Collection of Ten Thousand Leaves is the oldest existing collection of Japanese poetry, compiled some time after 759 AD with poems dating back to 347 AD. The collection is divided into twenty parts or books; this number was followed in most later collections. The collection contains 265 chōka (long poems), 4,207 tanka (short poems), one tanrenga (short connecting poem), one bussokusekika (poems on the Buddha's footprints at Yakushi-ji in Nara), four kanshi (Chinese poems), and 22 Chinese prose passages.
After the storm, I came. But not to see the "damage" but rather catch nature's cycle of renewel. Leaves must fall, fullfiling their destiny to serve their purpose in death as in life. Along the way I'll sprinkle poems from Japan's ancient collection of her first poetic endeavours. These are not mere poems. They are, in fact, the first steps towards an identity unique in all the world. Japan was finding her voice.
Like the ripples
On the shallows of Saho River
Where plovers chirp,
My longing for you
Never ceases for a moment.
On the shallows of Saho River
Where plovers chirp,
My longing for you
Never ceases for a moment.
The world is full of pain
And the shame of poverty
But not being a bird
I cannot fly away.
And the shame of poverty
But not being a bird
I cannot fly away.
In the spring garden
The glow of deep pink peach blossoms-
Onto the radiant path beneath
A young girl comes out.
The glow of deep pink peach blossoms-
Onto the radiant path beneath
A young girl comes out.
As the floating bridge
Of a spring night’s dream
Breaks
A bank of clouds parts from the peak
In the dawn sky.
The colour of the cherry blossom
Has faded vainly
In the long rain
While in idle thoughts
I have spent my life.
Has faded vainly
In the long rain
While in idle thoughts
I have spent my life.
Sending my soul away
To where the moon has sunk
Behind the mountain,
What shall I do with my body
Left in the darkness?
To where the moon has sunk
Behind the mountain,
What shall I do with my body
Left in the darkness?
Broken by the sound of the breeze
That plays on the bamboo leaves
Near the window,
A dream even shorter
Than my fleeting sleep.
That plays on the bamboo leaves
Near the window,
A dream even shorter
Than my fleeting sleep.
In the serene sky
Of a balmy spring day
Larks rise-
Sadness comes to my heart,
Sunk in lonely thought.
Of a balmy spring day
Larks rise-
Sadness comes to my heart,
Sunk in lonely thought.
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