Category: History

The Diary of Lady Murasaki

Of all the poets of the Hyakunin Isshu anthology, arguably the most famous, especially overseas is Lady Murasaki (poem 57), who in Japanese is called Murasaki Shikibu (紫式部). She is the author of the Tales of Genji, which epitomized life in Japanese antiquity, and is among the first novels in history. But another work by Lady Murasaki that’s notable here is her eponymous diary, of which an illustrated version appeared centuries later. In English this is simply known as the Diary of Lady Murasaki (murasaki shikibu no nikki, 紫式部の日記).

The diary covers the period from years 1008 to 1010, and provides a first hand account of her life serving the powerful regent, Fujiwara no Michinaga. Michinaga is not featured in the Hyakunin Isshu, but his power as regent was great enough to ruin the lives of a few poets in the anthology:

Michinaga was locked in a power-struggle between his branch of the Fujiwara Clan, and another branch, led by Morechika. Both had daughters married to Emperor Ichijō, and both were fighting to be the regent (kanpaku, 関白) of Ichijō’s heir. In the end, Michinaga’s daughter, Empress Shōshi, gave birth to the future Emperor Go-Ichijō (Ichijō the Latter). With it, Michinaga became the most powerful man in Japan.

At the beginning of the diary, Lady Murasaki describes the events leading up to Empress Shōshi giving birth, and the elaborate ceremonies to protect her and the unborn child from evil spirits. Although it was technically a private ceremony, Michinaga hired an army of priests and shamans to both bless the child, and also to ward off evil spirits. Lady Murasaki, as a member of the household, describes sitting in the crowded audience chamber for hours, listening to the fevered chanting and elaborate rituals.

Then the diary skips ahead to the first weeks of the child’s birth, and further ceremonies. Michinaga spares no expense to protect his grandson (whom he will be the regent of, and thus the true power behind the throne) from diseases, evil spirits and so on. In elaborate rituals, members of the household are selected to read the Confucian Classics to the baby to ensure he will be an august ruler. More priests are called into ward off evil, and so on.

A 13th century illustration of Empress Shōshi and her infant son, with Lady Murasaki in attendance from the Murasaki Shikibu Nikki Emaki (illustrated diary of Lady Murasaki). Tokyo National Museum, Public domain, via Wikimedia Commons

But what about Lady Murasaki?

Lady Murasaki herself comes from a lesser branch of the Fujiwara clan, and since her husband already died some time ago, she describes herself as “washed up”. She held no official appointment in the Imperial Court. And yet, through Michinaga, she becomes a trusted confidant and tutor of the Empress. Michinaga knew talent when he saw it, and wasn’t shy about packing his household with as much as he could get away with.

Lady Murasaki was but one of several famous ladies-in-waiting recruited by Fujiwara no Michinaga to increase the status of his daughter, Empress Shōshi, vis-a-vis the Emperor’s first wife, Teishi (Morechika’s daughter).

A 13th illustration of Empress Shoshi, her 50-day infant son, and her ladies in waiting in their private quarters from the Murasaki Shikibu Nikki Emaki (illustrated diary of Lady Murasaki). Attributed to Fujiwara Nobuzane (illustrations) and Kujō Yoshitsune (calligraphy), Public domain, via Wikimedia Commons

Lady Murasaki’s diary implies that life as a lady-in-waiting is a lot of “hurry up, then wait”: periods of great activity and ceremony, followed by long periods of boredom. The period after the child’s birth eventually winds down and leads to a lot of free time, where Lady Murasaki reflects on many things, as well as disparaging some of the other ladies-in-waiting. Here are some examples of her contemporaries who also happen to appear in the Hyakunin Isshu:

  • Lady Izumi (poem 56) – “She does have a rather unsavory side to her character but has a talent for tossing off letters with ease and seems to make the most banal statement sound special.“
  • Akazome Emon (poem 59) – “She may not be a genius but she has great poise and does not feel she has to compose a poem on eveyrthing she sees, merely because she is a poet.“
  • Sei Shonagon (poem 62), part of the rival clique under Empress Teishi – “…was dreadfully conceited. She though herself so clever and littered her writings with Chinese characters; but if you examined them closely, they left a great deal to be desired.“

She also grapples with persistent depression. Her sullen, introverted nature often wins her few friends among other ladies of the Court:

And when I play my koto rather badly to myself in the cool breeze of the evening, I worry lest someone might hear me and recognize how I am just ‘adding to the sadness of it all’; how vain and sad of me. So now both of my instruments, the one with thirteen strings and the one with six, stand in a miserable, sooty little closet still ready-strung.

The diary then jumps forward into a letter written at a later date. The intended recipient is unknown, but is thought to be her daughter Daini no Sanmi (poem 58). Here the diary includes a great deal more self-reflection, and further analysis of the other ladies in waiting, including her grievances with another clique of ladies centered around the high priestess of the Kamo Shrine, Princess Senshi (daughter of Emperor Murakami).

Finally, the diary jumps around a few more times in narrative, and then abruptly stops. Richard Bowring points to theories that other fragments of the diary once existed, possibly some in the Eiga Monagatari, or some possibly in possession by Fujiwara no Teika (poem 97, and compiler of the Hyakunin Isshu), but these are all speculation.

The Diary is pretty short; you can read it cover to cover in a couple of hours. And yet it’s a fascinating blend of historical perspective, and very relatable personal reflection. Loneliness and depression affect people of today as much as it did people of her time, and yet she has to carry on through stodgy court ceremony, pressures of the insular life in the aristocracy, and constant back-biting amongst the ladies-in-waiting.

In one lengthy anecdote, she describes a prank that the other ladies-in-waiting decide to pull on one Lady Sakyō, who apparently had retired from service, then returned to serve another nobleman. The prank was to send a luxurious “gift”, but with a lot of symbolism regarding youth, implying ironically that Lady Sakyō was an old has-been.

And then there’s the sexual harassment….

A 13th century illustration of drunken noblemen getting rowdy from the Murasaki Shikibu Nikki Emaki (illustrated diary of Lady Murasaki). Attributed to Fujiwara Nobuzane (illustrations) and Kujō Yoshitsune (calligraphy), Public domain, via Wikimedia Commons

The diary lists several incidents where drunken nobles harass attractive servants during dinner, servants who are unable to really do anything about it since they owe their entire livelihood to those nobles. Alternatively, the noblemen, bored themselves, play mean pranks on the ladies, steal their robes, or pull their skirts. Because of the power imbalance (also frequently alluded to in the Gossamer Years), it was just an accepted part of life, and the ladies often had to regularly dodge that minefield.

Middle Counselor Elect Taka’ie, who was leaning against a corner pillar, started pulling at Lady Hyōbu’s robes and singing dreadful songs. His Excellency [Michinaga] said nothing….Realizing that it was bound to [be, sic] a terribly drunken affair this evening, Lady Saishō and I decided to retire once the formal part was over.

trans. by Richard Bowring

Michinaga himself frequently bursts in on Lady Murasaki, sometimes drunk, demanding a quick poem or a verse for particular occasions. Although Michinaga never makes advances on Lady Murasaki, his overbearing demeanor exhausts her, yet she also admires his quick wit and ambition. I can imagine Michinaga in moderns times being a flashy, talented CEO with a dubious reputation :

I felt depressed and went to my room for a while to rest. I had intended to go over later if I felt better, but then Kohyōe and Kohyōbu came in and sat themselves down by the hibachi. ‘It’s so crowded over there, you can hardly see a thing!’ they complained. His Excellency [Michinaga] appeared.

‘What do you think you’re all doing, sitting around like this?’ he said. ‘Come along with me!’

I did not really feel up to it but went at his insistence.

trans. by Richard Bowring

Another frustration that Lady Murasaki describes is the rigid social hierarchy within the aristocracy. Lady Murasaki was from a middle-ranked family, and while not a menial servant herself, she was frequently reminded of her place. This included things like being unable to wear the “forbidden colors“, where she sat during court ceremonies, and whom she was allowed to address directly. Lady Murasaki sums it like so:

The water-music that greeted the Emperor was enchanting. As the procession approach, the bearers — despite being of low rank — hosted the palanquin right up the steps and then had to kneel face down beneath it in considerable distress. ‘Are we really that different?’ I thought to myself as I watched. ‘Even those of us who mix with nobility are bound by rank. How very difficult!’

trans. by Richard Bowring

What she often describes, when reading between the lines, is that for all its pomp, culture and beauty, life in the Heian Period aristocracy was a kind golden sham:2

I returned to the Palace on the twenty-ninth of the twelfth month [after a month absence]. Now I come to think of it, it was on this very night that I first entered service at court. When I remember what a daze I was in then I find my present somewhat blasé attitude quite uncomfortable.

trans. by Richard Bowring

One other thing to note is that her diary alludes to the Tales of Genji frequently. By the time she was recruited by Michinaga, a few drafts of the work had already been in circulation, and this probably helped her reputation. Even the illustrious Fujiwara no Kintō (poem 55) pays her a brief visit in the diary calling her “Murasaki” (e.g. purple) as an allusion to one of her characters in the novel. Richard Bowring implies that this moment might be how Lady Murasaki got her sobriquet.3 We saw this with Nijōin no Sanuki (poem 92) in later generations as well. Sadly, it seems that these copies of the Tales of Genji were sometimes borrowed and never returned, or copied by other people, and since each copy took so long to compose, Richard Bowring implies that it is a miracle that the work survived at all.

In any case, the Diary of Lady Murasaki is probably one of the best descriptions of life in the Imperial Court and its (often oppressive) aristocracy. It was a world of beauty and also of frustration and bitterness.

P.S. Photo is a famous woodblock print by Utagawa Hiroshige (Public domain, via Wikimedia Commons), depicting a legend about Murasaki Shikibu at Ishiyama Temple. These are the 3 panels of the nishiki-e: “Eight Views of Omi Province as Seen from Ishiyama” (Ômi hakkei zenzu, Ishiyama yori miru). Notice her purple (murasaki) robes.

1 Sei Shonagon was a lady in waiting for Empress Teishi, who was a daughter of Michinaga’s rival. When Michinaga’s rival is driven out by a scandal, Teishi is relegated to the background, and Sei Shonagon retires in obscurity.

2 Valkyrie in the movie Thor: Ragnarok had said much the same thing about Asgard, too.

3 Her true name is not known, but is thought to be Fujiwara no Kaoriko (藤原香子).

New Blog Page

Hello,

I’ve been making small updates to the blog apart from the poems themselves. The main change is that I’ve added a new “page” that talks about the history of Imperial poetry anthologies. Poetry collections were very popular in the “classical age” of Japanese history, when Court nobles cultivated the finer arts and wrote lots and lots of poetry for social reasons, as well as for career advancement.

The Hyakunin Isshu is an example of a “private” collection in that it was not commissioned by the government. Fujiwara no Teika (poem 97) compiled the Hyakunin Isshu in the later years of his life after his lord, Emperor Gotoba (poem 99), was exiled and the samurai government in Kamakura had won the civil war.

However, many of the poets in the Hyakunin Isshu were also contributors to official anthologies or helped compile them. So, I finally got around to explaining what these anthologies were and why the’re important to this blog.

Also, resources permitting, I may want to try and post poetry from some of those anthologies, starting with the Kokin Wakashū.

Enjoy!

Lamentations: Poem Number 86

Another Autumn moon poem, but with an interesting twist:

JapaneseRomanizationTranslation
なげけとてNageke tote“Lament!” does it say?
月やは物をTsuki ya wa mono woIs it the moon that makes me
思はわするOmowasurudwell on things? —No,
and yet,
かこち顔がおなるKakochi gao narulook at the tears flowing
down
わがなみだかなWaga namida kanamy reproachful face!
Translation by Dr Joshua Mostow

This poem was composed by the Saigyō Hōshi (西行法師, 1118 – 1190), or “Dharma Master Saigyō” a famous Buddhist monk and poet from the era. Saigyo’s story is interesting in of itself, and I blogged more about it on the other blog, including additional poetry, but let me post a summary here.

In his youth, his name was Sato no Norikiyo and he was a promising young man in the Heian Court, and caught the attention of Emperor Toba, Emperor Sutoku (poem 77) and also Taira no Kiyomori, the most powerful man at the time and who later featured as a villain in the famous Tales of the Heike and a many dramas on Japanese TV.

However, Norikiyo grew disillusioned with the nasty politics and infighting in the Court, and abruptly decided to throw it all away. He left behind his career, his wife and children, and became a wandering mendicant. He took on the Buddhist name Saigyo (西行) and stayed at the famous mountain-monastery of Koyasan for monastic training. Later, he returned to the capitol to find everything had changed. The Hogen Rebellion had destroyed much of the capitol, Emperor Sutoku was exiled (having lost), and Kiyomori ruled as a warlord. A few years later, Kiyomori and the entire Heike clan were utterly destroyed in the famous Genpei War, which also spelled the end of the historical Heian Period. What might have happened had Norikiyo stayed and followed his career, rather than leave the capitol?

In any case, with the new samurai government at Kamakura (thus, the Kamakura Period of Japanese history), things settled down in Japan and Saigyo traveled around. He devoted his life to writing poetry, lamenting the loss of his former patrons, admiring the beautiful nature in Japan, and about life in general. He finally settled down in the outskirts of Osaka, and passed away at the age of 73. It was said that when he passed away, the cherry blossoms were in full bloom and that he died on the same day that Shakyamuni Buddha died (February 15th according to solar calendar).

He was also friends with Shunzei (poem 83), according to Professor Mostow.

Anyhow, this poem is, according to Professor Mostow, possibly inspired by a poem by famous Chinese poet Bo Juyi centuries earlier, and is supposed the express the feelings of a resentful lover. Is the moon making him/her tearful? Maybe, maybe not, but gazing up at the moon brings them such sadness anyway.

Saigyo’s talent with poetry and his interesting life story have certainly helped him earn a place in the Hyakunin Isshu, but also inspired many later poets such as Basho and others. Basho the Haiku master, in his travels, went to visit places frequented by Saigyo among others.

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.

The World Moves On: Poem 93

I was reminded of this poem recently and felt like sharing it with readers. It is one of the most poignant in the anthology, I think:

JapaneseRomanizationTranslation
世の中はYo no naka waIf only this world
つねにもがもなTsune ni mo ga mo nacould always remain the same!
なぎさこぐNagisa koguThe sight of them towing
あまのをおぶねのAma no obune nothe small boats of the fishermen who row in the tide
綱手かなしもTsuna de kanashi mois touching indeed!
Translation by Dr Joshua Mostow

This poem was composed by the Kamakura no Udaijin (鎌倉右大臣, 1192-1219), or “Kamakura Minister of the Right”. He is also known as Minamoto no Sanetomo. Sanetomo was the third shogun of the new Kamamura Shogunate, the same military government opposed by Emperor Gotoba (poem 99) and Emperor Juntoku (poem 100).

Sanetomo was a more gentler ruler than his tempestuous older brother, and despotic father. Sanetomo even studied poetry under Fujiwara no Teika (poem 97), the compiler of the Hyakunin Isshu anthology and contributed to other Imperial anthologies as well.

However, he lived at a time when the old Heian court (which included most of the authors in this anthology) had been reduced to a shadow of its former self (see poem 100 above). The power had shifted away from the Imperial Court to the eastern city of Kamakura, and the country was still rebuilding itself after war. Sadly, this new center of power was unstable, and as the third Shogun, Sanetomo was surrounded by ambitious family members and retainers who either plotted to replace him with their chosen candidate, or ruled “on his behalf”. He was a tragic, powerless figure who was given to drink and poetry because he had little else to look forward to.

After escaping other assassination attempts, Sanetomo was killed at age 28 at Tsurugaoka Hachimangu shrine (English site here). His nephew, Kugyo, was hiding behind a ginkgo tree which can be seen to the left of the stairs in the photo above. As Sanetomo descended the stairs, Kugyo leapt out and cut him down with a sword. The ginkgo tree stood for another 800+ years, but finally fell over in March of 2010 due to age and disease. Efforts to resuscitate the tree are underway. The photos in this post were both taken by me in the winter of 2023: the stump of the dead tree is on the left, while the restored sapling is fenced off in the middle. The grand stairs leading up to the shrine is where Sanetomo was assassinated.

This poem reflects his melancholy as he views the shores of Kamakura, and wishing this peaceful scene would always remain, in contrast to the turbulent life he lived.

Politics and power are a dangerous thing.

The Hyakunin Isshu as a Rough Historical Tour

As you may have started to notice, the Hyakunin Isshu anthology provides a subtle historical overview of the classical period in Japanese history. This may have been intention on the part of Fujiwara no Teika, or just reflects the sentiment of his time. Either way, it’s an interesting tour of Japan from the 8th to 12th centuries.

The anthology begins with poems in the Nara Period, when Japanese culture, flush with cultural imports from China (e.g. Confucian ethics, Buddhism, technology, administration, poetry, etc). It was an exciting time in Japanese history. And if you look at the poems from this era, you can see that they tend to feature benevolent rulers (poem 1), bright and happy natural scenes (poems 2 and poem 4), or just often dealt with frivolous issues of love (poem 3 and poem 12) or just life in general around the capitol (poem 10).

Todaiji Temple in Nara on a warm April day in 2010. Taken by author.

Even when the poems were more melancholy (poem 9, poem 11) they still reflected a more genteel time, and were probably included by Fujiwara no Teika to demonstrate the range of poetic skills of the nobility during that bygone time.

However, the Nara Period eventually gave way to the Heian Period, which was a 400-year flowering of Japanese culture that is still revered today. The transition was slow, and much remained the same generations later, but eventually things started to change:

  • Japan’s contact with China and the Asian mainland eventually stopped, and Japanese culture turned more and more inward for several centuries. Poetry and culture at this time reflected more “native” styles by and by.
  • Politically, the northern-branch of the Fujiwara clan gradually monopolized power around the Emperor through political marriages. In the early period, the nobility included several families who supported the family, but by the 11th century, the Fujiwara controlled every major position in government and most emperors were related to them in one way or another. This is what led in part to Sugawara no Michizan’e exile for example. You’ll notice too how many of the poets have the surname “Fujiwara” in the anthology as well, including Fujiwara no Teika the compiler himself.
  • Toward the end, conflict began to arise again and again, culminating in the famous Genpei War and the fall of the Heike clan. The new samurai class (originally bodyguards to the noble families) clashed with one another for control of Japan and ultimately swept aside the nobility, while still trying to imitate the courtly culture.

As such, if you look at poems toward the very end of the Hyakunin Isshu, they tend to be more dismal in tone. Starting with poem 77 onward, you get an increasing melancholy tone to many poems, culminating at the end when poets often speak of longing for the past (poem 100), complaints about life (poem 83, poem 99) or just expressions of people suffering (poem 95).

Indeed, by this time the flowering culture that started in the Nara Period and flourished in the Heian Period had declined, and war and politics had taken their toll on society. The final few poems begin in the militaristic Kamakura Period, and reflect both nostalgia and unease by people of that era. Small wonder that Fujiwara no Teika, who took tonsure after Emperor Go-Daigo was exiled, decided to compile the Hyakunin Isshu the way he did.

An Offering To The Gods: Poem Number 24

Hi folks, after a long break due to work obligations, I am back and happy to post this excellent poem by my favorite author in the Hyakunin Isshu:

JapaneseRomanizationTranslation
このたびはKono tabi waThis time around
ぬさもとりあへえずNusa motori aezuI couldn’t even bring the
sacred streamers
手向山Tamuke yama—Offering Hill—
もみぢじのにしきMomiji no nishikibut if this brocade of leaves
神のまにまにKami no mani maniis to the gods’ liking….
Translation by Dr Joshua Mostow

The poem is signed as Kanké (菅家, 845 – 903), which is the Sinified (Chinese) way to read the Sugawara Family name (lit. “House of Sugawara”). You see similar names used for the Taira Clan (e.g. Heike 平家) and Minamoto Clan (e.g. Genji 源氏) in later times. Anyhow, the author is none other than the famous poet/scholar Sugawara no Michizane who in later generations was deified as a sort of god of learning named “Tenjin” after he was wrongfully exiled through political intrigue.

The term nusa (幣) means a special wand used in Shinto religious ceremonies. The photo above is an example of a nusa, more formally a gohei (御幣) “wand” used in Shinto religious ceremonies, with the paper streamers used for purification (photo by nnh, Public domain, via Wikimedia Commons). At this time in history, according to the Hyakunin Isshu Daijiten, small nusa were often made from thin strips of paper and cloth and offered to the gods for a safe journey.

The poem was composed by Michizane after going on an excursion with his patron, Emperor Uda. Compare with another outing made years later by (then retired) Emperor Uda later in poem 26. In this case, Michizane had little time to prepare, and couldn’t make a proper offering to the gods for a safe trip. However, admiring the beautiful autumn scene on Mount Tamuke, he hopes that this will make a suitable offering instead. Sadly Michizane would be disgraced and exiled only a short time later.

My interest in Sugawara no Michizane mostly comes because I admire him as a fellow scholar. I visited one of his shrines in Tokyo a couple times over the years, and usually try to pay respects. In July 2023, I visited the home shrine of Kitano Tenmangu as well.

Kitano Tenmangu shrine in Kyoto, Japan. Taken in July 2023.

The real life Michizane was no god of learning, but his real-life contributions to poetry and Chinese literature in Japan helped the culture flourish at that time, and earned his place as a trusted adviser to the Emperor, despite his more humble background. This also helped explain his status centuries later as a god of learning. Every year in Japan in April, students pay respects hoping that they can pass entrance exams, and it’s nice to see his legacy carry on so many years later.

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

Parting Ways: Poem Number 77

In honor of my wife’s birthday, I thought I’d write about her favorite poem from the Hyakunin Isshu:

JapaneseRomanizationTranslation
瀬をはやみSe wo hayamiBecause the current is swift,
岩いわにせかるるIwa ni sekarurueven though the rapids,
滝川がわのTakigawa noblocked by a boulder,
われてもすゑえにWarete mo sue niare divided, like them, in the end,
逢はわむんとぞ思ふうAwan to zo omouwe will surely meet, I know.
Translation by Dr Joshua Mostow

This poem was composed by Sutoku-in (崇徳院, 1119 – 1164), of “Retired Emperor Sutoku“. My new book notes that Sutoku had very tragic fortune in life. Sutoku was the son of Emperor Toba, but there were persistent rumors, and some limited historical evidence that his real father was Toba’s grandfather, Emperor Shirakawa. 😮😮 This strained Sutoku’s relationship with his father Toba, and so Toba did not step down as emperor until 23, despite installing Sutoku as the next emperor at age 5. Though his reign was long, and oversaw many poetry competitions, it ended poorly when he was forced to abdicate, and later exiled.

You see, his father Toba was infatuated with one of his other wive, Fujiwara no Nariko, and designated her son, Konoe as the next Emperor after Sutoku at age 3. Konoe however died at age 17 before ascending, and Nariko believed that a jealous Sutoku had cursed her son. This scandal eventually forced Sutoku off the throne, and his younger brother, Go-Shirakawa was installed next.

After Toba passed away, the bitter Sutoku became embroiled in a succession dispute with the regent Tadamichi (poem 76) that boiled over into the Hōgen Rebellion in 1156. The Rebellion was a disaster, and being on the losing side of the conflict, Sutoku was exiled to Sanuki Province, lived a monastic life until he died in 1164.

Coincidentally, the Hōgen Disturbance marks the beginning of the end of the Heian Court,1 and the rise of the samurai class, so legends existed that Sutoku’s angry spirit helped bring down the Court. A related legend is that while in exile, Sutoku lived a monastic life and sometimes sent poetry back to the Court, but the Court refused them on the grounds that they might be cursed. Evidentially, rumors of his curse from the death of Konoe, plus his ill-will from rebellion and exile, dogged him even later in life.

Sutoku was said to have taken great offense at this:

Vengeful Sutoku in Japanese art
“The Lightning Bolt”, a famous painting depicting Sutoku’s vengeful spirit, by Utagawa Yoshitsuya (same artist with the name Ichieisai Yoshitsuya), Public domain, via Wikimedia Commons

I mention all this because this poem on its own is quite lovely, and because it’s signed as “Retired Emperor Sutoku” it’s quite possible he wrote this while in exile, pining for someone he left behind in the capitol. Was it rejected as the legend says? If so, it’s a tragic waste of great poetry, and fuel for supernatural speculation. But if not, then this poem is still a lovely read and a reminder that old friends and loved ones will reunite again someday.

In any case, Happy Birthday, honey!

1 This is reflected quite a bit in the “mood” of the later poems of the Hyakunin Isshu, especially in the 90’s onward. Some of them have a sense of lost glory as the Heian Period ends, and the Court nobles become utterly powerless to the samurai class.