The Life and Works of Motomaro Senge

Biography

Motomaro Senge was a Japanese poet of the Taisho era and a notable member of the Shirakaba or "White Birch" literary circle. His poetry is known to be humanistic and optimistic as well as minimalistic and artless. Born on June 8, 1888 in Koujimachi Ward, Tokyo (presently: Chiyoda Ward), Senge was the illegimate eldest son of the aristocratic baron, Takatomi Senge, and the painter Baigai Ogawa (real name: Toyoko). As a child Senge attended the prestigious Keio Gijuku Yochisha Primary School and Keio Futsubu School. He was also enrolled at Tokyo Ritsu Daishi Middle school (presently: Tokyo Ritsu Toyama High School). Senge's youth was a carefree time. He studied under Saneatsu Mushakouji--a prolific author and key member of the Shirakaba--and in 1913 he contributed some of his works to the literary magazine "Terracotta". His first collection of works, "Jibun wa Mita" was published in 1918; it was followed in 1919 by "Niji". Mushakouji's philosophy of humanitarianism influenced Senge's writing and after the publication of the literary magazine "Mugi", he was thereafter known as a humanitarian poet. Much of Senge's writing concerns the daily lives and events of common people.

Motomaro Senge died on March 14, 1948.

Ochiba

This website takes its name from the following poem published in the "Arare" collection (1931):

落葉

山路を歩いてゆくと
今落ちたばかりの
黄色い朴の葉が五六枚
支那沓のやうに反りかへって
道に散乱してゐた
あゝこの艶な色の目覚ましさ
まるで誰か貴い人達が
沓をぬぎ捨てゝ
素足で去った
夢のシインのあとのやうな静かさ

ochiba

yamaji aruite yuku to
ima ochita bakari no
kiiroi hou no ha ga go-rokumai
shinagutsu no yau ni kaerikahette
michi ni sanran shite ita
aa, kono adeyaka na iro no mezamashisa
marude dare ka toutoi hitotachi ga
kutsu o nugisutete
suashi de satta
yume no shiin no ato no yau na shizukasa

Fallen Leaves

While I was walking down a mountain path,
five or six yellow hou leaves,
curled up like chinese slippers,
had just then fallen 
and were scattered on the ground

Ah,  how splendid it was
these fascinating colors
as if some noble lords 
had kicked off their slippers
and departed barefoot

How quiet it was
like the traces of a dream.