HE PILGRIMAGE Til! 01 J/)S THE Liniuin u FOKMA J-OS AISGKLKb THE PILGRIMAGE THE PILGRIMAGE BY YONF NOGUCHI AUTHOR OF " FKOM THE EASTERN SEA " ETC. NEW YORK MITCHELL KENNERLEY LONDON ELKIN MATHEWS MCMXII THE KYOBUNKWAN PRESS Ginza, Tokyo To LEONIK 617 THE PILGRIMAGE PART I CONTENTS PA UK "The New Arl" - Ghost .....4 By the Engakuji Temple: Moon Night ----- 5 The Violet --- 7 To a Nightingale 10 I am Like a Leaf __--.-__-]>.; To the Sunflower ... 13 By the Daibutsu at Kamakura - - - 14 Shadow - 1<; The Lotus - - _ is Ghrct of Abyss - 20 Song in Air ------.'----21 The Fantastic Snow-Flakes - - - 22 M. A. C. - 24 Meditation on a Chinese Tea Cup ------ 26 The -Poet 29 Zephyr - 31 Fantasia H2 At the Yuigahama Shore by Ksunakura ----- 34 Autumn Song __-.-____- :^5 The Address of a Woman to Her Hiinband 30 The Temple Bell - 41 To the Cicada 42 The Lady of UtamaiVs Art 44 The Buddha Priest in Meditation 45 In the Inland Sea ._-.----- 47 FAOK 49 51 viii Little Fairy - () Yoshi San ------ Bird of Silence - My Soul and Harp Kyoto .--- Song's Way ------ My Little Bird Oh. My Long Sorrow The Night Koto Player The Calling Cry -------- 'Shinnen Omedeto" Her Weapons are a Smile and a Little Fan - The Passing of Summer ------- PROEM Beckoned by an appointed hand, unseen yet sure, in holy air, We wander as a wind, silver and free, With one song in heart, we, the children of prayer. Our song is not of a city's fall ; No laughter of a kingdom bids our feet wait ; Our heart is away, with sun, wind and rain : We, the shadowy roamers on the holy highway. "THE NEW ART" She is an art (let me call her so) Hung, as a web, in the air of perfume, Soft yet vivid, she sways in music : (But what sadness in her saturation of life !) Her music lives in intensity of a moment and then dies'; To her, suggestion is her life. She left behind the quest of beauty and dream : Is her own self not the song of dream and beaut}* itself? (I know she is tired of ideal and problem and talk.) She is the moth-light playing on reality's dusk, Soon to die as a savage prey of the moment ; She is a creation of surprise (let me say so), Dancing gold on the wire of impulse. What an elf of light and shadow ! What a flash of tragedy and beauty ! GHOST By the very way she shook her hair That troubled her eyes to look the road of wind, (She shook her hair as a tree the dead leaves of thoughts,) Lord a mercy .... I know her well, She was my old love, though when she began to be I forget. (The dead thoughts of leaves of a tree flap and flap.) In her whisper, silver and slow as that of a stream, I hear something akin, that I dare not forget, though I know not what, (" O the ghost of the age and midnight," I exclaimed : At this minute the clock struck one . . . ) She whispers as a stream with the old music of beliefs. (The old beliefs of music of a stream run and run.) BY THE ENGAKUJI TEMPLE : MOON NIGHT Through the breath of perfume, (O music of musics !) Down creeps the moon To fill my cup of song With memory's wine. Across the song of night and moon, (O perfume of perfumes !) My soul, as a wind Whose heart's too full to sing, Only roams astray . . . Down the tide of the sweet night (O the ecstasy's gentle rise !) BY THE ENGAKUJI TEMPLE: MOON NIGHT The birds, flowers and trees Are glad at once to fall Into Oblivion's ruin white. THE VIOLET On one night, When breezes and mists were grey with one sad memory (The stars had lost their way to their posts) I stood upon the street : I felt as I were older than a star. I watched the people passing by. Phantoms were they not ? Were they not part of the ashen air ? 1 thought they were more glad to disappear than to exist : They were no more distinct than their shadows on the ground. Some tempting odour as from a happy dale Made them bend forward with hurrying step. THE VIOLET I watched them for many an hour : Suddenly a girl's shape caught my eyes. " Thou art my lover lost," I cried. How well I remembered her slightly turned face Like a flower in rapture with God's bliss ! ' T was her old manner to show her ankles small, Her dress flapping like her own heart. Her tassels of hair hung as of yore, Like whispering grasses on the sky-road. I rushed forth : " My O Yen, my beloved !" Yen San was my old lover lost, 1 knew not how long ago, Surely it was in another happier world ! Alas, she vanished. In vain I ran after her. Only a bunch of violets was left behind ; THE VIOLET ' The soul of the flower was O Yen's soul. A violet, dear one fed by gossamer and shower, In the bosom of light and wind ! ' T was many a year ago I bade thee farewell, Leaving the path of beauty and love, To wander towards city and dust, Tell me, Violet, does O Yen love me no more ? Pray, open thy soul of Spring and smile, Let me dream awhile upon my sweet past ! So, my soul smitten by noise and storm, Is like a dead leaf on the stream to the Unseea 1O TO A NIGHTINGALE Creator of the only one song ! Triumph, rapture and art thou tellest But with thy self-same word, what mystery ! I've a few more songs and dreams than thou, (Alas, my words not serving at my command !) I tremble, hesitate before I sing : What carelessness in thy rush with song, Splendour is thine to sing into air, be forgotten ! Thou singest out, thou pushest thy song's way, Without regard to the others waiting their turns, (Pity the other birds and poets !) What a sweet bit of thy barbarism ! 1 know not technically what thy song means : TO A NIGHTINGALE II I take thee not only for a bird but the poet. Thou art a revolter against prosody ; What a discoverer of the newest language ! A man's life and art are disturbed by thy song, (What exhaustion in thy voice, What a feast and sensation of thy life !) When thou changest him to become thy kin, A thing of simplicity and force ; Thy song stops, thou fliest away. Oh, can thy work be done so swift ? Didst thou see thy song's future in him ? Thou art suggestion : what a fragment of art ! 12 I AIM LIKE A LEAF The silence is broken : into the nature My soul sails out, Carrying the song of life on his brow, To meet the flowers and birds. \Yhen my heart returns in the solitude, She is very sad, Looking back on the dead passions Lying on Love's ruin. I am like a leaf Hanging over hope and despair, Which trembles and joins The world's imagination and ghost. TO THE SUNFLOWER Thou burstest from mood : How sad we have to cling to experience ! Marvel of thy every atom burning in life, How fully thou livest ! Didst thou ever think to turn to cold and shadow ? Passionate liver of sunlight, S}'mbol of youth and pride ; Thou art a lyric of thy soaring colour ; Thy voicelessness of song is action. What absorption of thy life's meaning, Wonder of thy consciousness, Mighty sense of thy existence ! BY THE DAIBUTSU AT KAMAKURA Above the old songs turned to ashes and pain, Under which Death enshrouds the idols and trees with mist of sigh, (Where are Kamakura's rising days and life of old ?) With heart heightened to hush, the Daibutsu forever sits : O, holiness, holiness of triumph and voicelessness ! At times, the lone pilgrims in whiteness of prayer, Called by the sudden voice of shadow, chanting the dream, Are seen as the swallows upon the sadness of seas : O the ghosts stirring the ruins of faith from mortal heart ! Leave not the world and humanity to be wholly lost, Save the idols and songs from the centuries' sigh, Build again the house of light on the prayer of Earth : BY THE DA1BUTSU AT KAMAKURA 1 5 Where is the world with the Nirvana sky and thrill of faith ? I pray and again pray, " Naimt amida butsu."* On the ground the pale shadows of the Daibutsu and myself, The moon swings through the grey ness of sad trees and eve ; With the Idol and moon I here step with my head bent : We three in the rapture of Eternity and silence 1 * Adoration to Lord Buddha. i6 SHADOW My song is sung, but a moment . . . . The song of voice is merely the body, (the body dies,) And the real part of the song, its soul, remains after it is sung : Yea, it remains in the vibration of thy waves of heart-sea Echoing still my song, (O shadow my song threw !) In thy heart's thrill 1 see my far truer and whiter soul, And through my soul thou soarest out of thy dust and griefs. '. Spring passed, (Spring in roses and birds is merely the body,) And I see the greater Spring (O soul-shadow she left !) SHADOW 17 In the Summer forest, luminous in green and dream : Oh to be that Spring over the world's Summer valley, O shadow I may cast in the after-age, O my shadow of soull i8 THE LOTUS The cry of wind in my heart, My thought darkened by memory of night, I walk on the phantom road Towards the sea of silence. The lone lotus whiter than prayer, Before me rose, tall as a dream, With the sunlight fallen through the clouds, The flower smiled the sorrow of Heaven. As a fire consumed, her beauty is clear, Each petal chanting the song of star ; Love and desire are in her heart ; I know she came from the blessing of morn. THE LOTUS 19 In her voice of dew she says : " The gate of sorrow is Heaven's gate, The price of admittance is only the tear ; The fire of silence makes thy soul white." O holy goddess of lotus, I bow down to thee, Holy goddess of love, holy Kwanzeon, Queen of sorrow and of the shining heart, Lead me to the shore where waits the ship of gold 1 20 GHOST OF ABYSS My dreams rise when the rain falls : the sudden songs Flow about my ears as the clouds in June ; And the footsteps, lighter than the heart of wind, Beat, now high, then low, before my dream- flaming eyes. " Who am I ? " said I. " Ghost of abyss," a Voice replied, " Piling an empty stone of song on darkness of night, Dancing wild as a fire, only to vanish away." SONG IN AIR Like a rainbow, All the colour, all the music, And all the touch, She suddenly rises Over the breast of shadow : How the world turns to a sou^ 1 She is liberation and life. Hers is a nerve-thrill, Not a thought nor truth ; Mystically She breathes in and out Art (let me call it so) ; And when she more suddenly falls, What a song-lost world ! THE FANTASTIC SNOW-FLAKES Bah ! What fantastic snow-flakes, eh, Dancing merrily, ha ! ha ! ha ! Lo, their tiny feet raising- so ! Death is sweet, to be sure, Laughing they go to death, What delicious teeth, ha ! ha ! ha ! Suppose we die together, eh, With the snow dying upon a pond ? What a fantastic end, ha ! ha ! ha ! What a fantastic end to die In the dying music of ancient love ! ttehold the snow and music die ! THE FANTASTIC SNOW-FLAKES 23 What a coward, ha ! ha ! ha ! Are you afraid to die, eh ? Still you love a little caprice of world ? What fantastic snow-flakes, ha ! ha ! ha 1 To leave no sorrow and to die ! Such a coward, you my beloved 1 M. A. C. She gathered sobs of Autumn, Her eyes opened to every shape of sorrow As in the moment of farewell with life : Her life was a black December night. She learned to spell the words of tears Before she was born, her radiant sad voice Was like that of a midnight star. As the silent moonlight over a weary rose, The darkness strangely wrapped her thought. Her face struggled to choose one saddest dream From a thousand dreams which hung like clouds. She walked in the night land abandoned by Light,- A hollow echoing the cry of Death M. A. C. 25 Where grey phantoms wandered by. There was nothing more dreadful unto her Than speech of man : she had fled from it As from Winter Storm ; she was glad to die As a Summer night breeze into the golden bosom of the moon. MEDITATION ON A CHINESE TEA CUP Fill me a cup with the tea ancient- browed, Cathay in heart, (What a forlorn look of the empty cup !) And let me dream the Confucius land of dragon and dream. The moon of very old gold stares far down : Art thou, Chinese moon, wearied of wisdom and song ? What an Autumnal face softer than a soft sigh, What an oblivion sweeter than a sweet death ! Hear the whisper of ecstasy and forgotten love In Opium's yellow smell, eternal and free ! Here in the opium den, powerless are Time's teeth, And Vice sleeps on Fancy's delicious breast : MEDITATION ON A CHINESE TEA CUP 27 See the smokers with bodies like a fallen pagoda, Putting their souls at pawn for the whitest sleep. Is it the blast of a rebellion's cry ? Nay, a mandarin prince with a long pipe VVindily parades with slaves like hurrying leaves, With a thousand banners, with drums and flutes. Oh, I pray to see again A Chinese damsel of beauty like a far-off song, Shaking her shoulders of butterfly's wings, Stepping uncertain like the shiver of a lily's stem, Through the adoring eyes of a tidal crowd. Fill me a cup with the tea ancient-browed, Cathay in heart, (What a forlorn look of the empty cup !) And let me dream the Confucius land of dragon and dream. 28 MEDITATION ON A CHINESE TEA CUP Oh, I pray to hear again A Chinese music sad like the heart of a forest spirit : I'll cry like a Winter wind Towards Love and ' Far- Beyond.' 2 9 THE TOET The roses live by eating of their own beauty and then die : He too is fed on his own poem. His poem ? Yea, his very flesh in the grasp of the moment ! What a cry of the soul and flesh in the grasp of the moment ! (O Moment with the very life of what thou art, Thou who hast no past hast no future, Didst make thy life from the death of the moment before ?) The roses live by eating of their own beauty and then die : His song is the funeral chant for his own death of every moment ; Through death, or birth, (he is the poet of the moment and life,) 30 THE POET Into the menace of human life he awakes. The roses live by eating of their own beauty and die : His flesh and soul shall ruin themselves as the bones, And float as shipwrecked masts over the greyness of waste. ZEPHYR Zephyr comes unaware, And sings underneath my arms : When it makes a sudden stop, I will finish the song of its wandering soul. Zephyr comes like a Beauty Underneath my arms smiling, smiling. She looks upon me, and says : " Shall we hide us from birds and men under the roses ? " Zephyr comes with doleful heart, Sighing, sighing, underneath my arms. I whisper a tale of a Life of Gold, We fly into the Palace of the Sun. FANTASIA Bits of straw and clay and woman's hair, So shall be builded my house : Oh to lose the world and gain a song ! Let the clouds flit through the window at the left ; The dancers shapeless in pain and pride, From the right dance in as a tide : A spirit of pagan days, sick in joy, That rose at the sound of their stamping feet, I'll sing a song that makes the seas the hills. (Morality begins, I am afraid, where I stop my song.) Rags to roll me in, pieces of dream, So with my heart of nocturnal fear ; I have choice of the sky red in memory and art. FANTASIA 33 Let the stars fall in the garden rose : The leaves and my souls in a thousand guises Hurry to the ground to build a grave. 34 AT THE YUIGAHAMA SHORE BY KAMAKURA Into the homelessness of the sea I awoke : Oh, my heart of the wind and spray ! I am glad to be no-man to-day With the laughter and dance of the sea-soul. Dip the song of the sea and wind, Throw it into my heart of longing ! I like to be with the clan of the waters and air : Oh, my soul of the sea-soul and surge ! Roll in the wonder of the heart and sea, Oh, my joy of the sea-soul and flash ! Gather all the lights of the wind and sea, To guard against the blackest night. 35 AUTUMN SONG The gold vision of a bird- wind sways on the silver foam of song, The oldest song rises again on the Autumn heart of dream. The ghost castle of glory is built by the sad magic of Time, With the last laughter of sorrow, and with the red tempest of leaves. My little soul born out of the dews of singing dawn, Bids farewell to the large seas of Life and speech. THE ADDRESS OF A WOMAN TO HER HUSBAND Thou art, O great lord, like a sea Stretching the bosom vast for forgiveness : Into thy bosom I peep with fear that is woman's joy. With thee I trust as with the sinking sun that will rise again ; Spring and Life are thy lights : Around the lights I cling like a shadow, With my heart of whisper and love. How glad I am to have myself lost in thy bliss Like a firefly flashing a little lantern Into the golden tempest of moonbeams ! The morning sun blows away a candle of dew : Like the dew I am content in my helplessness. THE ADDUESS OF A WOMAN TO HER HUSBAND I stand against thy blinding white soul, With sensation that only a summer insect knows : I am a mote in thy mighty radiance. Oh, what chance or Nature made thee so great ! My daily task is to recollect the sweetness of thy love, And to find the glorious dawn of Life, With fire in speech and in kisses : Thy breath and promise make my life beauteous. I flatter myself thinking that thou canst not live without me, Since I am like a moon unto thy diadem of night : Oh, tell me, is this ecstasy my real life ? Are we living in a hidden love dale Without a mortal sky above, But eternally dim with yearning in air, Far away from the road of Death? 38 THE ADDRESS OF A WOMAN TO HER HUSBAND Give me thy wings of heart, And we will fly into the song of beauty, And stare down through the dreaming breeze Over the flowers red and gold, With one eye which is thine and mine. Thy soul, O great lord, is like a heavenly gate ; Beyond the gate all the loves gather : Against the gate I place my hungry ears, With my heart mortally ravished in desire : The manna of another happiness softly fall Over me, as dews drop along a morning highway. Thy footsteps are ever stepping on to the house of God : I follow after thy footsteps in prayer. I am a bird fed by the shadows of thy love, Singing the song of nightingale, In the woodland of thy fancy THE ADDRESS OF A WOMAN TO 11EK HUSBAND 39 Over the valley of thy dream : In song and in thy face my life would be eternal. From thy face the freshest breath of leaves steals : Thou art a pine tree upon the hill, With the balmy song of Immortality, Changeless in Spring and in Winter ; 1 am a weak vine climbing up by thee, And earn the bliss to meet with a star. Thou art a we -co me mountain nest Where I fly as a midnight wind With hoary heart and revolting thought : Thou art a river, and I am a ripple in its bosom. O great lord, let us rise towards the west To face the departing sun, West where paradise lies, (as I am told), West, saintly region of Repose ! 4O THE ADDRESS OF A WOMAN TO HER HUSBAND We will lie down with our sorrowless hearts Open under the sun-set fires, And send our souls beyond into the space, Into the repose and into Paradise : And then we will turn home under the gathering night, Oh, how rich I am with a book of poems and with thy voice 1 41 THE TEMPLE BELL Trembling in its thousand ages, Dark as its faith, It wails, hunting me, (It's a long time since I lost my faith,) Up through the silence with a scorn, Heavy but not unkind, Out of the dusk of the temple and night Into my heart of dusk, Hushed after my song of cities played, Weary and grey in thought. My heart replies to the wail of the bell, Slow- bosomed in sadness and faith, With my memory rising from dusts. Namu aniida butsu / Nainu amid* butsu I TO THE CICADA What a sudden pain of ancient soul, A tear that is a voice, the voice that is a tear ! What unforgotten tragedy thou tellest in thy break of heart ! Mitt, min, min, min, minminminminmin . . . / Grey singer of the forest with heart of fire, Dost thou cry for the world, or for my love and life ? Is thy monotony of voice the tragedy of my song ? Min, min, win, min, minminminminmin . . . / The soul that reads the sorrow of life knows thy heart : Cry till the world and life gain the triumph of Death ! Let us earn Death through the tragedy of Faith ! TO THE CICADA 43 O singer of sad Faith and only one song,- Cry out thy old dream of life and tears ! Min, win, min, min, minminwinminmin . 44 THE LADY OF UTAMARO'S ART Too common to say she is the beauty of line, However, the line old, spiritualized into odour, (The odour soared into an everlasting ghost from life and death,) As a gossamer, the handiwork of dream, 'Tis left free as it flaps : The lady of Utamaro's Art is the beauty of zephyr flow. I say again, the line with the breath of love, Enwrapping my heart to be a happy prey : Sensuous ? To some so she may appear, But her sensuousness divinized into the word of love. To-day I am with her in silence of twilight eve, And am afraid she may vanish into the mist. 45 THE BUDDHA PRIEST IN MEDITATION He is a style of monotony, His religion is aloofness, Is there any simplicity more beautiful ? What a grand leisure in his walk On the road of mystery : Is there any picture more real, More permanent than he ? He surrenders against faith : He walks on mystery's road, that is enough, He never quests why. He feels a touch beyond word, He reads the silence's sigh, And prays before his own soul and destiny : 46 THE BUDDHA PRIEST IN MEDITATION He is a oseudonym of the universal consciousness, A person lonesome from concentration. He is possessed of Nature's instinct, And burns white as a flame ; His morality and accident of life No longer exist, But only the silence and soul of prayer. IN THE INLAND SEA Here the waters of wine with far-off desires, Flere the April breezes with purple flashes familiar and yet forgotten, Oh, here the twilight of the Inland Sea, 1 lere I hear a song without a word, (Is it the song of my flying soul ?) That's the song of my dream I dreamed a thousand years ago, Oh, my dream of the fairy world, oh, the beauty of the Inland Sea ! I sail and sail to-day in this fairy sea, (O my heart, hear the sailors' song of life !) I sail leaving the welcoming isles far behind, 48 IN THE INLAND SEA (Hear the isles bidding adieu, O my heart !) I sail towards the chanting sky. O birds with white souls, steer my soul with white love, Here the sea of my dream, Oh, the beauty of the Inland Seal 49 LITTLE FAIRY Little Fairy, Little Fairy by a hearth, Flight in thine eyes, Hush on thy feet, Shall I go with thee up to Heaven By the road of the fire- flame ? Little Fairy, Little Fairy by a river, Dance in thy heart, Longing at thy lips, Shall I go down with thee to ' Far- A way ' Rolling over the singing bubbles ? LITTLE FAIRY Little Fairy, Little Fairy by a poppy, Dream in thy hair, Solitude under thy wings, Shall I sleep with thee to-night in the golden cup, Under the stars ? O YOSHI SAN With a fan, with the little joy of Japan, Dance you O Yoshi San : Your dress, red and white, flashes on Like the falling leaves of dream. Your odour of silver breast Returns as from a hidden road, Fairy girl, your footsteps Are the echoes of memory gold ; In your dark eyes I read My unfulfilled desire of age: With whispers, with a diamond heart, I kneel to you like a sigh. O YOSHI SAN O vision of love of Japan, O my returning memory, Are you not the shadow of my soul, Speak, speak, you fairy girl I 53 BIRD OF SILENCE Older than love and tears, Bird of silence born before the world and wind were made, Lonely ghost away from laughter and life, Wing down, I welcome thee, From the skies of thoughts and stars, Bird of Silence, mystery's brother, as white And aloof as is mystery, Tired of humanity and of voice, With thee, bird of Silence, I long to sail Beyond the seas where Time and sorrows die, Bird of silence, dweller of eternity and space, Make me live in the thought before dawn was born, I lost the voice as a willow spray 54 BIRD OF SILENCE To whom a thrill is its golden song, As a lotus whose break of cup Is the sudden cry after aerial dance. 55 MY SOUL AND HARP I have laid my harp on the grass, The clouds fly. My soul follows the clouds afar, With the breezes. My soul flew, and tired, and returned to the The harp was waiting for my touch of hands Harp, my Love, we shall never part, Oh, never, again ! My harp, we shall not sing our grids Under the moon : Thy strings and my soul Lo ! are turning to gold. 56 MY SOUL AND HARP Let me, O Moon and my harp, forget the world and Life, In the depth of night ! (In yonder orchard there The flowers are breathing odours alone.) KYOTO Mist-born Kyoto, the city of scent and prayer, Like a dream half-fading, she lingers on : The oldest song of a forgotten pagoda bell Is the Kanio river's twilight song. The girls, half whisper and half love, As old as a straying moon beam, Flutter on the streets gods built, Lightly carrying Spring and passion. " Stop a while with me," I said. They turned their powdered necks. How delicious ! " No, thank you, some other time," they replied. Oh, such a smile like the breath of a rose ! 53 SONG'S WAY Song's way is twilight-still, She comes riding on the sigh of a reed, Her home is the bosom of the wind ; Fairy unseen, with longing of rain, Wandering ghost of rain, sad and grey, Voiceless ghost with rapture of light, To surprise thee from behind is her joy, Butterfly seeking mystery to the stars, Bird roaming the castles of clouds, To command her I have no power, But here at the twilight place, In the twilight of the day, I sit yearning for her sight of wonder ; O spirit of a thousand faces and thoughts, Make me live ajjain in the soner of old ! MY LITTLE BIRD My little bird, My bird born in my Mother's tears, She flies, Stretching her wings so, And from under her wings she drops my Mother's message: " Come home, Beloved ! " Running out from my Mother's bosom, My little river, She suddenly stopped her song, And looking up to the sun, She in her ripples flashed my Mother's message : " Beloved, come home ! " MY LITTLE BIRD My roses, My little roses grow in my Mother's breath, They are sad to-day, Casting their faces down ; On their petals I read my Mother's message " Come home, Beloved ! '* 6i OH, MY LONG SORROW The stream hastes to an Eden's shady nook : Its silvery steps are my Beauty's to meet with the moon. Oh, long stream ! Oh, my long sorrow ! A breeze disappears under the willow's swing : Its yellow laughters are my Beauty's along a lily road. Oh, long willow's swing ! Oh, my long sorrow ! A swallow soars into the soul of the Sun : Its way is my Beauty's to conquer all my heart. Oh, long swallow's soar ! Oh, my long sorrow ! 62 OH, MY LONG SORROW My tears fall over a rose gazing down : The breath of the rose is my Beauty's, half love, halt scorn, Oh, long silence of the rose ! Oh, my long sorrow 1 THE NIGHT KOTO PLAYER The thought of her presence (a bit of flesh and love) Makes the dusk of night the dusk of perfume. Sudden as a kiss her rings glow ; Over the dusk strings her fingers flow as a wave. O the breeze of melody of her heart and that of the night, The ghost musical that dies into the pang of dream ! 6 4 THE CALLING CRY Already in the morn the Sun hears the cry The calling cry from the heart of the West. Oh, my bird, are you hurrying back the road, Hearing the calling cry from your far-'way nest ? My gentle soul, tarry, and sing the song, while the flowers bloom ! (Do you hear the calling cry from the path to the Unseen ?) The flowers and Spring will soon be dead : The road for their spirits shall be your road beyond. Will you not journey together with them, Soul my beloved ? But, tarry a while ! 65 " SHINNEN OMEDETO " * Again" the First-Day of the year, again the Mother- Earth is glad : Again she steps in her white smile with the Sun Such a golden sun in the depth of. the sky. Lo, he lifts and lifts his shield, He flashes and flashes mystery of his sword, 4 lie moves and moves like a gold full of Silence and Love, Me looks and looks, and he loves and loves her, brave and soft: Hail, hail, this is the white First-Day of year. lie rises and rises reddened in his passion, I le reaches and reaches round her waist, i And holds and holds her sure like a Man, * I wish you a happy new year.' 66 " SHINNEN OMEDETO " He kisses and kisses, he embraces and embraces, He nurses and nurses, he warms and warms in his Love, And again he kisses, and again he embraces her the Mother-Earth. Aye, to-day the Sun is glad and the Mother-Earth is glad again : Hail, hail, white First-Day of the year 1 HER WEAPONS ARE A SMILE AND A LITTLE FAN Her weapons are a smile and a little fan. Sayonara, sayonara . Her bent neck like that of a stork Seeking a jewel of heart in the ground ! Her wisdom is folded sweet in her bosom. Sayonara, sayonara . . . Her flapping robe like a cloud That follows a lyric of butterfly ! Her song is on her tips of naked feet. Sayonara, sayonara . . . Beat of her wooden clogs Playing the unseen strings of love ! THE PASSING OF SUMMER An empty cup whence the light of passion is drunk !- To-day a sad rumour passes through the trees, A chill wind is borne by the stream, The waves shiver in pain ; Where now the cicada's song long and hot ? THE PILGRIMAGE PART II CONTENTS PAGE My Heart 69 An Autumn Dirge -...----.70 Let us March towards Manchuria ------ 74 The Lotus Worshipers --------- 77 Lines ------------79 The Eastern Sea 80 The Song of Songs, Which Is th- Mikado's - ... 82 To a Temple Garden ---------85 The Moon Light - - 86 She says She left Literature Long Time Ago 87 To a Sparrow ----------89 Peace 90 The Fancy-Butterfly ....91 Right and Left . . 93 O Aki San 94 Night 98 Amid the Trees 99 The Dawn on a Shore --------- 100 The Falling Leaves 103 O Yen San 105 Out of a Kingdom's Fire 107 The Rains 108 The Japanese Night 109 The Heike Singer Ill In Japan Beyond ---------- 112 Tragedy 114 Songs of Insects ----- .-.-- 115 PAGE The Azaleas "6 Dream ? Let It he so, Pray ! 117 Here I Hear a Footstep ---------119 Spring ------------ 121 To O Suzu Chan the Puss 122 Japan in July- ---------- 323 Evening ------------ 124 Voices 125 The Japanese Girl 126 Cradle Songs I 127 II 128 III 130 Hauta I 131 II 132 III ]?3 IV 134 V 135 VI 13fi Hokku I 137 II 13S III 139 IV ----- 130 V HI VI 142 MY HEART Oh Lord, is it the reflection of my heart of fire ? Is it, my Lord, the sunset flashes of the Western sky ? Oh Lord, is it the echo of my heart of unrest ? Is it, my Lord, the cry of a sea breaking on the sand ? Oh Lord, is it the voice of my sorrowful heart ? Is it, my Lord, the wail of a wind seeking the road in the dark? Oh Lord, is it the dripping tears of my heart ? Is it, my Lord, the rain carrying tragedy from the Heavens ? 7 o AN AUTUMN DIRGE* I sat down, one night, with a book, (Book, Night and Solitude with me) ; A sudden voice towards the South and West swept on. It began like the sigh of a breeze Along the path of poesy and Love, under the moon, And it grew to the stir of waves upon the shore : Then what a roar of breakers of the mad night, Amid the wind and rains with fire on tongue I The voice burst on the hanging bell : The pendants alarmed to the voice. It was like the soldiers' march, Their eyes set upon the enemy and stars, Varied somewhat from an old Chinese poem AN AUTUMN DIRGE 71 With no shout of orders in the air, But the stamp of the feet chanting Victory. "Boy, what noise is that?" I said. "Go forth, and see ! " " Sir, the moon shines, the ' Silver River ' girdles the sky: Without, no sound of men is heard, But only the murmur of trees and stars." " Autumn ! Autumn ! " I cried. " Is it thus, O boy, that Autumn comes? Autumn, the frost-eyed, with ill heart ! Autumn, season of Tragedy and mists, Autumn, season of ashen sky without clouds, (How my soul longs to sail in Poesy by the clouds !) Autumn, season of blasts and tears, Autumn, season of emptiness and dusts ! 72 AN AUTUMN DIRGE Autumn comes close with icy breath, And falls on Life with a sudden shout. All the gowns of green of the forest and field Will be cast in the ruiner 's face : Autumn, the executioner, solemn in black, With many-angled temper and swords, Autumn, the Demon, with wings in the air of Death ! How we loved Spring-days of birth and laughter ! How sad is the hour when maturity passes ! The roses and trees in grey season must die. A hundred cares pain our human hearts, Our desires mark wrinkles on our brows, And our Selves bend underneath the weight of Life. How hastily our eyes are turned towards decay, While our feet strive on the Perfection road, Smelling the odours of flowers unknown ! AN AUTUMN DIRGE 73 O boy, where is an eternal frame for man ? And who is it, but himself, that steals his strength away ? Tell me, O boy, how shall he charge Against the Autumn blast fallen on his back ? " My innocent boy was asleep under the cricket's song. 74 Mikado, Emperor of Emperors, fed by Love and prophecy, Now his blood boils under the whirlwind of anger, He does not sleep beneath the wintry stars : The splendour of his mind is the stars' mind. Eight hundred and eight gods guarding Japan Place their Faith in his bosom, the Castle of Patience. His presence is the presence of Holy Fuji, The steadfastness of Japan, the glory of Asia, A god born out of the vastness of the Eastern Seas. He proclaims in a voice like a step of Earthquake : " How long Justice has been lost from the world ! How long Light and Love have been dead ! Let here with us be the red Judgement Day ! LET US MARCH TOWARDS MANCHURIA 75 Let us build a god's world as our father built ! Behold, Sun and Moon never disturb one another's realm ! Ijet us drive away the nation invading a neighbour's domain ! Let us teach them to respect another's right ! Let from this day righteousness return again ! " Is it the midnight voice of a sea charging to the moon ? Is it the cry of a wind through the woodland ? Nay, trumpets calling all the soldiers to arms ! Is it the blast of a lightning piercing the sky ? Nay, soldiers' sword answering the Mikado's command ! Come, brothers, from the valleys of centuries' peace, Come, brothers, from the fields with grapes of prosperity. Let us stand to arms ! Let us march towards Manchuria ! J6 LET US MARCH TOWARDS MANCHURIA Is it the sob of the mothers we leave behind ? Is it our lovers' farewell echoing in our ears ? Nay, our swords impatient stir in the scabbards ! Hark, trumpets blow calling to arms ! Let us march towards Manchuria ! Let us sweep in like a northern tempest 1 Written at the time of the Russo-Japan War. * 77 THE LOTUS WORSHIPERS From dale and hill the worshipers steal In whitest robes : yea, with whitest souls. They sit around the holy pond, the lotus home, Their finger- tips folded like the hushing lotus-buds Thrust through the water and twilight, nun-like, And they pray (the silent prayer that is higher than the prayer of speech). The stars and night suddenly cease their song, The air and birds begin to stir. (O Resurrection, Resurrection of World and Life!) I,o, Sun ascend ! The lotus buds flash with hearts parted, With one chant " Namu, Amida ! " The stars disappear, nay, they fall in their hearts. 78 THE LOTUS WORSHIPERS The worshipers turn their silent steps towards their homes, Learning the stars will fall in their truthful souls, That the road of sunlight is the road of prayer, And for Paradise. Their faces shining under the sun's blessing gold, They chant the divine name along the woodland. 79 LINES The sun I worship, Not for the light, but for the shadows of the trees he draws : O shadows welcome like an angel's bower, Where I build Summer-day dreams ! Not for her love, but for the love's memory, The woman I adore : Love may die, but not the memory eternally green The well where I drink Spring ecstasy. To a bird's song I listen, Not for the voice, but for the silence following after the song : O Silence fresh from the bosom of voice ! Melody from the Death-Land whither my face does ever turn! So THE EASTERN SEA I say my farewell to the Western cities : I will return to the Eastern Sea, To my isle kissed first ever by the sun, I will now go to my sweetest home, And lay there my griefs on a mountain's breast, And give all my songs to the birds, and sleep long. A wind may stir the forest, I may awake, I will whistle my joy of Life up to a cloud : The life of the cloud will be my life there. How tall my lover now would be ! 5he was two inches shorter than I long ago. When mid the wistarias the moon-lantern is lit, I and she will steal to measure our heights THE EASTERN SEA 8 1 By their drooping flowers drooping calm like peace. Shall she win, I will pay her my kisses seven : I will take her seven kisses if I win : So all the same the kisses shall be mine. Then we will walk by the idols the saint's and poet's, And assure them that Life is but Love : With Love and Chrysanthemum I will remain forever. New York, 1904. THE SONG OF SONGS, WHICH IS THE MIKADO'S Sons of the Island, whose dark eyes beam the stainless glory of thy snowy souls, Sing the beauty of the goddess' robes on the trees ! Aye, sing the cherry blossoms bloom ! The April clouds flowers in disguise floating down from the heaven above, Lodge on the land that land the Lord called forth in the midst of the waters. The Muse colours the mirror-river that runs as a vein of the earth With the flowers of deep passion that glow on the banks. THE SONG OF SONGS, WHICH IS THE MIKADO'S 83 Daughters of the Mikado, who roam among the cherry blooms, Ye seem as maiden goddesses love-chattering in the paradise of the clouds. I love the Spring I love the flowers' smile that enveils my soul I awaken from a dream in the ensainted garden where gods chant the perfection of the sorrowless world. The earth oft drinks the sweet wine of the rain ; The heaven of the Spring blushes musing on the flowers' beauty. Oh, sunset fires of the western sky ! Be thou rather out under the sky than in thy home, we dare not in sleep lose the time of the Spring of the night ! The flowers breathe celestial odours that curl as messengers unto the heaven ; 84 THE SONG OF SONGS, WHICH IS THE MIKADO'S The painter-Moon brushes the ground with the dreamy shadows of the cherry blossoms. Behold, the Lady, pale and shy as willow leaves, (O, Spirit of the Flower!) Smiles, leaning on the tree, looking beyond over the western nation clamouring in the market. Written in 1898. TO A TEMPLE GARDEN I that sit in your haven am a sea-tossed boat ; I lay my body and sail under your breath. You that pitied me, you that greeted me, Oh, what a scent that is the Lord Buddha's ! Here the air, mist-purple, is laden with prayer ; Ah, let me join to your prayer and soul ! (Ah, Holiness, Holiness !) Touch me, heal my sea-wounded heart *, Your hand, blessed, is but the Nirvana's. 86 THE MOON LIGHT When the moon falls upon the bosom of earth With never a spoken word, as in prayer the earth cries The whitest of all sighs, (the two hearts in one blessing !) And upon the grass I alone stand and gaze Over the world's beauty of ruin, the highest. O, wash me and wash me again with thy light, And burn my body to turn to a flame of soul ! It is this moment that I conquer the intervention of flesh, And its rebellions that worked at unexpected time, I;.'s not too much to say I am a revelation or a wonder, \Yinging as a falcon into the breast of loveliness and air. SHE SAYS SHE LEFT LITERATURE LONG TIME AGO I used to fancy In her the deathless romance of Cathay, And declare she was the beauty of endless time and song : How she laughed calling me too old-fashioned, And advised I should change a bit of my point of view. (She never talked romance and eternity.) Her life, Oh, yes, I did not know before its meaning well, Is that of a water or cloud passing in light : Change is not her ruin but the way of soaring. She is a plea for the evanescences and time: " Life ! Life, only Life," she exclaimed. J ler voice is the response to the deliverance and truth ; 88 SHE SAYS SHE LEFT LITERATURE LONG TIME AGO Her salvation lies in the accord of music of her soul : She says she left literature a long time ago. What a fool I was to think of her as a book of old poems ! TO A SPARROW Sudden ghost That danced out again from the shadow and rest, Hunter of the memory and colour of thy last life, Dost thou find the same humanity, the same dream ? Consecrator of every moment, Holder of the genius for living, Thy one moment might be our ten years : Does it tempt, console and frighten thee ? Ghost of nerve, If thy voice be curse, It is with all thy soul, If it be repentance, It is with all thy body. Oh would that I could relish the same sensation as thou ! PEACE The tedious wheeling of night-Eternity ! The shadowy peace mantles the world where Love and Dreams sleep in Infinitude. O, new-born world of richest fantasy ! The land and sea, moon and mortals wrap the Dimness about their breasts. Ah, the world reposes with the mother-Solitude, under whose wings the stars and I harken to the sermon of Silence 1 THE FANCY-BUTTERFLY And here among the dandelions and pines, Where angels robed in gossamer sing the Life, The butterfly of Fancy I try fo seize, (Lo, her wing-flashes silver and gold, Lo, her wing-flashes red and white !) . . . . the butterfly now before me, and now behind me, (Lo, her wing-flashes white and red, Lo, her wing-flashes gold and silver!) Why must you mock me so, fancy-butterfly ? Go from me now, Fancy, mocking elf, Wearied of you am I, and leave me alone, I from weariness one day shall die at your feet, 92 THE FANCY BUTTER- FLY Go from me now, Fancy, let me rest ! Fancy, O cruel spirit, were you not once my own ? I have fed you before, and you slept in my heart. And how strangely you flap and mock me to-day ! Were you not to me once anear, O Fancy-butterfly ? And how far-away you are to-day, deceiving soul ! (Lo, her wing-flashes silver and gold, Lo, her wing-flashes red and white 1) 93 RIGHT AND LEFT The mountain green at my right : The sunlight yellow at my left : The laughing winds pass between, The river white at my left : The flowers red at my right : The laughing girls go between. The clouds sail away at my right ; The birds flap down at my left : The laughing moon appears between. I turned left to the dale of poem ; I turned right to the forest of Love : But I hurry Home by the road between. 94 O AKI SAN Aki San and I walked into the Love valley, 1 with my face towards O Aki San, Aki San with eyes upon the violets : 1 never knew how sweet is the air Till we walked arm in arm. We danced and sang in the valley, Under the wood of Life : I am of whitest breath, O Aki San of Spring beauty. Twas her achievement of grace that she Thoughtlessly cast her eyelashes : Her charm rose higher when she Stopped confused, not finding the word O AKI SAN 95 Fit for her special thought. She sat herself down beside me, Excused from her dignity, And said that I must not think About her face alone : I know well that woman's humbling Is her pride in disguise. Her content grew to its full size In my praise over her beauty. She showered on me her rich smile And bliss : I wondered how I Could merit such a luxury. My happy footsteps around her Were those of an ecstatic priest In wonder, in worship, and in prayer : My flesh grew in her presence. 0(5 O AKI SAN I made a heavenly promise with her eyes : The beam of poem from her heart, Which others could not see, Sprang into my own bosom. Her each word was a passionate kiss, Her kiss made me understand what she could not speak. And her eyes made her meaning simple. When she softly folded her wings of smile, Her beauty was melancholy grey ; When she washed her hair in dewy fancy, Her laughter had a silvery sound : Her touch of hand was the touch of a star. She had innocent tact of love in each wink, Mighty valour in her light smile. God gathered the beauty From flowers and seas, O AKI SAW 97 And spread it in her face : So every reflection of sea and flower I could trace in her face : Her face is an open book I cannot all read, But with suggestion I am content. 98 NIGHT I hail the goddess Night whose sacred melody weaves unheard flowery tales of a thousand years. Her's the blessed task to bring peace to the heart that has parted from the land of Content. 0, Night, a brooding love-mantle warming the mortal to full-bodied ease ! Behold, the gracious throne of the empress Moon, whose heaven beams messages unto me ! 1, an humble among mortals, respond to a lulling strain of the velvety night ! O, idle Spirit of the Night, open the doors of the star- shiines to unite the earth with the heavens ! 99 AMID THE TREES I cease to be caustic and savage amid the trees : Restlessness of satire is not my property. 'Tis enough miracle I roam to-day with the wind : Tarry awhile, though thou hast to fly, my soul of poesy! Happy to be biographers of each other, I and a bird : We read histories, but not through song. O mythological reality to have a star from flower dead : If I ever die, seek a camellia intent 1 100 THE DAWN ON A SHORE I dreamed I crawled out of darkest hell, Maddened by the torture of the terrible show, With blood-shotten eyes numbed by useless gazing Towards the bliss of the stars. I crawled out, at last, Into the breezes of dawn, Into the breezes whose taste I had forgotten long. I trembled, feeling the sudden stir of life ; The green odour of the dawn and immortality Slowly revived my soul. Was there one more dreadful to see Than my face stained with the blackest stain, Mercilessly touched by the leprous breath THE PAWN ON A SHORE IOI Of the sufferers in the Pit ? I turned my face to the eastward, I smelled the coming of morning As the cattle smell the pool at a distance. I ran to receive the golden kiss of the goddess of light and of love That rose from the seas with the throbbing song of glory The Song oi the Resurrection. Two angels danced around the sun, in white splendour : The angel Joy in crimson dress, With silvery flashes from her eyes, With flowers in her richest hair of cloud ; The angel Faith in sable robe, With silent brow and lips of infinity. My cheek suddenly flowered frangrant and red ; IO2 THE DAWN OX A SHORE My eyes beamed with the old glad dreams, The morning dews of joy and love Richly grossed my sun-kissed hair. 103 THE FALLING LEAVES The sun (the reflection of my soul blown by the wind?) Is very low in the forest : What a heart- flame of the sun and falling leaves, The hearts of the last song and beauty, The beauty of intensity and weariness in life ! The falling light of the sun and silence flashes my picture of heart, The picture of long ago drawn by M. G. ; I can trace, under the light, the secrets she hid with art and tears, I low shone, I remember well, her finger-nails when she held the brush ! IO4 THE FALLING LEAVES The beauty of the falling leaves and sun passes into the dusk, And my picture of heart into the wilderness of sigh. IDS O YEN SAN Far beyond the forest my Beauty abides, (O Yen San sweet, O Yen San sweet) : Her bosom is the nest of a nightingale, She hides Love and Dream in her hair, Nine times a day she mirrors her face in a brook. Yen San sweet ! O Yen San sweet ! A peony and O Yen San smile to the cloud and me : Longing to know how fares she, 1 step on the gossamer and poppy ; The shadow of a fir-tree is her shadow of arm : Underneath the shadow I sing Love and Spring. She seizes her guitar and strikes the strings, (O Yen San sweet, O Yen San sweet) : Her voices white are the voices of a crane. 106 O YEN SAN Out of the home of stars and breeze, She cast her glance on me, Like the cherry blossoms upon a Western dale. O Yen San sweet ! O Yen San sweet ! With O Yen San let me live, And weave a langhter from the Eternity ! OUT OF A KINGDOM'S FIRE The queen of the dews and of flaming hope, Izanami* the mother ever thinks of the day When, from the bridge of love and mist, Her first song of glory sailed to the wind : How high jumped the sun and*moon, The wood and river in brotherhood joy 1 Come, children, out of a kingdom's fire, Out of humanity's ruin and wound, Com^ where your laugh shrilled the hills, And set the waves dancing to the music of a star. Forget the fall of hope and dust of love : How dearer than love is a shiver of weed, How less great human hope than a twitter of bird ! *In the beginning of the world the god Izanagi and the goddess Izanami stood on Amano Ukihashi or Heaven's Floating Bridge. io8 THE RAINS The rains are born as a dream And die as an art In a moment : Oh, phantoms of my hope and death 1 My soul dances On their silver strings : Alas I'm dancing On my own saddest song. The flowers, trees, mountains and world, With the tears of the rains, They wash their lives and sins : Would my soul soar Into a newer life, Into the depth ? 109 THE JAPANESE NIGHT The scented purple breezes of the Japanese night ! The old moon like a fairy ship of gold Softly through the dream sea begins to rock on : (I hear the unheard song of Beauty in the "moon ship, I hear even the whisper of her golden dress.) The hundred lanterns burning in love and prayer, Float on the streets like haunting memories. The silvery music of wooden clogs of the Japanese girls ! Are they not little ghosts out of the bosom of ancient age ? Are they returning to fulfill their thousand fancies for- gotten ? O the fancy world of the Japanese night Bourn out of the old love and unfulfilled desires ! IIO THE JAPANESE NIGHT The crying love song of the Japanese night, The shamisen* music of hungry passion and tears ! O the long wail of heart through the darkness and love! *A certain guitar of three strings. Ill THE HEIKE* SINGER The griefs of emperors and warriors he sings, The tears and love of ladies he sings, With the sorrow and pride of old Japan , His song, that of Autumn eve sad and twilight-grey, His song, half a dream, half a pain, Is to him a prayer to put sorrow away ; Under the shadow of centuries old, How it totters like the falling ghosts of leaves : His hope is to lay memory down, be released. *The Heikc or Heike Monogatari is the old Japanese epic on the rise and fall of the Heike clan. 112 IN JAPAN BEYOND Do you not hear the sighing of a willow in Japan, (In Japan beyond, in Japan beyond) In the voice of a wind searching the Sun lost, For the old faces with memory in eyes ? Do you not hear the sighing of a bamboo in Japan, (In Japan beyond, in Japan beyond) In the voice of a sea urging with the night, For the old dreams of a twilight tale ? Do you not hear the sighing of a pine in Japan (In Japan beyond, in Japan beyond) In the voice of a river in quest of the Unknown, For the old ages with gold in heart ? IN JAPAN BF.YONI) 1 13 Do you not hear the sighing of a reed in Japan, (In Japan beyond, in Japan beyond) In the voice of a bird who long ago flew away, For the old peace with velvet-sandalled feet ? TRAGEDY The shadow of a lonely willow Swings Ghastly, ghastly; The roads are lost In the hoary-haired mists of eve ; A strange green light in the distance Drifts As a wandering fay ; I hear a wild cry In the dark air, In the stream, In the stars. SONGS OF INSECTS Under the night of full breath, Fired by the wine the golden goblet-moon spilt, The insects are mad in their tremour of hearts : There are a thousand voices of joy and dance, But only one song of sadness and ghost. O passionate song of ones, I believe, returned to the ground, Now awakening to the sad songs they still left unsung ! The spirit of a song is never content till it is fully sung : O the passionate songs of night and wounded heart, Are they not the cry of my soul of fever and dream ? THE AZALEAS The flashes of azaleas red and white Die and burn and die again : The sun and clouds part and meet and part again. Among the clouds of azaleas white and red I see one flash never die : O the idyl beauty of her face! Hey for my heart's delight ! Is she not waiting for my love and song Among the clouds of azaleas red and white ? DREAM ? LET IT BE SO, PRAY ! (Dream? Let it be so, pray !) The flowers Laugh high laughters, Like a tide Golden and deep : My soul jumps To welcome them. (Dream ? Let it be so, pray !) In such an hour, Shouting and wild, I call you to join me, Fair spirit, And then like a star, DREAM? LET IT BE so, PRAY! I am still, With tny heart full in joy. (Dream ? Let it be so, pray !) But like a cloud, Free and light, Forced by fancy, Knowing not where, And yet, I am glad To wander away .... (Dream ? Let it be so, pray !) 119 HERE I HEAR A FOOTSTEP Here I hear a footstep, Its voice is grey and soft: Is it that of a forgotten ghost ? So, a rain-drop drops, .... Yes, one, two, three. Up in the sky there is a cloud, Its sight is old as Earth : Who says it is the passing soul ? At my feet I see a falling leaf, And the cloud is gone. After the night wind blows My soul follows to seek Rest : I2O HERE I IIEAK A FOOTSTEP Is the wind my mother lost ? Under the robe of darkness and love My heart throbs happily with bliss. 121 SPRING In my Lover's eyes brooding upon my soul, In her gait along the Love- road, the road to Heaven and my heart, In her smile blossoming from Speechlessness, In her touch of hand, reviving my sleeping spirit, In the song of the skylark, In my poems, In the breath of the wind, In the water-bubbles, In the lily, In the tree, Spring ! 122 TO O SUZU CHAN THE PUSS The voice of a night of hush, (Is it the silver thrill of a star?) The voice of the depth of love, (Is it the falling note of a rose's petal ?) I hear in thy throat, O Suzu Chan, the very string The musicians lost in the dusts of age ; O the voice of the fairies of dance Beckoning to the wind of sorrow, O the voice of joy turned to pain I 123 JAPAN IN JULY The vision of the sunset light Of ghostly white : The day is the twilight perfume Too full to fly away. O, Japan in milky July, What an art of dream untold ! You know, over the blue and deep of the seas, (O the wilderness of the Pacific!) Like a lantern in love-air, she sways In pain that is song. 124 EVENING Evening with breezes that revive my memories, Evening, my refuge where my sighing eyes hurry to meet with the stars ! All the leaves and flowers drop their tired brows in Evening's purple breath. Lo ! Adams and Eves turn their footsteps towards their homes. I alone wait for the Moon's ascent longing to see my own shadow, My one wooer in the whole world. 125 VOICES ist Spirit. Into the leaves the spring of breeze strays, I, with the bell rung, seek down the road of eve. 2nd Spirit. The joy of the sea is that of Summer mist, The rise and fall of tide is my prayer to the heart of song. 3rd Spirit. Weaving a dress of journey, I'm Autumn spirit, My way is where a leaf flies up to the sky. 4th Spirit. I come down riding on the Winter snow, Only to wait to be saved by the love of sunlight. 126 THE JAPANESE GIRL O the oldest yet youngest love of the Japanese girl, her fading yet lingering scent of heart ! Let me kiss her ivory cheeks and let me die, In the kiss I taste the youngest soul out of the ages old, 1 taste a rose out of the oldest brown earth. Her smile is the mist rising to the morning sun, Her cry the evening bell dying into the dusk, She is a creation of sadness and love, A Spring lantern floating in the song. I2 7 CRADLE SONGS I Sleep, my love, your way of dream By the fireflies shall be lighted, That I gather from the heart of night. Your father is off, good night, To buy the honey from the stars : The city of stars is away a hundred miles. But by the dawn he will return, Riding on the horses of the dews, For you, with a drum as big as the sun 128 CRADLE SONGS II Shed no tear, no tear ! Mother shall soon return from the moon, from the moon, From the home of laughter and Spring, With a bag of powder white for your face, With a pearl-tree branch for your hair. Dry your eyes, dry your eyes ! Mother shall soon return from under the sea, from undei the sea, From the home of honey and bliss, With a sack of tea odorouF with dews, (You shall learn taste of tea next to Love,) Which mother will steep in the purple haze, under a cherry tree, CKADLE SONGS 129 By a singing river, And she will teach you first steps under the bluest sky. Shed no tear, dry your eyes I 130 CRADLE SONGS III The flowers are nodding Above your head ; The flowers are made with sorrows seven, And laughters three which are the best. The sorrows seven your mother keeps, (Mother's way is that of pain), But the laughters three make you fair and gay, I rock you, fairy boat on the tide of love. Sleep, my own, till the bell of dusk Bring the stars laden with a dream ; With that dream you shall awake Between the laughters and song. HAUTA* His haori\ She hid, His sleeves She held. \ " Must you go, my lord,** Says she. From the lattice window She slid The si; oft si ight, And she cries : " Don't you see the snow ? *Japanese popular song. fOver-coat. HAUTA II After parting from you I come in the forest of pine, After parting from you, I pass by the road of stars : Oh, dews on the leaves, Oh, tears on my sleeves ! Are they stars on the grass ? Are they my tears that fall ? I'm a night dew, beloved, While you are the star : The more you be wet, The more your loveliness will grow ; The more you be sad, The more your love will shine. HAUTA III Is it wrong to love you so ? O lord, pity my heart that only knows to cry ! Even a bird hurries to build her nest : Won't you be a plum tree for a nightingale of my heart ? my love, won't you be so ? Sassa, yoiwa na ! 'Tis for you that I sail on a sea of love, Sassa, yoiwa na, The sea may be forty five miles wide, Sassa, yoiwa na, 1 sail on the sea for love, my lord; Is it wrong to love you so ? Sassa, yoiwa na I 134 HAUTA IV Did O Kin San marry ? Not O Shin San yet ? O Ren San goes willy-willy after every wind^that blows. O Gin San is a flirt, She ever plays love through the year. Oh, let them be so ! (Soda, soda, hontoni soda /) Did the plum bloom ? Not the cherry tree yet ? The willow swings willy-willy after every wind that blows The rose is a flirt, She ever plays love through the year. Oh, let them be so 1 (Hontoni soda, soda, soda /) HAUTA 135 More than a cicada of song The songless firefly burns his own heart. Sassa, yoiya na ! Why in the world did I tell my love To a lord who knows not love ? Sassa, yoiya na, Three streaks of smoke I am, my lord, From the Asama mountain high, Only rising to turn to a cloud. (Oh, I would fall as the rain, my lord !) Sassa, yoiya na I 136 HAUTA VI The dew says she slept with the firefly ; The firefly says he never slept with the dew. She says yes, he says no, He says no, she says yes. Ifa, ha, ha, the glow of the firefly betrays The secret of his heart, yoiya sa, ha, ka t ha / 137 HOKKU* Where the flowers sleep, Thank God ! I shall sleep, to-night. Oh, come, butterfly ! *" Hokku " (seventcen-syllable poem) in Japanese mind might be compared with a tiny star, I dare say, carrying the whole sky at its back. It is like a slightly-open door, where you may steal into the realm of poesy. It is simply a guiding lamp. Its value depends on how much it suggests. The Hokku poet's chief aim is to impress the reader with the high atmosphere in which he is living. Herewith I present you some of my English adaptations of this peculiar form of Japanese poetry. 138 HOKKU II Fallen leaves ! Nay, spirits? Shall I go downward with thee 'Long a stream of Fate ? HOKKU III Lo, light and shadow Journey to the home of night Thou and I to Love 1 139 140 HOKKU IV My Love's lengthened hair Swings o'er me from Heaven's gate Lo, Evening's shadow ! HOKKU I4 1 Waking or sleeping ? O " No- More " older than world I Be 'way, earthly care I 142 HOKKU VI Speak not 'gain, O Voice ! The Silence washes off sins : Come not 'gain, O Light! APPENDIX THE POETRY OF YONE NOQUCHT (From the Fortnightly Review, September, 1910) So-SHT, a Chinese philosopher, dreamed that he was a butterfly, and, in the mement of waking, asked himself: "Are you So-shi who has dreamed that lie was a butterfly, or are you a butterfly who is dreaming that he is So-shi?" That question is continually repeated in the works of Yone Noguchi, who seems, indeed, to have the freedom of two worlds, and to find reality as often in one as in the other. Noguchi i.s for ever in doubt of his own existence, suspicious of appearances, and searching for tlie reality in things beyond touch or description. "My soul," he writes : >! y in lifca i ii iiy winged fly, roams about the sailings-walled body, hunting for * to fly out. Lo, sud'ieiily, an :ns|>ired bird flies upright into the atom-eyed sky! Ala-:, his reflection .sink* i.u- 'n:rici'ins but -.imost universal practice.- into a theory of poetry. Jint I must not, in rnv i-^re for Li.-* work, pretensl that the poet is the immaterial tluating fairy that he alniust seem-; to be. "I bav .v.irld," ht- says, ' ami, think mo as ntilliii't,', Yot I feel cold on snow-fulling day, And I nippy on flower day." Let ino, before saving more, set down such facts as I know am. written of in tho spaces between the lines, just as between the petals of a flower we may find dreams that the flower has never known, and sugges- tions of something less ponderable than the earth in which it had its roots. An example of hokku poetry will illustrate the method of all Noguchi'a: Where the flowers sleep, Thank God ! I shall sleep to-night. Oh, come, butterfly. That is valuable as a talisman rather than as a picture. It is a pearl to be dissolved in the wine of a mood. Pearls are not wine, nor in themselves to be thought of as drink, but there is a kind of magic in the wine in which they are dissolved. In Xoguchi'.s poems there is the co-operation between silence and '.i of whieh C.irlyle was thinking when he wrote: "InaSyml*>l there is concealment and yet revelation: here therefore by Silence ami Speech acting together, comes a double significance. And if both tin h be itself high, and the Silence fit and noble, how expressive will their union be ! " In many poems of the French symbolists the Speech is almost meaningless, except in the Silei.cj that is coloured by its melody. In Noguchi both Speech and Silence are full of a charm that we can scarcely find in life but in fortunate rare moods. He writes: I am stirring the wares of Reverie with my meaningless but wisdom-wreathed syllable*. But he is incapable of denying his own charm to the carefully-worded accompaniment of the Silence with which he is really concerned. He sees the world with eyes too guileless not to make it alive, even when using it as an invocation. He sees ideas too clearly not to make them, even in a spell, indepsndently vivid for his listeners. For an example of the one take this picture : Alas, the mother cow, with matron eyes, utters her bitter heart, kidnapped of her child- ren by the curling gossamer mist ! For an example of the other, this idea : The Universe, too, lias .somewhere its shadow ; but what about my songs? An there be no shadow, no echoing to the end my broken-throated lute will never :ig>uu be made whole. He is a poet whose flame has been so scrupulously tended as to flicker with the slightest breath. He is as many-mooded as the combinations be- tween sunshine and shadow. His poetry actually is the thing that has in- duced a mood in him, trimmed of all that he had had to remove for him- self, and so made into something between nature and that pure elevation of mind from which Noguchi feels. This quality of pale flame-like emo- tion is common to all his poems, extraordinarily various as they are. Sometimes he speaks with grandeur, as in these lines: When I am lost in the deep body of the mist on a hill, The universe seeius built with me as its pillar ! Am I the God upon the face of the deep, nay deepless deepness in the beginningt Sometimes wistfully : Alas ! mv soul is like a paper lantern, its paste wetted off under the rain. my tuve t wiU ti^vnvlcmM lack to-tiigf,/ ? I/>, the snail at my door stealthily hides his horns. Oh, ptrf forth thy honourable horns for my sake '. W here it Truth ? here is Li g fit : Sometimes questioning : Mr jiootry Ix-.-ins with the tireless son^s of the cricket, on the lean grey-haired hill, in sobsr-faeed evening. And the next jia;_'f- is Stillness . And what then, about the next to that ? Al:is. the God puts hi* BOiTene-OOTerlng h;:inl over it- si,- M'ist r, take off your hand for r (.'!<, n-l many of the poems of his early boul. altered to pro*c simply by the plan of their printing. The type i- differently set on the page and they are called prose poems. J do not k'.'-w -vh-it l--il Noguehi t(. make this experiment, but it proved that tin- irivjuliir. In-. .ken lines in which his poems were originally published had a real power over the effect the words produced. The spai-e-. between the lines were a kind of thought punctuation, and the mind needed these mo- ments Ix-iwet ii the little breathless, scarcely-worded sighs that make his poems. In reading them aloud it becomes clear that the ritual of the line- spacing was more important than that of commas or full-stops. Noguchi's songs are like bird flights, timing themselves with the pulse of the mind that follows them. His ideal is a poetry of pure suggestion whose melody shall be of thought, capricious and uncertain as the mind, but only with the mind's caprice, the mind's uncertainty. The following poem was printed as prose in The Summer Cloud, and as it stands here in TJie Pilgrimage. Little Fairy, Little Faiiy by a hearth, Flight in thine eyes, Hush on thy feet, Khali I go with thee up to Heaviri By the road of the fire-flame? Little Fairy, Little Fairy by a river, Dance in thy heart, Louring at thy lips, .Shall I go down with thee to " Far-Away," Boiling over the singing bubbles? Little Fairly. Little Fairy by a poppy, Dream iu thy hair, Solitude under thy wings, Shall I sleep with thee to-iiight in the golden cup Under the stars ? It is easy, in read ing it aloud, to recognise that its form is not accidental, but follows, breatli for breath, the movements of the mind. But who shall analyse charm, or separate the tints of the opal ? In- writing of Noguchi, T am writing of something that can only be defined by itself. I can only take shred after shred from the cloak of gossamer he has woven for himself, and only hope in doing so to persuade other readers to buy his books and find for themselves a hundred shreds as beautiful as these. The frontispiece to The Pilgrimage is a reproduction of a d rawing by Utamaro, a thing of four pale colours and a splash of black, and made as light as wind by curves as subtle and as indefinable as- those traced by worshipping stars round the object of their adoration. I had forgotten that it is the picture of a girl, and that fact is, indeed, as 8 mmaterial as the titles of Nognchi'j poem*. In looking at it, I forget not only its subject, but the book in which it is, for this art, of poet or painter, Verlaine, Nognchi, Ut imaro, Whistler, frees us, infecting us with its own freedom, from the wurld which is too much witli u.s, for the exploration of that other world of dream which, unless we, too, are children, is with us so fitfully, and so seldom. Beckoned by an appointed hand, unseen yet sure, in holy air, We wander as a wind, silver and free, With one song in heart, we, the children of prayer. Our song is not of a city's f;ill ; No laughter of a kingdom bids our feet wait ; Our heart is away, with sun, wind and rain : We, the shadowy roamers on the holy highway. ARTHUR KASSOME A MARRIAGE OF EAST AND WEST (From the Liverpool Courier) The most remarkable phenomenon in world-politics at present is, of course, the awakening of what we call a Western spirit in the nations of the East. At least, that is how it looks to us ; though no doubt a Japa- nese might perceive strong evidence of Eastern influence working in the West. And doubtless it would be nearer the truth to say that what is roally going on is a mutual exchange of gifts between Eastern and Western civilisations, a mutual absorption of the qualities of each, a drawing together of the two main " streams of tendency " in the human race. Whether this signifies that the East means to conquer the W T est, or that the West is conquering the Eist, is a question that need not bother ns now ; there is, perhaps, no reason for supposing it signifies either. Though the process of exchange is still only rudimentary, we can see with tolerable clearness the main lines on which it is likely to work. The West, it would seem, will export social ideas to the East, and the East will provide the West with the stimulus of her artistic ideals. But the equation is to a certain extent reversible. Has, for example, the patriotism recently shown by Japan in her Russian W r ar had no effect on us in England ? And, on the other hand, European artistic influence has penetrated to the East. We hear of Ibsen and Shakespeare being acted in Japan, and the influence of Dutch draughtsmanship during the early period of commerce with Europe is undoubted, to say nothing of the reported Japanese grafts from Impressionism, the Barbizon School, and German^ Secessionism. The great master of the colour-print. Hokusai, shows signs in his work of a feeling which may, without arrogance, be termed Western, thus demonstrating that the "new spirit" of Japan is not such a sudden growth as many have imagined. Still, in the main, it may be said that Japan is giving us her art in exchange for some of our social organisation ; and possibly the bargain is in our favour. 10 But one of the most remarkable things about this process is that Japan is not merely sending us her art ; she is also sending us her artists. Is this due to a desire on her part that we should better understand her spirit ? It seems, at any rate, very like a conscious effort to proselytise the Aryan nations to the artistic faith which is such a mighty factor in Japanese life; and, if so, it is something of which the West is hardly capable. Lafcadio Hearu immersed himself in Japan ; but he did so in order to put Japan into English. Japan, however, has lately been sending artists to America, England, and France, who deliberately use European form to Japanese ends ; and to these missionaries we owe some extremely refreshing work. And now there comes before us an even more remarkable visitor, a Japanese poet writing in English, using the poetic capabilities of English words to serve Japanese poetic ideals; and he has written out the Anglo-Japanese alliance a good deal more beau- tifully than any politician could. This poet, Mr. Yone Noguchi, has evidently chosen a much harder task than that of his painting brethren. 1 ~:iy "chosen" advisedly, for there is some grounds for believing that graphic and poetic craftsmanship commonly go together in Japanese artists. There is a pleasing story of a young Japanese who, hearing that the English language was supreme in Europe for its poetry, made himself its master in order to pursue the business of poet in England. When he arrived here, however, he was informed that the emoluments of the poetic trade had considerably declined of recent years, and he therefore at once decided that he would not be a poet, but a painter ; and as a painter he found good success. Whether Mr. Yone Noguchi can paint I cannot say; but if we approach his poetry expecting to find in it qualities similar to tho.se we find in Japanese painting, we shall not be disappointed. Mr. Laurence Binyon, in his noble treatise on Eastern painting, remarks tnat the Oriental artist is, in the main, concerned to deal, not with the special splendour of humanity, but, through types and symbols, with the uni- versal Ujng of which mankind is only a part, thus owning the sovereignty II of the Indian ideal. " Not the calory of the naked human form, to Western art the noblest and most expressive of symbols ; not the proud and conscious assertion of human personality ; but, instead of these, all thoughts that lead us out from ourselves into the universal life, hints of the infinite, whispers from secret sources mountains, waters, mists, flower- ing trees, whatever tells of powers and presences mightier than ourselves : these are the themes dwelt upon, cherished, preferred." This is what we find, too, in Mr. Noguchi's book of poems, significantly called "The Pilgrimage " We find it not only in, for instance, the definite form of a sad comparison between the roses (that, absorbed in impc-rsonal bein:j, "live by eating of their own beauty and then die") and the poet, who must continually awake " into the menace of human life ; " not only in such lines as these from the " Proem : " Beckoned by an appointed hand unseen, yet sure, in holy air, We wander as a wind, silver and free, With one song in heart, we, the children of prayer. This Buddhistic sensitiveness to the universal is al"try is in those qualities which escape technical nomenclature : MY HEART. Oh Lori, is it the reflection of my heart of fire? Is it, my Lord, the sunset Hashes of 111 Western sky? Oh Lor. I, is it. the eeho of my heart of unrest .' fs it, my Lord, tin- c-iy of a *';i breaking on the sand? Oh Lord, is it the' voice |>iiii; it -an uf my heart? Is it, my Lord, the rain carryiu,{ tragedy from I he h".u'etis ? But the understanding reader of poetry will quickly perceive that the pivot of Mr. Noguchi's technique is suggestion ; and this, one gathers, 5s true of all Japanese poetry. Words suggest more than they designate, :u:d with us verbal suggestion, of course, plays a vastly important part ; it is the fragrance of our poetry But with us the words they are urged by emotion, are ruled by reason. The Japanese poet, however, wishes to paint a mood, and to do so he relies almost entirely on the suggestive power of words. It is the "aura" of words, their power to call up <:louds of imagined sensuous or mental experience, that is the first thing the Jap.inese poet considers in his composition. We find, therefore, that several tricks of technique, rare with us, are common in Mr. Noguchi's poetry. He will, for instance, mix his sensuous appeal, and give colour to fragrance, fragrance to sound. It is, indeed, quite impossible to ignore the importance he places on suggestion ; for even if we missed it in his manner, he tells us of it outright many times. He can give the night- ingale no higher praise than to say " thou art suggestion; " and of "the new art" (which presumably is Anglo-Japanese art) he say "suggestion is her life." And it is certainly in the highest degree remarkable that a foreigner, and an Oriental at that, should have acquired the insight into our language to enable him to use with such assured mastery the infinite powers of suggestion inherent in English words. Can we learn anything from Mr. Noguchi's poems? Is there any aesthetic " message " in them ? Well, we may learn from his poems what he himself learnt from the sunflower: Thou burstest from mood : How sad we have to cling to experience ! Jfiirvel of thy every atom burning in life. How fully thou livest ! Uidst thou ever think to turn to cold and shadow ? J'assionate livor of sunlight, Symbol of youth and pride ; Thou art a lyric of thy soaring colour ; Thy voicelessness of song is action. What absorption of thy life's meaning. Wonder of thy consciousness Mighty sense of thy existence ! 14 There is something besides exquisite poetry in that, the fine statement of a truth often, indeed, partially, but seldom completely, recognised. Not only action, but the " wonder of consciousness," can make one " live fully ; " and not only that, but the fullest, most passionate life can be in silence, when silence Is "the voicelcssness of song," when the sense of the miracle of perceiving life suddenly burns up the power to express it e?en in thought, when "absorption of lii'e's meaning" strikes one "breathless with adoration." L. A. r> YONE NOGUCHI (From the Conserrater, Philadelphia, July, 1911) *^ Noguchi is a child of two civilizations. Hearn got tired of America. I It- idealized Japan. Japan was his new world. He went there. He married a Japanese woman. He had children. But as time passed the illusion which drew him to Japan faded. Then he turned his eyes to America again. He never came back. But he wished to. He was, in fact, planning for it. He died looking across the sea. Did Noguchi come to America with the same instinct which drew Hearn to Japan ? Did he go back to Japan disillu-ioned ? But, whatever niay have been the interior result, the outwar.1 effect of Hearn's residence in Japan is seen in the wonder books he left behind him. He became a mediator. He stood between. He connected East and West, Noguchi is doing the same thing. He was here too long to ever get us out" of himself again. He can never absolutely recede iato his nativity. When he writes he sounds both sides of the globe. He everywhere shows the contending, and often harmonizing, influences. Noguchi, like Hearn, reaches both ways. He has a beautiful, gentle genius, which shines at epigrams and smartness, but is at home in indefinite atmospheres. He likfs the smell and taste and color and tone of things rather than their philosophy girls, flowers, the stars, odors, a gentle voice, music. They play their full part in his poems. lie writes a simply, emotional English, enriched by carious archaisms which lend a great charm to his free lines. Noguclii uses a liberated verse in which he becomes necessarily very effective. I am glad he does not borrow the terrible rhymings which so disfigure and in fact destroy most of the stuff that is called poetry in the English tongue. He has been very wi.se in knowing what to take from us. He has not adopted us wholesale. That is why his internationalism has made him strong rather than weak. That is why he returned to Japan better off instead of worse off Our artists go to Europe and they either 16 stay there for good or come buck Europeanized. The original, initiating stuff is taken out of them. They have sold their birthright for a mess of pottage. Noguchi \v;is u>o subtle to yield to the blandishments of our occidental make-believe. : Ho saw at once what was worth while in our arts and then just as keenly realized the dangers which attended an ap- prenticeship like his own. Thank God he got home safe. He tO( 1: best we had to give him and kept the best he was born with. You see what this lias meant as you read these ardent, tender, comradely and lover- like poems. They are ua-poiled. Their rhythms are not defiled 1 y a sophistical finesse. They are as Dimple as childhood. They are not virile. They don't quite make a- man feel like walking on a stony road forty miles. They rather make him feel like dreaming forty hours in a rose garden. They lack stir and pulse. They are more competent for giving you peace than for givng you inspiration. We need both. Therefore we can't say one is better than the other. But after working with the West it's comfortable to loaf with the East. We g!-t too much of Europe. Then Asia serves a turn, as Noguchi got too much of Asia and was glad to have Europe serve a turn. Noguchi's :trt is the very latest and the v . Tiny are the same art. For when a man is overflowing with feeling he stops looking for words. He finds looking for him. In such crises the spirit resorts to the speech of its daily life gets clear back to the norm. That's why all literature of the tirst class is characterized by a certain crudeness and nonchalance of That's why the vocabulary of the masters is not borrowed, begged k-n, but earned. Noguchi's English would not be called brutal ; not at all. It rather displays extreme delicacy, almost fragility, of texture. Y t it feels and I looks competent and uncompromising. It is weak. 1 don't know what Noguchi could do with a storm a: but I understand wlm he can do with a quiet day. He is sensu ive. His temperament, his style, his art, are reflective. All of tlu-m always. He shrinks from going the limit. He tries for serenity, for lolling along, for just enough wind in the sails to steady the boat, for n not enough even to rook the boat. There's an allurement in Noguchi. To one of my moods, at least, he brings the calm of the serene spaces. He feeds me lightly, as if even to overfill my rice bowl would add a fatal ounce or two against our upper flights together. I go contentedly with Noguchi then. But another instinct supervenes. Then what am I to do? I say to Noguchi : " Come along." He shakes his he;'.d. " No," he says, " leave me where I am ; go and have your fight out alone." HORACE TRAUBEL 18 PROM TME EASTERN SEA Fifth Edition It has real suggestion and mystery 7'Ae Academy. Expressing itself in a new, personal way, which seems to bring some actual message or fragrance to us from the East. T/te Satur- day J.'eview. The book well reproduces the spirit of the East, both in its meditative repose and its luxuriant imagery. The Times. University of California SOUTHERN REGIONAL LIBRARY FACILITY 405 Hilgard Avenue, Los Angeles, CA 90024-1388 Return this material to the library from which it was borrowed. i r STANGFF, Booksellers 3 11 ti276 3968 \ A 000 091 221 2 University of C Southern Library