First things first. Do not purchase this book if you are looking for a storybook collection of Japanese Samurai legends, for this is not what it is. If I were to try to classify this in a genre, I would say it is a history book written for the lay person. Hiroaki Sato is an extraordinarily gifted translator who has chosen to trace the history, or metamorphosis, of the Samurai consciousness from its primitive roots to the point at which it reached its very peak before giving way to the socio-economic tidal wave created by Edo-era Japn.
Sato's 'history' is not a linear depiction of events that he has marshalled into a unified narrative from a myriad of sources. Rather, he has chosen to wear his editor's hat to select various primary sources and then translate them into the English as faithfully as he can without rendering them meaningless. Many of the 'stories' he relates are translations of official Japanese histories (however fancifully told and embellished), among them some of the earliest extant written Japanese documents, also of autobiographies and memoirs of important Samurai men of letters. Along the way he does a magnificent job of explaining to the reader the significance of certain lines of poetry, or literary references that crop up continually during the momentous and not so momentous exchanges between antagonists, friends, teachers and students, leaders and servants, etc. Thus the tradition of speaking volumes in three short lines of poetry comes alive for the Western reader. Much of the text is allowed to speak for itself, of course with Sato's guiding editorial hand to take us where he wants us to go.
One way that this form of non-narrative narrative plays out, for example, is in an explication of that super-famous story 'The Forty-Seven Ronin.' Sato does not choose to translate one of the many dramatic stories that were written around the tale, but to first explain in dry and informative prose what occured and then to translate various contemporary critiques of the actual events. Thus, we get a translation of the official report filed with the Shogunate by one of the officials who helped to adjudicate and administer the sentence, and criticisms of the hero and heroes of the story as well as a defence of and criticisms of the villain. Utterly fascinating stuff, all.
Also, Sato allows the Samurai to unpack his mind and explain his aesthetic to us by translating select passages from books by Samurai explaining what it is to be a Samurai. Sato's selection of trenchant philosophical gems will have the reader examining himself and resolving to live and think differently henceforth from the way he was before reading this book.
Criticisms: This is not Sato's fault, but because he is translating from official histories, one's eyes can begin to glaze over from the long lists of difficult to remember, multi-syllabic, multi-word titles, names and place-names. Thus a single person can have two or three titles, two or three names and be associated with two or three places and go into battle with a handful of like-titled companions against an array of similarly named foes. This process is made even more difficult by the fact that Samurai might change their names and titles three or four times in the course of their lifetime: One is never just 'Bob.'
I'm sure it was intentional, but the last entry in this volume really sums up all of the flaws and weaknesses of the Samurai system and aesthetic and places a fitting closure on the book when he describes the mayhem that occurs as a result of the death of a Daimyo. The reader is left with perhaps a sense of awe, certainly a new perspective on a way of living life, and finally an appreciation of how cruel and senseless the code of the Samurai can be when taken to absurd extremes. One closes the book with a completely different perspective of the Samurai than the one he had when opening it.

This book is all I needed to write a report for an AP World History class. Hiroaki Sato takes whatever fictional depictions of the Samurai a reader might think, and throws them out the window, bringing in detail after detail of what they actually are. Instead of tough, merciless soldiers, a more elegant, and "chivalristic" person is unsheathed. Legends of the Samurai is a great title. I recommend it.

I really enjoyed reading the accounts told in this book. The poetry and duty of the Samurai are truthfully displyed. Eye witness accounts of events give unique feeling to the stories told.

If you are interested in ancient samurai philosophy, you need to buy this book. I maintain a website on all things Japanese, and I received many inquiries about this book when it was out of print for so long. Now it has recently been re-released, I highly recommend you get a copy before it goes out of print again.

Yagyu Munenori was the "fencing" teacher to the Tokugawa shogunate in early 17th century Japan. Those "in the know" revere him as one of the wisest -- as well as most skilled -- swordsmen of his day. The Sword and the Mind could be considered a companion text to Takuan's The Unfettered Mind. It is dry in the way of Zen texts, so don't buy it looking for action. It is more the sort of text you meditate on -- figuratively or literally -- and hopefully come away with an expanded understanding of the samurai mentality of "a focused life, a willing death." If you're really into these sorts of things, you can even find ways to apply the philosophy to your own, modern life.

To be exact, this book is a translation of Yagyu Munenori's treatise on swordsmanship. It talks a lot about spiritual and mental aspects of swordsmanship, particularly from a Zen standpoint. But it must be remembered that this only one philosophy on swordsmanship. The book contains the complete text, plus translated excerpts from Takuan's (a Zen master) letter to Munenori about Zen and swordsmanship and Takuan's letter to Ono Tadaaki (another master swordsman). Serious students of Japanese swordsmanship will know about this book already but it is a good read for those interested in Zen and its incorporation in martial arts.

This book is so good that I had my last copy stolen! For those of you who know what I am talking about when I describe the only proper mindset of a martial artist when confronted is to think only of one thing...to cut, then you will know that you need this book. This book is for martial artists only.This, and another book regarding Bushido, Hagakure, are an indespensible pair in a Martial Artist's study.

This was the first time that I have read Basho's Narrow Road to Oku, snd I enjoyed it a great deal. Actually I read it twice this week. The first time I read through it I tried to read it without using the notes. I was lazy, so it came out that I really didn't enjoy what I was reading because I really didn't know what was going on throughout most of the book, so I read it again using the notes, and I got much more out of it. The annotations are on the left page while the actual text is on the right page, so there is no flipping to the back of the book every time that you need to look up something. There are endnotes that give more information about the haiku Basho writes. This is a very cool book, that gives the reader a glimpse at the literary world of japan back during the 17th century.

This is a very well translated and annotated edition of this great work.

One hundred frogs is a terrific look at just how differently poets can make a work their own. By writing a hundred different versions of "Frog Jumps / Into pond / sound of water" these poets demonstrate the diversity versions of the same poem can yield.

Bring on the "Another Hundred Frogs" sequel - I can't get enough of these!

"A haiku is the expression of a temporary enlightenment, in which we see into the life of things." (R. H. Blyth)

In this small book, Hiroaki Sato has put together more than 100 translations of the most famous haiku by the Japanese poet Matsuo Basho (1644-94). He has added a ten-page introduction to the work of Matsuo Basho and his most famous poem "Old Pond" which, in one of the most literal translations, reads as follows:

Fu-ru (old) i-ke (pond) ya, ka-wa-zu (frog) to-bi-ko-mu (jumping into) mi-zu (water) no o-to (sound) [transl. Fumiko Saisho]

"One Hundred Frogs" illustrates how many riches can be mined from a single poem, and how much fun it can be to try to capture the essence of a poem in another language. It also teaches a lesson in humility: It is just as impossible to translate poetry unchanged from one language to another as it is impossible to translate anything unchanged from "reality" into language. Ironically, a haiku tries just that. The art of writing haikus is strongly influenced by Zen Buddhism. The mind of a Zen master, it is said, is like a mirror: it reflects reality "as it is" and remains unmoved. A haiku, ideally, reflects reality like a mirror. This is an impossible task, of course. The haiku does not reflect reality, it reflects the poet's interpretation of reality. In this sense, the translations in this book are interpretations of interpretations of reality.

The translators approach the poem "Old Pond" with quite different attitudes. Some take a serious approach and, for example, try to retain the 5-7-5-syllables structure of the haiku: "The old pond, yes, and / A frog is jumping into / The water, and splash." [G.S. Fraser], or "The silent old pond / a mirror of ancient calm, / a frog-leaps-in splash" [Dion O'Donnol]. The latter translation also tries to highlight the tension between silence/calm and sound/movement that is built into the poem. In this context, it is interesting to know that Zen Buddhism does not interpret silence and sound as opposites but as extreme expressions of a unique, indivisible reality - like the north pole and south pole of a magnetized stick: opposites, yet parts of one object. There is no sound without silence. There is no silence without sound. My favorite "serious" translation is the version by Cid Corman, a contemporary American poet: "old pond / frog leaping / splash". After thinking so much about how to translate the poem, this is a refreshingly simple solution. In my opinion, it comes closest to the Zen spirit of the poem. And "splash" appears to be the most reasonable way to solve the question of what is "the water's sound"?

Other translators take a more light-hearted look. Bernard Lionel Einbond translates: "Antic pond - / frantic frog jumps in - / gigantic sound." Antic-frantic-gigantic is a quite amusing caricature of the seriousness of other translations. Then there is a sonnet version and a limerick version. The limerick goes: "There once was a curious frog / who sat by a pond on a log / And to see what resulted, / In the pond catapulted / With a water-noise heard around the bog."

And others again are even more playful. One George M. Young, Jr., contributed what he claimed was a yellowed newspaper clipping from his file: "MAFIA HIT MAN POET: NOTE FOUND PINNED TO LAPEL OF DROWNED VICTIM'S DOUBLE-BREASTED SUIT!!! 'Dere wasa dis frogg / Gone jumpa offa da logg / Now he inna bogg.' - Anonymous." It is one of my favorites because of its irreverence for the importance of Zen. An attitude, by the way, that is very much in the spirit of Zen.

The most playful translation of the poem, however, is the one that the reader can compose himself by flipping the pages of the book with his thumb: what emerges is the visual image of an ink-painted frog jumping into a pool. Without a sound. Ironic. Funny. Apt.

As a poet I do not travel far without bringing this book with me because it is the kind of amazing work that keeps meaning more the more I read it. I have studied Japanese and know that the translations are first rate. And sometimes I just read the footnotes for the exquisite poems there; or the annotations in the back for the odd stories behind the one-line pieces. It is a treasure for anyone who loves words and loves feeling deeply.

I must begin...this is a very good translation. The monostich style is much truer to the original format of waka...by not confusing "ku" (something like "sections") with "lines." The translations, however, are not as explanitory as some people would like, but they're annotated well and if you have some prior knowledge of Heian Japanese poetry the underlying meanings of the poems are still pretty clear. Ms. Sato includes the original Japanese, which is very important to help an individual become familiar with the style...and to have the option to look at the original. Princess Shikishi's grace is in her ability to be unique despite the ridgid conventions of waka. She still writes about the same old cherry blossoms and "wet sleeves," but often does so in a refreshingly original way. It reminds me of the Kyogoku-Reizei school of thought (which existed not until after her lifetime). If you like Lady Daibu or Fujiwara no Teika, you'll like this. If you're not familiar with Heian Japanese literature, this would be an excellent book to start with, since the translations are very palatable and the notes and footnotes are very well done and offer a lot of valuable information.

Hope this helps

The Chinese style kanshi poems in this collection tell the story of Ema Saiko's life (1767-1861). In her early years she reveals a protected innocence, a great love for her father, a quick, creative intelligence, and a fascination with all things Chinese. For example the young Saiko writes: "Father must be in Shinshu, traveling. I can imagine the rugged mountain paths: all day climbing up, then down below... wretched palanquin struck by the snow, station-inn bedding terribly thin. I, his daughter, am comfy warm, thinking all the more of his cruel cold."

Gradually maturity and independence begin to take hold, and her poems develop a more detached eye for detail, a love of travel, and a sensitivity to the moment. An image from this period that comes to mind is of a fish glinting in the sun: "The setting sun casts its red to the bottom of the tide, illuminating a fish that leapt, swimming away."

In later years, Saiko's paintings, which accompanied many of her poems, can be felt as more central to her life than her poetry. Included in an essay on her art by Patricia Fister, an excerpt from a poem reads: "As I reach fifty, I begin to understand the mistakes of the past. As years slowly pass they have gone against my ambition... Old friends have vanished like stars in the morning brightness. In the end there is no use in Taoist practices, I only love to paint bamboo, its greenness reflected on my garment."

So we have in Saiko's poetry, a sort of poetic diary, the record of a life lived to the full, and which was caught for a brief moment in her art, much like that fish she remembered that "leapt, swimming away." If you enjoy Japanese waka or haiku, here is a fine introduction to another form of traditional Japanese poetry. If you just want to settle down into a biographical journey, or step into the world of 19th century Japan, try this collection of Ema Saiko's auto-biographical kanshi. A good read. Highly recommended.

I bought this book on a whim after seeing the movie "Kenji no Haru" or "Spring and Chaos" (US title) thich is based on the life story of Kenji Miyazawa. I think this book is the most inexepensive (and authentic) way to get his poems in English today. The poems were originally published in several, small, volumes years ago and are now out of print. This book is 255 pages including the following: about 120 poems and tanka, and 3 stories. The poems from the volumes: Spring and Asura volumes 1-4, and "Winter Sketches".
This is an excellent book. It really is. Poetry has never been one of my things, but now, I'v gotten an interest in it. My thesis paper this year is on Miyazawa, so reading and analyzing these poems are a delight. Most of them are about nature, and the way the he viewed the world around him. it is very personal, b/c you get the sense that this is what he actually saw. Also, in poems like "Koiwai Farm", the descriptive language is beautiful! I still do not understand why such and excellent poet has never been taught in western classrooms.
So, in short, this book is a must read for poetry enthusiasts, or people even midly interested in Miyazawa. I also recommend the movie "Spring and Chaos" (produced in the US under Tokyopop Producitons) for a very artistic approach to Kenji's life and art.

There are any number of small and large collections of Japanese poetry available, some being general anthologies, some being translations of entire works. In this single volume, an enormous amount of poetry has been selected and translated, making it one of the best English references/texts on Japanese literature available.

Little more needs to be said about the good points, so a little about what this book does not have.

It would have been nice to have the original Japanese along with the translations. Although translation-only books are the norm, the student looking to get further in-depth will need to go and search through the original texts to find. This is a great pain as the only clues a person has to go on are the work the poem was taken from, the author, and English translations. It would also be nice to see a new edition which includes the Sinpen Kokka Taikan reference numbers for the poems. If a person had just these, even, looking up the originals would be simplicity itself.

Another problem is the lack of detailed notes. Although some terms and other words are defined in footnotes and the glossary, there is still much that a serious student will need to fully explore the poems.

Even if you can read the poems in the original, this is still a nice reference to have. If you need to teach, or need to check up on possible translations for a passage or poem, this may be of more use than it seems. Japanese studies students should have a copy handy, to say the least.

An excellent selection of Japanese poetry through the ages, with translations by two excellent translators. (Whatever Amazon thinks, Hiroaki Sato is a well-known translator.)

If you write, read, or care in any way about poetry, this book should be by your bedside or at your work table. I gave mine away, but I intend to replace it.

Whilst this is an account of lonliness, it certainly isn't one of despair. Ozaki's time spent alone gave him an extrordinary eye for detail and respect for the world around him. Pebbles are 'alive', flowers 'nod' to him. This book will calm and enchant by taking you to the nature of things with the gentlest of direction. It can make things come alive.

I'm not too sure what Mishima was trying to do with this one. Yes, it _is_ the story of a strike, technically speaking...except the strike really doesn't take up that many pages. In fact, it barely takes up any. Society's response to it is outlined sketchily at best, the details of it aren't shown much concern for, and for most of its duration it is located offscreen, out of the writer's focus. The summaries are misleading - the effects of the strike and of unions on Japanese culture are, in fact, never discussed at all. Don't expect a Japanese Germinal here.

The novel works much better as a character study of Komazawa Zenjiro, the owner of the company in which the strike occurs. I'm thinking that must have been Mishima's true purpose, seeing as every chapter title starts with Komazawa's name. Komazawa is a man who lives quite firmly in the past, and tries to adapt the ways of the past to this modern world. (This bears more than a slight parallel to Mishima himself.) His quasi-religious faith in those ways is poignant, and though he clearly has the author's sympathies, Mishima has admirably chosen not to whitewash his faults - Komazawa's hypocrisy, his occasional pointless cruelty and his refusal to even try to understand anything not in the scope of the old ways are all highlighted quite clearly.

However, a good character study does not a good novel make, and the other characters seem, to put it nicely, "unfinished." Otsuki, the strike leader, has precious few appearances to put in for such an important role, and his only motive for what he does, according to the author, is an almost childish chagrin at Komazawa's separation of him from his girlfriend. He seems like more of a plot device than a character. More frustrating, though, is the fact that this novel has many potentially fascinating characters that it simply chooses not to develop. Take the ex-geisha Kikuno, for instance, whose motives are never made anything approaching "clear" - does she love Komazawa? What is the source of her admiration of him? Why did she even want to quit being a geisha in the first place? Or what about the ominous intellectual Okano, who is depicted as a Machiavellian scheming sort of man, but is never given (and never gives) any rationalization for his actions? Did he do what he did solely out of mischief? Was he motivated by financial concerns? What about Komazawa's wife Fusae, who seems to have a (similarly unexplained) martyrdom complex? All these are things Mishima could really have taken some time to flesh out.

As it is, the novel's an often interesting portrait of a very specific type of person, but that's about it. It could have been more. If you're a fan of Mishima, you are of course going to read this, but if this is your first contact with his work, I doubt it will impress you enough to make you delve into the rest of his oeuvre.

While I had heard of Mishima for years, I had never actually sat down with one of his books. This book takes an intimate look at a silk production factory; in which the working conditions are so deplorable that the overworked employees finally go on strike.

What makes this book so interesting is Mishima's ability to flesh out all his characters. He does not fall into the simplistic "worker=good/boss=bad" trap, Mishima enjoys creating morally ambiguous characters. First, Komazawa-san, the company president, appears to be very hard working and inspiring to his employees. However, as I read about the horrible working conditions within the company, I found myself rooting for Otsuki-san, the strike leader. As Mishima continues to dig deeper into his characters' psyches, revealing their ethical blindspots, I discovered that no one is completely good or evil. How the protesters conscript other workers to join the strike, and how Komazawa-san's deteriorating self image reveals his pitiful humanity, make for very compelling reading.

The use of a strike situation is a wonderful crucible in which to combine all these differing emotions, motivations, and deceptions; resulting in characters on both sides of the picket line who are forever changed (scarred?) by the whole experience.

You may not be able to look at silk the same way again.