When the autumn wind
blows down from Tokiwa Mountain,
my body fills, as if blushing,
with the colour and scent
of pine.
As I dig for wild orchids
in the autumn fields,
it is the deeply-bedded root
that I desire,
not the flower.
When the water-freezing
winter arrives,
the floating reeds look rooted,
as if stillness
were their own desire.
In the autumn, on retreat at a mountain temple
Although I try
to hold the single thought
of Buddha’s teaching in my heart,
I cannot help but hear
the many cricket’s voices calling as well.
When I was thinking not to age any longer in this world, I saw a small child:
It is easy
to hate this painful world,
but how can I leave
a world
that includes this child?
Believed to be Izumi Shikibu’s final poem, written on her deathbed:
The way I must enter
leads through darkness to darkness ---
O moon above the mounain’ rim,
please shine a little farther
on my path.
Poems Mourning Naishi (Shikibu’s daughter)
Around the time when Naishi died, snow fell, then melted away:
Why did you vanish
into empty sky?
Even the fragile snow,
when it falls,
falls in this world.
During the memorial service for my daughter:
Listen, listen:
longing and loss.
In the struck bell’s
recurrent calling,
no moment in which to forget.