Appendix 1: Taiga’s Poems Written in Chinese (Kanshi)

Fischer, Felice; Kinoshita, Kyoko

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Appendix 1: Taiga’s Poems Written in Chinese (Kanshi)

Felice Fischer, Kyoko Kinoshita

Ike Taiga and Tokuyama Gyokuran: Japanese Masters of the Brush

The sixty-six known kanshi by Taiga are published in Tei Reiun, Bunjin Ike Taiga kenkyū: Chūgoku bunjin shishoga “sanzetsu” no Nihon-teki juyō (Tokyo: Hakuteisha, 1997), pp. 190–323 (hereafter Tei 1997).

Author

Felice Fischer, Kyoko Kinoshita

PublisherPhiladelphia Museum of Art

Stable URL: https://aaeportal.com/?id=-22295

Appendix 1: Taiga’s Poems Written in Chinese (Kanshi)

Translations and notes by Jonathan Chaves

The sixty-six known kanshi by Taiga are published in Tei Reiun, Bunjin Ike Taiga kenkyū: Chūgoku bunjin shishoga “sanzetsu” no Nihon-teki juyō (Tokyo: Hakuteisha, 1997), pp. 190–323 (hereafter Tei 1997).

POEMS INSCRIBED ON PAINTINGS BY TAIGA

1. Inscribed on Waterfall at Mount Minō [cat. 5; SS4]

With reddened cheeks the divine maiden

dances beneath eaves out front;

From deep in a cave, a flute plays Shao music,

luring phoenixes here.

A swath of autumn sunlight beams beyond

worldly dust:

Hanging high from stone walls — a curtain of

pure crystal.

Tei 1997, p. 190.

See also M. Takeuchi 1992a, p. 11.

2. Inscribed on Connoisseur in the Mountains

Autumn ages — two, three trees;

Rain has passed — hills before, behind.

And in the midst, a connoisseur of nature

Travels alone with his walking stick.

Tei 1997, pp. 192–93.

3. Inscribed on Fisherman Returning on the Autumn River [SS27]

As autumn departs, the river village

shows few leaves on the trees;

Alone he rides his tiny skiff

into the setting sun.

Before the islet, the moonlight now

is glowing to perfection:

He pulls his pole inside the boat,

inspired as he returns.

Tei 1997, pp. 194–95.

4. Inscribed on Bamboo and Rock

Beyond the gate of fig-vine plants,

east of the rustic bridge,

A bank now sprinkled by sweet rain,

and half a plot of breeze.

Such rarified feelings! You’d surely think

the work of the Strange Old Man!

Except that, who today could play

the role of Li Yizhong?

— The Strange Old Man once said, “[Li] Yizhong really loves my paintings of bamboo!” Now, my own bamboo are merely to express the free feelings in my heart; why compare them as similar or dissimilar [to Ni’s] as to the thickness or sparseness of the leaves, the slantedness or straightness of the branches? Sometimes, after daubing away at them for a long time, others look at them and think they are hemp plants or reeds, and I can’t argue strongly that they are bamboo! So I truly can’t be of much help to the viewer. I wonder what Yizhong would have thought them to be?

[Signed and dated 1754]

Tei 1997, pp. 196–97.

The Strange Old Man is Ni Zan (1301–1374), one of the great masters of the Yuan dynasty, who was known for his austere brushwork. Ni Zan had a close friend named Zhang Yizhong whose surname Taiga appears to have mistakenly remembered as Li (as pointed out by Tei Reiun).

Another translation of this poem can be found in Ohki 1984, vol. 1, p. 178. The phrase “half a plot of breeze” also appears on Taiga’s Bamboo in Breeze (cat. 49).

5. Inscribed on Horse Market in a Mountain Village [SS69]

My fellow Literati Society member San Kyugō is a free spirit who loves his wine. One day he got really drunk, and visiting me at my grass hut, suddenly burst out with, “I hope that you will paint me a picture of a thousand horses!” I assured him I would do it some other time, but he would not be put off, but on the contrary ground some ink for me, wet my brush, and repeatedly entreated me to do the picture. So, unable to refuse, I had a friend help him back home. Ah, the truth of wine! How could I fool him? So I did this painting of a Horse Market in a Mountain Village, inscribing upon the picture an eight-line poem with seven characters per line, to send him as a gift. Formerly, the painter “Ink Wang” did a Painting of a Herd of Horses for someone, using just a single dot to represent each head, and a daub of ink for each tail. The people of the day called these “pointilliste horses.” I too have imitated his idea.

Hidden village, breeze at noon,

spring of blue wine shop banners!

Magnolias blossoming everywhere,

bare willows bud anew.

In rustic boats, companions crossing

now are often merchants;

In lonely temples, guests now staying

meet with hermit friends.

Dogs and chickens don’t resent

the liveliness of the market;

Young boys, well-behaved, enjoy

shrine-offerings of wine.

And here in style pointilliste —

over a thousand horses,

In offering to San Kan for

his truth-in-drunkenness!

Tei 1997, pp. 201–2.

Taiga’s friend is unknown; he is given Chinese-style names in the prose introduction and the last line of the poem.

“Ink Wang,” or Wang Mo (d. 805), was famous for his “splashed ink” paintings (po mo). As suggested by Tei Reiun, Taiga seems to have confused him with the famous horse painter Wei Yan. His description of Ink Wang’s working method corresponds with the description of Wei’s method in the Tang-period text Tang chao mung bua lu (A Record of Famous Painters of the Tang Dynasty) by Zhu Jingxuan.

6. Inscribed on Forests and Streams

Moving house, moving house,

How many times am I moving house?

Again, just outside the city walls,

Yet how could I emulate Old Man Xie’s

Excursion to the Eastern Mountain?

Painting pictures, painting pictures,

How many years have I painted pictures?

And all of them of forests, and of streams,

So maybe I imitate the lovely scenes

Of Mr. Wang’s Wang Stream Villa!

— I have moved house five times, but without departing from the Kamo River. In the twelfth month of 1759, I again moved house. But first I took out brush and inkstone, and copied out this little scene, and attached these lines.

Tei 1997, pp. 206–7.

This poem is in the archaic four-character meter and takes the highly unusual form of two sets of five lines each.

Taiga did not wish to emerge from retirement, as did Xie An (320–385), to accept an official post. He preferred to emulate famed poet and painter Wang Wei (701–761), who lived in retirement at his lovely Wang River Villa, with its twenty beautiful scenes (described by Wang in his famous series of twenty quatrains and depicted by him in a lost handscroll painting).

7. Inscribed on Arhat Sailing in a Cup [fig. 83.1; SS75]

I have painted this image of Dubei, and attached a short poem, as a presentation gift for Zen Master Makin on his departure for Hizen.

Horizonless clouds and fog

protect your traveler’s gear;

The dragons that bring rainfall

plan to urge you to drink wine!

In autumn wind, on river waves,

as comfortable as if back home:

Stroking beards in amazement, people will

laugh at Dubei’s craziness!

Tei 1997, p. 209.

Beidu (mistakenly called Dubei by Taiga), whose name means “Crossing [the river] in a cup,” was a monk of the fourth and fifth centuries who is said to have sailed across rivers in a large wooden cup. Makin is being compared to his illustrious predecessor.

8. Inscribed on Plum Blossoms and Thatched Hut [SS73]

Spreading out my Shan-vine paper,

I capture this scene:

Ten li of plum blossoms, and a little thatched

hut.

I know that as you convalesce,

you’ll enjoy limitless leisure:

Every day you’ll face these plum blossoms,

savoring their “secret fragrance.”

— A painting of Plum Blossoms and Thatched Hut, presented to Great Zen Master Kaiseki

Tei 1997, pp. 211–12.

This work was presented to Kaiseki Shūnan (Shūnan Jōju; 1711–1767), one of the monks of the Ōbaku sect headquartered at Mampuku-ji temple in Uli.

Taiga was using, or imagined he was using, the famous paper made from a special vine that grew along the Shan River in Zhejiang, China.

He pictures Kaiseki enjoying the “secret fragrance” attributed to the plum blossoms in the most famous couplet on the subject ever written, by the Song-dynasty poet Lin Bu (967–1028):

Their sparse reflections slant across

where water is pure and shallow;

Their secret fragrance floats and trembles

as moonlight comes with dusk.

9. Inscribed on True View of Mount Asama [cat. 186; SS51]

Cloud-clustered, east-west-south-north peaks!

Mist-wrapped, a hundred and eight thousand

cliffs!

— Presented to Mr. Gion of Dragon Gate [Ryūmon]

Tei 1997, p. 214.

Tei Reiun suggests that Mr. Gion may be Gion Shōren (1713–1791), son of the great Nanga master Gion Nankai (1677–1751), but see cat. 186 for a different interpretation. Tei also discusses the view of Matsushita Hidemaro, noting that Taiga intended to show Mount Asama in Shinano rather than, as written, Asama Peak, which is near Ise (see also M. Takeuchi 1992a, p. 45, pi. 29).

10. Inscribed on Dog on Back, Pursuing the Original Way [fig. 66; SS128]

With dancing sword and leaping horse,

this “Lord of the Lovely Beard”

Over a thousand miles travels alone —

ah, what a real hero!

Dog on back, dragging fishing rod along,

this man of the Original Way

Straddles mountains, crosses seas,

while whistling into the autumn wind.

Tei 1997, p. 217.

Tei Reiun considers this poem to be a quirky, original representation of Zhu Tong, one of the 108 heroes of China’s enormously popular Robin Hood-like novel Shuihu zhuan (Water Margin; also translated by Pearl Buck as All Men Are Brothers). Zhu Tong is usually represented as carrying a child on his back and a little drum in his hands, but Taiga substituted a dog and a fishing rod. Despite Zhu’s nickname, “Lord of the Lovely Beard” (given to him because of his supposed resemblance to the hero of the Romance of the Three Kingdoms by Guan Yu; see no. 21 below), Taiga shows him perfectly clean-shaven, except perhaps for a little moustache.

It is also possible that the figure is not supposed to represent Zhu Tong but to parody him, or to be presented in playful ironic contrast.

For the depiction of Zhu Tong on a playing card based on the Water Margin by Chen Hongshou (1598–1652), see fig. 65 above.

11. Inscribed on Mountain Studio in Misty Rain I [SS143]

One layer of mountains, then another layer:

The misty rain now shades them dark or pale.

I know that there, within this mountain studio

Resides a mountain monk, forever tranquil.

Tei 1997, p. 219.

12. Inscribed on Noble Reclusion among Mountains and Streams

The thatched hut outside the city wall

does not appear entire;

Light mists float slowly, covering

the hill behind the house.

Still more I feel things gone wrong these days —

things yesterday were better!

Time to do a little “cooking” in my heart of hearts!

— There was a visitor who importunately requested that I paint him a landscape. As I was busy at the time, and without leisure, I simply inscribed this poem on an old painting to give to him.

Tei 1997, pp. 220–21.

13. Inscribed on Bamboo in Wind [fig. 109.1]

At Gion, people say, each season

of the four is spring!

Still truer, early second month,

the time of misty bloom!

Poets are wandering everywhere,

along with rustic folks,

And busy people coming, going,

seem now to be at peace.

Tei 1997, p. 222.

14. Inscribed on Forms of Trees in Landscape [SS437]

Mi’s thick strokes, and Ni’s, austere,

have differed past and present:

But drawing outlines and filling with wash,

both follow the same path.

The Creator from everlasting

has unfolded for us all

Aging reds and tender greens

so we can copy them.

Tei 1997, p. 224.

This poem accompanies one of Taiga’s teaching scrolls depicting the basic techniques for rendering different elements of nature. The term used in the third line refers to the “creative powers” of nature, although it is sometimes expanded to “the one [who exercises] creative powers” (perhaps a quasi-personal reference). These terms appear to have originated in Daoist texts such as Zhuangzi (fourth century B.C.) but were later employed by Neo-Confucian thinkers of the Song and later dynasties — for example, the Cheng brothers, Cheng Hao (1032–1085) and Cheng Yi (1033–1107) — in their commentaries to “Confucian” texts such as the Yi Jing.

15. Inscribed on Forms for Depicting One’s Feelings [in Painting] [SS438]

Master Li’s manual for depicting feelings

is truly extraordinary!

Spreading out mats, walking with sticks,

lifting the wine cup high . . .

Today, this lazy fellow seems to lack

any new ideas,

And so he copies these out for you,

doting on them each and all.

— The various forms to the right are entirely based on the book of the Bamboo Hat Gentleman, and speak for themselves. Thus I did not bother to inscribe their descriptive names. May Master An correct my mistakes.

Tei 1997, pp. 226–27.

Taiga is referring to the famous painting manual Jiezi yuan huapu (Mustard Seed Garden Painting Manual), which was edited by Wang Gai (c. 1677–1705) but printed at the estate of poet, playwright, and cultural impresario Li Yu (1611–c. 1680). Li was known by his sobriquet of Liweng (“Bamboo Hat Gentleman”), hence the connection of the book with Li in Taiga’s mind.

Tei Reiun suggests (p. 227) that “Master An” might be the Confucian scholar Yasui Bun’i (Mikami Kōken; d. 1798); see also cat. 80.

16. Inscribed on Forms of Rocks in Landscape [SS439]

Hook or axe-cut strokes transformed,
who’s mastered them marvelously?

Jing and Guan, Dong and Zhu
transcend even Master Chang!

Rubbings of their works today
so very hard to find:

All we can do is play with cloud-slivers,
against the azure void.

Tei 1997, p. 229.

This poem presents the names of five famous masters of landscape painting: Zhang Zao of the Tang dynasty (618–906), Jing Hao and Guan Tong of the Five Dynasties period (tenth century), and Dong Yuan and Zhuran (both later tenth century). All were pioneers of the classical style of Chinese landscape painting, including the complex strokes for rendering the surface texture of rocks; see also no. 28 below.

17, 18. Inscribed on Wandering through Mountains and Enjoying Streams [SS454]

17

I visit monks in temples beyond the mountains,

Take friends’ hands in pavilions by the rivers.

The flowing waters forever have no intention;

The white clouds too are entirely free.

18

The clouds and mist brush my Shan-vine paper;

Blue-green colors soak my silk of Wu.

If you would grasp the essence of soundless poetry,

Be sure to consult with Master Wang Youcheng!

Tei 1997, pp. 231–33.

The last line refers to Wang Wei, the great poet and painter of the Tang period. See the note to no. 6 above.

19. Inscribed on Image of Mahakala

Diligent in helping the world,

Caring, ever nurturing,

Should one seek for wealth from him,

This god will grant his blessings.

Tei 1997, p. 235.

Mahakala is often depicted as a horrific deity in Tibetan and related styles of Tantric art, but Taiga presents his Japanese folk form as a god of prosperity, Daikokuten.

20. Inscribed on Dawn-Ray Colors and Mountain-Mist Radiance [SS458]

In winter 1766, I happened to do some imitations of the brushwork of the Song and Yuan masters, depicting the poetic feeling of the Tang poets Li, Du, Wang, Cen, and Gao. For each of these, I used five couplets, altogether twenty-five sections. And I added a quatrain of my own at the end, so as to dedicate this and present it to the studio of the Poetic Gentleman, An Shijō.

First you’ll laugh, on opening this,
at the foolishness of my “soundless
poem”;

Then you’ll be startled, on chanting this,
at the weirdness of my “sounding
painting.”

Poems of the Tang Masters,
brushwork of this “No-name” painter:

Cloud colors and mountain mist-light,
deployed in different ways.

Tei 1997, pp. 236–37.

Earlier in the scroll, Taiga claims to have alternated five couplets each by the great Tang poets Li Bo, Du Fu, Wang Wei, Cen Shen (715–770), and Gao Shi (716–765) with his painted scenes. However, in the existing scroll, at least as reproduced in Tei’s book (pl. 6), there are only fifteen couplets (five each by Wang, Cen, and Gao), suggesting that the first ten sections with five couplets each by Li and Du have been cut out and perhaps separately mounted. Each couplet follows the painted scene.

An Shijō is probably Mikami Kōken; see no. 15 above and cat. 80. “No-name” (Mumei or Arina) was in fact one of Taiga’s sobriquets. See Felice Fischer’s essay on Taiga in this volume, and M. Takeuchi 1992a, pp. 161–62, for the controversy about the proper pronunciation of this phrase, which can also mean “anonymous.”

21. Inscribed on Guan Yunzhang [SS691]

Ah, how wondrous, Master Guan!

Cultivated, impeccable conduct, loyalty,
trustworthiness!

His glorious reputation knows no bounds,

And resonates still more powerfully after a
thousand years.

Tei 1997, p. 239.

This poem is about Guan Yu, the beloved and admired general of the Three Kingdoms period (third century) who aided the cause of the Han descendant Liu Bei. He became a folk hero equivalent to a god of war and is depicted here holding a halberd as his weapon.

22. Inscribed on Plum Blossoms in Moonlight [cat. 39; SS461]

In dawn sunlight, in pale shade,

in light snow, on green moss,

over sparse hedging, swept from the snow,

while brewing tea, in delicate cold,

in fine drizzle, in a bronze vase,

behind a paper screen, over a little bridge,

while playing the lute on a rock,

in light mist under fine moonlight,

on green cliffs above a pure stream,

in the woods beside bamboo,

in setting sunlight to the sounds of the

mouth organ,

while rare birds flit through sunset clouds,

as a lone crane flies beneath the treetops,

while playing chess on a stone board,

worn by a beauty seated at a bright window

with pale make-up, stuck in her hair.

— My fellow poetry society brother at Osaka has requested that I paint an ink plum for him, thus I have brushed this, and I have inscribed thereon Mr. Zhang’s Suitable Phrases, as well as a quatrain of my own at the end:

The beauties of spring colors South-of-the-
River are known to one and all;

The supreme poetic phrases of the foreign
traveler are models for past and present.

What’s more, many are the geniuses
who’ve depicted these living forms:

I’m amazed that you do not despise
the awkwardness of my brush!

Tei 1997, pp. 241–42.

This remarkable inscription combines Taiga’s prose note and his own poem with a series of two- and four-character phrases, with the last forming a two-line sequence of four-character lines. Together these constitute a series of what were originally called Twenty-six Phrases Suitable to [Plum] Blossoms. At first they appear to form a poem in translation — perhaps “Twenty-six Ways of Viewing Plum Blossoms” — but they do not rhyme and are intended to be a catalogue of the blossoms. The original set is attributed to the Song-dynasty poet and aesthete Zhang Zi, or Zhang Gongfu (1153–after 1211), and exists in slightly different versions. (See the edition of the Shuofu in SKQS, 104 xia/58a-b, where it forms part of Zhang’s Meibin, or Classifications of Plum Blossoms.”) Thus this portion of the inscription is not a poem at all, but a series of prose phrases. Since Taiga, in accordance with the usual practice, eschews punctuation, it is unclear how he intends them to be divided. He does not use the number twenty-six, and they are translated here as if they were twenty-one in number. It is tempting to speculate that such a set as this may have partially inspired Katsushika Hokusai (1760–1849) to develop his famous Thirty-Six Views of Mount Fuji from different angles, involving various settings. Further afield, one is also reminded of “Thirteen Ways of Looking at a Blackbird” by the American poet Wallace Stevens (1879–1955).

The friend to whom this is addressed is Kimura Kenkadō (1736–1802), himself a painter of importance. See cat. 39.

23. Inscribed on Cherry Blossoms on Mount Yoshino [cat. 191; SS624]

Among all spots, fragrant Yoshino
has far the loveliest spring!

These finest mountain blossoms
are the ones that take my heart.

How many times have I come to see them,
seen them then departed?

The place where I am viewing them now,
the same I sought last year.

— Late in autumn at a rainy window, I hurriedly brushed this, with the poetic feeling of Saigyō’s verses, and attached a quatrain of my own.

Tei 1997, pp. 243–44.

Saigyō (1118–1190), one of the greatest Japanese poets, was famous for his love of the cherry blossoms at Yoshino, in Nara Prefecture. He wrote a number of well-known poems about them. One of these, which Tei Reiun plausibly suggests may have been in Taiga’s mind as he produced his painting and poem, has been translated by Burton Watson as follows (B. Watson 1991, p. 35):

I’ll forget the trail

I marked out on Yoshino last year,

go searching for blossoms

in directions I’ve never been before.

24. Inscribed on Summer Mountain in the Mi Style [SS270]

The Master of the Hall of Reeds
has always loved fine things!

Especially he’s fond of real mountains,
and painted mountains too!

And in painted mountains, most he loves
the style of Xiangyang,

And so I send this little scene
to hang upon his wall.

Tei 1997, p. 246.

The “Master of the Hall of Reeds” is Kimura Kenkadō. The “Mi style” is that of two of the greatest masters in Chinese art history, Mi Fu (1051–1107) and his equally gifted son, Mi Youren (1075–1153). Within the highly conventionalized art of Chinese landscape paintings, they developed one of the most characteristic styles, based on what are called “Mi dots” (Mi dian). These are large, moist, oblong brushstrokes used to build up mountains, as in the painting on which this poem is inscribed.

25. Inscribed on Beauty with Plum Blossoms [cat. 146; SS262]

The light mist brushes the pond railings;

A sliver of a moon is washed by the
pure ripples.

I’ll pluck some flowers, and send them to
my sister

To stick a branch in her cloudlike hairdo.

Tei 1997, p. 248.

This poem is inscribed on another painting (Tei 1997, pl. 146 [fig. 146.1]; this one is pl. 145), where, through the substitution of different characters (“mist brushes the pond stairs”), the speaker thinks of sending the blossoms to a younger rather than to an elder sister, as here (mei instead of zi).

26. Inscribed on Dialogue between Mikami Kōken and Ike Taiga [cat. 80; SS295]

I’ve seen the Painting of Nine Elders gathered
in the Huichang years;

But never in antiquity was such a scene as this!

Snowy temple hairs and frosty whiskers — we
laugh at each other!

Both now come to forty years of age — it
seemed but just a moment!

Tei 1997, p. 250.

During China’s Huichang era (841–46), the great poet Bo Juyi presided over a literary gathering of nine elders, including himself, in 845. This became one of the most famous literary gatherings of all time, and the scene is often depicted in art.

Mikami Kōken is most likely the Master An and An Shijō of nos. 15 and 20 above; see also cat. 80.

27. Inscribed on Swallow-Tail Blossoms

Master Gen on a Summer’s Day Happened to Have the Kindness to Send Me Some Plucked Blossoms; These I Have Copied Here, and Added a Quatrain, So as to Express My Thanks

Along peony railings and ponds with reeds
you lingered to enjoy,

Watching carefully, early and late,
for these to open wide.

Delicate, lovely, blooming all over,
reds and purples:

Full of feelings, you have sent me several
branches of them!

Tei 1997, p. 252.

The flowers in question are a type of iris. Master Gen has not been identified.

28. Inscribed on Five Trees in Mist [SS592]

Painted rivers are just like real rivers;

Real mountains are the same as painted
mountains.

I envy you, Sir, for living among lakes and
mountains:

Day after day, facing works by Dong and Guan!

— There was a visitor who came from Ōmi, and who requested me to do a painting for him two or three times. So I painted this “Five Trees in Mist,” attached a quatrain, and used it to respond to his request.

Tei 1997, p. 254.

Dong Yuan and Guan Tong were two of the great masters of the tenth century. See no. 16 above.

29. Inscribed on Teahouse in the Shade of a Pine Tree

In the shade of an ancient pine tree,
a little old teahouse lady!

Where she serves tea from her shop,
a breeze passes through bamboo.

Without even climbing to a mountain spring
to drink the water there,

A pillow provides some noontime coolness,
and, drunk without wine, I sing anyway.

— In early winter of the year 1772, I happened to encounter Old Gentleman Moku, and he spoke of this poem. So I just depicted the feeling of the poetic lines as a gift for him.

Tei 1997, p. 257.

Old Gentleman Moku is Kimura Kenkadō; see the note to no. 53 below.

30. Inscribed on Mount Fuji beyond Cold Forests

In this divine land of harmonious unity,
this is the very first peak:

Ranges of mountains bow down paying court,
blue-green shimmering in layers.

Auspicious mists reflect their colors
on snows of a thousand autumns;

Sunrise rays, brilliant omens, break
over pine trees ten thousand years old.

The Dipper hovers over stone altars,
flourishing each spring;

Responding to the tides, in hidden caves
vapors start to move.

How noble, oh sacred peak!, manifested
on the cosmic tortoise!

You need not yield to Sacred Mount Tai,
where Qin’s First Emperor sacrificed!

Tei 1997, p. 259.

The third couplet appears on cat. 194.

POEMS INSCRIBED AS CALLIGRAPHIES BY TAIGA

31. Written at a Banquet at the Home of a High Minister Who Conferred Fine Wine upon Us [SS66]

A Clerk of Fragrant Files in the Jade Emperor’s
court

Unfolds paintings to show us mere mortals.

Outside the windows, blue-green gullies
tremble;

A brush is touched to paper — gray dragons
twist and writhe!

And then winged Daoist guests sing songs,

Sending misty clouds scudding back and forth.

What do we remember of the dusty paths
outside?

Happily here we let flow cups filled with
rosy mist.

Tei 1997, p. 262.

32. Respectfully Echoing a Poem by Chū Itsujin [SS64]

Respectfully Following Rhymes Sent to Me by Chū Itsujin

From of old, you’ve made your home beside a
lake;

A real recluse, naturally of noble style!

Early and late, so near to streams and rocks,

What concern need you have with worldly
“heroes”?

Those spring rivers always cry out to be
painted!

Blue-green peaks show Heaven’s workmanship.

Some day, I too will move to be your neighbor:

We’ll put out in boats, whistling halfway up
the sky!

Tei 1997, pp. 264–65.

33. Poem Dedicated to Hakuin [cat. 61; SS65]

How can the ear hear the sound
of “one hand clapping”?

— The ear may be obliterated,
but Mind will still remain!

But should Mind be obliterated,
then it would really be hard to get!

— Just as I realize your kindness, Master,
but cannot grasp its depth.

— Presented to Honorable Old Zen Master Hakuin Requesting His Instruction

Tei 1997, pp. 266–67.

Hakuin (1685–1768) is one of the great figures in the later history of Japanese Buddhism. His koan “What is the sound of one hand clapping?” is one of the most famous of these paradoxical puzzles intended for meditation.

Another translation of this poem can be found in Ohki 1984, vol. 1, p. 103.

34. Poem Sent to Be Inscribed on the Hall of Reeds [SS388]

Sent to Be Inscribed on the Hall of Reeds of Mr. Ki[mura Kenkadō], Fellow Member of the Poetry Society, for His Correction

The words on the plaque for “Hall of Reeds”
are webbed in spring mist;

Beyond the eaves, spring melts,
so fresh on emerald ripples.

You’ve built a pavilion, and now invite
the new moon to smile there;

You’ve bought a boat, and quietly pull
alongside familiar gulls, asleep.

And now both books on finest wines
and finest teas you copy;

Your poetic mastery you merge with the Zen of
painting too!

North of the river, south of the river,
so many beauty spots!

Striving for strangeness, vying in beauty,
you fill reams of patterned paper!

Tei 1997, pp. 268–69.

Another translation of this poem can be found in Ohki 1984, vol. 1, p. 158.

35. Poem Presented to Master Shichisō [SS399]

The little tower seems to jut way up,
among the white clouds,

And dusty matters don’t concern us
here in the teapot smoke.

You’re just stopping by for a visit,
so wonderful the talk!

You bring with you accounts of life
on so many other mountains!

— Master Shichisō has visited me in my thatched hut, and I have written this poem to respond to his.

Tei 1997, p. 271.

Kitayama Shichisō (1721–1806) was a well-known literatus and poet of his day. He owned a colophon written by Taiga (cat. 65) for a painting by Zhang Ruitu (1570–1641).

36–45. Ten Poems on a Trip to Mount Kurama

Early in spring, I journeyed to Mount Kurama, and on the way informally described what I saw in ten poems.

36

At homes of the nobility, enjoying streams
and rocks,

In estates, where fragrant ponds have been
planted,

Where golden calves sleep near flowered
railings,

And yellow warblers flit among willow-lined
walls.

Melting on the breeze, slow sounds of song
and flute,

Wafted through the mist, fragrance of wine
vessels:

Here has been unfolded a handscroll of spring
mountains,

And they’ve painted in this rustic fellow here!

37

Slowly walking, this day of fine, clear skies,

There and back, a trip of just one day.

The wildflowers look like old friends;

The mountain birds seem to welcome me.

Wine debts? I let my servant record them;

Tea? I settle for the brew of wayside shops.

Wishing to explore Kurama’s wonders,

I put these straw sandals on my feet, so light!

38

How could poetic thoughts not come?

— Three miles of spring wind along the
embankment!

Young bamboo on the tomb of the Official
Son-in-Law;

Old junipers at the Shrine of the Thunder
Lord.

Temples jut up from the top of Eagle Peak;

Villages huddle along the shores of Kamo
Stream.

All at once, I think of Old Man Uno:

— Fiery-blossomed trees are wonderful in snow!

The “tomb of the Official Son-in-Law” is described as “unidentified” by Tei Reiun. The Upper Kamo Shrine is dedicated to the Shinto deity Takemikazuchi no mikoto, who is called Thunder Lord in this poem. “Old Man Uno” refers to the respected scholar Uno Shishin (1698–1745).

39

Ichihara, here north of the city —

Just a few feet away, yet how different the
flavor!

Ponds surrounded by flourishing plants;

Pathways glittering with raindrops like mist!

The woodcutters’ households also brew wine;

Women in charge of silkworms lead jaded
mares.

But most amusing is the way they use a swing

To sell baby frogs to customers across the
stream!

40

And then it’s time to eat — into a temple,

Where noontime drums are booming softly
now.

To warm the wine I rely upon my dim-witted
servant;

Brewing tea I leave to the ancient monks.

They pick and bring some Sichuan peppers,

Mixing in a dash of “egret-feather creeper.”

Profusely thanking these immortals for the
collation,

I secure my robe, pay homage in the upper hall.

“Egret-feather creeper,” or Lonicera japonica, is an herb. After eating, Taiga goes to the main hall to worship the Buddha.

41

On the topmost peak, the Pavilion of the
Heavenly Kings!

From heaven itself, the roar of the “thunder
chime”!

The lofty steps of stone, straight up for
thousands of feet!

And then the central hall, a story beyond the
others.

Divine treasure: scintillating golden ladle;

Secret collection: an ancient iron sword.

In such a place, one prostrates oneself in awe:

The sacred image has such an imposing brow!

42

This look-out sits so perfectly on the ridge:

I let eyes wander over this world beyond the
world.

The springtime city, huddled in a flowery haze;

The cloud-girdled trees, linked by the watery
mist.

Towers and terraces high and low poke
through;

Carriages, riders — one or two, so rare!

How wondrous, the Creator’s skillful
arrangements!

I start to walk — it’s just time to return.

43

Ushiwaka, of the Minamoto clan,

Studied soldiering here, beside this hidden
precipice.

He learned the Six Scabbards, causing the
Tengu to bow in admiration!

The Three Summaries he mastered, strategizing
like a god.

He practiced swordsmanship, lightning
flashing from his blade;

His dancing weapon broke the river’s flow.

Sheer, sliced cliffs that jut tremendously:

Who says only China’s Kurama is grand?

— In Western Tang [China], the Mount Kurama also has an “Axe-cut Cliff.”

This poem favorably compares Japan’s Mount Kurama with the Chinese mountain after which it was named. Taiga alludes to the mountain’s striking beauty and also its association with one of the most beloved figures in Japanese history and folklore, Minamoto Yoshitsune (1159–1189), or Ushiwaka. After studying military strategy and swordsmanship at Mount Kurama under one of the major deities of the temple there, known as the “Tengu [heavenly dog] of Mount Kurama” (more formally, The Honorable Horrific King Who Protects the Dharma), Ushiwaka went forth to do battle in the great civil war that brought the Heian period to a close. But, unfairly distrusted by his elder brother, Yoritomo, he came to a tragic end, choosing to die by his own hand rather than submit to surrender; he figures in many Nō plays and other literary works.

The Six Scabbards and Three Summaries are two famous sets of military treatises from China. The former is attributed to the legendary sage minister Lū Shang but is probably Han in date (206 B.C.-A.D. 220). The latter, also probably Han, is attributed to another legendary figure named Huang Shigong.

44

As evening comes, I stand a while at leisure,

The mountain deep, worldly affairs remote.

The pines give room for birds to fly on
through;

Among bamboo, some houses now appear.

Still tramping on as yet unmelted snow,

And plucking buds not yet blown into flowers;

Woodcutters, fishermen are those I admire:

Every day they enter these rosy mists.

45

“It’s just the season when the flowers come
out”:

Viewing blossoms, each day I come home
drunk.

On eastern slopes at dawn I visit whites,

On western gullies, evenings seek the reds.

Of old I’ve been familiar with Yoshino;

Today, I’ve met the Northern Mountain here.

I earnestly make a date with the flowering trees:

I’ll come again to see your faces smile!

— “It’s just the season when the flowers come out” is a line by Pei Yue.

Pei Yue was a minor Tang poet who obtained his degree in the year 904, toward the very end of the dynasty. His poems were included in anthologies that were readily available in Japan. The line that Taiga attributes to Pei is the opening verse of his poem “Early Spring: Sent to My Friends at the Capital”:

It’s just the season when the flowers come out;

Thinking of you, I lie down, rise again.

The market brew — never got quite drunk,

And springtime dreams are based on nothing real.

Pure rainwater hangs down Mount Hua’s face;

The Yellow River flows with muddy ice.

The road that leads out here from Eastern Gate:

The grief of parting still remains the same.

See Tei 1997, pp. 273–90, for the whole Mount Kurama set (Santi Tang shi ed. of SKQS, 6/4b; book, pp. 352–53).

46. Poem Sent to Distinguished Doctor Katsu

Distinguished Doctor Katsu is superb at seal carving. I have in my collection one piece carved by him. At the moment, it is bitterly cold, so I am sending this poem to him.

When you set sweeping your “frozen brush,”
your feelings are really wild!

And when it’s printed in fresh red,
it’s more wonderful still!

I wish to trouble you, Sir —
your skin as smooth as ice or stone! —

Please allow me the use of your family recipe
for preventing chapped hands!

Tei 1997, pp. 291–92.

Taiga praises the master seal carver Katsu Shikin (1739–1784), who was also a poet, a physician, and one of the founders of the “Chaos [Poetry] Society” in Osaka. The seal-carving knife is called a “frozen brush.”

One of Shikin’s seals reads Chi xia ge ban (“Half Crazy, Half Brilliant”). Taiga had a similarly worded seal (see M. Takeuchi 1992a, p. 164, seal no. 29).

Tei Reiun points out (p. 292) that Taiga has made a rare rhyming error here.

47. Poem Asking a Favor of Great Zen Master Shōchū [SS682]

On a summer day in the year 1770 I suffered from a foot ailment and could not get up. This continued for a month. The Master Bunkindō of the [Literary Elegance Book Shop] took pity on me, and granted me the loan of a book I had not yet read. The book was the Literature Classified by Surnames to Distinguish True from False. During this leisure imposed by illness, I read it thoroughly, without tiring of it. I casually recorded passages that appealed to me, every day copying one or two, and gradually these formed a little book of their own. When I had returned the original volume, I also sent along a little regulated-verse poem as a thank-you.

Among green trees, little rain — one senses dust
build up;

But happily I borrow a marvelous book,
and the window-scene purifies!

I wish to pursue the fresh-breeze style
by delving into antiquity;

Well content with the Void-and-Plain,
I peer into the isles of paradise.

My sick self shuns all guests —
I’d rather lean on my reading desk;

My aging eyes see through a haze —
too lazy to use a candle!

Many thanks! My copies pile up,
and soon become a volume:

I’ll take it when fall crispness comes,
my companion in the mountains!

— This will serve as a little preface:

— Above are a few selected passages from Classified by Surnames.

— Respectfully requesting Great Zen Master Shōchū for his compassionate corrections.

Tei 1997, pp. 294–96.

The calligraphy from which this is taken (see Tei 1997, pl. 42) is a complex web of corrections by Taiga and his friend the literatus-monk Daiten Kenjō (1719–1801), who was a teacher of kanshi poetry and the author of Taiga’s epitaph. Daiten is also known as Shōchū, the abbot of Shōkoku-ji temple in Kyoto (see Felice Fischer’s essay on Taiga’s life in this volume). Taiga presented the text to Daiten for corrections. He describes being loaned a book by the proprietor of a bookstore, Hayashi Bunkindō (dates unknown; he published a book of rubbings of Taiga’s calligraphies after Taiga’s death in 1803). The loaned book, compiled by the late-Ming-dynasty scholar Fu Zuoxing, was entitled Wenyu huishi (Taiga erroneously wrote yi).

Daiten has interlineated two significant notes to the text:

1. Where Taiga had used the phrase, “appealed to me,” Daiten cites Tao Qian’s (365–427) famous tongue-in-cheek autobiographical sketch, “Biography of Mr. Five Willows”: “In reading books, he does not seek much in the way of understanding, but whenever he comes across a passage that appeals to him, he is so happy he forgets to eat.”

2. Where Taiga referred to his poem as a “short verse,” Daiten indicates that this phrase should be deleted in favor of “a regulated verse poem” and cites as his authority a statement by Bo Juyi (772–846) declaring that a seven-character-per-line regulated verse (such as this one) should be called a “long [-line] verse.” But these phrases can be used to refer either to the brevity or length of the individual lines (five-character lines are short; seven-character lines are long) or to the overall length of the poem, so Daiten is being a bit pedantic here. In the translation, I have combined both versions (“little regulated-verse poem”).

POEMS FOUND IN OTHER SOURCES

48, 49. Along the River—Two Poems

48

Along the river, willow catkins, ready to pluck;

Before the fences, orange trees, not yet
blossomed.

What need for them to purchase fields, plant
some gram?

The eastern neighbor here is one who makes
his wine!

49

Yellow warblers everywhere, and butterflies!

My eyes pick out the green of plants, the red
of flowers.

Practicing Dao, discussing sutras — dusty stuff!

— Moth-fine brows and lovely hairdos in spring
winds!

Tei 1997, pp. 299–300.

These two poems are written in the relatively rare six-character meter. Other translations can be found in Bradstock and Rabmovitch 1977, p. 165.

50. “In thatched hut, truly, nothing to do”

The Twenty-eighth Day of the Twelfth Month — the character xing/hang is a “borrowed rhyme”

In thatched hut, truly, nothing to do!

The year speeds past, few visitors stop by.

Cups remaining? Only one pour left!

Days remaining? Only three lined up!

Already kids urge on the springtime games;

The baby warblers chirp their gentle sounds.

How diligent my old neighbor seems to be:

Already a new bonsai on the stand!

Tei 1997, p. 301.

The character at the end of the fourth line can be pronounced xing or hang, the former when it means “to go,” and the latter when it is used to enumerate various things, as here, in the rhyming position at line’s end (literally, “three [days] lined up”). The poet wants the character to be read xing, so that it will rhyme properly with ying, “to welcome” (in the rhyming position at the end of the second line; literally, “I’ve little seeing off or welcoming to do”); sheng, “sounds” (at the end of the sixth line); and deng, “stool” or “stand,” at the end of the poem, even though hang would actually be the correct reading here. But Tei Reiun states that this is impermissible.

51. Chanting Poems in Spring

Here in the Emperor’s City, spring is lovely —
where the most?

Of all the spots, Higashiyama
is the very best!

Higashiyama — Eastern Mountains! —
flowers near and far:

As spring departs, as spring returns,
I ride the moonlight home.

Tei 1997, pp. 302–3.

52. Poem Sent to “Icy Gully” Kō

The flowers in the vase have blossomed,
two or three great blooms!

My feelings come forth in brewing tea,
in paintings and in poems.

If you like the atmosphere
here in this mountain study,

Please come! Please come! We’ll talk away
the day as it goes by.

Tei 1997, p. 303.

“Icy Gully” Kō was one of Taiga’s closest friends, the painter, calligrapher, and seal carver Kō Fuyō (1722–1784). This poem amounts to an invitation for him to visit Taiga. Another translation can be found in Ohki 1984, vol. 1, p. 126.

53. Inscribed on the painting done at the Kamo River Pavilion

In the first summer month of 1773, Mr. Moku Sekiso, a fellow member of our Poetry Society, happened to come on a trip to the capital for several days. He invited several of us to the Kamo River Pavilion. The various gentlemen had rhyme-words distributed to them and composed poems. I also functioned as “Scribe in Charge of Recording Matters Pertaining to the Serving of Tea,” and yet I still did not understand the methods of brewing tea. And when they conferred my rhyme-word upon me, I was unable to complete a poem! So I set my heart at rest, and decided to present myself in the guise of a painting artisan. I loosened my robe, sat legs asprawl, and painted a true view of the scene. And now I also display this eight-line poem in seven-character meter, so as to make amends for my former failing.

In green shade, we set out the wine,
assembling men of reputation;

Worthy Mr. Moku diligently
provides the lovely banquet.

With elegant feelings,
often we enjoy the rocky river;

[Here a line is missing.]

In perfect weather, we borrow with thanks
these mountain-viewing railings;

Supported in drunkenness, we imitate [one

word missing or unclear]
those who floated wine cups.

These superior guests put feelings in paintings
that really do have sound!

These men today wildly inscribe
poems indeed like silent paintings.

Tei 1997, pp. 304–5.

This poem makes another reference to Kimura Kenkadō, whom Taiga calls “Mr. Moku Sekisō,” combining one of Kenkado’s alternate names (Sekisō) with a character read mu in Chinese and moku in Japanese when freestanding like a Chinese surname, as preferred by Kenkadō, or as Ki- when part of his true Japanese surname, Kimura.

The incident referred to in the preface is discussed in Ohki 1984, vol. 1, p. 177. This anecdote may have played a disproportionate role in the development of the idea that Taiga was a mediocre poet.

54. Poem Offered to Zen Master Mon

A lazy old man, I’m still around,
my heart not turned to ash;

but he became an immortal,
thirteen years ago it was.

And now, good fortune! a Zen Master
comes by to pay a visit:

All I have to offer is a half a cup of tea.

— Offered to Zen Master Mon, humbly requesting his correction.

— At the time, it was the seventeenth day of the seventh month. Master Mon said that the day before this was the anniversary of the Taboo Day [day of death] of “The Old Tea-Seller,” Baisaō. Master Mon showed me a gāthā he had written; I offer him this poem, following his rhyme-words.

Tei 1997, p. 507.

This is probably the poem mentioned in Ohki 1984, vol. 1, pp. 59, 96–99. It refers to one of the key figures in the history of the Japanese tea, an Ōbaku monk named Gekkai Genshō (1675–1763) whose love for tea was so great that he was dubbed Baisaō (“The Old Tea-Seller”). See cat. 79 for Taiga’s portrait of him with Baisaō’s own poetic inscription above. Baisaō is considered the founder of the sencha school, or Chinese style of tea ceremony. Several of his poems have survived; see Norman Waddell’s translations and comments in Waddell 1984. Waddell states (p. 91), “Although forty-eight years his junior, Taiga formed a close friendship with Baisa’ō during the years that Baisa’ō lived as a roadside tea-seller in Kyoto.” Taiga’s poem was written in 1775.

The monk who visits Taiga remains unidentified, but he could be another Ōbaku monk named Moncho (1739–1829). Stephen Addiss (see Addiss 1978, no. 34) gives a calligraphy by him of a Chinese poem and informs us that “he learned sencha, the Chinese-style tea ceremony, from Ōbaku Gekkai [i.e., Baisaō], and was also well-known for his mastery of literature and seal carving. While in Kyoto, Monchū must have been acquainted with the Nanga painter Gyokuran, the wife of Taiga, as he inscribed one of her landscapes with a poem.” Addiss further likens Monchū's calligraphy to Taiga’s. The present poem strongly suggests a direct link between the two men. For more on Monchū, see cat. 121; see also Kyoko Kinoshita’s essay on Gyokuran in this volume.

Zen Master Mon has shown Taiga a gāthā, or Buddhist verse, by himself.

55, 56. Singing of an Ancient Inkstone — Two Poems

55

An old friend has sent me an inkstone,
squarish-round;

It has never betrayed the ancient spirit,
Heaven-endowed purity.

Pour water into the phoenix pond:
jade luster floats therein!

Brush dust from off the mottled stone:
it glitters with essence of stars!

Wherever you try the rabbit-hairs,
thick clouds cluster there;

Whenever you grind the dragon-ink,
fine raindrops seem to form.

As in a trance, I’ve always been
addicted to calligraphy, painting,

And from now on, because of this stone,
a further joy is born!

The tip of the brush is made of rabbit hair.

56

My special treasure, this fist-sized stone
placed here upon my desk:

Of old it came from the purity
of Duan Stream’s greenish waves!

I realize, from its heart of void
the Living Eye is born!

Especially since the ancient color
has a magic essence.

Draft a Mystery Classic in dewdrop style?
—This chills the autumn brush-tip!

Paint cold cliffs upon a wall?
— This softens the pale ink!

Its value must be a thousand in cash,
a friend most hard to buy!

The number one Treasure of the Scholar’s
Studio, quite worthy of my love!

Tei 1997, pp. 308–10.

Yen (inkstones) were considered to be one of the Four Treasures of the Scholar’s Studio; the others were paper (or silk), brush, and ink. The finest inkstones, those from Duanzhou, have naturally occurring eyelike whorls in the stone. Taiga cleverly played on this feature by associating it with the inner eye of enlightenment.

The stone is either from the Duanzhou (where Duan Stream is located, in Guangzhou province in China) or is merely being praised by association.

The inkstone supposedly aids calligraphy and painting by “chilling” (i.e., giving special aesthetic power to) the brush, which helps to achieve the right quality of paleness of ink used for certain brushstrokes or washes. It was the great Han-period scholar Yang Xiong (53 B.C.-A.D. 18) who “drafted,” or composed, the Tatxuan jing (Classic of the Supreme Mystery), which is considered to be one of the most important Confucian philosophical texts written after the classical (pre-Han) period.

57. “Mr. Phoenix-tail is a man of open character”

Mr. Phoenix-tail is a man
of open character:

A man so purely crazy that I
feel very close to him!

In fresh breeze or brilliant moonlight,
with poetry and wine,

He walks with his stick or rides in bamboo
chair through rivers, then through
mountains.

Tei 1997, p. 312.

Unfortunately, the delightful gentleman remains unidentified.

58. “Frost is forming on forest tops, ten thousand gullies, remote”

Frost is forming on forest tops,
ten thousand gullies, remote;

White clouds together with red leaves
fall into streams, and float.

With morning comes a man who seeks
the truth of life right here:

Together we’ll go to the mountain hut
and feel fall’s purity there.

Tei 1997, p. 313.

59. “On the third day of the Yonghua era assembled all the sages”

On the third day of the Yonghua era [353]
assembled all the sages:

How many of the peach blossoms floating
there were recorded in their poems?

Yet Shukuya’s red-and-blue,
and Dainen’s inscription thereon:

These superb works of the two gentlemen
are even better than those of that year!

Tei 1997, p. 314.

Taiga praises cousins Aoki Shukuya (1737–after 1806) and Aoki Dainen, the latter referred to in the present volume by his Chinese-style name Kan Tenju (1727–1795). Upon Taiga’s death, Shukuya succeeded him as Taigadō II, taking on the responsibility of preserving his master’s legacy by copying his paintings, transmitting his teachings, and so on (see M. Takeuchi 1992a, p. 78). Tenju did the calligraphy of the monk Daiten’s epitaph for Taiga’s memorial stele (see Felice Fischer’s essay on Taiga’s life in this volume). See M. Takeuchi 1992a for a reproduction of a portrait of Taiga by Shukuya (fig. 53, p. 75)

The cousins are hyperbolically praised as superior to the sages who assembled for the famed Gathering at the Orchid Pavilion (Lanting), which took place in China in the year 353 (see cats. 154–56). On that occasion, Wang Xizhi (303–361), considered the greatest of all calligraphers, and his friends floated wine cups on a serpentine canal while writing poems that were later recorded in Wang’s calligraphy, with Wang’s famous preface to the collection.

60. A Reverential Viewing of Fuji, the Mountain Second to None

Ten thousand ri of cloud-capped mountains,
a journey full of cold!

And all Fifty-Three Stages of the Tōkaidō
stretching on and on . . .

Heaven and Earth have carved out this beauty,
here in the land of Sun-in-the-East:

Standing high on Koma[-ga-take],
I view the eightfold lotus peak!

Tei 1997, p. 315.

Tei Reiun suggests that Taiga is at Koma-ga-take, which she describes as one of the peaks of Mount Hakone, the eleventh (not the tenth, as Tei states) of the famed Fifty-Three Stages of the Tōkaidō, or “Eastern Sea Road,” which ran from Edo (modern-day Tokyo) to the capital, Kyoto. (A peak of this name is shown in standard atlases more than sixty miles northwest of Mount Fuji; it is unclear whether Tei has this one in mind.)

61. Presented to Sensō of Stone Gate

Desolate, lonely, road to Cold Mountain!

Remote village, leaning on stone-fenced fields.

Sparse pines, filling spaces in yawning gullies;

Dense bamboo, enclosing singing stream.

Roosting birds, beyond the evening clouds;

Returning man, beside the setting sun.

And then I happen to see a wine shop banner:

I spend each coin hanging from my staff.

Tei 1997, p. 316.

The identity of “Sensō of Stone Gate” is unclear, but it is assumed that he is a Buddhist monk whose temple, or whose sect of Buddhism, is known as Sekimon (“Stone Gate”).

62. “Autumn brightness — you seek out craggy cliffs”

Late in autumn, the two gentlemen Den and Kō and the monk Ji’in together traveled to Takao. I was ill and could not join them, so I wrote this poem.

Autumn brightness — you seek out craggy cliffs,

Banishing worldly yearnings from your hearts.

Where bridges cross, you enjoy the red leaves;

Where temples are fragrant, you give names to
white clouds.

Your mountain fasting? No vegetables in your
rice!

On stone-built fires your tea is nicely brewed.

Evenings are the times that you love best,

As sun rays pick out writing on old bells.

But I rise from my sickbed, below the southern
window,

Where yellow blossoms scintillate on all four
sides.

Of course I’ve got the poems of
Magistrate Tao,

But still I yearn for Master Huiyuan!

Cooking up meals, I see the true Buddha;

Calming my mind, I meet with transformed
immortals.

Here in this poor household,
I leave the boy servant to his nap;

In bamboo sedan chair, I ride beneath
autumn sky.

Tei 1997, pp. 317–18.

Kō is Taiga’s great friend Kō Fuyō; Den and the monk Ji’in remain unidentified.

Taiga tells us that although he can read Tao Qian’s poems, especially his lines about chrysanthemums (“yellow blossoms”), he still wishes he could be with the Buddhist monk Huiyuan (333–426), Tao’s friend, here a reference to Ji’in (see cat. 32).

63. Pine Tree Paths and Cliffs of the Immortals

Precipitous, the rocks below the cliffs;

My foolish servant points out the weirdest ones!

We enter the depths of pine-lined stone steps:

As I watch the scene, even more poems come.

Tei 1997, pp. 319–20.

64. Inscribed on a painting of chrysanthemums by Gyokuran

Divine chrysanthemums, growing on a
hidden slope:

Jutting above the mass, penetrating the
wild wind.

Spring dew will dye them a different color,

Nor will the autumn frost ever change them on
the branch.

Tei 1997, pp. 520–21.

65. “Waves of silver, sheet on sheet, snowflakes, layer on layer”

Waves of silver, sheet on sheet,
snowflakes, layer on layer:

Autumn mists now burgeoning
follow my little staff.

Just a few specks of chilly mountain,
the single wheel of the moon:

In a mirror of polished bronze,
a lotus blossom, green!

Tei 1997, p. 321.

66. Poem Sent to “Icy Gully” Kō

Master Kō’s “homecoming — ”
still better than Tao Qian’s!

Without even pouring a glass of wine,
this gentleman seems drunk!

On the fifteenth day, the misty luminosity
of the willows outside his door

Allows him to boast there’s still one third
of springtime glory left.

Tei 1997, p. 322.

Kō Fuyō is praised for living the life of retirement even more fully than Tao Qian, because Kō is able to get drunk without the help of wine. It is also possible, as Tei suggests, that Kō had written a Homecoming Ode that Taiga is claiming is superior to Tao’s ode of that name, which is one of the most revered works in all of Chinese literature.

In the lunar calendar, only two weeks of spring would be left on the fifteenth day of the third month.

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