Classic and Contemporary Poetry: Explained

Gary Snyder’s "Kyoto Born in Spring Song" is a lyrical meditation on birth, nature, and interconnectedness, blending traditional Japanese imagery with a deep ecological awareness. The poem’s structure flows in a free, organic manner, evoking the spontaneity of spring’s abundance and the universality of life’s renewal.

The poem opens with an allusion to Japanese folklore, where “Beautiful little children / found in melons, / in bamboo, / in a ‘strangely glowing warbler egg’ / a perfect baby girl—” references traditional tales of miraculous births. In Japanese mythology, heroes and heroines are often discovered in nature—such as Kaguya-hime, the moon princess found in bamboo, or Momotarō, the peach-born boy. By invoking these images, Snyder connects human life to the natural world, suggesting that birth itself is a mysterious, mythic event, inseparable from the rhythms of the earth.

From these legendary beginnings, the poem expands to include “baby, baby / tiny precious / mice and worms.” Here, Snyder levels the field of existence—human infants and tiny creatures alike are part of the same cycle. The “great majesty of Dharma turning” and “great dance of Vajra power” frame this perspective within Buddhist thought, where all beings, regardless of size or status, partake in the cosmic unfolding of existence. The Dharma represents the law of nature, while Vajra symbolizes indestructible truth, emphasizing that all births, whether human or animal, are sacred.

The poem then catalogs more wild births: “lizard baby by the fern / centipede baby scrambling toward the wall / cat baby left to mew for milk alone / mouse baby too afraid to run.” These images move from the serene to the vulnerable, portraying the struggle inherent in survival. The repetition of “baby” underscores tenderness but also implies impermanence—each newborn must immediately contend with the challenges of life. The “mouse baby too afraid to run” is especially poignant, suggesting an awareness of danger even in the earliest moments.

The human world enters seamlessly into this natural panorama: “o sing born in spring / the weavers swallows babies in Nishijin / nests below the eaves / glinting mothers wings / swoop to the sound of looms.” Nishijin, Kyoto’s famed textile district, becomes a site of parallel creation—swallows nesting beneath rooftops while looms weave fabric. The glinting mothers wings reflect both the birds in flight and the human mothers engaged in their daily labor, reinforcing the poem’s central theme: the interwoven nature of all life.

This leads to an intimate moment of domesticity: “and three fat babies / with three human mothers / every morning doing laundry / ‘good / morning how’s your baby?’ / Tomoharu, Itsuko, and Kenji.” These named infants, specific yet universal, are given the same attention as the animal young earlier in the poem. The greeting—“good morning how’s your baby?”—is a simple but profound recognition of shared existence. Just as the swallows and the weavers coexist, so do these human families and their growing children.

The poem then takes a striking turn with the imperative: “mouse, begin again.” This brief line encapsulates the cyclical nature of life. The mouse, like all creatures, is caught in the perpetual act of renewal, living and birthing, succeeding and perishing. The cycle is not linear but an eternal return.

Snyder concludes with a sudden shift in tone: “bushmen are laughing, / at the coyote-tricking / that make us think machines.” The bushmen, perhaps referencing indigenous wisdom, laugh at the modern delusions that disconnect humans from nature. The coyote-tricking—evoking the trickster figure from Native American mythology—suggests that we have been deceived into believing in artificial constructs over organic reality. The final lines—“wild babies / in the ferns and plums and weeds”—restore the poem’s central vision: life’s true essence thrives outside human invention, in the untamed, self-sustaining world.

"Kyoto Born in Spring Song" is both a celebration and a lament—a hymn to birth in all its forms, juxtaposed with the creeping awareness that industrial civilization often blinds us to the magic of nature’s continuity. Snyder’s blending of folklore, Buddhist philosophy, and ecological observation creates a resonant, deeply felt meditation on renewal, connection, and the eternal return of spring.

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