草
52 poems of grass.
くさ · in 52 of the 701 poems of Sōmokutō
- my robe torn to this and burrs of grassThe Begging Bowl
- settling here the grass sproutingThe Begging Bowl
- the dew on the grass seed, trying to settleOne Man Within
- pull and pull and still i pull the grass's clingingOne Man Within
- the grass grows thick — there they burn the deadOn the Begging Road
- where there's a stone, where there's grass, it's witheredWalking Mountains, Walking Waters
- grasses and trees, come back alive and grown thickWalking Mountains, Walking Waters
- bees and butterflies and grasses, blooming without endWalking Mountains, Walking Waters
- truly quiet — the grass springs up and bloomsWalking Mountains, Walking Waters
- glad things too, sad things too — the grass grows thickWalking Mountains, Walking Waters
- able to die anytime — the grass blooming, bearing fruitWalking Mountains, Walking Waters
- a wind has risen over the grass too — the tofu must be cool by nowWalking Mountains, Walking Waters
- I make this my place to die grass thick and still thickerWalking Mountains, Walking Waters
- he came round the back way covered in grass burrsWalking Mountains, Walking Waters
- I'll sleep here grass seeds spillingFrom Journey to Journey
- walk and there are grass seeds sit and there are grass seedsFrom Journey to Journey
- at the beauty of the withering grass I sit downA Landscape of Weeds
- while the cold rain drizzles beautiful grass all around meA Landscape of Weeds
- when the grass sways I somehow wait for someoneA Landscape of Weeds
- all around me nothing but grass and it's all in bloomA Landscape of Weeds
- letting the grass bloom and then letting the butterflies playA Landscape of Weeds
- that too will do — grass is bloomingA Landscape of Weeds
- already withering the blades of grass in the rainA Landscape of Weeds
- warmly the grass has withered awayPersimmon Leaves
- pissing at my leisure among nothing but grass shootsPersimmon Leaves
- Asama full in front of me — lunch out on the grassPersimmon Leaves
- the grass grows thick — foundation stones, here and there pooled waterPersimmon Leaves
- once again here the grass grown thick and left that wayPersimmon Leaves
- the goat sounds sad the grass is greenPersimmon Leaves
- when it rains there's the sound of water — how the grass thrivesPersimmon Leaves
- nothing to do but walk covered in seeds nothing to do but returnPersimmon Leaves
- the grasses in bloom the dew spilling downPersimmon Leaves
- as the grasses wither so you've come little wrenPersimmon Leaves
- the beauty of the grasses hushed in the drizzlePersimmon Leaves
- the grasses their beautiful way of witheringPersimmon Leaves
- after all being alone is lonely withered grassPersimmon Leaves
- still alive after all these tree buds and grass budsPersimmon Leaves
- all around me the grasses bloom as they pleaseCold and Alone
- the greenness of the grass — coming home barefootCold and Alone
- over grass left to bloom as it will — butterfliesCold and Alone
- truly I cannot settle — the grass withering, witheringCold and Alone
- grass seeds on my sleeves, on my hem — warmCold and Alone
- in Gochū one man, always one man — the grass sproutingCold and Alone
- living alone the grass grows green and greenCold and Alone
- sitting in the grass eating plain rice, plain rice, savoring itCold and Alone
- sitting in the grass — plain rice, plain riceCold and Alone
- flopped down in the grass — my loincloth has driedHeart for the Road
- spreading the grass we share a boxed lunch, then right and leftHeart for the Road
- no way but to follow this road though the grass grows deepHeart for the Road
- all around me day by day the grasses i love come into bloomThe Crow
- a convict's grave, and secretly the grass springs greenThe Crow
- buds on the trees buds on the grass — from here onThe Crow
The most frequent word in all 701 poems is the first character of the collection’s title. A sōmokutō is a tower built to console the souls of felled grasses and trees; that tenderness toward nameless grass became the book’s name. For Santōka grass was more than roadside scenery — a place to sit, a bed, and the place he would some day go back to. So he wrote grass poems on glad days and sad days alike: “glad things too, sad things too — the grass grows thick”, “able to die anytime — the grass blooming, bearing fruit”. Even of dying grass he wrote: “the grasses their beautiful way of withering”.