Classic Poem

In this distant outpost
of our sovereign,
this place called Koshi
where the snows fall,
so far away
it's under a separate sky,
mountains are tall,
rivers magnificent,
plains so broad
the grass grows thick on them.
When sweetfish run
in the peak of summer,
the men who fish with cormorants,
those island birds,
shine their torches
on every clear shoal
of the running river,
pushing upstream through the waters.
And when fall comes
with dew and frost,
and birds in great number
flock in the fields,
I call out
my hardy men,
and of all the many hawks
in the world,
none like my arrow-tailed,
my Big Black,
decked out with
his silver-coated bells!
In the morning hunt
he flushes five hundred birds,
at the twilight hunt
downs a thousand.
Whatever he chases
never gets away,
and though he leaves my arm,
he returns with no trouble —
you'd look long to find
another like him!
No other hawk
could be his equal,
I thought in my heart,
and proud
and smiling
I passed my days,
when that fool,
that idiot old man,
not even telling me
what he was up to,
on a rainy day
when skies were overcast,
said simply
that he was going hawking —
And then he came back
and reported between coughs
that my hawk had turned tail
on the Mishima fields,
" soared away
over Mount Futagami,
flying on and on
till he was lost in clouds. . . . "
I had no way
to call him back,
couldn't even think
what to say,
a fire burning
in my brain,
pondering, longing,
with sighs that had no end.
And on the chance
I might meet him,
on this side and that side
of the foot-wearying mountain
I spread nets
and posted watchers.
At the shrine
of the awesome gods
I offered a shining mirror,
with woven goods besides,
praying, entreating.
And while I waited,
in a dream
a young girl announced to me:
" That fine hawk
you dote on —
he circles till evening
above the beach at Matsudae,
crosses the Himi River
where they catch the shad,
sails back and forth
over Tako Island.
In Furue
where the reed ducks gather —
he was there yesterday
and the day before.
As soon perhaps
as the next two days,
at the latest
no longer than seven days —
before that time has passed
he'll come back to you —
don't grieve your heart
any longer! " —
so the dream told me.

ENVOYS

With my arrow-tailed hawk
perched on my arm,
so many days since I've hunted
in Mishima fields —
it's been a month now!

Spreading nets
on this side and that side
of Mount Futagami,
that hawk I waited for —
a dream brought word of him!