One Thousand Summers

May I find the moon somewhere in the clouds, before this short summer night fully breaks.*

Although I never knew the ways of letters, Buddhist Novice (Renshō) has carefully insisted that I write the poem cartouches  for sliding doors of Saga Chūin. Even though they are awfully unsightly, written half-heartedly, I am sending them away. From the ancient times, a poem from every poet, from Emperor Tenji ( 1 )  to Ietaka ( 2 )  and Masatsune ( 3 ) .

My fear is that you will forget your promise to never forget me, so I would prefer to die now while I am still happy. 

So the flower has wilted during the long spring rains, just as my beauty has faded during my forlorn years in this world.

No more can we hear the sounds of the waterfall, but its legacy continues to spread.

After I determined to abandon my love, my only regret is that I have no way to tell you in person.

As my love first came to realisation, word had already spread.

For you I would have given up my life. Now together, I guard it dear.

For you, I head out to the fields to pick spring greens while snow falls upon my sleeves.

When I must hide these burning feelings, I feel as though my body is on fire with Ibuki mugwort.   

No matter where I stand on the shores of Tago, I can look up and see white snow, it keeps falling on the cap of Mount Fuji. 

Gust of wind carries leaves from the trees, giving the name of storm to the mountain wind.    

Feel the love deepen over time, like the stream widening into a river as it descends Mount Tsukuba.

The autumn paddy shacks have rough thatching and my sleeves are wet with dew*.

Said night was young when the false rooster crowed, but the gates of Osaka remained shut.

Impassioned vows exchanged over many a tear shed to  last until the day waves crash over Mount Suenomatsu.

My own home is a retreat laying southeast of the capital ,  where I can hide from the troubles of this world.

Nothing can be worse than living a moment longer when I cannot bear growing any weaker than I already have.

Long last we meet, only for you to leave hurriedly, so I could not recognise you, like the moon hidden behind the clouds. 1

As I wait for someone who will never come, my body burns like the seaweed drying on the shores of Matsuho.