The Poetics of Ryōkan in Eight Poems

1.

Shaving my head, becoming a monk

I spent years on the road

            pushing aside wild grasses

            peering hard into the wind

Now, everywhere I go

            people just hand me paper and brush:

“Do some calligraphy!” “Write me a poem!”

2.

Who says my poems are poems?

My poems are not poems.

When you know that my poems are not poems,

Then we can speak of poetry!

3.

How pitiful, those virtuous fellows!

Moving into the recesses, they immerse

             themselves in composing poetry

For Ancient Style, their models

            are the poems of Han and Wei

For Recent Form,

            the T'ang poets are their guide

With gaudy words their lines are formed

And further adorned by

            novel and curious phrases

Yet if they fail to express

            what's in their own minds

What's the use, no matter

            how many poems they compose! 

4.

Even if you consume as many books

As the sands of the Ganges

It is not as good as really catching

One verse of Zen.

If you want the secret of Buddhism,

Here it is: Everything is in the Heart!

5.

I sat facing you for hours but you didn't speak;

Then I finally understood the unspoken meaning.

Removed from their covers, books lay scattered about;

Outside the bamboo screen, rain beats against the plum tree.

6.

Weaving the countless

Varying tinges of texture

Are the forty-eight phonetic letters

Weaving them with their voices

And echoes the warp and woof

7.

Who was it said, "names are the guests of reality"?

These words have come down to us from ancient times

But even if people know that names aren't real

They don't see that reality itself has no root

Name, reality—both are beside the point

Just naturally find joy in the ever-changing flow!

8.

My legacy --

What will it be?

Flowers in spring,

The cuckoo in summer,

And the crimson maples

Of autumn...

~Ryōkan (tr. Ryuichi Abe & Peter Haskel: 1,6,7); (tr. John Stevens: 2,3,4,5,8)

The Realizational Poetics of Mujū Dōkyō

When we consider waka as a means to religious realization, we see that it has the virtue of serenity and peace, of putting a stop to the distractions and undisciplined movements of the mind. With a few words, it encompasses its sentiment. This is the very nature of mystic verses, or dharani.

The gods of Japan are Manifest Traces, the unexcelled Transformation Bodis of buddhas and bodhisattvas. The god Susa-no-o initiated composition in thirty-one syllables with the "many-layered fence at Izumo." Japanese poems do not differ from the words of the Buddha. The dharani of India are simply the words used by the people of that country which the Buddha took and interpreted as mystic formula.

……………………………………………………

Now we refer to the poetry of "wild words and specious phrases" as "defiled poetry," because it lures us to attachment, imbues us with vain sensuality, and decks us out with empty words. But poetry may express the principles of the Holy Teaching, accompany a sense of impermanence, weaken our worldly ties and profane thoughts, and cause us to forget fame and profit. If, on seeing the leaves scattered by the wind, we come to know the vanity of the world; and if, on composing a verse on the moon hidden in the clouds, we become aware of the unsullied Principle within our hearts, then poetry mediates our entry upon the path of Buddha and becomes a reliable tool for understanding the Law. Accordingly, men of old practiced the Law of Buddha without rejecting the Way of Poetry. . . . Although anything can be a cause for religious awakening, waka is ideal.

~ Mujū Dōkyō (tr. Robert Morrell)