Akiko Yosano was the pen-name of a Japanese author, poet, pioneering feminist, pacifist, and social reformer, active in late Meiji period, Taisho period and early Showa period Japan. Her real name was Yosano Shiyo. She is one of the most famous, and most controversial, post-classical woman poets of Japan.
Yosano was born into a prosperous merchant family in Sakai, near Osaka. From the age of 11, she was the family member most responsible for running the family business, which produced and sold yokan, or bean candy. From early childhood, she was fond of reading literary works, and read widely in her father's extensive library. When she was a high school ... more »
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Akiko Yosano Poems
River of Stars
Left on the beach Full of water A worn out boat Reflects the white sky --
I am sick today, sick in my body, eyes wide open, silent,
O My Brother, You Must Not Die
O my young brother, I cry for you Don't you understand you must not die! You who were born the last of all Command a special store of parents' love
This Autumn Will End
This autumn will end. Nothing can last forever. Fate controls our lives. Fondle my breasts
Press My Breasts
Press my breasts, Part the veil of mystery, A flower blooms there, Crimson and fragrant.
I Can Give Myself To Her
I can give myself to her In her dreams Whispering her own poems
Blach hair Tangled in a thousand strands. Tangled my hair and Tangled my tangled memories
Auguste's Single Strike
My lovely two-year-old Auguste, I write this down for you: Today, for the first time, you struck your mother on the cheek.
Not Speaking Of The Way
Not speaking of the way, Not thinking of what comes after, Not questioning name or fame,
In Praise Of May
May is a fancy month, a flower month, The month of buds, the month of scents, the month of colors, The month of poplars, marrons, plantanes, Azaleas, tree peonies, wisteria, redbud,
Comments about Akiko Yosano
(4 April 1928 - 28 May 2014)
(March 26, 1874 – January 29, 1963)
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Edgar Allan Poe
(19 January 1809 - 7 October 1849)
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(31 October 1795 – 23 February 1821)
River of Stars
Left on the beach
Full of water
A worn out boat
Reflects the white sky --
Of early autumn.
Swifter than hail
Lighter than a feather,
A vague sorrow
Crossed my mind.
Feeling you nearby,
how could I not come
to walk beneath
this evening moon rising
over flowering fields.
It was only
the thin thread of a cloud,
leading me along the way
like an ancient sacred song.
I say his poem,
propped against this frozen wall,
in the late evening,
as bitter autumn rain
continues to fall.
What I count ...