Fuji and the poet

There was a poet, a poet who sang

of this mountain’s unmatched harmony and splendor.

   Forgive me, Fuji.

   Tonight as I look up at you

   I find myself weeping, without reason.

There was a poet who focused the light of his seasoned skill

on this ultimate of the Earth’s forms, and wept.

   A day without wind.

   In the dear and dreamlike emptiness of the sky,

   a cloud is born to long after Fuji.

A poet who loved Fuji through the cycles of great art

that burned in the depths in his life.

Bokusui elevated himself to converse with Fuji

and solemnly sing its infinite melodies.

Fuji under clear skies.

Shining Fuji.

Snow-clad Fuji.

Towering Fuji.

Fuji’s crisp outline against the winter sky.

Fuji under rainclouds.

Rough-skinned Fuji.

White-robed Fuji.

Fuji at daybreak.

Cloud-capped Fuji.

Fuji in the bright light of dawn.

Fuji tonight.

Fuji under leaden skies.

Expansive Fuji.

Fuji in the white garb of spring.

Fuji exposed in autumn.

High in the skies he sings his praise

for this mountain of goodness, justice and philosophy.

---

Written in 1947, when the author was nineteen.

“Forgive me, Fuji”: trans. from Wakayama, Umi no koe (Voice of the Sea) in Wakayama Bokusui zenshu, vol. 1, p. 34.

“A day without wind”: Ibid.

Wakayama Bokusui (1885–1928): a writer of traditional-style Japanese poetry, admired for his elegant and romantic style.