Author: Doug

Waves and Clouds: Poem Number 76

This is a kind of continuation of the last poem, and is one of the most vivid in the Hyakunin Isshu:

JapaneseRomanizationTranslation
わたの原Wata no haraAs I row out into
こぎ出でて見ればKogi idete mirebathe wide-sea plain and look
久方のHisakata noall around me—
雲ゐいにまがうごうKumoi ni magouthe white waves of the offing
おきつしらなみOkitsu shiranamicould be mistaken for clouds!
Translation by Dr Joshua Mostow

The author of this poem has the rather grandiose name of Hosshōji Nyūdō Saki no Kanpaku Daijōdaijin (法性寺入道前関白太政大臣, 1097 – 1164), which means “Buddhist novice of Hosshoji Temple, and former Chief Adviser to the Emperor, and Chancellor of the Realm”. His personal name was Fujiwara no Tadamichi. Tadamichi was the recipient of Mototoshi’s complaint in poem 75, but my new book implies that Tadamichi was no saint.

The role of chief adviser (kanpaku 関白), was an increasingly common ploy in the 10th and 11th centuries used by members of the Fujiwara clan to control the Emperor. The cycle was to have the reigning emperor marry a daughter of a particular Fujiwara sub-clan. If an imperial heir was born, the head of that sub-clan of the Fujiwara would insinuate themselves as the regent (sesshō, 摂政) for the new child heir, while pushing out the old emperor using one excuse or another to justify their retirement. We see this very clearly in the Diary of Lady Murasaki, but also the struggle that affected Sadayori (poem 64) and Sei Shonagon (poem 62). Emperor Sanjō (poem 69) was one such emperor who was pushed out by his regent so his heir could take over early (with the Regent the power behind the throne).

Further, once the child heir is old enough to take the throne as emperor, the regent could seamlessly transition to chief adviser (kanpaku). With this process, the Fujiwara practically had a lock on the Imperial family, with few emperors able to resist this cycle.

Tadamichi as regent, was thus a literal king-maker, but was embroiled in a nasty succession dispute between the future Emperor Go-Shirakawa and the retired Emperor Sutoku (poem 77). This dispute spiraled out of control, resulting in the disastrous Hōgen Rebellion of 1156. The Rebellion in turn started the rapid decline of the Heian Court aristocracy, and the eventual rise of a series of samurai(not nobility)-led, military regimes until 1868. Saigyō Hōshi (poem 86) was devoted to Emperor Sutoku even after he took tonsure, and lamented the Emperor’s passing as a result of his failed rebellion.

The poem itself uses a lot of vivid imagery and pillow words that we’ve seen in other poems. For example the phrase, hisakata no was also found in poem 33. Other notable phrases:

  • wata no hara – field of cotton (the sky)
  • okitsu shiranami – the white waves offshore

It’s an interesting image to imagine: somewhere offshore where the clouds and the white waves blend together in the horizon.

Professor Mostow notes that this poem also has a possible political interpretation by some medieval commentators, because of the allusion “clouds” to “heaven” in the Confucian sense. In such interpretations, it implies that the author is confused by the affairs of the state. However, this interpretation is not shared by other commentators who believe this poem is literal, not allegorical.

In any case, a great poem.

A Peeking Moon: Poem Number 79

Because this is the Harvest Moon, I felt this poem was perfect for the occasion:

JapaneseRomanizationTranslation
秋風にAkikaze niFrom between the breaks
たなびく雲のTanabiku kumo noin the clouds that trail
たえまよりTaema yorion the autumn wind
もれ出づずる月のMore izuruleaks through the moon-
かげのさやけさKage no sayakesalight’s clear brightness!
Translation by Dr Joshua Mostow

The author is Sakyō Dayū Akisuke (左京大夫顕輔, 1090 – 1155), or “Grand Master of the West Akisuke”. His personal was Fujiwara no Akisuké, and he served as the administrator of the western “left” half of the capitol of Kyoto. In those days, the capitol was modeled off of the Chinese capitol of Chang-an of the illustrious Tang Dynasty, and was divided into a “western” and “eastern” half with an administrator for each one.

Additionally, Professor Mostow explains that Akisuke was the father of Kiyosuke (poem 84) with whom he had a poor relationship. Akisuke also inherited the Rokujō School of poetry in opposition to Shunzei (poem 83)’s Miko-Hidariké (御子左家) School. Although Akisuke was the rival of the father of Fujiwara no Teika (poem 97), the compiler of the Hyakunin Isshu, Teika apparently didn’t mind including his poems in the anthology anyway. Being a pre-eminent poet, Emperor Sutoku (poem 77) also commissioned him to compile a new anthology, the Shika Wakashū.

The poem itself is somewhat unusual in the Hyakunin Isshu, because the poem is completely straightforward. The poem literally paints a wonderful image of a hazy autumn moon-lit night, with no additional allusions. When you compare other poems in the Hyakunin Isshu about the moon, usually they have some additional meaning. This poem is unusually genuine and still well-composed.

So, as you enjoy the Harvest Moon this evening, take a moment to enjoy this poem if you can. If you’re in Japan, happy o-Tsukimi!

The Home Stretch!

Hi Everyone,

I have been actively updating the blog recently, and I realized that I’ve reached the 85% mark! That means there are about 15 poems left in the Hyakunin Isshu to post. I didn’t realize how far we’ve come this year.

I’m pretty excited, and I hope you are too. My goal is to complete the blog by the end of the year, but with the baby being born soon, who knows?

Behind the scenes though, I am working hard to complete the last poems, fix links, and find some cool things to share about the culture behind the famous anthology, Heian period culture, etc.

As always, thank you for reading. 🙂

Thanks for Nothing: Poem Number 75

This is another autumn-themed poem, but with an interesting story behind it:

JapaneseRomanizationTranslation
ちぎりをきしChigiri okishiDepending with my life
させもがつゆをSasemo ga tsuyu woon promises that fell thick
命にてInochi ni teas dew on sasemo plants—
あはわれことしのAware kotoshi noalas! the autumn of
this year too
秋もいぬめりAki mo inumeriseems to be passing.
Translation by Dr Joshua Mostow

The author of the poem, Fujiwara no Mototoshi (藤原基俊, 1060 – 1142), was a leading poet of the famous Insei Period of Japanese history, along with his contemporary Toshiyori (poem 74), but according to my new book, was never particularly successful as a bureaucrat.

According to both Professor Mostow and my new book, this poem was written as a complaint to the former Chancellor and Buddhist lay-novice (upasaka) named Tadamichi, the same man who composed poem 76.

Mototoshi’s complaint is that his son, better known as Bishop Kōkaku of Kofukuji Temple, wanted to preside over the annual lecture on the Vimalakirti Sutra, an important Buddhist text. This occasion was known as the yuima-e (維摩会) and was rather prestigious within the bureaucratic monastic system of the time. Being the chosen lecturer would have fast-tracked Mototoshi’s son to other opportunities. In spite of Tadamichi’s promises to help, year after year Mototoshi’s son was passed up, and so Mototoshi sent this poem as a complaint.

The term sasemo is another way of saying sashimo, which in modern Japanese is the yomogi (ヨモギ) plant. In English, this is better known as the Japanese mugwort, pictured above. We saw the use of mugwort as well back in poem 51, though for a very different reason. The featured photo above shows Japanese Mugwort (yomogi, ヨモギ) leaves, photo by Sphl, CC BY-SA 3.0, via Wikimedia Commons.

Sasemo plants inspired an earlier, more Buddhist poem, which Mototoshi alludes to:

JapaneseRomanizationTranslation
なお頼めNao tanomeStill rely on me!
しめぢが原のShimeji ga hara nofor I will help those of
させも草Sasemo-gusathis world for as long
わが世の中にWa ga yo no naka nias there are sasemo-plants
あらむ限りはAramu kagiri wain the fields of Shimeji
Translation by Dr Joshua Mostow

This was attributed to Kannon, the Buddhist deity (bodhisattva) of compassion who promised to rescue all beings in the world. This poem was in the Shinkokin wakashū, number 1917.

Thanks to Professor Mostow for the double-translation this week. If you haven’t already, definitely show him some love and check out his excellent translations. 🙂

The Autumn Wind: Poem Number 71

Another great poem for Autumn:

JapaneseRomanzationTranslation
夕ゆうさればYū sarebaAs evening falls,
門田の稲葉Kadota no inabathrough the rice-plants before the gate,
おとづずれてOtozureteit comes visiting, and rustling
あしのまろやにAshi no maroya nion the reeds of the simple hut—
秋風ぞふくAkikaze zo fukuthe autumn wind does blow!
Translation by Dr Joshua Mostow

The poet, Dainagon Tsunenobu (大納言経信, 1016 – 1097) or “Major Counselor Tsunenobu”, also known as Minamoto no Tsunenobu, had a number of poets in his family. He was the father of Toshiyori (poem 74) and grandfather of Shun’e (poem 85), contributed a number of poems to the official anthologies and had a rival or two in his time.

Rice fields in Chiba prefecture, taken while aboard a moving train in 2019 by author

According to Mostow, this poem was composed by Tsunenobu when he was visiting the villa of his friend, Minamoto no Morokata. Unlike other poems of the era which are often composed for poetry contests, apparently he composed this while watching the view from the villa. The villa in question was in a place called Umezu (梅津), on the outskirts of Kyoto the capital. Nowadays, you can find Umezu within the suburbs of Kyoto now, but it’s interesting to imagine an earlier time when it was a country villa surrounded by rice fields, and to imagine a cold autumn wind blowing across them.

This poem catches the spirit of autumn better than many others, I feel. 🙂

A Brocade of Leaves: Poem Number 69

My favorite season, Autumn, is fast approaching so I thought this would be a good poem:

JapaneseRomanizationTranslation
あらし吹くArashi fukuIt’s the autumn leaves
三室の山のMimuro no yama noof the hills of Mimuro,
もみぢじ葉はMomijiba wawhere the tempests blow,
龍田の川がわのTatsuta no kawa nothat are the woven
brocade floating
にしきなりけりNishiki nari kerion the waters of Tatsuta River!
Translation by Dr Joshua Mostow

The author, Nōin Hōshi (能因法師, 988 – ?) or “Dharma Master Nōin” was originally Tachibana no Nagayasu until the age of 26 when he took tonsure. From there, he traveled the provinces, composing poetry and contributed to various anthologies at the time. Because he was not tied to a politically prominent temple, he had more freedom than other monks in the Capitol to roam the countryside and write in his travels. My new book points out that he was eventually emulated by Saigyō Hōshi (poem 86) generations later.

Professor Mostow notes that this poem is unusual because it’s very straightforward with no hidden wordplay or anything. It’s just a nice, solid poem about Autumn.

As for the geography, Mt. Mimuro (三室山, mimuroyama) is in Nara Prefecture in Ikoma-gun, Ikaruga Village, while the famous Tatsuta-gawa River (竜田川) flows beside it. It was said in the old days that the gods would dwell at the mountain from time to time. In fact, you might recall hearing this river mentioned before all the way back in Poem 17. 😉

Mt Mimuro (Mimuroyama) and the Tatsuta-gawa River, photo by Kansai explorer, CC BY 3.0, via Wikimedia Commons

In those days, travel to places like Mimuro Mountain were generally hard to do for people, even the nobility. A day-hike into the mountains to see such a river was an expensive and exhausting affair as one had to bring their retinue, plan for food and supplies, etc.

So, many poems in the Hyakunin Isshu allowed contemporary people in those days to at least imagine what it would be like to visit even if they couldn’t afford to actually see it in person. Like a poetic “guidebook” in a sense. This is what makes poems like Nōin Hōshi’s so impactful, and why his travel writings were valued so highly: not only could he describe a place he had visited, but do skillfully using poetic verse. It helped to stir the imagination, just as it does for people living outside Japan today. 😏

P.S. For some reason, the last part of the Hyakunin Isshu has a lot of poems about Autumn in particular, so expect to see these soon amidst other things.

Long Summer: Poem Number 98

As Summer starts to wind down, I thought this would be a good poem. In fact, it’s one of the few about Summer in the Hyakunin Isshu:

JapaneseRomanizationTranslation
風そよぐKaze soyoguIn the evening
ならの小川おがわのNara no ogawa nowhen the wind rustles the oaks
夕ゆうぐれはYugure waat Nara-no-Ogawa,
みそぎぞ夏のMisogi zo natsu noit is the ablutions that are
しるしなりけるShirushi narikeruthe only sign it’s still summer!
Translation by Dr Joshua Mostow

The author of this poem is Ju-ni-i Ietaka (従二位家隆, 1158 – 1237), or “Ietaka of Junior Second Rank”. His personal name was Fujiwara no Ietaka, and that he was the son-in-law of Jakuren (poem 87), and studied poetry under Fujiwara no Shunzei (poem 83). In fact he was so talented that he became the tutor for a young Emperor Gotoba (poem 99). After the Emperor’s exile following the Jokyu War, Ietaka and Gotoba still corresponded and shared poems.

My new book suggests that this might be why Teika (poem 97), compiler of the Hyakunin Isshu, put them next to one another (poems 98 and 99) numerically.

The notion of ablution or misogi (禊ぎ) is a Shinto ritual involving purification through cold water, prayer, etc. The practice is still alive and well today, and is often done in the summer months, but it varies depending on the particular Shinto shrine. In Shinto, people accumulate impurities through bad actions or traumatic events, and have to expunge them through ritual to balance their lives. As Professor Mostow explains, it was also popular in the author’s time as a well of making up for carrying on illicit affairs too. 😉

According to the Hyakunin Isshu Daijiten, the second verse of the poem is a good example of a kakekotoba ( 掛詞) wordplay, in that it has two meanings. First, nara can mean an oak tree (楢), especially Quercus serrata trees. The second meaning, nara no ogawa, refers to the font at the upper Kamo Shrine also called the Kamigamo Shrine (kamigamo-jinja, 上賀茂神社). The homepage can be found here.

The nara-no-ogawa next to the Kamigamo Shrine. Photo courtesy of 663highland, CC BY-SA 3.0, via Wikimedia Commons

Another concept in late summer is the notion of zansho (残暑) which is the long, hot, humid summer that comes after the monsoon season in June-July. Speaking from first-hand experience, it’s stifling hot, but here the poem implies that the summer is nearly over, and only the ablutions remain.

P.S. Featured photo is of Iyagatani (伊屋ヶ谷) waterfall, of Ryujuin (龍樹院) Temple. Photo by 松岡明芳, CC BY-SA 3.0, via Wikimedia Commons

Backfired: Poem Number 74

Even the Hyakunin Isshu has its comedic moments:

JapaneseRomanizationTranslation
うかりけるUkarikeru“Make that heartless
人をはつせのHito wo hatsuse nowoman, O mountain storm
山おろしよYama oroshiyoof Hatsuse Temple—
はげしかれとはHageshikareto wacrueller still!”—this is not
祈らぬものをInoranu mono wowhat I prayed for, and yet…
Translation by Dr Joshua Mostow

The author is Minamoto no Toshiyori Ason (源俊頼朝臣, 1055 – 1129), “Sir Minamoto no Toshiyori”, who is the son of Tsunenobu (poem 71) and father of Shun’e (poem 85) and was also a leading poet of his era, along with Mototoshi (poem 75). Toshiyori’s talents were not limited to poetry. According to my new book, he excelled at playing an instrument called the hichiriki, enough that he was invited to serve in the Imperial court under Emperor Horikawa. We went on to serve three Emperors in this capacity, and helped compile the unusually eclectic Imperial Anthology the Kinyō Wakashū, as well as many poems of his own in various anthologies.

The poem above was actually composed during a poetry contest held at the residence of Fujiwara no Toshitada, grandfather of Fujiwara no Teika (poem 97) who compiled the Hyakunin Isshu. The topic of the contest was “unfulfilled love so strong that one even prays to the gods”. The poem expresses frustration after having prayed to be able to meet a certain woman, and somehow she became even more resistant. As Professor Mostow explains, Teika valued this poem very highly because of its depth of feeling, excellent word choices, and clever story-telling (see below).

The name “Hatsuse Temple” is another name for a famous Buddhist temple in Nara, Japan called Hasedera. Hasedera is very well-known in Japan, and apparently was a frequent pilgrimage site for lovers and those with romantic interests. If you ever do happen to be in Japan, especially in the Nara area, I’d highly recommend visiting Hasedera temple.

This poem is listed as a “winter” poem, but I was really confused why this is since the topic sounds more like unrequited love. I checked my source, which explains that Toshiyori went up to Hatsuse Temple to pray, and then came back down (yama-oroshi, 山おろし) in the third verse. This symbolism of coming back down the mountain is evidentially considered a powerful symbol of winter. Perhaps this relates to New Year’s prayers and such. This third verse is also a neat dividing technique between the first half, praying at the temple, and the second half, the girl he was fond of despising him even more.

Catch Me If You Can: Poem Number 72

This is a more light-hearted poem in contrast to the previous one:

JapaneseRomanizationTranslation
音にきくOto ni kikuKnown far and wide,
高師の浜のTakashi no hama nothe unpredictable waves
あだ浪はAdanami waof Takashi’s beach—
かけじや袖のKakeji ya sode noI will not let them catch me—
ぬれもこそすれNure mo koso sureFor I’d be sorry should
my sleeves get wet!
Translation by Dr Joshua Mostow

The author of this poem was known only as Yūshi Naishinnō Ke no Kii (祐子内親王家紀伊, dates unknown) or “Kii of Princess Yūshi’s Household”. She served in the household of Imperial Princess Yūshi, and was the daughter of Taira no Tsunekata and one Lady Koben. The salon of Princess Yūshi included a number of poets and writers and it seems Kii was no exception. She participated in a number of poetry contests and her poems appear in various anthologies.

Speaking of contests, Professor Mostow explains that this poem actually was intended as a response to another poem in a competition held by Retired Emperor Horikawa. Kii was 70 years old at the time according to another source, which is impressive given that she expresses young love so easily after all these years.

The word adanami in the third verse is a particularly interesting phrase. It implies flowers that failed to bear fruit, and thus infidelity. Apparently the women in the poem is not a fool and won’t fall for a dishonest man.

But where is Takashi beach? I checked and it seems to be a famous beach in Osaka Bay, near modern-day Takaishi City in the Osaka Metropolitan Area.

Not Quite Done Yet: Poem Number 68

This poem is something that touches on an important theme here on the blog, but first, let’s take a look:

JapaneseRomanizationTranslation
心にもKokoro ni moThough it is not what’s
in my heart,
あらで浮世にArade ukiyo niif in this world of pain
ながらへえばNagaraebaI should linger, then
恋こいしかるべきKoishikaru bekino doubt I shall remember
fondly
夜半わの月かなYowa no tsuki kanathe bright moon of
this dark night!
Translation by Dr Joshua Mostow

This poem was composed by Sanjō-in (三条院, 976 – 1017), known in English as the “retired Emperor Sanjo“. He only reigned briefly for 5 years until his regent, Fujiwara no Michinaga, forced him to abdicate so that his own grandson could become Emperor (Emperor Go-ichijo). Fujiwara no Michinaga will be remembered as the main character of Lady Murasaki’s Diary, plus he employed a number of the female authors in the Hyakunin Isshu to be ladies in waiting for his daughter. Fujiwara no Sadayori (poem 64)’s family also lost in the same struggle.

To make matters worse, Emperor Sanjo was frequently ill, and this added further pressure for him to abdicate.

The poem above, according to Mostow, is thought to have been composed toward the end of his reign when he was ill and considering abdication. Was he concerned that night about his illness, or about the prospect of losing the throne? What made him savor that moon so?

As mentioned in this post, the later poems of the Hyakunin Isshu reflect a more somber era when political scheming and conflict replaced the earlier enthusiasm of previous generations. By this time, the Emperors had lost much of their power to ministers (mainly from the Fujiwara family) and were increasingly isolated, or even battling one another.

The 400-year Heian Period, the height of aristocratic culture in Japanese history, which the Hyakunin Isshu covers, would come crashing down about 100 years later.