The Burning Heart: Women Poets of Japan

by Ikuko Atsumi, Kenneth Rexroth

In this collection (originally published by The Seabury Press in 1977 as The Burning Heart, Kenneth Rexroth and Ikuko Atsumi have assembled representative works of seventy-seven poets. Staring with the Classical Period (645-1604 A.D.), characterized by the wanka and tanka styles,followed by haiku poets of the Tokugawa period (to 1867), the subsequent modern tanka and haiku poets,and including the contemporary school of free verse—Women Poets of Japan records twelve hundred years of poetic accomplishment. Included are biographical notes on the individual poets, an essay on Japanese women and literature, and a table of historical periods.

Genres: Poetry, Japan, Japanese Literature, Asia, Asian Literature, Womens

256 pages, Hardcover

First published January 1, 1977

About the author

Japanese critic, American literature researcher, poet

Reviews

[Edita · Rating 3 out of 5]

It's very hard to rate an anthology. The poems from Murasaki Shikibu's times are so much finer than those of the modern poets. Still it's worth reading in order to be acquainted with Japanese poetic forms.


This life of ours would not cause you sorrow
if you thought of it as like
the mountain cherry blossoms
which bloom and fade in a day.

—Murasaki Shikibu

The Gods of heaven are irrational.
So I may die and never meet you,
whom I love so much.

— Kasa no Iratsume
*

Soon I shall cease to be.
When I am beyond this world,
can I have the memory
of just one more meeting?

— Izumi Shikibu

[Eadweard · Rating 3 out of 5]

Otomo no Sakanoe no Iratsume
(8th Century)

The orange tree
we planted in my garden
as a symbol of our love,
though we have come to regret it, our love
was worth doing.
I swore not to love.
----




Ono no Komachi
(9th Century)

Without changing color
in the emptiness
of this world of ours,
the heart of man
fades like a flower.
----



Shirome
(10th Century)

If I were only sure
I could live as long as I wanted to,
I would not have to weep
at parting from you.
----




Murasaki Shikibu
(974-1031)

This life of ours would not cause you sorrow
if you thought of it as like
the mountain cherry blossoms
which bloom and fade in a day.
----




Mother of Michitsuna
(10th Century)

Is our love over?
If only I could ask of your phantom
reflected on the surface
of the pond we made
as a symbol of our love—
but the surface is covered with duckweed.
----




Princess Shikishi
(P—1201)

Life, like a thread piercing through jewels,
if you must break,
break now!
If I live any longer
I will weaken and show my hidden love.
----



Lady Horikawa
(12th Century)

How long will it last?
I do not know
his heart.
This morning my thoughts are as tangled with anxiety
as my black hair.
----




Yosano Akiko
(1878-1942)

I can give myself to her
In her dreams
Whispering her own poems
In her ear as she sleeps beside me.
----




Yamakawa Tomiko
(1879-1909)

The white roses I tried to braid in my hair
have all fallen
around my pillow of sickness.


I leave all the scarlet flowers
For the woman I love
And hiding my tears from her
I pick
The flower of forgetfulness.
----




Yagi Mikajo
(1924-)

The genitals of woods
in full bloom;
its gills are breathing.

[Rebecca · Rating 4 out of 5]

It is consistently amazing to me how familiar the emotions expressed by women living thousands of years ago remain, which is one of the reasons Heian tanka poetry is my favorite form. While this book, which also contains Edo-era haikus, later tanka, and free verse from the 1960s and 70s, is interesting overall, particularly as an overview of how poetry has changed in Japan, the first section, along with Akiko Yosano's tanka, are the ones that truly touch the heart.

[Paul H. · Rating 3 out of 5]

Meh . . . for some reason Rexroth decided to spend just 50 pages on the first two millennia of Japanese women poets, i.e., all of the good ones (there are actually quite a few female poets in this span, though you wouldn't know it from Rexroth's selections), and then 100 pages on less-than-amazing poets from the twentieth century.

The translations are pretty good but Rexroth eschews the usual explanatory notes, which is problematic for the haiku especially. Chiyo-Ni's rightfully famous haiku from the 1700s is included --

My hunter of dragonflies,
How far
has he wandered today?

-- but the effect is completely lost if you don't know the context, i.e., it's a poem about the death of her only child, a little boy. The innocent question about how far he wandered looking for dragonflies takes on a deeper and somewhat darker meaning. It also asks, in a subtle way, how her son is faring, now, as he wanders in the afterlife state: the journey to be reborn was not easy for children, according to Japanese Buddhist doctrine at the time, which adds a layer of pathos and tragedy.

But the typical reader of The Burning Heart will never know this, because (unlike with most translations) even minimal explanatory notes are not provided; Rexroth also doesn't provide the original (in this case, 蜻蛉釣り今日はどこまで行ったやら) or any transliterations, etc.

[J · Rating 4 out of 5]

Evening comes and sorrow crowds my mind,
because your phantom always appears
speaking the old words in the old way.

KASA NO IRATSUME


Doesn’t he realize
that I am not
like the swaying kelp
in the surf,
where the seaweed gatherer
can come as often as he wants.

ONO NO KOMACHI


Since “the pillow knows all’'
we slept without a pillow.
Still my reputation
reaches to the skies
like a dust storm.

Is it your command
that we must pass through this life,
never meeting again,
even for a space as short as the nodes
of the reeds of Naniwa?

Shall I come to see
plum blossoms in every stream
and wet my sleeves
in unpluckable water
as I do now?

LADY ISE


I, who cut off my sorrows
like a woodcutter,
should spend my life in the mountains.
Why do I still long
for the floating world?

AKAZOME EMON


With hate and misery
my sleeves are never dry.
How sad it is
that my name has been ruined by our love.

LADY SAGAMI


How long will it last?
I do not know
his heart.
This morning my thoughts are as tangled with anxiety
as my black hair.

LADY HORIKAWA



*

[Jonathan · Rating 4 out of 5]

Very good selection - pretty much world of creative output stretching back more than 1200 years and that I was completely ignorant of. This collection ranges from the late 700s A.D until the 1970s. Much of it is profound and I think universal, other pieces suffer quite a bit in translation. It's obvious that much of the nuance in Japanese is lost in English. The essays at the end of the book that speak to the development of Japanese literature in conjunction with political and cultural developments is excellent.

[James · Rating 5 out of 5]

Everyone is asleep
There is nothing to come between
the moon and me.


~ Enomoto Seifu0Jo

[Puja · Rating 5 out of 5]

What I loved about the book was not just the poems but the exceptional stories of the women who wrote the poems. If you are reading the book, please go through the notes on the poets, especially the tragic love story of Yosono Akiko, the white lily and Yamakawa Tomiko, lover and poet. The notes also outline strange stories of women's solidarity and resistance which give hope and makes one rethink friendship. This friendship makes later poets repeat poems written by their predecessors but with certain twists. As for the poetry, they are mostly short and resplendent and speak of lost times, loves and seasons. Be careful to look up the connotations. Or don't, the poetry is beautiful either way.

[James · Rating 3 out of 5]

A decent collection of translated poems marred by the absence of the original Japanese. The biographical data at the back of the book is worth reading.

[Hind · Rating 5 out of 5]

Now my flame barely flickers
In a quiet room my scorching makes a sound
My little fire is hot
It burns my hair my nails my eyes
To burn is
To vomit life because I’ve been gluttonous
Life melts into a puddle at my feet
Like repentance

— Yoshihara Sachiko (tr, Rexroth & Atsumi)

[Amanda · Rating 4 out of 5]

The poetry is gorgeous. My lower rating is due to the organization of the bios and the ending essay. The bios, rather than being paired with the respective poets, were all gathered at the end of the collection. In this way, I could not match the bio to the poem. The essay at the end contained a few microaggressions; since the book was written in 1982, some language/context did not age well.

[Rosamund Taylor · Rating 4 out of 5]

A rich and complex collection, giving the reader a glimpse of poetry from the Heian period of Japanese literature, right up to the 1970s, when this collection was published. Rexroth is a respectful translator, who spent a long time in Japan, and knew many of the women in this book personally. Atsumi is also a poet and translator, whose own work is represented in this book. It's interesting to see such a long period represented in a collection, and at times I felt that the poets would have been served better if this had been split into two volumes: one for the Heian work, and one for the later period. Though the reader can see how one tradition flows into another, each individual poet gets very little space, even poets whose work is very important and an integral part of the poetic canon. The poems are accompanied by brief biographies on each of the poets, as well as an essay on the history of women poets in Japan. Both of these are detailed and interesting, though at times feel a bit dated: I would love to read a modern essay on Japanese poetry by women. Overall, it's wonderful to see so many poets represented, and while not all poems are of the same standard, this books is very appealing and is a wonderful resource. I recommend it.

[Raff · Rating 4 out of 5]

[...] a dog's sense of smell deer's sense of hearing
that was my sadness
sadness is a mollusk's two antennae
when the world meaninglessly flowed from the wound
i in the middle of trembling
there is a world sky: blue
blue sky pierced into wound
God stubbornly continued to be absent
i stubbornly continued loving

-from Blasphemy by Yoshihara Sachiko

i'm so glad i read this book even if i couldn't appreciate all the poems in it. i found such touching gems i know i'll keep thinking about them for a very long time.

[Cellophane Renaissance · Rating 5 out of 5]

Ono no Komachi
(9th Century)

I fell asleep thinking of him,
and he came to me.
If I had known it was only a dream


Princess Shikishi
(P—1201)


Life, like a thread piercing through jewels,
if you must break,
break now!
If I live any longer
I will weaken and show my hidden love.




Kenrei Mon-in Ukyō no Daibu
(12th Century)

The leaves of the bush clover rustle in the wind.
I, not a leaf,
watched you without a sound.
You may have thought I paid no attention.


My heart, like my clothing
is saturated with your fragrance.



Den Sute-Jo
(1633-1698)

A snowy morning
Everywhere II, II, II (two, two, two)



Hoshino Tatsuko
(1903-)

O brightness
of peony’s buds
softly splitting open!



Yosano Akiko
(1878-1942)

LABOR PAINS

Knowledge is not reality.
Experience belongs to the past
Let those who lack immediacy be silent
Let observers be content to observe.

There is only one truth.
I shall give birth to a child,
truth driving outward from my inwardness.
Neither good nor bad; real, no sham about it.


Nagase Kiyoko
(1906-)

MOTHER

I am always aware of my mother,
ominous, threatening,
a pain in the depths of my consciousness.
My mother is like a shell,
so easily broken.
Yet the fact that I was born
bearing my mother’s shadow
cannot be changed.
She is like a cherished, bitter dream
my nerves cannot forget
even after I awake.
She prevents all freedom of movement.
If I move she quickly breaks,
and the splinters stab me.



Nakamura Chio
(1913-)

A DIARY WITHOUT DATES

I, no sense of being alive,
live next door to death.

My neck was so feeble,
it toppled if anyone touched it.
I felt I had turned to stone.

Every day my anxiety grew deeper,
until it enveloped me so thickly
that I could see nothing.
Alone in an illimitable desert
I wept hopelessly, as if in a nightmare in dawn
where the open mouthed blue sky wept with me.

The trees wept,
a bird’s body,
a horse’s bleached bones,
all spell bound.
Immobile, watched with bated breath
the figure of death.

The world was unbearably still.
I sat side by side with death,
held immobile in reality,
only hoping I would not fall.



Takiguchi Masako
(1933- )

BLUE HORSE

Its blind eyes stealthily turn
To an indigo deeper far and lonelier than the
sea.



Ibaragi Noriko
(1926- )

WHAT A LITTLE GIRL HAD ON HER MIND

What a little girl had on her mind was:
Why do the shoulders of other men’s wives
give off so strong a smell like magnolia;
or like gardenias?
What is it,
that faint veil of mist,
over the shoulders of other men’s wives?
She wanted to have one,
that wonderful thing
even the prettiest virgin cannot have.

The little girl grew up.
She became a wife and then a mother.
One day she suddenly realized;
the tenderness
that gathers over the shoulders of wives,
is only fatigue
from loving others day after day.




Shinkawa Kazue
(1929- )

AN EVENT WHICH MAKES NO NEWS

Did you see in the shadowy woods
a branch grew, leaves came out
of a girl’s pliant extended arms
and quickly became a tree?
Did you see?
A youth stood by the tree,
took off his deep blue coat,
and in a moment became a dove?



Tada Chimako
(1930- )

My mirror is the cemetery of smiles.




Yoshihara Sachiko
(1932- )

CANDLE

Going
Gone
Don’t be going
Be gone
Don’t forgive
Forgive—

I am burning in the darkness
Hot wax drips along my sides
I am decreasing
But the blood I shed increases

For the sake of my small light
The surrounding darkness becomes thicker
I can’t see you
I can’t see the darkness in you

Because of my small light
I can’t see myself
I can only see the white blood I shed

You pass through me, Darkness,
Not sideways but rising
In the opposite direction of my decreasing
Through the flame that I wanted
To slightly singe your fingertips
Now my flame barely flickers
In a quiet room my scorching makes a sound
My little fire is hot
It burns my hair my nails my eyes
To burn is
To vomit life because I’ve been gluttonous
Life melts into a puddle at my feet
Like repentance

I am consumed in flames alone
When I return to the darkness
The darkness returns to itself
You passed through me
Fire and darkness passed through me

What was consumed is not me
I am not the fire which burnt
To burn
And to be consumed, that is me

So I am here
Standing in the blood drained from me
I am here
Always, endlessly, I am here

Forgive me for burning
Forgive me for disappearing



BLASPHEMY

God certainly wasn’t
sun stubbornly continued rising
i stubbornly continued loving

but God was there one day
i took a look in myself

from around what time?
was it from the time i was a fish?
in my spirit there was a deep wound
no sound no color without interval: heat
the flowing blood resembled God

from the wound i
felt everything then
stubbornly i did

those are my watery eyes thirsty lips
a dog’s sense of smell deer’s sense of hearing
that was my sadness
sadness is a mollusk’s two antennae

when the world meaninglessly flowed from the wound
i in the middle of trembling
there is a world sky: blue
blue sky pierced into wound

God stubbornly continued to be absent
i stubbornly continued loving




I FORGET

sun setting
turned the windowpane orange
shower spray
was a diamond color
so i thought

now only the memory
of color remains
the window
and the shower spray
have vanished



Tomioka Taeko
(1935- )

GIRLFRIEND

The concubine next door
chants sutras.
In the early afternoon
I saw an animal like a donkey
pass under the window.
I saw it through the gap in the curtains.
There is a woman who comes to visit me,
always through the gap in the curtains.
Today she hasn’t come yet.
She promised to come,
in her Viet Nam dress
of georgette crepe
with that walk
that makes all the men run after her.
She hasn’t come;
maybe she’s dead.
Before,
when I went traveling with her,
she wanted to buy an old woodcut
of Germany or somewhere
at an antique shop out in the country.

At a country inn,
for the first time I had a chance
to dishevel her hair
as thick as Bridgit Bardot’s.
We danced
Viennese waltzes,
our crimson cheeks rubbing
as long as we wished
Sometimes she let fall
transparent optimistic poetry
that now I want to take for tears.
She hasn’t come today.
I pray
out loud though it’s only noon,
just like the concubine next door.
She
didn’t promise not to come.
The one who goes.
Oh, the one who has gone.

[Mallory · Rating 5 out of 5]

WOW

[shensis · Rating 5 out of 5]

i can give myself to her
in her dreams
whispering her own poems
in her ear as she sleeps beside me





🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺

[nini · Rating 3 out of 5]

The idea behind this collection is inventive and refreshing, it brings together most of the feminine poetic tradition in Japan, starting with the earliest women poets and ending with the most modern ones. As a reader, I was able to sample the writings of each one and it allowed me to witness the stylistic changes, as well as the theme shifts that occurred with the passage of centuries.
Thus, while I appreciated the structure and the idea behind it, my qualm with this collection lies in the execution of it. The translations (not accompanied by the original text, nor footnotes) feel clunky and literal, written with no refinement nor enthusiasm. Moreover, the collection curator gave little to no context to each poem, having them just exist on the page with nothing to support and highlight the brilliance of these works of art. Reading these should’ve felt like an engrossing and stimulating experience, but I mostly felt underwhelmed with the lack of polish.

Still, the intensity and mastery of these women, as well as their perennial topicality, manages to shine through in many many of these poems and I still managed to enjoy most of them. I was mainly fascinated by and impressed with the choice to include feminist poets—frequently forgotten and erased by Japanese literature—whose writings, finally recorded for an international audience, I appreciated wholly.

“God certainly wasn’t
sun stubbornly continued rising
i stubbornly continued loving

but God was there one day
i took a look in myself

from around what time?
was it from the time i was a fish?
in my spirit there was a deep wound
no sound no color without interval: heat
the flowing blood resembled God

from the wound i
felt everything then
stubbornly i did

those are my watery eyes thirsty lips
a dog’s sense of smell deer’s sense of hearing
that was my sadness
sadness is a mollusk’s two antennae

when the world meaninglessly flowed from the wound
i in the middle of trembling
there is a world sky: blue
blue sky pierced into wound

God stubbornly continued to be absent
i stubbornly continued loving”
(Yoshihara Sachiko)

[Patricia N. McLaughlin · Rating 5 out of 5]

In this skillfully edited collection, Atsumi and Rexroth have gathered the work of the consummate poets of each literary period, including several contemporary Japanese poets. Gorgeous calligraphy of the poets’ names, created by master calligrapher Machi Shunso, is a brilliant way to invoke the spirit (“ichinen”) of each artist. The volume also includes biographical notes on the individual poets, an essay on the history of female poets in Japanese literature, and a table of historical periods in Japan.


“From the North send a message
on the wings of the wild geese,
written again and again
by their flight across the clouds.” ~ Murasaki Shikibu


“Since I don’t know my mother,
I won’t be a mother.
Facing the sun
we smile at each other,
myself and a faceless child.” ~ Baba Akiko


Favorite Poets:

Classic Poets
Lady Kii
Kasa no Iratsume
Ono no Komachi
Lady Ise
Murasaki Shikibu*
Izumi Shikibu*
Kenrei Mon-in Ukyo no Daibo
Shunzei’s Daughter*
Abutsu-Ni

Haiku Poets of Tokugawa Period
Enomoto Seifu-Jo

Modern Tanka Poets
Yosano Akiko
Kunjo Takeko
Goto Miyoko
Hatsui Shizue
Anryu Suharu
Baba Akiko

Modern Haiku Poets
Hoshino Tatsuko

Free Verse Poets
Fukao Sumako
Nagase Kiyoko
Takada Toshiko
Mitsui Futabako
Ibaragi Noriko
Fukunaka Tomoko
Tada Chimako
Shiraishi Kazuko
Kora Rumiko
Yoshiyuki Rie
Nishi Junko

[❀ Diana ❀ · Rating 4 out of 5]

It is unfortunate that Ikuko Atsumi has not included more poems.

Rexroth's translations of those are simple yet suave and they easily describe the Japanese femme perspective of the world around them. While the men tried to imitate the Chinese writing style, the women have pushed forward the gentleness of their own native roots.

"Everyone is asleep
There is nothing to come between
the moon and me."

ー Enomoto Seifu-Jo

[Shea · Rating 3 out of 5]

Another fine from the "free box" in my neighborhood. I was intrigued by the description on the back. I'm not a huge fan of a haiku, but these were some of the better ones I have read. I really appreciated the longer poems. They evoked some nice imagery and I enjoyed the style and rhythm of many of the poems.

[Eileen O'Donohue · Rating 3 out of 5]

Crying puddle ponds in pollows how melodramatic.
Absent lovers so tragic.
Constant lust everlastingly ecstatic!
Hearts burst with excessive havic!

Staring at the moon, gassing at flowers, admiring autumn. Observing the elderly. Longing (as often poetry is shown). The joy of buying shellfish and plans to eat them later.

[Zzzzz Zzzzz · Rating 5 out of 5]

Great. I love getting to read all these ladies poems. I really love Heian poetry and this gave me some more poetry from the Nara and Kamakura periods.

The modern Tanka and some of the Haiku poetry were good, too.

[Olivia Sussex]

pretty unrateable, this anthology has poetry spanning centuries of japanese art and thought.

one of my favourite lines:

was it red?
i turn back towards the word red but the color is gone

-YOSHIHARA SACHIKO

[Maggie · Rating 4 out of 5]

I would have liked this to be longer, with a couple more poems for each woman that is represented. It is however a nice overview of some of the talented female poets of Japan, with short biographies at the end.

[Ana · Rating 2 out of 5]

2,5

[Marie · Rating 4 out of 5]

Such a beautiful collection!

[Tatyana · Rating 5 out of 5]

"Even in dreams
I do not want him to know
that it is me he is making love to,
for I am overcome with blushes
when I see my face in my morning mirror."
-- Lady Ise (9-10th century)

"Since “the pillow knows all’
we slept without a pillow."
-- Lady Ise (9-10th century)

[Courtney Doss · Rating 3 out of 5]

This was a very lovely collection of poetry. There were a lot of gems in here that I can see myself reading again at some point.

[Nora Justice · Rating 5 out of 5]

Easily in my top 5 poetry books

[Elena K. · Rating 4 out of 5]

It is a bright house.
I will create in it
a world no man can ever build (Fukao Sumako)

Lovely collection, I liked the older poems best