修行会

解説

第37首は、原文「まよひなば／悪しき道にも／入りぬべし／心の駒に／手綱ゆるすな」を正面から掲げ、“迷い”が生じれば倫理の道（みち）から確実に逸れていく――だから〈心＝heart‑mind〉という駒の手綱を決して緩めるな、という強い禁句として解き明かしています。ことばの骨格はページ内の文法注が明快で、未然形＋ばの仮定（「まよひなば」）に、ぬ＋べし（確述＋推量）で“必ずそうなる”の強調（「入りぬべし」）、結句は禁止の命令型「ゆるすな」で締める構図です。「心の駒」＝放っておくと奔り出す心のはたらきを“馬”に喩える古典の比喩も、ページ訳がそのまま活かしており、手綱を握る主体は他ならぬ自分だ、と読ませます。

これを植芝盛平の六つのプライマーへ“糸戻し”すると、設計がはっきりします。プライマーの第一原理で示された〈武＝宇宙原理〉は“迷いに流されず秩序へ整合する”座標を与え、プライマーの第二原理〈人との合気〉は自分の手綱を締めてこそ他者と合えるという入口を定める。プライマーの第三原理〈心魂一如〉は隙のない統一で“駒の逸走”を止め、プライマーの第四原理〈和合美化〉は“悪しき道”の反対＝関係と場を美へ向けるテロスを与えます。プライマーの第五原理〈体＝道場、心＝修業者／修行者心／学び手〉は日々の最小スケールで「今、手綱は締まっているか」を点検する秤となり、プライマーの第六原理〈「至愛」の源に順う〉が手綱の張り具合（判断と出方の品位）を測る最上位基準になる――そう読むと、第37首は“自己統御を先に”という稽古の起点を一行で指し示しています。

直前の三首との連続でも意味が締まります。第34首は「姿を囮に、背後に立って断つ」と位置の反転を教え、第35首は「誠をさらに誠へ――顕幽一如」と内的丹錬を促し、第36首は「行き詰まるたび、いづ×みづの道へ還れ」と回帰点を示しました。そこへ本ページは、迷い（まよひ）が生まれた瞬間に、心の“手綱”を締め直すという第一応答を置きます――揺らぎを放置すれば“悪しき道”への侵入は必至（ぬべし）、だから呼吸・視線・言葉の三点でいま張る（ゆるすな）。この“手綱の張り”があってこそ、第34~36首の反転・錬成・回帰が実地で働く、とページは教えています。

口語要約のひとこと

「迷ったら悪い道に入ってしまう――だから心の馬の手綱は絶対に緩めるな。」

補説――道を走る心、歌を締める手綱：第37首の修辞運動

この第37首でまず見逃せないのは、一首が先行する古歌をほぼ全面的に引き受け、その初句だけを差し替えた、本歌取り的な再鋳として読めることである。黒木俊弘（1981）が『忠利公御家譜』所収の、兵法の心法にかかわる細川忠利の歌として掲げる一首は、「ひかれなば／あしき道にも／入りぬべし／心の駒に／手綱ゆるすな」と置かれている。植芝歌との相違は、初句の「ひかれなば」が「まよひなば」へ置き換えられた一点にほぼ尽きる。ただし、伝承経路までは確定できず、下句がことわざとして広く流通していたことも踏まえれば、厳密な歌論上の本歌取りと断定するより、古歌・成句の換骨奪胎、あるいは本歌取り的変奏と呼ぶのが穏当であろう。本歌取りとは古歌の語句や趣向を取り込み、その背景を新作へ重ねる技法であるが、ここでは四句をそのまま残すほど摂取量が大きく、引用というより〈一音型を保った再起動〉に近い。

その五音の差し替えが、一首の責任の所在を大きく変える。「ひかれなば」では、心の駒が外から曳かれ、誘惑・他者・情勢に導かれて悪道へ入る像が前に立つ。これに対して「まよひなば」では、悪道への始動点が心自身の迷いへ移される。外から曳かれる駒ではなく、内から方角を失う駒となるのである。したがって植芝歌の改作は、古歌の戒めを単に反復するのではなく、敵や誘惑を外部に置く余地を狭め、道を踏み外す最初の運動を心中へ折り返す。わずか五音の置換によって、〈他に曳かれる危険〉が〈自己の迷いから走り出す危険〉へ内在化され、第37首全体がより徹底した自己統御の歌へ組み替えられている。

さらに、この歌では見立てが初めから明示されず、第四句「心の駒に」に至って初めて、その乗り物が明かされる。上の句だけを進むあいだ、「迷ひ」「道」「入る」は、人が倫理的・宗教的な道を踏み外す抽象的な語として読める。ところが「心の駒」が現れた瞬間、上の句の景色全体が遡って馬上の景へ読み替えられる。「迷ひ」は方向を失うこと、「道」は馬が走る路、「入る」は駒がその路へ踏み込むこととして、すでに述べられた三句が一斉に具象化されるのである。これは厳密な意味での序詞ではない。上の句は単なる導入ではなく、条件と帰結を述べる歌意の本体だからである。しかし、像を先に敷き、その像を成立させる喩辞を後から示すという点では、序詞的な予備運動を備えた〈遅延された見立て〉として働いている。

この遡及的な見立てを支えるのが、二つの縁語群である。一方には「迷ひ―道―入る」という道行きの語群があり、他方には「駒―手綱―ゆるす」という馬具・騎乗の語群がある。「道」と「入る」はその両方に属し、人の倫理的な歩みと、駒の物理的な走路とを縫い合わせる蝶番となる。そのため「心の駒」は一箇所だけの比喩に留まらず、一首すべてを馬・道・騎乗へ組み替える持続的な見立て、すなわち隠喩の連鎖を成立させる。ここでは縁語が装飾として語を集めるのではなく、抽象的な心の運動を、速度・方向・張力を持つ身体運動へ変換している。

結句の「ゆるす」もまた、この二重世界を一語で束ねる。「ゆるす」には、引き張ったものを緩める意味と、相手のしたいようにさせる、許容する意味とがある。「手綱」と結べば〈緩す〉が表に立つが、「心」と結べば〈許す〉、すなわち衝動の自走を黙認する意味も同時に響く。原文が漢字を決めず「ゆるす」と仮名で置くため、「手綱を緩めるな」と「心へ勝手を許すな」が重なったまま結句へ落ちるのである。これは異なる語を同音上に重ねる狭義の掛詞とは言い切れないものの、一語の多義を二つの意味場へ同時に働かせる、掛詞的な語義の重ねとしてきわめて強い。辞書上でも「ゆるす」は、許容・放任と、引き張ったものを緩める意味とを併せ持つ。

音と文法の面では、「まよひなば―入りぬべし―ゆるすな」という〈な―ぬ―な〉の連鎖が、一首の見えない手綱となっている。初句の「な」は助動詞「ぬ」の未然形、第三句の「ぬ」は同じ助動詞の終止形であり、活用形を変えながら条件と帰結を締める。そこへ結句では、音は同じ「な」でありながら、今度は禁止の終助詞が置かれる。これは一語に二義を同時に掛ける掛詞ではなく、離れた位置に同音異機能の語を置く首尾照応である。初めの「な」は危険な条件を開き、中央の「ぬ」はその帰結を必至として封じ、最後の「な」はその条件を起こさせまいと行為を停止する。〈もし迷えば〉という可能態から、〈必ず入る〉という必然態を経て、〈緩めるな〉という禁止態へ移る三段のモダリティが、上の句で失われかけた主体性を下の句で取り戻す。

統語にも対句的な照応がある。「悪しき道にも｜入りぬべし」と「心の駒に｜手綱ゆるすな」は、いずれも〈名詞句＋に／にも〉を先に置き、述語を次句へ送る形を取る。前者は場所・方向を示してから「入る」を放ち、後者は対象を示してから「ゆるすな」で引き止める。進行を告げる述語と制動を命じる述語とが、ほぼ同じ文法の鞍へ載せられているのである。なお、これは語や文節そのものが五・七の境を割る、狭義の句跨りではない。各句末は「にも」「に」という文節の境に収まっている。ただし、格助詞のところで述語を未決のまま残すため、二句から三句、四句から結句へと意味を懸け渡す〈述語の遅延〉が生じる。第一の遅延は駒を前へ走らせ、第二の遅延は最後の「な」でその走りを止める。

結句にはさらに「手綱〔を〕ゆるすな」という格助詞「を」の省略がある。助詞を補えば説明的になるところを、体言「手綱」と禁止述語「ゆるすな」とが直接ぶつかるため、語調が短く、硬く、実行的になる。また、迷う者、悪道へ入る者、手綱を握る者の人称は一度も明示されない。この主語省略によって、歌は他者への訓戒にも、稽古者自身の自戒にも、発語の瞬間ごとに入れ替わる。誰かを外から制御する命令ではなく、唱える声そのものがその都度、自らの手へ手綱を戻す構造になっている。

第二句の「も」は係助詞ではあるが、ここに「ぞ・なむ・や・か・こそ」による狭義の係り結びは働かない。「も」は「悪しき道」を一つの限定された道として閉じず、〈悪しき道にまで〉という広がりを与え、まだ言われていない他の道を背後へ残す。広義には「は・も」と終止形との呼応まで係り結びに数える説もあるが、少なくとも結びの活用形を変化させる強い係結ではない。したがって、この歌には体言止めも、枕詞も、歌枕も、技法上の序詞もなく、俳諧的な意味での明示的な切れ字もない。第三句の切れは「入りぬべし」という文法的完結そのものから生じ、結句は体言による余情ではなく、禁止形による行為の余韻を残す。

なお、既注の「悪し」における葦・足、「駒」における高麗・独楽の同音は、音の潜在的な影として留保することはできる。しかし、掛詞が一首のなかで十分に作動するには、重ねられた双方の意味を支える語群が必要になる。この歌には葦・湿地、高麗、玩具としての独楽を展開する縁語がなく、周囲の「道・入る・手綱・ゆるす」は一貫して馬と騎乗の意味を選び取る。そのため、それらを主たる掛詞として断定するより、遠い余響として扱う方が安定する。むしろ強く作動しているのは、「迷ひ―道―入る」の語義の重層、「駒―手綱」の縁語、そして「ゆるす」の〈緩める／許容する〉という二重性である。

こうして第37首の余韻は、景物の美や体言止めの静止から生まれるのではない。上の句が示した悪道への運動を、下の句が読み手の身体へ手綱として渡し、歌の外でなお握らせ続けるところに生まれる。「心の駒に手綱ゆるすな」という下句だけが後世に独立した成句として流通したのも、この十四音が理由と命令を一つに圧縮した警句として自立できたためである。 第37首は「迷うな」とは言わない。迷いの発生そのものより、その瞬間に手綱を放すことを禁じる――歌が終わったところから、手綱を握る時間が始まるのである。

発話行為理論

第37首を、オースティン（1962） の言語行為論へ折り（折り）返して見ると、この歌は「内容（何を言ったか）」より先に、「働き（何をしたか）」が前に出ていると捉えられる。発話内容（locutionary）としては、未然形＋ばで〈迷いが起これば〉という条件を置き、ぬ＋べしで〈そうなれば必ず入る〉を言い切り、最後に禁止命令〈ゆるすな〉で締める――ここまでは“意味の骨格”である。けれど発話内行為（illocutionary）としては、その骨格がそのまま「警告し、戒め、手綱を取らせる」という力（force）として働く。つまりこの短歌は、説明文ではなく、稽古者の受け取り（uptake）を前提にした“指令の形式”として立っている。

そこで鍵になるのが、二つの折り（折り）と切れである。まず「まよひなば悪しき道にも」と「心の駒に」の折りは、“悪しき道”を外界の出来事へ逃がさず、心そのものの走路へ重ねてしまう――迷いは環境のせいではなく、手綱が緩んだときの心の自走だ、という読みを促す。次に「入りぬべし」と「手綱ゆるすな」の折りは、因果をのんびり語る余地を奪い、〈必至〉の断言の直後に〈禁止〉を落とす。ここでの「ぬ（…ぬべし）」は、俳句的な定型の切れ字と同一視はできないにせよ、機能としては切れ字的な“言い切り”＝切れをつくり、上の句を封印してから下の句の命令を作動させるスイッチとなる。

そして発話媒介行為（perlocutionary）として狙われているのは、読者の内側に「張り直し」を実際に起こすことである。迷いが芽生えた瞬間、歌が“手綱”として働いて、呼吸・視線・言葉の三点を締め直させる――その効き目は、論理の納得というより、切れ（切れ字的な区切り）が生む一拍の停止と再始動にある。上の句が〈落ちる必然〉を告げ、下の句が〈落ちない手立て〉を禁句で固定する。第37首は、その一拍で稽古者の身心に介入し、関係と場が“悪しき道”へ滑る前に、手綱を取らせる歌である。

コーダ

第37首が最後に残すのは、心を無理に止める技法ではなく、心が走り出すその瞬間に関係を結び直す技法である。駒は殺されず、道も消されない。求められているのは、迷いそのものを罪とすることではなく、迷いが生じたときに、自らの呼吸・視線・言葉を心の駒から切り離さないことである。手綱の張りとは、衝動を押し潰す硬直ではない。それは、心の動きを感じ取りながら、なお進む方向を手放さない、応答可能な張力である。

だから「ゆるすな」は、外から他者を従わせる命令ではなく、唱える者の手へ主体性を戻す言葉として響く。古歌の「ひかれなば」が外から曳かれる危険を語ったとすれば、植芝の「まよひなば」は、その危険の起点を自己の内へ折り返す。敵、誘惑、環境、情勢を責めるより早く、いま自分の手の内で何が緩んだのかを問う。その問いによって、悪しき道はまだ運命ではなく、踏み入る前に向きを改めうる分岐へと戻される。

その意味で、手綱を締めることは、心を狭く閉ざすことではない。〈心魂一如〉によって散乱をまとめ、〈人との合気〉によって他者への応答を整え、〈和合美化〉によって進む方向を美へ測り、ついには〈至愛〉の源に照らして、どれほど張り、どれほど譲るべきかを知ることである。張りすぎれば駒との結びつきは硬直し、緩めすぎれば駒は道を失う。稽古とは、そのあいだに生きた合気の張力を保ちつづけることなのだろう。

こうして歌の〈な―ぬ―な〉は、条件、必然、禁止を結ぶだけでなく、迷いの可能性から行為の回復へと読者を引き戻す、一条の手綱となる。第37首は「決して迷うな」とは言わない。迷いを認め、それでも手を放すな、と命じる。歌が終わるたび、駒はなお生き、道はなお分かれ、手綱はふたたび現在へ渡される――では、いま、その手綱は誰の手にあるのか。

English Translation

Commentary

Dōka 37 squarely presents the original:

Mayoinaba / ashiki michi ni mo / irinubeshi / kokoro no koma ni / tazuna yurusu na
（まよひなば／悪しき道にも／入りぬべし／心の駒に／手綱ゆるすな）

It unfolds the poem as a stern prohibitive utterance: once bewilderment—mayoi (迷い)—arises, one will surely stray from the ethical way—michi (道); therefore, never loosen the reins of the steed called kokoro (心), the heart-mind. The grammatical skeleton is made explicit in the notes on the page. The hypothetical is formed by the irrealis form plus ba in mayoinaba (まよひなば); nu + beshi combines categorical assertion with strong inference to emphasize that “this will assuredly happen” in irinubeshi (入りぬべし); and the final line closes with the prohibitive command yurusu na (ゆるすな), “do not loosen it.” The page’s translation likewise preserves the classical metaphor kokoro no koma (心の駒), “the steed of the heart-mind”: the workings of the heart-mind are likened to a horse that will bolt when left to itself, and the poem makes us recognize that the one who must hold the reins is none other than oneself.

When this is threaded back through Ueshiba Morihei’s Six Primers, the design comes clearly into view. The First Principle, Bu = Uchū Genri (武＝宇宙原理), “Bu as Cosmic Principle,” provides the coordinates by which one aligns with order rather than being carried away by confusion. The Second Principle, Hito to no Aiki (人との合気), “Aiki with Others,” establishes the threshold: only by tightening one’s own reins can one enter into accord with another. The Third Principle, Shinkon Ichinyo (心魂一如), “Heart-mind and Spirit, Inseparable,” arrests the steed’s flight through an integration that leaves no opening. The fourth principle, Wagō Bika (和合美化), “Harmonization and Beautification,” gives the poem its telos—the opposite of the “wrong path,” directing relationships and the field itself toward beauty.

The Fifth Principle, Karada = Dōjō, Kokoro = Shugyōsha / Shugyōsha / Manabite (体＝道場、心＝修業者／修行者／学び手), “Body as Dōjō; Heart-mind as Practitioner / Ascetic / Learner,” becomes the measure by which one asks, at the smallest scale of daily life, “Are the reins taut now?” The Sixth Principle, Shiai no Minamoto ni Shitagau (「至愛」の源に順う), “Follow the Source of Supreme Love,” becomes the highest criterion by which the reins’ degree of tension—the dignity of one’s judgment and manner of response—is assessed. Read in this way, Dōka 37 states the starting point of practice in a single line: self-command comes first.

Its meaning is further tightened by its continuity with the three preceding poems. Dōka 34 teaches the reversal of position: “make the visible form a decoy, stand behind, and cut”—sugata o otori ni, haigo ni tatte tatsu (姿を囮に、背後に立って断つ). Dōka 35 urges inner tempering: “from sincerity onward into still deeper sincerity—manifest and hidden as one”—makoto o sara ni makoto e—ken’yū ichinyo (誠をさらに誠へ――顕幽一如). Dōka 36 establishes the point of return: “whenever you come to an impasse, return to the Way of izu × mizu”—ikizumaru tabi, izu × mizu no michi e kaere (行き詰まるたび、いづ×みづの道へ還れ).

The present page then places the first response precisely at the instant mayoi (迷い), bewilderment, arises: retighten the “reins” of the heart-mind. Leave the disturbance unattended and entry into the “wrong path” becomes inevitable—nubeshi (ぬべし). Therefore, draw the reins taut now at the three points of breath, gaze, and speech—yurusu na (ゆるすな). Only when this tension of the reins is present can the reversal, tempering, and return of Dōka 34–36 operate in actual practice. That is what the page teaches.

In one volloquial dentence

“Once you lose your bearings, you will stray onto a bad road—so never loosen the reins on the horse of your heart-mind.”

Supplement—The heart-mind That runs the road, the reins that cinch the poem: The rhetorical movement of Dōka 37

The first feature of Dōka 37 that must not be overlooked is that the poem can be read as a honkadori (本歌取り)-like recasting: it takes up an earlier poem almost in its entirety and replaces only its opening line. Kuroki Toshihiro (1981), citing a poem associated with the mental discipline of martial strategy and attributed to Hosokawa Tadatoshi in the Tadatoshi-kō onkafu (『忠利公御家譜』), gives the following:

Hikarenaba / ashiki michi ni mo / irinubeshi / kokoro no koma ni / tazuna yurusu na
（ひかれなば／あしき道にも／入りぬべし／心の駒に／手綱ゆるすな）

The difference from Ueshiba’s poem is almost entirely confined to the replacement of hikarenaba (ひかれなば), “if it is drawn or led,” with mayoinaba (まよひなば), “if it becomes bewildered.” The route of transmission, however, cannot be established with certainty. Moreover, because the final two lines circulated widely as a proverbial expression, it would be more prudent to call the poem a refashioning of an older verse or set phrase—a honkadori-like variation—rather than to declare it honkadori in the strict technical sense.

Honkadori is a technique by which the diction or conception of an earlier poem is incorporated into a new composition, layering the older poem’s background beneath the new one. Here, however, the degree of incorporation is so extensive that four of the five lines remain unchanged. It is therefore closer than ordinary quotation to “a reboot that preserves an entire sonic mold.”

That five-sound substitution substantially relocates the poem’s center of responsibility. In hikarenaba (ひかれなば), the steed of the heart-mind is drawn from outside: temptation, another person, or the surrounding circumstances lead it onto the wrong road. In mayoinaba (まよひなば), by contrast, the point at which the wrong road begins is moved into the bewilderment of the heart-mind itself. This is no longer a steed being led from without, but a steed losing its direction from within.

Ueshiba’s alteration therefore does more than repeat the warning of the earlier poem. It narrows the space in which an enemy or temptation may be located outside oneself and folds the first motion of straying from the way back into the heart. By replacing a mere five sounds, “the danger of being drawn by another” is internalized as “the danger of beginning to run from one’s own bewilderment.” Dōka 37 is thereby reconfigured as a more thoroughgoing poem of self-command.

The poem’s mitate (見立て), moreover, is not disclosed at the outset. Only when the fourth line, kokoro no koma ni (心の駒に), “to the steed of the heart-mind,” appears is the poem’s vehicle finally revealed. As one moves through the kami-no-ku (上の句), the upper three lines, “bewilderment,” “road,” and “entering” may all be read as abstract language describing a person’s departure from an ethical or religious way. Yet the instant the “steed of the heart-mind” appears, the entire landscape of the upper lines is retrospectively reread as an equestrian scene.

“Bewilderment” becomes the loss of direction; the “road” becomes the track along which a horse runs; and “entering” becomes the steed’s physical step onto that track. The three lines already spoken are suddenly made concrete all at once. This is not, in the strict sense, a jokotoba (序詞), or prefatory phrase, because the upper lines are not merely an introduction: they contain the poem’s central condition and consequence. Nevertheless, insofar as the image is laid down first and the figurative term that makes the image possible is disclosed only afterward, the poem operates as a “delayed mitate” possessing a jokotoba-like preparatory movement.

This retrospective mitate is sustained by two clusters of engo (縁語), or associated words. On one side stands the language of passage and wayfaring: mayoi–michi–iru (迷ひ―道―入る), “bewilderment—road—enter.” On the other stands the language of horses, tack, and riding: koma–tazuna–yurusu (駒―手綱―ゆるす), “steed—reins—loosen.” “Road” and “enter” belong to both fields. They serve as hinges sewing the ethical progress of a person to the physical course of a running horse.

Consequently, kokoro no koma (心の駒), “the steed of the heart-mind,” does not remain a metaphor confined to a single line. It rearranges the entire poem into horse, road, and rider, establishing a sustained mitate—a chain of metaphor. Here, the engo do not merely gather decorative language. They convert the abstract movement of the heart-mind into bodily movement possessing speed, direction, and tension.

The final verb yurusu (ゆるす) likewise binds these two worlds together within a single word. Yurusu can mean to slacken something held taut, but it can also mean to allow, permit, or let someone do as they please. When joined to tazuna (手綱), “reins,” the sense of “loosening” comes to the foreground. When joined to kokoro (心), “heart-mind,” the sense of “permitting” also resounds: one must not tacitly allow impulse to run under its own power.

Because the original writes yurusu (ゆるす) in kana without choosing a kanji, “do not slacken the reins” and “do not permit the heart-mind to have its own way” descend into the final line still superimposed upon one another. This cannot quite be called a kakekotoba (掛詞) in the narrow sense, since it does not place two etymologically distinct words upon a single homophonic form. It is, however, an exceptionally powerful kakekotoba-like layering of meaning, activating the polysemy of one word simultaneously in two semantic fields. Dictionaries likewise record both the senses of permission or indulgence and the loosening of something drawn taut under yurusu.

At the levels of sound and grammar, the sequence na–nu–na (な―ぬ―な) in mayoinaba–irinubeshi–yurusu na (まよひなば―入りぬべし―ゆるすな) becomes the poem’s invisible rein. The na of the opening line is the irrealis form of the auxiliary nu (ぬ), while the nu of the third line is the terminal form of that same auxiliary. By changing its inflected form, the auxiliary tightens the relation between condition and consequence. In the final line, the same sound na returns, but now as a prohibitive sentence-final particle.

This is not a kakekotoba in which two meanings operate simultaneously within one word. Rather, it is an opening-and-closing correspondence that places identical sounds with different grammatical functions at separate points in the poem. The first na opens the dangerous condition. The central nu seals its consequence as inevitable. The final na arrests the action so that the condition may not be allowed to unfold. The poem thus passes through three modalities: from the possibility of “if one becomes bewildered,” through the necessity of “one will assuredly enter,” to the prohibition “do not loosen.” The agency that appears close to being lost in the kami-no-ku is recovered in the shimo-no-ku (下の句), the lower two lines.

The syntax contains a parallel correspondence as well. Both ashiki michi ni mo | irinubeshi (悪しき道にも｜入りぬべし), “even onto a wrong road | one will assuredly enter,” and kokoro no koma ni | tazuna yurusu na (心の駒に｜手綱ゆるすな), “to the steed of the heart-mind | do not loosen the reins,” place a noun phrase marked by ni or ni mo before sending the predicate into the following line.

The former indicates place or direction and then releases the verb “enter.” The latter identifies the object of concern and then restrains it with “do not loosen.” A predicate announcing forward motion and a predicate commanding restraint are mounted upon nearly the same grammatical saddle.

This is not ku-matagari (句跨り), line-spanning enjambment, in the narrow sense, because neither a word nor a bunsetsu (文節), or phrasal unit, is split across the five- and seven-sound boundaries. The ends of the lines fall at the phrasal boundaries marked by ni mo (にも) and ni (に). Yet because the predicate remains unresolved at the case particle, a “delay of the predicate” carries meaning from the second line into the third and from the fourth line into the fifth. The first delay sends the steed forward; the second halts its motion with the final na.

The concluding line also omits the object-marking case particle o (を) from what would otherwise be tazuna [o] yurusu na (手綱〔を〕ゆるすな), “do not loosen the reins.” Supplying the particle would make the line more explanatory. By omitting it, however, the noun “reins” collides directly with the prohibitive predicate “do not loosen,” making the diction brief, hard, and performative.

Nor is the grammatical person of the one who becomes bewildered, the one who enters the wrong road, or the one who holds the reins ever stated. Through this omission of the subject, the poem changes at every utterance from an admonition directed toward another into an admonition spoken by the practitioner to oneself. It is not an order by which someone else is controlled from outside. The speaking voice itself returns the reins to its own hand each time the poem is recited.

The mo (も) in the second line is a kakari-joshi (係助詞), a binding or focus particle, but it does not produce kakari-musubi (係り結び) in the narrow sense associated with zo, namu, ya, ka, or koso (ぞ・なむ・や・か・こそ). Mo prevents “the wrong road” from closing itself off as one narrowly delimited road. It gives the phrase the expansive sense “even as far as a wrong road,” leaving other, still unspoken roads in the background. Some broader accounts include the correspondence of wa or mo with a terminal form under the heading of kakari-musubi, but this is not, at least, a strong binding construction that changes the predicate’s inflectional form.

Accordingly, the poem contains no taigendome (体言止め), no makurakotoba (枕詞), no utamakura (歌枕), and no jokotoba in the technical sense. Nor does it contain an explicit kireji (切れ字) in the haikai sense. The cut after the third line arises from the grammatical completion of irinubeshi (入りぬべし) itself. The final line leaves behind not the suggestive stillness of a nominal ending, but the after-resonance of an action imposed through prohibition.

The previously noted homophonic possibilities in ashi (悪し)—ashi (葦), “reed,” and ashi (足), “foot”—and in koma (駒)—Koma (高麗) and koma (独楽), “spinning top”—may be retained as latent shadows in the sound. Yet for a kakekotoba to operate fully within a poem, both superimposed meanings require surrounding clusters of language that support them. This poem contains no engo developing reeds or wetlands, Koma or ancient Korea, or the spinning top as a toy. The surrounding words—“road,” “enter,” “reins,” and “loosen”—consistently select the semantic field of the horse and rider.

It is therefore more stable to treat these possibilities as distant reverberations than to declare them principal kakekotoba. What operates powerfully instead is the semantic layering of mayoi–michi–iru (迷ひ―道―入る), the engo of koma–tazuna (駒―手綱), and the doubled sense of yurusu (ゆるす) as both “to loosen” and “to permit.”

The yoin (余韻), or lingering resonance, of Dōka 37 thus does not arise from the beauty of natural scenery or from the stillness of taigendome. It arises because the shimo-no-ku passes the movement toward the wrong road shown in the kami-no-ku into the reader’s body as a set of reins—and makes the reader continue holding them beyond the poem.

That the fourteen sounds kokoro no koma ni / tazuna yurusu na (心の駒に／手綱ゆるすな) later circulated independently as a set phrase was possible because they can stand on their own as an aphorism compressing reason and command into one. Dōka 37 does not say, “Do not become bewildered.” Rather than prohibit the arising of bewilderment itself, it prohibits releasing the reins at the very moment bewilderment arises. Where the poem ends, the time of holding the reins begins.

Speech Act Theory

When Dōka 37 is folded back through Austin’s (1962) theory of speech acts, what comes to the foreground is not first its “content”—what it says—but its “work”—what it does. At the locutionary level, the irrealis form plus ba establishes the condition “if bewilderment arises”; nu + beshi declares that “if it does, one will assuredly enter”; and the poem closes with the prohibition yurusu na (ゆるすな), “do not loosen.” This is the skeleton of meaning.

At the illocutionary level, however, that skeleton operates directly as force: it warns, admonishes, and makes the practitioner take hold of the reins. The poem is therefore not an explanatory statement but a directive form premised upon the practitioner’s uptake.

The key lies in two folds—ori (折り)—and a cut. The first fold, between mayoinaba ashiki michi ni mo (まよひなば悪しき道にも), “if bewildered, even onto a wrong road,” and kokoro no koma ni (心の駒に), “to the steed of the heart-mind,” prevents the “wrong road” from being displaced into an event in the external world. Instead, it superimposes that road upon the course run by the heart-mind itself. The reading it elicits is that bewilderment is not simply the environment’s fault: it is the heart-mind running under its own power when the reins have slackened.

The second fold, between irinubeshi (入りぬべし), “one will assuredly enter,” and tazuna yurusu na (手綱ゆるすな), “do not loosen the reins,” removes any room for causality to be narrated at leisure. Immediately after the categorical assertion of inevitability, the prohibition drops into place. The nu in nubeshi (ぬべし) cannot be identified with a conventional haiku kireji, yet functionally it creates a kireji-like categorical closure—a cut. It seals the kami-no-ku and then becomes the switch that activates the command of the shimo-no-ku.

At the perlocutionary level, what the poem seeks to produce is an actual “retightening” within the reader. The instant bewilderment begins to germinate, the poem works as a rein, causing breath, gaze, and speech to be drawn taut once more. Its effect lies less in logical assent than in the single beat of arrest and renewed motion produced by the cut. The upper lines announce the inevitability of falling; the lower lines fix, in the form of a prohibition, the means by which one does not fall.

Within that single beat, Dōka 37 intervenes in the practitioner’s body and heart-mind. Before relationships and the field can begin to slide toward the “wrong road,” the poem makes the practitioner take up the reins.

Coda

What Dōka 37 finally leaves us is not a technique for forcibly stopping the heart-mind, but a practice of restoring relationship at the very instant the heart-mind begins to run. The steed is not killed, nor is the road erased. What is required is not that bewilderment itself be treated as a fault, but that, when bewilderment arises, breath, gaze, and speech not be severed from the steed of the heart-mind. The tension of the reins is not the rigidity of crushing impulse. It is a responsive tension: one feels the movement of the heart-mind and yet does not surrender the direction in which one is going.

For this reason, yurusu na (ゆるすな), “do not loosen,” resounds not as an order imposed from outside upon another, but as an utterance that returns agency to the hand of the one who speaks it. Where the earlier hikarenaba (ひかれなば), “if drawn or led,” names the danger of being pulled from without, Ueshiba’s mayoinaba (まよひなば), “if bewilderment arises,” folds the origin of that danger back within. Before blaming an enemy, temptation, circumstance, or the surrounding field, the poem asks what has slackened within one’s own grasp. Through that question, the wrong road ceases to be fate and becomes once more a branching point at which direction may still be changed.

To tighten the reins, then, is not to close the heart-mind into narrowness. It is to gather dispersion through Shinkon Ichinyo (心魂一如), “Heart-mind and Spirit, Inseparable”; to regulate one’s response through Hito to no Aiki (人との合気), “Aiki with Others”; to measure one’s direction by Wagō Bika (和合美化), “Harmonization and Beautification”; and finally to discern, in the light of the Source of Supreme Love, how firmly to draw and how fully to yield. Draw too hard, and the living relation with the steed becomes rigid. Loosen too far, and the steed loses the way. Practice may therefore consist in sustaining the living tension of aiki between those two failures.

Thus the poem’s na–nu–na (な―ぬ―な) sequence does more than bind condition, inevitability, and prohibition. It becomes a single rein drawing the reader back from the possibility of bewilderment into recovered action. Dōka 37 does not say, “Never become bewildered.” It acknowledges bewilderment and commands: even then, do not release your hold. Each time the poem ends, the steed remains alive, the road divides again, and the reins are passed once more into the present—so, now, in whose hand are they?

References

Austin, J. L. (1962). How to do things with words. Oxford University Press.

American Academy of Poets. (n.d.). Tanka. Poets.org. Retrieved October 13, 2025, from https://poets.org/tanka

Brower, R. H., & Miner, E. (1961). Japanese court poetry. Stanford University Press.

Carr, M. (1993). “Mind‑Monkey” metaphors in Chinese and Japanese dictionaries. International Journal of Lexicography, 6(1), 1–24.

DIGITALIO. (n.d.). 心の駒に手綱ゆるすな. In Kotobank.

DIGITALIO. (n.d.). ぬべし. In Kotobank.

Greenhalgh, M. (2003). Aikido and spirituality: Japanese religious influences in a martial art (Master’s thesis). Durham University e-Theses. https://etheses.dur.ac.uk/4081/

Heinrich, A. V. (n.d.). What is a waka? Asia for Educators (Columbia University). Retrieved October 13, 2025, from https://afe.easia.columbia.edu/special/japan_600ce_waka.htm

Kasulis, T. P. (2011). “Kokoro” (entries & discussion). In J. W. Heisig, T. P. Kasulis, & J. C. Maraldo (Eds.), Japanese philosophy: A sourcebook. University of Hawai‘i Press.

Shirane, H. (2005). Classical Japanese: A grammar. Columbia University Press.

Stalker, N. K. (2008). Prophet motive: Deguchi Onisaburō, Ōmoto, and the rise of new religions in imperial Japan. University of Hawai‘i Press.

Ueshiba, M. (1977). 合気道奥義（道歌）(S. Abe, Ed.). 阿部, 醒石. Retrieved from  http://www.asahi-net.or.jp/~yp7h-td/douka.htm

Yoshiro (frkoten.jp). (2018). 俊頼髄脳「沓冠折句の歌」解説 (on ば: hypothetical with 未然形 vs. causal with 已然形).

Appendix I: Change Modification Log

07 AUG 26 - Cleaned up formatting; added additional poetics analysis; translated commentary to English; added codas to Japanese and English commentaries.
22 JAN 26 - Phase V Speech Acts (Austin, 1962) analysis added in Japanese. 
13 JAN 26 - Fixed Heinrich (n.d.) and order of American Academy of Poets (n.d.).
21 DEC 25 - Phase V styling applied to waka.
06 NOV 25 - Phase IV completion; commentary added.
13 OCT 25 - Phase III completion.
14 APR 20 - Initial notes transferred.