When first thou didst entice to thee my heart,
I thought the service brave;
So many joys I writ down for my part,
Besides what I might have
Out of my stock of natural delights,
Augmented with thy gracious benefits.
I looked on thy furniture so fine,
And made it fine to me;
Thy glorious household-stuff did me entwine,
And 'tice me unto thee.
Such stars I counted mine: both heav'n and earth;
Paid me my wages in a world of mirth.
What pleasures could I want, whose King I serv'd,
Where joys my fellows were?
Thus argu'd into hopes, my thoughts reserv'd
No place for grief or fear.
Therefore my sudden soul caught at the place,
And made her youth and fierceness seek thy face.
At first thou gav'st me milk and sweetnesses;
I had my wish and way;
My days were straw'd with flow'rs and happiness;
There was no month but May.
But with my years sorrow did twist and grow,
And made a party unawares for woe.
My flesh began unto my soul in pain,
"Sicknesses cleave my bones;
Consuming agues dwell in ev'ry vein,
And tune my breath to groans."
Sorrow was all my soul; I scarce believ'd,
Till grief did tell me roundly, that I liv'd.
When I got health, thou took'st away my life,
And more, for my friends die;
My mirth and edge was lost, a blunted knife
Was of more use than I.
Thus thin and lean without a fence or friend,
I was blown through with ev'ry storm and wind.
Whereas my birth and spirit rather took
The way that takes the town;
Thou didst betray me to a ling'ring book,
And wrap me in a gown.
I was entangled in the world of strife,
Before I had the power to change my life.
Yet, for I threaten'd oft the siege to raise,
Not simp'ring all mine age,
Thou often didst with academic praise
Melt and dissolve my rage.
I took thy sweet'ned pill, till I came where
I could not go away, nor persevere.
Yet lest perchance I should too happy be
In my unhappiness,
Turning my purge to food, thou throwest me
Into more sicknesses.
Thus doth thy power cross-bias me, not making
Thine own gift good, yet me from my ways taking.
Now I am here, what thou wilt do with me
None of my books will show;
I read, and sigh, and wish I were a tree,
For sure then I should grow
To fruit or shade: at least some bird would trust
Her household to me, and I should be just.
Yet, though thou troublest me, I must be meek;
In weakness must be stout;
Well, I will change the service, and go seek
Some other master out.
Ah my dear God! though I am clean forgot,
Let me not love thee, if I love thee not.
Unbeaten by the rain
Unbeaten by the wind
Bested by neither snow nor summer heat
Strong of body
Free of desire
Never angry
Always smiling quietly
Dining daily on four cups of brown rice
Some miso and a few vegetables
Observing all things
With dispassion
But remembering well
Living in a small, thatched-roof house
In the meadow beneath a canopy of pines
Going east to nurse the sick child
Going west to bear sheaves of rice for the weary mother
Going south to tell the dying man there is no cause for fear
Going north to tell those who fight to put aside their trifles
Shedding tears in time of drought
Wandering at a loss during the cold summer
Called useless by all
Neither praised
Nor a bother
Such is the person
I wish to be
On a winter night
My heart is sad
Sad for no reason
My heart is rusty, purple.
Beyond the heavy door
Past days are vague
On top of the hill
Cotton seeds burst open.
Here firewood smoulders
Smoke climbs from it
As if it even knows itself.
Without being invited
Or even wishing
My heart smoulders.
On cold nights
When the cold rain beats
And the wind howls,
On cold nights
When the cold snow falls
And the sleet swirls,
My only defence
Against that cold
Is to nibble black salt
And sip sake dregs.
But I finger my beard –
Scanty and starved –
Sniffle and cough,
And say to myself
‘I’m a good fellow’ –
Proud words, and empty:
I freeze all the same,
Swathing myself
In sheets made of sacking,
Piling on the top
My flimsy clothes.
The cold still seeps through.
But there are some
Poorer than I am,
Parents cold and hungry,
Womenfolk and children
Choking on tears.
On cold nights
How do they live?
Heaven and earth are broad,
So they say.
For me they are narrow.
Sun and moon are bright,
So they say.
They don’t shine for me.
Is it the same for all men,
This sadness?
Or is it for me alone?
Chance made me man
And I, like any other, plough and weed.
But from my clothes –
Thin even when new – tatters hang down
Waving like seaweed.
In my rickety hovel the straw
Lies on bare earth.
By my pillow squat my parents,
At my feet my wife and children:
All huddled in grief.
From the hearth no smoke rises,
In the cauldron
A spider weaves its web.
How do you cook rice
When there is no rice left?
We talk feebly as birds.
And then, to make bad worse,
To snip the ends of a thread
Already frayed and short,
The village headman comes,
Shaking his whip in my face,
Shouting out for his tax,
Right at my pillow.
Is this the way things go?
Must it go on and on?
Yes. We are on earth.
Earth is despair and shame.
But I am no bird, and I
Cannot escape from it.
I heard a Fly buzz - when I died -
The Stillness in the Room
Was like the Stillness in the Air -
Between the Heaves of Storm -
The Eyes around - had wrung them dry -
And Breaths were gathering firm
For that last Onset - when the King
Be witnessed - in the Room -
I willed my Keepsakes - Signed away
What portion of me be
Assignable - and then it was
There interposed a Fly -
With Blue - uncertain - stumbling Buzz -
Between the light - and me -
And then the Windows failed - and then
I could not see to see -
Summer morning. Fig-leaves,
Leaves withered, drowsy-coloured,
Rattling in the wind,
Trembling on weak branches.
Shall I go to sleep?
Electric cables reach to the sky,
And from the cables, songs of far cicadas.
Leaves withered,
Rattling in the wind;
Leaves trembling, branches tilting.
Shall I go to sleep?
Sky dark and still,
Sun tangled in the clouds,
Electric cables striking the sky.
Cicadas in the distance.
Everyone I love gone.