Month: July 2012

A Small Token: Poem Number 15

Some people give cards, some people give poems:

JapaneseRomanizationTranslation
君がためKimi ga tameFor my lord’s sake
春の野に出でてHaru no no ni ideteI went out into the fields of spring
若菜つむWakana tsumuto pick young greens
わが衣手にWaga koromode niwhile on my robe-sleeves
雪はふりつつYuki wa furitsutsuthe snow kept falling and falling.
Translation by Dr Joshua Mostow

The poem was composed by a young Kōkō Tennō (光孝天皇, 830 – 887), Emperor Kōkō in English, who was traditionally, the 55th Emperor in Japan. He ascended the throne somewhat late (age 55) after Yōzei (poem 13, つく) abruptly retired. Koko’s own reign was similarly short, and power rested in the hands of his minister Fujiwara no Mototsune.

Nonetheless, Koko had a reputation for being a rather bright and easy-going youth. Despite being a Prince of the Blood, he was unlikely to inherit the Throne anytime soon (Yozei was still young, and Koko wasn’t directly related), and thus lived in obscurity. It’s said that he even had to cook his own meals. A poem mourning his passing states that his Imperial chambers still had black soot in them from cooking his own meals even after becoming Emperor.

The poem above is from those younger days, after he picked some wild flowers and herbs and sent them to someone as a New Year’s greeting. The poem was included in the offering. Young greens (wakana, 若菜) were the seven herbs used in the traditional holiday of Nanakusa on January 7th.

Even in the old Lunar Calendar, Nanakusa would fall around late January to early February. This helps to explain why snow was falling on the young prince’s sleeves.

Who was the recipient? It’s not known who received the poem and herbs, but since Nanakusa herbs are meant to bring safety, plus the language used (kimi ga tamé, きみがため), it definitely implies a young woman he cared about. ❤️ One theory suggests it was a beautiful girl named Tachibana no Kachiko (橘嘉智子), who was the consort of Emperor Saga.

This poem doesn’t use a lot of clever wordplays, the meaning is fairly straightforward, and it paints a nice image. It is a remarkably sweet, easy to grasp poem, that even foreign students of the Hyakunin Isshu can easily learn.

Who’s Fault Is It? Poem Number 14

This poem has an interesting connection with the city and region of Fukushima as we shall see:

JapaneseRomanizationTranslation
みちのくのMichinoku noWhose fault is it
しのぶもぢじずりShinobu mojizurithat my feelings have begun
to tangle
たれゆゑえにTare yue nilike the tangle-patterned prints
乱れそめにしMidare some niof Shinobu from the
distant north?
我ならなくにWare naranaku niSince it is not mine, it must be…
Translation by Dr Joshua Mostow

The author, Kawara no Sadaijin (河原左大臣, 822 – 895), “Riverbank Minister of the Left”. His personal name was Minamoto no Toru, renowned for his courtly elegance, and Professor Mostow thinks he may have served as a partial role-model for the famous hero of the Tale of Genji.

The poem is thought to be Toru’s defense to his wife or lover about his faithfulness, but he uses some interesting imagery to convey how upset he is that his faithfulness is questioned. Mostow points out that the poem is a subject of debate because it’s also been interpreted as an expression of secret love to someone else (i.e. “why did you make me feel this way”?).

The place referenced, Shinobu in Michinoku, is the old name for what is now the city of Fukushima in Fukushima Prefecture. Although it is now known for last year’s earthquake and nuclear disaster, the area was originally a frontier area during the time of the Nara and Heian periods, and as evinced in the poem above, famous for it’s patterned cloth called shinobu mojizuri.

The term mojizuri refers to a type of plant, Spiranthes sinensis var. amoena pictured above (photo by Qwert1234, CC BY-SA 4.0, via Wikimedia Commons), a variety of orchid found in east Asia. It’s also called nejibana in modern Japanese. However, mojizuri also refers to a kind of dyed-cloth pattern made from the plant. The method involves pressing a cloth between the plant and a rock, forming dyed patterns like the ones shown here. This the context that Minamoto no Toru is using in the poem.

The Morning After: Poem Number 50

To celebrate our 50th poem on this blog, I am posting poem 50, which happens to be a particularly good one:

JapaneseRomanizationTranslation
君がためKimi ga tameEven the life that
をおしからざりしOshi karazarishiI’d not have been sorry to lose
命さへえInochi saejust to meet you once,
ながくもがなとNagaku mo gana tonow, having met, I think:
おもひいけるかなOmoi keru ka na“I want it to last forever!”
Translation by Dr Joshua Mostow

This poem was composed by one Fujiwara no Yoshitaka (藤原義孝, 954 – 974), the third son of Fujiwara Koremasa (poem 45). It was composed and sent after spending the night with his lover. These kind of “morning after” poems are very common at the time because lovers could not meet openly during the day, so they often met at night and slept together. The term for this kind of poem is kinuginu no uta (後朝の歌), and were often a way of sharing feelings after the two have parted company.

As Mostow also explains, it’s not clear why he valued his life so little, but the main interpretation is that he loved her so much, he was willing to throw his life away just to meet her. Other interpretations are, among other things, that he would have thrown away his life for her sake if he could.

What really makes this poem extra tragic though, is that Yoshitaka died at the age of twenty (he lived from 954 to 974), from smallpox. We don’t know what happened between him and his lover, but at least his words live on.

Anyhow, we’re at the halfway-point of this blog, and I wanted to thank everyone for your support. The biggest thanks go to Professor Mostow who graciously allowed me to use his translations for this blog (if you like to study the Hyakunin Isshu more in depth, I recommend his book).

And we’ve still got 50 to go. 🙂

Meeting and Parting: Poem Number 10

This poem is a nice reminder that “traffic” and “commuting” are two things that haven’t really changed much in 1,000 years:

JapaneseRomanizationTranslation
これやこのKore ya konoThis it is! That
行くも帰かえるもYuku mo kaeru mogoing, too, and coming too,
別れてはWakarete wacontinually separating,
知るも知らぬもShiru mo shiranu mothose known and
those unknown,
逢おう坂の関Ōsaka no sekimeet at the Barrier of Ōsaka
Translation by Dr Joshua Mostow

This poem was composed by one Semimaru (蝉丸, dates unknown) who is reputedly a blind man who built a hut near Osaka Barrier and was famous for playing the biwa, but the authenticity of this story is questionable, and as Mostow points out, it’s not even certain he existed at all. The story about his life has also changed throughout the generations, so in some cases he’s the servant of the son of an Emperor, and in others he’s the son of an Emperor, abandoned by his blindness.

According to one account in my new book, a high-ranking official named Minamoto no Hiromasa (源博雅) once heard a rumor of a talented blind man with a biwa lute who lived near the Osaka Barrier (see below). He wanted to hear this man’s music, and sought him out for three years until he finally found him on the evening of 15th day of the 8th month (old lunar calendar), and from this man, Hiromasa learned to play the songs that he had been squirreling away. Songs titled such as 流泉 (ryūsen, “flowing spring”) and 啄木 (takuboku, “woodpecker”).

The place in question, Osaka Barrier, is a popular subject of poetry from this era. Poems 62 and 25 also mention the same place because it was a popular meeting spot for people coming and going from the capitol (modern-day Kyoto) eastward. Note that this Osaka has no relation to the modern city of Osaka, which was called Naniwa during that era. In fact the name of Osaka Barrier is also a pun. The Chinese characters are 逢坂, which means “meeting hill”, but is also the place-name.

Anyway, these kinds of check-points, or sekisho (関所) existed in Japan across major roads going in and out of the capitol, but were also popular meeting places for friends and lovers too, as well as having inns nearby for weary travelers. The featured photo above is an example of “sekisho” checkpoint, photo by 663highland, CC BY-SA 3.0, via Wikimedia Commons

The Osaka Barrier in particular was the first check-point leaving eastward from the capitol, so many people probably parted company here, or met old friends at this particular gate more than others. It’s fun to imagine what Osaka Barrier was like in those days. As Mostow points out, this poem probably was originally just a poem about Osaka Barrier, but by the medieval era, it took on an increasingly Buddhist tone in symbolizing the coming and going of all phenomena. Even modern Japanese books on the Hyakunin Isshu tend to reflect this sentiment. Pretty interesting metaphor I think.

One other interesting thing about this poem is its rhythm. If you read this one out loud, the rhythm is very easy to follow, and this is probably one of the easier poems to memorize if you’re looking for a place to start (poem 3 is another good choice in my opinion 😉).

Finally, one random note about Semimaru himself.

A picture of a karuta card depicting Semimaru (poem 10), with his poem above his head. His clothes look similar to a monk and he is holding a Buddhist rosary. His eyes are closed, as he was reputedly blind.

His artistic depiction in karuta cards, such as the yomifuda card above based on the famous Korin Karuta collection, leads to frequent confusion by people who play bozu mekuri: is he a monk or a nobleman? Even my new book mentions this conundrum among Japanese players. His lack of verified biographical information makes this question even more mysterious. The book jokes that the author’s house-rule is that if anyone pulls the Semimaru card, then everyone loses what their stack of cards. Feel free to make your own house-rule. 😊

Getting Exiled Isn’t Fun: Poem Number 11

Another random poem I found lately. Interesting enough, it has some relation to the much later poem by Emperor Gotoba (poem 99):

JapaneseRomanizationTranslation
わたの原Wata no haraO tell her, at least,
八十島かけてYasoshima kaketethat I’ve rowed out,
heading towards
こぎ出ぬとKogi idenu tothe innumerable isles
人には告げよHito ni wa tsugeyoof the ocean’s wide plain,
あまのつり舟Ama no tsuribunéyou fishing boats of
the sea-folk!
Translation by Dr Joshua Mostow

The poet author was Sangi Takamura (参議篁, 802 – 852), “Counselor Takamura”, also known as Ono no Takamura. He was one of the premiere poets of his time, particularly with Chinese poetry, which was very popular in that era. People considered him a rival to the famous Chinese poet Bo Juyi, which was quite a compliment. Bo Juyi’s poetry is frequently recited or mentioned in many works from the Nara and Heian periods (such as the works of Lady Murasaki, poem 57).

For his talent with Chinese poetry, Takamura was selected to be part of the 837 embassy to Tang Dynasty China, the same one as Abe no Nakamaro (poem 7). Such trips were prestigious, but also incredibly perilous, because Japanese ships were not designed to cross deep sea, and withstand frequent typhoons. Plus ambassadors had to stay for 10+ years at a time, and some never returned from China at all, as in Nakamaro’s case.

Takamura, while revered by Emperor Saga, also had a dubious reputation for being a straight-shooter. As an eccentric genius he had a tendency to annoy everyone, including Emperor Saga.

It was probably for these two reasons, his hesitancy to carry out his ambassadorial duties, and his lack of tact, that Takamura was exiled to Oki Island and sent this poem back home as he headed for exile.

Oki Island shown above in the featured photo (photo by Yuvalr, CC BY-SA 4.0, via Wikimedia Commons), is where Emperor Gotoba (poem 99) was also exiled centuries later and stayed there for 20 years before he died. It is a lonely island facing the cold, windy Japan Sea/East Sea and far removed from the Court. Noble-born members of the Court were often exiled here, among other locations (see poem 100) for some length of time until they either died, or the reigning Emperor granted clemency. Fortunately, Takamura was pardoned a year a later, and allowed to return home.

One other note is that the poem slightly violates the traditional 5-7-5-7-7 syllable count in most waka poems. The third verse has 6 verses. Poets did occasionally violate this rule, probably for good reasons, but it’s interesting when it comes up. Then again, in Takamura’s case, maybe he just wanted to annoy people, or he just didn’t care. 🤭

The Wonders of Mount Fuji: Poem Number 4

This was something I read recently that I felt like posting:

JapaneseRomanizationTranslation
田子の浦にTago no ura niAs I set out on
うち出でて見ればUchi idete mirebathe beach of Tago, and look,
白たへえのShirotae noI see the snow
constantly falling
富士の高嶺にFuji no takane nion the high peak of Fuji,
雪は降りつつYuki wa furitsutsuwhite as mulberry cloth.
Translation by Dr Joshua Mostow

This poem was composed by Yamabe no Akahito (山部赤人, dates unknown ) who according to Mostow was a contemporary of Hitomaro (poem 3). He is also one of the Thirty Six Immortals of Poetry and was a leading poet during the reign of Emperor Shomu and contributed to the Manyoshu. He is revered alongside his contemporary, Kakinomoto no Hitomaro (poem 3) as a “saint of poetry”. Compared to Kakinomoto no Hitomaro, Yamabe is known for a poetry style focused on the beauty of nature such as this poem, rather than clever verse.

Yamabe, for his part, served as a court poet under the pious Emperor Shomu. Unfortunately there is no information about his life before he served in the Court. My new book points out that since he was never mentioned in the historical document the Shoku Nihongi, Yamabe was probably a low-ranking bureaucrat.

Mostow carefully explains that this poem, like many of the earlier poems in the Hyakunin Isshu were written in an old Japanese-Chinese hybrid script called manyōgana and was thus open to many interpretations. In fact, the poem has evolved over time and the version in the Hyakunin Isshu is only one such version. The version above, compiled by Fujiwara no Teika (poem 97), was in an imperial anthology called the Shin-Kokin Wakashu. But the original version, poem 318 in the Manyoshu, read like so:

JapaneseRomanizationRough Translation1
田子の浦ゆTago no ura yuAs I passed
うち出でて見ればUchi idete mirebathe bay of Tago, and looked,
ま白にそMashiro ni soI saw the white snow
富士の高嶺にFuji no takane nifalling on the high peak
雪は降りけるYuki wa furitsukeruof Mount Fuji.
1 apologies in advance for any mistakes or for quality of translation

In this version, it sounds like Akahito is describing something more in the past, and the poem doesn’t use a pillow word (see below) to describe the snow. It uses the more mundane description of “very white”, not “white as mulberry cloth”.

The aforementioned vagaries of Manyogana script also matter because there’s much debate about where Akahito actually was when composing this poem. The location of Tago no Ura is now Suruga Bay in Shizuoka Prefecture, but originally may have meant some place much closer to Mount Fuji, under it’s “shadow”, so to speak.

One other interesting note for readers of this blog is the middle line, shirotae no, which as you may recall from poem 2 is one of those special “pillow words” used in Japanese poetry. It is a very idiomatic term which conveys something that is gleaming white, or as Professor Mostow translates, white as mulberry cloth. At some point in history, the third verse changed from a more mundane description of snow to a much more impactful description.

P.S. Featured photo is Mount Fuji as seen from Suruga Bay, photo by Shinichi Morita, CC BY-SA 2.0, via Wikimedia Commons

The End of an Era: Poem 100

The very last poem in the anthology goes along with the previous one in our theme on the end of the Heian Court era:

JapaneseRomanizationTranslation
百敷やMomoshiki yaThe hundredfold palace!
古き軒端のFuruki nokiba noeven in the shinobu grass
しのぶにもShinobu ni moon its old eaves
なほおあまりあるNao amari aruI find a past for which
むかしなりけりMukashi narikeriI long yet ever more.
Translation by Dr Joshua Mostow

This poem was composed by Juntoku-in (順徳院. 1197 – 1242), or “Retired Emperor Juntoku”. Emperor Juntoku‘s father, Emperor Go-toba (poem 99), led the disastrous Jōkyū Disturbance in a last-ditch effort to wrest back power from the new samurai military government in 1221. Like his father, Juntoku was exiled after the rebellion was crushed, but he was sent to Sado Island instead, and lived there for 20 years before his death.

This poem, though, was composed in 1216, five years before the war, and recalls the glory days of the Imperial Court before the downfall in the late 12th century. When we look at the lengthy history of the poetry included in the Hyakunin Isshu anthology, spanning 400+ years, you can see how much poems like this one contrast with the upbeat, optimistic ones from earlier generations. By the time that Emperor Juntoku had assumed the throne, the capitol of Kyoto was already a shadow of its former self, and his reign a greatly diminished one.

In fact, in the Hyakunin Isshu Daijiten, the book points out that the Hyakunin Isshu begins with a poem by an Emperor (poem 1) writing on the harvest, a prosperous subject, and ends with another Emperor longing for bygone times. Fujiwara no Teika (poem 97), the compiler of the anthology obviously knew what he was implying.

Also, the phrase momoshiki is an interesting one. According to Professor Mostow, the phrase is borrowed from a much earlier poem in the Manyoshu:

JapaneseRomanizationRough translation
ももしきのMomoshiki noAre the people of the
大宮人はŌmiyabito waHundred Fold Palace
暇あれやItoma areyaso carefree that they
梅をかざしてUme wo kazashitegather plum blossoms
ここにつどへるKoko ni tsudoeruto decorate their hair?
Book 10, poem 1883

This poem colorfully describes how people in the palace are decorating their hair with plum blossoms they’ve collected, and playfully suggests that life at the palace is well and carefree.

So, it’s really interesting to see how Emperor Juntoku revives this ancient phrase in a poem that conveys the opposite meaning. The sun has set on the Imperial Court, and the palace looks tired and worn now. 

Further, Professor Mostow translates momoshiki as the Hundred-fold Palace which is as good a translation as any in English. But the Chinese characters (kanji) are 百敷 or “hundred seats laid out”, but alternatively, momoshiki can be written as 百石城 meaning “100-stones castle”. Both meanings refer to the Imperial Palace or kyūchū (宮中) in Japanese. The first word implies a hundred mats laid out for sitting (i.e. many people attending the court), while the latter means 100 stones, implying a palace with firm foundations.

But it’s a poignant reminder that all things decline some day.

P.S. The featured photo above is the Ninomaru Palace, Kyoto, Japan (photo by Daderot, CC BY-SA 3.0, via Wikimedia Commons).

Brooding: Poem Number 99

Since I touched upon the end of the Court-era in Japanese history, I thought it would be fitting to post this poem:

JapaneseRomanizationTranslation
人もをおしHito mo oshiPeople seem dear and
人もうらめしHito mo urameshipeople also seem hateful
あぢじきなくAjiki nakuwhen vainly
世を思ふうゆゑえにYo wo omou yue niI brood about the world—
もの思ふう身はMono omou mi wathis self who broods about things.
Translation by Dr Joshua Mostow

The author of this poem was Gotoba-in (後鳥羽院, 1180 – 1239), or “Retired Emperor Gotoba”. Emperor Gotoba was one of the most noteworthy Emperors in Japanese antiquity. Gotoba was responsible for a revival in Waka poetry. He commissioned Fujiwara Teika (poem 97), who compiled the Hyakunin Isshu, among others to make a new official anthology after the Kokin Wakashū centuries before, and this new edition became the Shin Kokinshū which is still an important part of Japanese literature.

Gotoba was a bold character, and sought to restore power which had recently been wrested from the Imperial family by the new samurai class based in Kamakura, Japan (cf. poem 93). So, he and his son Emperor Juntoku, poem 100, organized a last-stand rebellion in 1221 called the Jōkyū Disturbance (or Jōkyū War) where he rallied the samurai back to his banner. Unfortunately, most didn’t want to lose their recent gains, and sided with the Kamakura government under the persuasion of Hojo Masako, the famous “Nun Warlord”.

Thus, the Jokyu Disturbance was a disaster and the Emperor’s forces were quickly destroyed. The young firebrand of an Emperor was then exiled to the Oki Islands and lived their for another 18 years.

This poem though, predates the rebellion and exile. According to Professor Mostow, it was composed as part of a series in 1212, which included Fujiwara no Teika, with the topic of “personal grievance”.

As to “who” he was referring to in the poem, that’s tricky. The word hito means “person or persons”, so it’s pretty generic. Mostow suggestions some traditional interpretations, such as those who oppose the Kamakura government, and those who uphold it (whom he detests), or another traditional interpretation was the common folk vs. those who opposed the rebellion (whom he obviously didn’t like).

We will never really know. But certainly after his exile, we can be sure he spent many days brooding.

P.S. Featured photo is another patron of the arts, Victor Hugo, brooding in this photograph from 1853. Photo by Charles Hugo, Public domain, via Wikimedia Commons