narrow path was formed beneath the apple orchard’s trees and when you asked whose first steps does that remember your question was my treasure

Shimazaki Tōson（Autumn）

Deep in the mountains too deep to know of spring sparkling beads of melted snow fall slowly, drop by drop, on my pine bough door

Shikishi Naishinnō（Winter）

The Golden crow lights the houses in the west And drumbeats hurry my short life on There are no hosts or guests on the road to death: Tonight I leabe my home, to venture there

Ōtsu no Miko（Autumn）

The curved stick might be / a crescent moon flying across the sky / The rushing ball resembles / a comet tumbling to earth

Saga Tennō

If I lived with the fishes / in the deep blue ocean, sea / flowers swaying beneath / the waves, would this / pain, this anguish be eased?

Akutagawa Ryūnosuke

It`s a fact: autumn’s here. To the eye it’s still not quite apparent, but with the sound of the wind, I suddenly became aware.

Fujiwara no Toshiyuki

When I look up and see / moonlight filter through the trees, / I know that autumn, / heart-exhausting autumn, / is already here

Anonymous

Bit by bit a narrow path was formed beneath the apple orchard’s trees and when you asked whose first steps does that remember your question was my treasure

Shimazaki Tōson

The Golden crow lights the houses in the west And drumbeats hurry my short life on There are no hosts or guests on the road to death: Tonight I leabe my home, to venture there

Ōtsu no Miko

I send you home / in the morning, the snowy path / crunches under your feet / Oh snow, fall with / the scent of apples!

Kitahara Hakushū

Awake, / eyes closed, / I listen．．．．that faintness / must be winter rain / begun to fall

Oka Fumoto

Count the stars: there are seven. / And of gold lighthouses, nine. / In the shadows of the rocks, / write oysters breed, infinitudes, / but of my love there is but one, / alone.

Saijō Yaso

Deep in the mountains too deep to know of spring sparkling beads of melted snow fall slowly, drop by drop, on my pine bough door

Shikishi Naishinnō

Oriori no Uta : Poems for All Seasons

As far as eye could see / there were no blossoms / or scarlet leaves: / On the shore a thatched hut / in the autumn dusk

When I look up and see / moonlight filter through the trees, / I know that autumn, / heart-exhausting autumn, / is already here

I send you home / in the morning, the snowy path / crunches under your feet / Oh snow, fall with / the scent of apples!

Awake, / eyes closed, / I listen．．．．that faintness / must be winter rain / begun to fall

Count the stars: there are seven. / And of gold lighthouses, nine. / In the shadows of the rocks, / write oysters breed, infinitudes, / but of my love there is but one, / alone.

Into the village / ventures a deer―so tall / ｉn the snow-light!

One plum blossom― / one blossom’s worth / of warmth

Too dark, too dark! / screams this body / as I haul it into the brightness of / the sun

The ice on the lake / is melting but / it’s still cold / The crescent moon’s light / flickers over the waves

The curved stick might be / a crescent moon flying across the sky / The rushing ball resembles / a comet tumbling to earth

Let me die in the spring / beneath / the cherry blossoms / in the Second Month / when the moon is full

The flowers have gone back / to their roots, the birds / to their old nests / Who knows where spring / is gone to rest?

For eyes, green leaves / Then the mountain cuckoo / and the first bonito

Morning aches with resin’s scent / Various lost dreams, / Forests whistle in the wind

In the sea of heaven / cloud waves rise and / the moon boat sails / into a forest of stars, / then is seen no more /

Down silken sleeve / two feet long / fireflies glide and slide, / then flow / into the evening breeze’s green

In the river fireflies / I seem to see my soul, / suffused with sadness, / gone forth in longing / from my body

If I lived with the fishes / in the deep blue ocean, sea / flowers swaying beneath / the waves, would this / pain, this anguish be eased?

It`s a fact: autumn’s here. To the eye it’s still not quite apparent, but with the sound of the wind, I suddenly became aware.

I wait and wait, an evening primrose pining, fading―but he does not come and even the moon does not appear.

Briefly I slept / and saw / the one I love / Now I place my faith / in this thing called dreams /

What I love most / in all the world / is the lid of the shell / of the turbo snail / that lives on the shore!

The butterly grown old / its spirit plays / among chrysanthemums /

Loneliness is not / a single / color: / Cypress covered mountains / in the autumn dusk / /

Bit by bit a narrow path was formed beneath the apple orchard’s trees and when you asked whose first steps does that remember your question was my treasure

When the moon lights up the Sea of Grebes fall shows itself even in the flowers of the waves

Love-possessed, I went to seek my sister in the winter night and the river wind blew cold carrying the plovers’ cries

The past, the future―― snowlight faintly glows

Again and again I ask how high the snow is

It drops behind, sweeps up the wind and off it goes―sandpiper!

In the little field of Sagamu, the fires burned, the fires――and you stood there among them and said you loved me

White bird, are you not sad? You drift, never dyed By the blue of the sea Or the sky’s azure

Woken from winter sleep, the frogs ascend the last thin layer of snow and spread their bodies flat

Amoung water birds the wild ducks have wings the color of spring hills… now gone, is how I think of you

A single butterfly crossed the Tatar Strait.

Deep in the mountains too deep to know of spring sparkling beads of melted snow fall slowly, drop by drop, on my pine bough door

In spring’s soft Shining light a skylark Rose and sadness Been tnding my thoughts alone

Peony petals fall, Pile up＿＿ Two or three

From valleys deep with evergreens the mountain springs arise Let my life be as fresh forever and as new as these

The cape in spring―at journey’s end a seagull, floating, moves far off into the distance

Deutzia flowers and a dappled horse at dawn

A woman crossed the stream and on her leg－ flowering riverweed!

Banner clouds Trail over the sea, aglow In the setting sun May the moon tonight Shine bright and clear

What’s this ―Old skin? Dust? A close look tells all ―boneless freaks.

I grope for sadness as for the breast And if I let the sadness go, I will die

The stars have already Opened Their autumn eyes

Movink back alittle from th side, I tried a second look＿but the thing that painted my eyes had kept all its ugliness

Autumn breeze― Come, string a bow of Unavarnished wood!

In the mountain village my ears know only the voice of the pines― windless days are lonely

The Golden crow lights the houses in the west And drumbeats hurry my short life on There are no hosts or guests on the road to death: Tonight I leabe my home, to venture there

In coughing too , I am alone

Home is what you think of when you’re far away And what you sadly sing of

Dog’s fleas jump off into the cold sand

Sound of drops from the docked boart’s roof the night dizzile turn to snow

The ocean is stripped of all joy and deep below the octopus and its kin, tentacles tightly closed, will be frozen foever

Ancient ages were like this too My heart in pain becomes a giant white bird ascends the sky

Night almost fallen, the light in the garden is borrowed from snow, and inside the darkness gathers by dying embers

The waterfall rushes down over rocks and nearby the small bracken have put forth their shoots―― It is spring!

The ice on the lake / is melting but / it’s still cold / The crescent moon’s light / flickers over the waves

The curved stick might be / a crescent moon flying across the sky / The rushing ball resembles / a comet tumbling to earth

Let me die in the spring / beneath / the cherry blossoms / in the Second Month / when the moon is full

The flowers have gone back / to their roots, the birds / to their old nests / Who knows where spring / is gone to rest?

For eyes, green leaves / Then the mountain cuckoo / and the first bonito

Morning aches with resin’s scent / Various lost dreams, / Forests whistle in the wind

White bird, are you not sad? You drift, never dyed By the blue of the sea Or the sky’s azure

Woken from winter sleep, the frogs ascend the last thin layer of snow and spread their bodies flat

Amoung water birds the wild ducks have wings the color of spring hills… now gone, is how I think of you

A single butterfly crossed the Tatar Strait.

In spring’s soft Shining light a skylark Rose and sadness Been tnding my thoughts alone

Peony petals fall, Pile up＿＿ Two or three

From valleys deep with evergreens the mountain springs arise Let my life be as fresh forever and as new as these

The cape in spring―at journey’s end a seagull, floating, moves far off into the distance

In the sea of heaven / cloud waves rise and / the moon boat sails / into a forest of stars, / then is seen no more /

Down silken sleeve / two feet long / fireflies glide and slide, / then flow / into the evening breeze’s green

In the river fireflies / I seem to see my soul, / suffused with sadness, / gone forth in longing / from my body

If I lived with the fishes / in the deep blue ocean, sea / flowers swaying beneath / the waves, would this / pain, this anguish be eased?

It`s a fact: autumn’s here. To the eye it’s still not quite apparent, but with the sound of the wind, I suddenly became aware.

I wait and wait, an evening primrose pining, fading―but he does not come and even the moon does not appear.

Deutzia flowers and a dappled horse at dawn

Too dark, too dark! / screams this body / as I haul it into the brightness of / 　　the sun

Let me die in the spring / beneath / the cherry blossoms / 　　in the Second Month / 　　when the moon is full

In the mountain village my ears know only the voice of the pines― 　windless days are lonely

Let me die in the spring / beneath / the cherry blossoms / 　　in the Second Month / 　　when the moon is full

In the mountain village my ears know only the voice of the pines― 　windless days are lonely

Too dark, too dark! / screams this body / as I haul it into the brightness of / 　　the sun