A c A o c X 33 u 1 1 8 9 9 3 30 C75 O Z > 00 33 J> 33 -< i 5 ^ ^^4INTER5 '^l^^l — . i w J^ ^ w*^ 1 )-' ) J J, i; ■'... .• i: 'k «..' j; ■ . M PJCKl: « 1 I* ^ .*• y "^ k jn n -. fl.» &*^*«ft«i»5?' ^ «t Jf«^U»»«2^ — HiBOSHIGE. A JAPANESE PRINT By Ruth Mason Rice 'A curve for the shore, A line for the lea, A tint for the sky — Where the sun-rise will be ; A stroke for a gull, A sweep for the main ; The skill to do more; With the will to refrain." TWELVE JAPANESE PAINTERS ^ ''d^'i^^*^^ <^J^^ In the volume of "Japanese Prints," by John Gould Fletcher, dedicated "To My Wife," it is a short elusive statement comprising a poem, which forms n richly suggestive preface; Granted this dew-drop world be but a dew-drop world. This granted, yet — -J Japanese Print (Cinquains) I Purple Shore lines Gather up the moon-glow Leaving these deep still waters To the night II Boatmen Are silhouettes In their low cabin door And willow branches spill across The moon. Ill Within The lit doorway The kodanshi repeats An old tale to a liateniug Shadow. IV Cargoes Of ageless dreams Drift by in little boats That ride in the long wake of A full moon. t.^ i Ethel Louise Knox. w^^^:&^^ii^ ORIENTAL SCHOLAR DIES ! CHICAGO, Jan. 18. UP)— I) Frederick William Gookin, 83 yeai^i of age. oriental scholar and curatorl of Japanese prints at the Chica--' Art Institute, died of pneumoi. last night at his home in suburb; Winnetka. -• .. . Copyrieht 1913 Arthur Daviion Ficke The Ralph Fletcher Seymour Company Fine Arts Building Chicago The Ukioye School of Japanese painting, best known of all Japanese schools, but still too little known, is the theme of this group of poems. It were too much to hope that, through them, any new lover could be led to these remarkable paint- ings and prints; but at least a few old lovers may be interested to examine an attempt at voicing cer- tain impressions which these works produce in all who are familiar with them. For the cover-design of this volume, the author is deeply indebted to Mr. Frederick W. Gookin. PROLOGUE As chosen guests ye may partake Of this strange hostel's ancient wine. For thirst no common drink can slake, Tapsters of lineage divine Here pour sweet anodyne. The hurly-burly of the road, The turmoil of the carters' feet, Intrude not to this still abode Where travelers from the world-ends meet, And find the gathering sweet. , Hence may perhaps some secret gleam Follow along our onward way, From evening feast with lords of dream. As we go forth into the gray Tomorrow's cloudy day. ,*-.-i; ;■;;♦' 4 CONTENTS. Prologue 3 Figure of a Girl by Harunobu 7 Koriusai Speaks 11 Portrait of an Actor in Tragic role by Shunsho. . 13 Festival Scene by Kiyonaga 15 Dramatic Portrait by Sharaku 17 Group of Women by Shuncho 19 Two Women by Kitao Masanobu 21 Portrait of a Woman by Yeishi 23 Landscape by Hiroshige 27 The Pupil of Toyokuni 29 Landscape by Hokusai 33 A Group of Ladies by Toyohiro 35 Portrait of a Woman by Utamaro 37 The Birds and Flowers of Hiroshige 41 The Landscapes of Hiroshige 43 Epilogue 47 TWELVE JAPANESE PAINTERS HARUNOBU FIGURE OF A GIRL BYHARUNOBU THAT somewhere in the West, — In gulfs of sunset, isles of rest, — Rise dewy from pre- natal sleep To strew with little waves the deep, — Surely it is your breath that stirs These fluttering gauzy robes of hers! Come whence ye may, I marvel not That ye are lured to seek this spot : Your tenuous scarcely-breathed powers Sway not the sturdier garden-flowers, And had unmanifest gone by — Save that she feels them visibly. O little winds, her little hands In time with tunes from faery-lands Are moving; and her bended head Knows nothing of the long years sped Since heaven more near to earth was hung, And gods lived, and the world was young. Her inner robe, of tenderest fawn, In cool faint fountains of the dawn Was dyed ; and her long outer dress Borrows its luminous loveliness From some clear bowl with water filled In which one drop of wine was spilled. Peace folds her in its deeps profound ; Her shy glance lifts not from the ground ; And through this garden's still retreat She moves with tripping silver feet Whose tranced grace, where'er she strays, Turns all the days to holy days. Hers is the boon of manifold Small joys that never can grow old. Though her poised head and quiet eye The mood of these light steps deny, It is the playful solemn art Of childhood innocence of heart. 8 Come! let us softly steal away. For what can we, whose hearts are gray, Bring to her dreaming paradise? A chill shall mock her from our eyes ; A cloud shall dim this radiant air: Come! for our world is otherwhere. But O ye little winds that blow From golden islands long ago Lost to our searching in the deep Of dreams between the shores of sleep,— Ye shall her happy playmates be. Fluttering her robes invisibly. ^^<^'i^ II KORIUSAI SPEAKS Let whoso will take sheets as wide As some great wrestler's mountain-back: Space will not hide His lack. Take thou the panel, being strong. 'Tis as a girl's arm fashioned right, — As slender and divinely long And white. That tall and narrow icy space Gives scope for all the brush beseems. And who shall ask a wider place For dreams? It is an isle amid the tide, — A chink wherethrough shines one lone star,- A cell where calms of heaven hide Afar. One chosen curve of beauty wooed From out the harsh chaotic world Shall there in solitude Be furled. The narrow door shall be so strait Life cannot vex, with troubled din, Beauty, beyond that secret gate Shut in. 11 Lo! I will draw two lovers there, Alone amid their April hours, With lines as drooping and as fair As flowers. I will make Spring to circle them Like a faint aureole of delight. Their luminous youth and joy shall stem The night. And men shall say — Behold ! he chose, From Time's wild welter round him strown, This hour; and paid for its repose His own. 12 III PORTRAIT OF AN ACTOR IN TRAGIC ROLE BY SHUNSHO His soul is a sword ; His sword with the spirit's breath Is bathed of its terrible lord, In whose eyes is death. And the massive control, i And the lighted implacable eye Leash a fierce and exalted soul Of dark destiny. With the strength of the hills, — Kiso's iron mountains of snow, — He waits : time brings and fulfills The hour for the blow. He waits; and the white Full robes round his shoulders sway. With woof of pale orange alight. Pale green, pale gray. Like a falcon, flown To bleak mid-regions of sky. He poises. One image alone Holds his sinster eye, — A vision, a prey Toward which he shall soon be hurled ;- And his fury shall darken the day, And his joy, the world. 13 A music enfolds him Like the thunders that are poured Across heaven ; it holds him With the song of the sword. It enthralls, it inspires, And its zenith shall be Lightning of unleashed desires Crashing along the sea. IV FESTIVAL SCENE BY KIYONAGA What gods are these, reborn from gracious days To fill our gardens with diviner mould Than therein dwelling? What bright race of old Revisits here one hour our mortal ways? Serene, dispassionate, with lordly gaze They move through this clear afternoon of gold. Equal to life and all its deeps may hold. Calm, spacious masters of the glimmering maze. What gods are these? or godlike men? whom earth \ Suffices, in a wisdom just and high That not repines the boundaries of its birth But fills its destined measure utterly- Finding in mortal sweetness perfect worth. Not yet grown homesick for the wastes of sky. 15 -Vv»^' _^j«y J^ ^^^ M ^^BS ^ij^k jCr^C j^^ "jmcr-^^-f ■ SHUNCHO VI GROUP OF WOMEN BY SHUNCHO Your lovely ladies shall not fade Though Yedo's moated walls be laid Level with dust, and night-owls brood Over the city's solitude. Far be the coming of that day ! Yet that it comes not, who shall say? Who knows how long the halls shall stand Of your once-golden wonderland? Perhaps shall Nikko crumble down, Its carvings worn, its glow turned brown Through many winters. On that hill Where great leyasu's brazen will In brazen tomb now takes its rest, Perhaps the eagle's young shall nest. Kyoto's gardens cannot last. At Kamakura, where the vast Form of the Buddha fronts the sea, A waste of waves may someday be. . . . Ah, stale and flat the warning bell Whose melancholy accents tell Impermanence to hearts that guess ••' Time's undiscovered loveliness. A fairer Yedo shall arise ; A richer Nikko praise the skies; leyasus mightier than of old Shall cast the world in wiser mould ; Fresh gardens shall be spread; new faith Shall spring when Buddha is a wraith ; — And more puissant hands than yours Shall paint anew life's ancient lures. Yet when he comes who shall surpass 19 Your beauty that so matchless was, A joy shall light him through your eyes, A flame shall from your embers rise, Your gentle art shall make him wise In mastery of melodies. — And though your wreath in dust be laid. Your lovely ladies shall not fade! en Ijy Sbtatsu. cloudF. and a ting in a gr«at z-t^, sxinz'-S in a J high arc, > Under clouds of gold, over clouds ot I gold— I From the long curvo of a golden I shore ^ , , [Across wide spaces of dar.t river! I And behold! a drifting miracle — Behold tho long, steady-advancing prow iOf a golden boat, heavier than the ' sun, *Qulet upon the dark river, bearing , two lovers tin robes of state, intricate, luminous. Jpon this dim river — where the great arc >f the bridge from clouds Into clouds Swings, from golden shore to golden shore, I'rom the gold earth to tho gold heaven! — [Arthur Davison Pick©, 20 VII TWO WOMEN BY KITAO MASANOBU. What floors have ye trod? What sky-paven places have opened their halls to your eyes? What light was yours, through summerward spaces watching the swallow that flies? What holy silence has touched your faces — what hush of paradise? I think that he died of a longing unspoken who dreamed you to walk in our ways. The wheel at the cistern, the pitcher is broken : ye wot not that dust decays — Ye, torn from the heart of the dreamer as token to dreamers of other days. Masam.bv, Okimika- (ifisli.i in spring-time. 4s^K'/»*WtTr4i!f VIII PORTRAIT OF A WOMAN BY YEISHI I Out of the silence of dead years Your slender presence seems to move — A fragrance that no time outwears — A perilous messenger of love. From far, your wistful beauty brings A wonder that no lips may speak, — A music dumb save as it clings About your shadowy throat and cheek. Longing is round you like that haze Of luminous and tender glow Which memory in the later days Gives vanished days of long ago. And he who sees you must retrace All sweetness that his life has known, And with the vision of your face Link some lost vision of his own. The long curves of your saffron dress, — The outline of your delicate mould, — Your strange unearthly slendemess Seem like a wraith's that strayed of old Out of some region where abide Fortunate spirits without stain, Where nothing lovely is denied. And pain is only beauty's pain. 23 II Strange ! that in life you were a thing Common to many for delight, Thrall to the revelries that fling Their gleam across the fevered night : — A holy image in the grasp Of pagans careless to adore; A pearl secreted in the clasp Of oozy weeds on some lost shore. My thought shrinks back from what I see And wanders dumb in poisoned air — Then leaps, inexplicably free. Remembering that you were fair! Ill Beloved were you in your prime By one, of all, who came as guest, — A wastrel strange, whose gaze could climb To where your beauty lit the west. One, — in whose secret heart there moved Some far and unforgotten stir Of ancient holy beauties loved, — Here paused, a sudden worshiper. Methinks he moved in dusks apart Through that profound and trembling hour When you within his doubting heart Touched all the desert into flower. And where you rose a world's delight. For him the dark veils from you fell, — As earthly clouds from star-strewn night Withdraw, and leave a miracle. 24 Not Oiran then, but maid ; remote From tyrant powers of waste desire. Who drew these hands, this slender throat, Saw you mid shaken winds of fire. You were a shape of wonder, set To crown the seeking of his days. For you his lonely eyes were wet; With you his soul walked shrouded ways. And though the burning night might keep You servient to some lord's carouse, For him you rose from such a deep With maiden dawn-light on your brows. IV Pale Autumn with ethereal glow Hovered your delicate figure near; And ever round you whispered low Her voices, and the dying year. A year, — a day, — and then the leaves Purpureal, ashen, umber, red, Wove for you both through waning eves A gorgeous carpet gloomward spread. And with that waning, you had gone. Through changes that love fears to trace — No later lover could have known Your wistful and alluring face — Your music, quivering in thin air. Had fled with life that filled your veins — But he for whom you were so fair Dreamed ; and the troubled dream remains. 25 Time, that is swift to smite and rend The common things that spring from earth. Dares not so surely set an end To shapes of visionary birth. There often his destroying touch Lingers as with a lulled caress, Adding, to that which has so much, An alien ghostly loveliness. So shall your beauty, crescent, pass From me through many a later hand, Each year more luminous than it was — O April out of Sunset Land ! 26 IX LANDSCAPE BY HIROSHIGE (The Bow-Moon) Where the torrent leaps and falls, And the hanging cliffs look down, — Cloven gray and ruddy walls, Each with ragged forest-crown, — There across the chasmed deep Spans a gossamer bridge on high; And below, from gulfs of sleep. Mounts the Bow-Moon up the sky. Blue dusk, thickening whence she rose, Her abysses veils; above Moves she into daylight's close As faint strains of music move. On the eastern slope her feet, — White, in tranced ecstasy, — Climb, a ghost of heaven, so sweet That the spent day cannot die. Walled by crags on either side Glimmers forth her figure wan. Straying like some lonely bride Through the halls of Kubla Khan. Pilgrim of the riven deep! Wheresoe'er thy lover lie, Sleep to him is troubled sleep While his Bow-Moon haunts the sky. 27 loYOKLKi I.— A noble youth with female attendants visiting a temple. X THE PUPIL OF TOYOKUNI I walk the crowded Yedo streets. And everywhere one question greets My passing, as the strollers say — "How goes the Master's work today? We saw him sketching hard last night At Ryogoku, where the bright Trails of the rockets lit the air. You should have seen the ladies there! All the most famous of the town In gorgeous robes walked up and down The long bridge-span, well knowing he Was there to draw them gorgeously. I'm sure he'll give us something fine, — Dark splendid figures, lights ashine, A great procession of our best And costliest Oiran, with the West Burning behind them. When it's done, Pray, of the copies, save me one." Yes, I am pupil to the great. How well he bears his famous state ! With what superbness he fulfills The multitude's delighted wills, Giving them, at their eager call. Each play and feast and festival Drawn with a rich magnificence: And they come flocking with their pence To buy his sheets whose supple power Captures the plaudits of the hour, — Till even Utamaro's eyes Turn, kindled with swift jealousies. 29 Strange ! that before this crowded shrine One voice is lacking, and that mine, — I, learner in his lordly house, — I, on whose cold unwilling brows The lights of his strong glory burn Blinding my heart that needs must yearn Far from the measure of his state, — I, liegeman to another fate. Would that some blindness came on me That I might cease one hour to see For all his high, ambitious will His is a peasant's nature still What utter madness that my thought Weighs him, — I who am less than naught! Where he walks boldly, there I creep. Where his assured long brush-strokes sweep Unhesitant, there I falter, strain With agony, — perhaps in vain, — For some more subtly curving line, Some musical poising of design That shall at last, at last express My frailer glimpse of loveliness. And yet, for all his facile art, I hug my impotence to my heart. For there are things his marching mind In steady labors day by day With all its sight shall never find. With all its craft can never say. There are lights along the dusky street That his bold eyes have never caught; There are tones more luminous, more sweet Than any that his hopes have sought. There are torturing lines that curve and fall Like dying echoes musical. Or twine and lace and bend and roll In labyrinths to lure my soul. His ladies sumptuous and rare 30 Move princess-like in proud design Of glowing loveliness: but where His bannered pomps and pageants shine, I feel a stiller, rarer peace, A cadence breathless, slender, lone. And where his facile brush-strokes cease Begins the realm that is my own. I wander lonely by fields and streams. I lie in wait for lingering dreams That brood, a tender-lighted haze Down the wide space of ending days, — A secret thrill that hovering flies Round some tall form, some wistful eyes. Some thin branch where the Spring is green, — A whisper heard, a light half-seen By lonely wanderers abroad In crowded streets or solitude Of hills, — to haunt with dim unrest The empty chambers of the breast. Perhaps some day a heart shall come. Like me half-blind, like me half-dumb. Like me contentless with the clear Sunlighted beauties men hold dear. Perhaps he shall more greatly prize My faltered whispers from afar Than all the Master's pageantries And confident pomp and press and jar. Yet, well or ill, how shall I change The measure doled, the nature given? Mine is the thirst for far and strange Echoes of a forgotten heaven. I listen for the ghosts of sound; Remote I watch life's eager stream; Through wastes afar, through gulfs profound, I, Toyohiro, seek my dream. 31 The Wave (HokusaVs Picture) What splendor in the upflung curve That sprays pearl-froth upon the salt stung air! What sublime intensity in the falling fluid form, What glory crouches there! What peace and stillness in Mount Fuji's noble form Clear-glimpsed within that splendid wind-shaped arc! It contradicts the writhing liveness of the wave That makes one smell the sea and h'fear its voices — hark! There, in a picture, is the facile wall of green Inclosing one around. The relentless crest hissing overhead and tossing its threatening hair A sense of being overwhelmed, submerged In the irresistible coolness of water-beaten air. It is a thing to make one's thoughts be filled with wonder — This great crest leaping from the vastness of the sea. Bravely beautiful as an eagle's pinions might be beautiful, Stirring and glorious as the sound of a trumpet-call might be! Doi-ORE.^ Cair.nS. XI. LANDSCAPE BY HOKUSAI. (The Wave at Kanazawa.) Because thou wast marvelous of eye, magic of fancy, lithe of hand, — Because thou didst play o'er many a gulf where common mortals dizzy stand, — Because no thing in earth or sky escaped the pry- ings of thine art, — I call thee, who wast master of all, the master with the maakmif's heart. Where in the street the drunkards roll, — ^where in the ring the wrestlers sway, — Where rustics pound the harvest rice, or fishers sail, or abbots pray, — In rocky gorge, or lowland field, or winter heights of mountain air, — Wherever man or beast or bird or flower finds place, — yea, everywhere. Thou standest, as I fancy, rapt in the live play of mass and line. Curiously noting every poise ; and in that ugly head of thine Storing it with unsated fierce passion for life's min- utest part, Some day to use infallibly, — O master with the Wttttt^ heart! "VOliere Kanazawa's thundering shores behold the mounded waters rave. And Fuji looms above the plain, and the plain slopes to meet the wave,— 3Z There didst thou from the trembling sands un- leash thy soul in sudden flight To soar above the whirling waste with awe and wonder and delight. Thou sawest the giant tumult poured; each slope and chasm of cloven brine Called thee ; and from the scattered rout one vision did thy sight divine — One heaven-affronting whelming wave in which all common waves have part — ^rmj£jtU> A billow from the wrath of God,— O iMHqFwith -^rjauBtakfif's heart! What mind shall span thee? Who shall praise or blame thy world-embracing sight Whose harvest was each rocb and wraith, each form of loathing or of light? Though we should puzzle all our days, we shall not know thee as thou art. Nor where the seer of visions ends, nor where be- gins the mmttttft^ heart. 34 XII. A GROUP OF LADIES BY TOYOHIRO. O careless passer, — O look deep! These forms from near the sea of sleep Come hither: on each forehead gleams The phosphorescent spray of dreams. They have sailed in from lonely seas, Cloaked in a haze of mysteries; And hither by a lord are led Who snared them, pale himself with dread, Upon the very shores of sleep. O careless passer-by, look deep! 35 ■ 'l!****^* -• .'.yS r- 0^^^i^- XIII. PORTRAIT OF A WOMAN BY UTAMARO I In robes like clouds at sunset rolled About the dying sun, — In splendid vesture of purple and gold That a thousand toiling days have spun For thee, O imperial one! — With the cunning pomp of the later years, With their pride and glory and stress, Thou risest; and thy calm forehead bears These like a crown; but thy frail mouth wears All of their weariness. Thou art one of the great, who mayest stand Where Cleopatra stood, Aspasia, Rhodope, at each hand; And even the proud tempestuous mood Of Sappho shall rule thy blood. Thy throat, in its slender whiteness bare. Seems powerless to sustain The gorgeous tower of thy gold-decked hair, — Like a lily's stem which the autumn air Maketh to shrink and wane. More haunting music, more luring love Round thy sinuous form hold sway Than the daughters of earth have knowledge of; For thou art the daughter of fading day. Touched with all hope's decay. 37 And the subtle languor, the prismic glow Of a ripeness overpast Burns through the wonderful curving flow Of thy garments ; and they who love thee know A loathing at the last. For they are the lovers of living things, — Stars, sunlight, morning's breath; But thou, for all that thy beauty brings Such songs as the Summer scattereth, — Thou art of the House of Death. II But there was one, in thy golden day. Who saw thy poppied bloom, And loved not thee but the heart's decay That filled thee; and clasped it to be alway His chosen and sealed doom. He who this living portrait wrought, Outlasting time's control, A dark and bitter nectar sought Welling from poisoned streams that roll Through deserts of the soul Ill Ah dreamer! come at last where dreams Can serve no more thy need. Who hast by such bright silver streams Walked with thy soul that now earth seems A waste where love must bleed, — Thou whom such matchless beauty filled Of visions frail and lone, — For thee all passion now is stilled; Thy heart, denied the life it willed, Desireth rather none. 38 And thee allure no verdant blooms That with fresh joy suspire; But blossoms touched with coming glooms, And weariness, and spent desire. Draw to thy spirit nigher. Wherefore is nothing in thy sight Propitious save it be Brushed with the wings of hovering night, Worn with the shadow of delight. Sad with satiety. For thou hast enmity toward all The servants of life's breath; One mistress holdeth thee in thrall. And them thou lovest who her call Answer; and she is Death. IV Now Death thy ruined city's streets Walketh, a grisly queen. And there Her sacred horror greets Him who invades these waste retreats, Her sacrosanct demesne,— In robes like clouds at sunset rolled About the dying sun, In splendid vestments of purple and gold That a thousand perished years have spun For Her, the Imperial One. 39 XIV THE BIRDS AND FLOWERS OF HIROSHIGE Alilt against the emerald sky, A tiny violet songster swings, , Clutching a branch, in ecstasy j Of light and height and skiey things. / Singing, he swings; and swinging, I For once am showered with joy of wings. Keen and pure, of a magic power. Thy rapture stirs what was never stirred. Thou hast brought to earth a cloudland dower, — The joy of the small sweet singing bird. All time is richer for thy hour Of delicate music, gravely heard. Does the iris droop beneath the heat? Its weariness finds voice in thee. Does the pheasant run with snow-clogged feet? Winter is theirs who thy vision see. Is summer's glow to the swallow sweet? Thou hast captured its summer eternally. Thou hast wrought each as a lyric note Pure with one mood of sky and trees And flowers, and tiny lives that float Or dart or poise in world of these. The painter's hand, the thrush's throat, — V Which masters best these melodies? Gusty rain through the treetops blown And a bird that scuds where the gray g^sts hiss, — Sapphire wings and a golden crown Flung skyward in unconscious bliss — No rare enchanted bird has known As thou hast known the savor of this! 41 And winning it, thou hast cast aside Thy native bonds of mortal birth, — Flinging the spirit-pinions wide Above this world of weary worth, — To float and poise and skyward ride With them whose realm is not the earth. — The peacock in his proud repose — Wild-geese that rush across the moon — The little sleepy owl that knows The wind-among-the-tree-tops tune, — The kingfisher that darts and glows Over the reeds of the lagoon — The fliower-lured hummingbird that weaves Spirals more delicate than they — Sanderlings that on moonlit eves Over the wave-crest swoop and play — The crane that shores of sunset leaves For sunset skies of far away. 42 XV THE LANDSCAPES OF HIROSHIGE As merchantmen from Eastern isles In caravels of purple came, With freight that alien heart beguiles, — Incense, and cloths of woven flame, — So down the gulfs of elder time Thy glorious pinions bear to me Mad treasure from the unknown clime Of worlds beyond the Western Sea. Now in my bay the sails are furled. But I, who guess their native skies. Henceforth must roam that golden world, Where strange winds whisper and strange scents rise. Immortal Fuji's snowy crown — Wide seas with sky of amethyst — A street where torrents thunder down — Branches that toss against the mist — Smooth hills and hill-girt plains where run Streams through the rice fields steeped in heat — Pines gnarled above a sunken sun — Cold heights where cloud and mountain meet. Now visions enter to my breast That from thy passion won their birth When like a bride in radiance dressed Before thee glowed the summers of earth. 43 What magic gave thee to behold This fairness, secret from our sight, Where morning walks the world in gold, Or seas turn gray with coming night? For thee, as when the South Winds blow, Lands burst to bloom. On every shore Where beauty dwells thou didst bestow A perilous mortal beauty more. Twilight and morn on Biwa's breast — Harima's sands and lordly pines — White Hira-mountain's winter crest — The low red dusk round Yedo shrines — The moon beneath the Monkey Bridge — The Poisoned River's brooding gloom — Rose-dawn on some Tokaido ridge — Pale water-worlds of lotus bloom. Our toiling race is with the day Wearied, and restless with the night, — Unpausing, on its tombward way. For fear or wonder or delight, — Unwatchful, mid the somber things That mesh us in a vain employ. For peace that half of heaven brings. For beauty that is wholly joy. Lover for whom the world was wide! Down lighted pathways thou didst move — Where hills and seas and cities hide So much for weary men to love. 44 The mist of cherry trees in spring — Ships sleeping on same bright lagoon — A swallow's dusky sweeping wing — Steep Ishiyama's autumn moon — The changing marvels of faint rain — The foam that hides the torrent's stream— The eagle o'er the snowy plain — Sea-twilights haunted as a dream. Speaking, thou laidst thy brush aside, — "On a long journey I repair — Regions beyond the Western Tide — To view the wonderful landscapes there." Yet, at Adzuma, loosed from all Thy mortal bonds, made free to roam, Methinks thou couldst not break the thrall That held thee to thy human home. Surely no heaven could harbor thee, Nor other world of keener bliss. Who didst with such deep constancy Worship the loveliness of this. — Moon-flooded throngs in Yedo's streets— Dawn-quickened travelers on their road — Lone ocean-fronting hill retreats — An Oiran's perilous-sweet abode — A mighty Buddha by the sea Where all the wondering pilgrims meet — Immortal Fuji, changelessly Watching the world around her feet. 45 /> ^^ UerttBl^ Cty (^i/nia9x4^ EPILOGUE Bring forth, my friend, these faded sheets, Whose charm our labored utterance flies. Perhaps our later search repeats The groping of those scholars' eyes Who, ere the dawned Renaissant day, With dusked sight and doubtful hand, Bent o'er the pages of some gray Greek text they could not understand; Drawn by the sense that there concealed Lay key to spacious realms unknown; Held by the need that be revealed Forgotten worlds to light their own. Japanese Print Featherlight, on a blossomy cherry bough A pensive bird high-lights a peaceful scene — Swung upward by invisible wires A silvery moon like a lantern huge Bathes with pearly, iridescent light This valued Japanese colored print That han^s upon my wall. Beautiful you are as the memory 'Of the old protcesor who brought you Across the waters to abide with me. Beautiful, magical as sunlight Warming and love-lighting a vast landscape. Mine for the eyes quick-garnering For dreams — sweet lotus-land, Ida C'roikkr I>u.xca.\. Hiroshige In land of picture-books we wander, By temple shrines enwreathed in snow Softer than cherry blossoms. Yon- der A sea-strip — vivid indigo Is flecked with fluttering wings of sail — Then turn the page — See where the cone of F*ujiyama shines Through slanting streaks of rain; And straggling lines Of toiling travelers on a pilgrimage, Beaten by thwarting gale Are struggling — ^vain— To reach the arching bridg'e. There gray and pale Pawlonia trees are shuddering in the i storm — I Each tottering, unsubstantial form— r A witch in some old fairy tale. And now in sunshine all the sea is dancing, Rimmed with deep blue the distant hills- While darting rays of light are glancing From white-edged waves that crisp and curl In whirlpools of innumerable rills, • That seethe and toss and swirl. I Then evening hushed a'nB silvery- blue In misty gloaming— The tapestry of sky shot through With star-points, keen and bright. The woodland creatures all are roaming, Roused from their dreaming — Lo — oh the hills the foxes white In the blue shadows gleaming. Gathered from some strange rite — far. far away From all the haunts of man. This is the v.-jzard- this Hiroshige— Painter of wistful, delicate Japan. <^'lIARLOTTE F. BaBCOCK. 1 This edition of Twelve Japanese Painters^ by Arthur Davison Ficke, is limited to 250 copies, of which 100 are for sale. Designed and printed by the Ralph Fletcher Seymour Company in Chicago, after which the type was distributed. March, MCMXIII. Color Print by Hiroshi^e A yellow raft sails up the bluest stream I And cherry-blossoms cloud the shore with pink; The sky grows clearer with a curious gleam And boys come playing to the river brink. A grayish gull descends to preen and ; prink, I Far off, a singing plowman drives hi^ I team — j A yellow raft sails up the bluest stream I And cherry-blossoms cloud the shore ! with pink . . . Oh, to be there; far from this tangled I scheme ! Of strident days and nights that flare and sink. Beauty shall lift us with a colored dream; And, as we muse, too rapt and wise to think, A yellow raft sails up the bluest stream And cherry-blossoms cloud the shore with pink. — Louis Untermeyer. Butterfly Poetry The poetry of Japan reached its zenith . . . between the eighth and twelfth centuries. The eighth cen- tury poet, Hitomarp, wrote "long poetry." His verse consisted of alter- nating phrases of fire and ten syl- lables. But, short as his poems were, they did not satisfy the Japanese delight in brevity, in the mere hint, and the tanka began to flit through Japan like a moth in the moonlight. It contains only thirty-one syllables, arranged in five phrases of five, seven, five, seven, and again seven syllables, but translators have seldom bound themselves by this arrange- ment: their effort has been to con- vey the lightness, the delicate flick, and wistful brevity of these little exclamatory poems. The haikai was developed from the tanka by reduction; it is little more than half a tanka, for it runs to only seventeen syllables. It has been de- scribed as "a Japanese sketch, which encloses in a few precise strokes, either the subtlest details of a hu- man chronicle or the spaces of an infinite landscape." Here is an early haikai: "Thought I, the fallen flowers" Are returning to their branch: But Ip! they were butterflies." Just a light, unexpected, and beau- tiful fancy put into beautiful words — more beautiful than can be con- veyed In English. The" art " of 'the halkaT'lanT^'Ee'l Japanese feeling for it, are indicated j in a delightful story which Mr. W. G. Aston tells, in his "History of Japanese Literature," of one of its greatest masters, Matsura Basho. One day, while travelling, he came on a party of peasants who were . * . throwing off haikais in com- petition. When he appeared the sub- ject they had just selected was the full moon, and, under the impression that he was a wandering Buddhist priest, they invited him to join them and show what he could do. The great artist seemed to hesitate. He then began: "Twas the new moon." Whereupon they laughed and mocked j him. "The nev moon! What a fool i this priest is! The poem should be about the full moon." "Let him go on," said another, "we shall have the better sport." Basho went on: "'Twas the new moon! Since then I waited — And, lo! tonight!" The little band fell into silent ad- miration, and, on learning who the stranger was, ihe\Y spokesman apol- ogized to the poet, "whose fragrant name was known to the whole world." ... "I come aweary, In search of an inn — Ah! these wistaria flowers." . . . A larger theme is this landscape: "Pilgrims on the road Their bells swing Above the harvest." It may seem easy to produce these little gems of vision and feeling; but ay! — From "Unposted Letters," by John O'London i University of Caiifomia SOUTHERN REGIONAL LIBRARY FACILITY 405 Hilgard Avenue, Los Angeles, CA 90024-1388 Return this material to the library from which it was borrowed. UPD lO-URL 'Wij^^'r^- Jj ' «^ it 11 m- 1 iHW* :^H|k XJniversi i ^^^^^h' Ik.