The Three Sacred Mountains of Nara

As I’ve written before, the Hyakunin Isshu poetry anthology is a rough slice of history of Japan’s “classical age” which spans the Asuka, Nara, Heian, and early Kamakura periods of history: roughly six centuries.

The early poems, numerically, were often written by people living in and around the area of Nara (奈良), a very old city in Japan, and also the capitol for a time.¹ The city itself isn’t the only famous landmark, though. Many of the geographic features around Nara have become part of the poetry that we enjoy today.

Poem two of the Hyakunin Isshu (はるす) introduces a mountain named Kagu-yama, but nowadays is known as Amano-kaguyama (天香久山) in Japanese. Mount Amanokagu is actually one of three mountains that surround Nara, called the Three Mountains of Yamato: yamato-sanzan (大和三山). These mountains are:

Mount Amanokagu (天香久山, amanokagu-yama)
Mount Unebi (畝傍山, unebi-yama), and
Mount Miminashi (耳成山. miminashi-yama)

Mount Amanokagu, terumasa, CC BY-SA 3.0, via Wikimedia Commons

When you look at these mountains, they’re not very big,² nothing like Mount Fuji which was also a subject of the Hyakunin Isshu (poem 4, たご). So….. what’s so special about the Three Mountains of Nara?

You can find clues to this in the Manyoshu anthology,³ including this choka (“long form”) poem from book one, poem 17:

Manyogana	Modern Japanese	Romanization
味酒三輪乃山青丹吉奈良能山乃山際伊隠萬代道隈伊積流萬代尓委曲毛見管行武雄數々毛見放武八萬雄情無雲乃隠障倍之也	味酒三輪の山あをによし奈良の山の山の際にい隠るまで道の隈い積もるまでにつばらにも見つつ行かむをしばしばも見放けむ山を心なく雲の隠さふべしや	Umasake miwa no yama Aoniyoshi nara no yama no Yama no ma ni ikakuru made Michi no kuma itsumoru made ni Tsubara ni mo mitsutsu ikan wo Shibashiba mo misakemu yama wo Kokoro naku kumo no kakusafubeshi ya

A rough translation is as follows (alternate translation here):

Oh, how I wish to take in the sights of the Three Sacred Mountains, the mountains of Nara of the blue-green dyes, until they are far from view. Yet, at every step of way, you hinder me, O heartless clouds!

But something’s lost in this, admittedly very crude, translation: the pillow word umasake. This is a pillow word (actually this poem has two pillow words, aoniyoshi is the other) specifically used for the sacred mountains of Nara, but uses the Chinese characters 味酒 for “delicious sake”. Sake rice wine has since antiquity been an offering to the Shinto gods (kami), so there’s a touch of the divine as well. Think of the Greek god Dionysus, and you get an idea of the nuance.

The three mountains were each thought to be the home of a sacred kami, two male one female (Unebi, I think), and as Nara was surrounded by them, the whole scene must have felt ethereal to Japanese at the time. In the same way, Mount Olympus in Greece really isn’t that big, but it has an aura to it that has fascinated people since ancient times.

¹ Speaking from personal experience, Nara is a fun place to visit because it’s a small, laid-back city but also has so much early history there. Compared to Kyoto which is wonderful, but very crowded, Nara is slower and quieter, and well worth a visit.

² The prefectural website also has some nice photos. Well worth visiting.

³ Many of the early (numerically early) poets in the Hyakunin Isshu also contributed poetry to the Manyoshu. Otomo no Yakamochi (poem 6, かさ), compiled the Manyoshu. So, there’s quite a bit of overlap. Teika’s (poem 97, こぬ) genius in compiling the Hyakunin Isshu was selecting the very best of the best, and organizing it in a simple, accessible collection.

The Last Waka Poet in Japan

This blog, since 2011 (!), has been devoted to the famous poetry collection, the Hyakunin Isshu, and the greater tradition of Waka poetry. Waka poetry began far back in Japanese history. We can see this progression in the Manyoshu anthology of the 7th century, followed by various Imperial anthologies promulgated every few generations (some more successful than others). The Hyakunin Isshu collection is a product of early 13th century. By the 15th century, when the last imperial anthology (the Shinshokukokin Wakashū) was published in 1439, poetry in Japan mostly shifted away from Waka poetry to newer Haiku, Renga, and other forms. Waka was essentially a dead poetry form.

And yet, there was still one poet in Kyoto who fully immersed himself in the tradition, despite not coming from an aristocratic background: Shōtetsu (正徹, 1381–1459).

Shotetsu was a great admirer of Teika. In one anecdote he said, “Sometimes on awaking from sleep I happen to think of one of Teika’s poems and feel as if I were about to lose my mind.” Like many of his time, he sought any scrap of calligraphy or poetry from him. He was said to hang up a photo of Teika in his home too.

Shotetsu was a Buddhist monk, ordained since the age of 15 (not unusual in medieval times). By age twenty, Shotetsu sought out a famous poetry teacher named Imagawa Ryōshun, and later Reizei no Tamemasa to learn the “way of poetry”. Reizei no Tamemasa was a member of the Reizei family whose ancestor was none other than Fujiwara no Teika, compiler of the Hyakunin Isshu (poem 97 こぬ). Over the centuries, the Reizei family had developed info rival families and factions, but Shotetsu tried to stay out of the family politics and go back to the source: Teika himself.

In one example poem from 1432, which I found here among his collection, he writes:

Japanese	Romanization	Rough Translation
春来てはまづ咲く花の都ぞと思ひなしにも空ぞのどけき	Haru kite wa Mazu saku hana no Miyako zo to Omoi nashi ni mo Sora zo no dodeki	Just as spring arrives, behold this capitol blooming with flowers. Even the sky seems like it’s gleaming!

Apparently this poem is a variation of a poem all the way back from the Manyoshu (700 years before) by Yama-no-ue Okura, poem 818, book 5:

Manyogana	Modern Japanese	Romanization	Rough Translation
波流佐礼婆麻豆佐久耶登能烏梅能波奈比等利美都〻夜波流比久良佐武	春さればまづ咲く宿の梅の花ひとり見つつや春日暮らさむ	Haru sareba Mazu saku yado no Ume no hana Hitori mitsutsu ya Haru hikurasan	Spring has arrived, and my plum trees have blossomed first, why am I spending the day enjoying this all alone?

You can see how they’re similar, but different.

Anyhow, if you stop to think about it, what Shotetsu did is something like a modern English speaker going back to the time of Chaucer, and producing poetry that matches the style, but is original and good quality. It can be done, but it takes considerable dedication, time and effort. Further, Shotetsu lacked the pedigree typical of many poets of the Court (including the Reizei family), including the necessary training and education, so he was largely self-taught (with help from Ryoshun and Tamemasa).

He left behind many poems and musing in his Shōtetsu Monogatari (正徹物語, “Conversations with Shotetsu”) around 1450:

An excerpt of the *Conversations with Shotetsu*

Sadly, Shotetu’s life had many ups and downs. His house had burned down in 1432, and by his own description, tens of thousands his poems were lost. He became caught up in the Reizei family squabbles, and was punished by the reigning Shogun, Ashikaga Yoshinori, losing all of his property. As further salt in the wound, Shotetsu was excluded from the last imperial anthology, the aforementioned Shinshokukokin Wakashū. Shotetsu would thus leave behind no official legacy.

In time, the tempestuous Shogun was assassinated, and Shotetsu eventually got his lands back. However by this time, he was probably the last waka poet in the Imperial Court. Times had changed, and the Ashikaga Shogunate was crumbling, sliding Japan into a prolonged period of warfare. No one had much time for poetry anymore.

Thus, when Shotetsu was awake one night, thinking about Fujiwara no Teika’s poetry, he was longing for a more glamorous age that was little more than a faded memory in his time.

I suppose we readers feel the same way…

November Updates for 2026

Hello Dear Readers

This year has been very quiet on the blog as I focus on some other projects, parenting needs, and taking some much-needed time to recharge.

But I do have some updates:

First, I got a new book published by the University of Washington about the compiler of the Hyakunin Isshu, Fujiwara no Teika (poem 97, こぬ). It is a dense book, maybe not for casual readers, but covers the history of Japanese poetry at the time very nicely.

The book has spurned some upcoming history posts, which I hope you will enjoy. I am still reading through later chapters though slowly, when time permits.

Second, I am experimenting with a format change for the poems to help visually, and easier to share outside the blog. I am testing it here with a recent post. Please feel free to leave a comment.

Third, the family and I went to Japan, which I mostly wrote about here on the other blog. I didn’t do anything Hyakunin Isshu or Karuta related (was burned out, see above), but I did pick up some more Japanese books which I hope to share. I am especially happy about the Pillow Book copy I found by Sei Shonagon (poem 62, よを).

Fourth, my karuta playing has mostly dropped to zero. Maybe it’s age, or challenges mentioned above, but competitive gaming just doesn’t have much appeal these days. I play every few months or so, just to stay on my toes, but unless there’s a change, my focus these days (in person and on the blog) is appreciating the poetry and history.

Finally, a big thanks to reader “L” for reporting some typos. During the big update in 2022-2023, I was making mass updates to modernize the site code and add some requested features, but some mistakes slipped through the cracks. So, if something seems off, please don’t hesitate to leave a comment.

Thanks all and take care!

A Look At Iroha Karuta

Hello readers and happy 2026! Today I wanted to share something that is both familiar and yet new: Iroha Karuta (イロハカルタ).

I’ve talked about the game of karuta before, but this is in the context of Hyakunin Isshu poetry (which is the main topic of this blog 😉).

However karuta (from Portuguese carta) includes many similar games, not just the Hyakunin Isshu poetry. Many such games use a format called Iroha Karuta.

The iroha poem is a very famous poem, possibly composed by Kakinomoto Hitomaro (poem 3, あし) which uses exactly one of each Japanese kana syllable to form a lovely waka poem. It’s frequently used to alphabetize things in Japan, assign seats, etc.

So, in the same way, karuta cards can be organized by Iroha letters too. This is an easier game than Hyakunin Isshu karuta because instead of learning the poems, their verses, etc., you just need to know the basic Hiragana syllabary. Then, when cards are read, you are listening for the first syllable and find the matching card.

Over the years, my in-laws have sent us various karuta sets to my kids:

… but we didn’t really use them until recently. My youngest child understands enough Japanese now that we can play as a family.

Karuta in general is often played just after Japanese new year, so this year we finally opened some of our old sets and played them one by one. My favorite set is this one:

This set features the city of Kamakura, both past and present, using amazing artwork contributed by local artists. Sadly it is not sold anymore. The contents are below:

Similar to Hyakunin Isshu karuta, the cards are divided between “reading” cards (yomifuda, 読み札), and cards to take (torifuda, 取り札), with some short verses written on them. You lay out the cards like in chirashi-dori style (i.e. just spread around between players), and someone reads the cards (a.k.a. yomite 読み手) while other players try to find and take the card based on the first syllables.

The difference is that the artwork is on the torifuda cards, and you don’t have to memorize kimariji. The two cards on the left are related by the letter う (“u”) for uguisu, a famous bird in Japan.

Some other examples we (apparently 😅) own:

The theme of this one is old Tokyo (Edo 江戸) and features proverbs from back then.

This set above features famous Japanese fairy tales from an old NHK series, and surprisingly includes romaji letters (maybe to help foreign players). It also includes dice for a sugoroku style game. We own the related book series, published by Kodansha with English translation, and I used to read them to my kids when they were little. So, these illustrations are very nostalgic.

One nice thing about Iroha karuta is that you can use any possible theme. A quick Google search shows many sets, with themes such as Kyoto (京), old proverbs, and modern silly ones too. I even found a karuta set for the Manyoshu (!).

Hyakunin Karuta, by comparison, has a more refined image but also has a steeper learning curve, even when playing casual style. So, if you’re looking to play a quick game of Karuta and can read hiragana (or find a set with romaji), Iroha Karuta might be a suitable game for you. Since I own both, I like switching between the quick-and-easy Iroha karuta games, and the more refined and ambient Hyakunin Isshu karuta.

Many of the same stores that sell Hyakunin Isshu sets also sell Iroha sets, so don’t hesitate to look. Happy gaming!

Death and Betrayal in the Hyakunin Isshu

In the Hyakunin Isshu poetry anthology, the subject of this blog for almost 15 years (!), there are many poems about love, nature, sadness, etc. But none about death. There are poems on betrayal, but in the context of infidelity, not on stabbing others in the back.

…. and yet, beneath the surface there are other stories to be told.

In the seventh century, with the death of Emperor Kōtoku in 654 CE, another power struggle erupted. One one side was the emperor’s son, Prince Arima (有間皇子, 640-658), and on the other was the emperor’s older sister and reigning sovereign Emperess Saimei. Empress Saimei had her own son named Prince Naka-no-ōe (中大兄皇子) and was a rival to Prince Arima, Because his mother was the reigning sovereign, Naka-no-ōe would be next in line for the throne, not cousin Prince Arima who was left in the cold.

According to historical accounts, Arima was quietly approached by one Soga no Akae (蘇我赤兄), grandson of the influential Soga no Umako, who promised to help him overthrow Empress Saimei and support his ascension to the throne. Initially, Arima was interested, but later got cold feet. He swore Soga no Akae not to tell anyone, and to call the whole thing off.

But what Arima didn’t know, was that the whole thing was a setup. Prince Naka-no-ōe had planned the whole thing, and Akae told him what happened.

Prince Arima was soon arrested, and taken outside the capitol for interrogation. On his way there, at a place called Iwashiro no Hama (“Iwashiro Beach”),¹ he tied a cord, or a piece of grass to a pine branch. This was evidentially a tradition at the time to pray for good luck on one’s journeys.

Once the interrogations were complete, Prince Arima was sent back toward the capital, but was executed en route by hanging at a place called Muro no Yu (牟婁の湯), which is now a seaside resort town. He was 19 at the time, the year was 658 CE.

Forty-three years later (701 CE), Kakinomoto Hitomaro (poem 3 in the Hyakunin Isshu, あし) was serving the current Emperor Monmu, grandson of Empress Jito (poem 2, はるす), and during an an imperial outing they came to Muro no Yu. By now, Prince Arima’s demise was well-known, including the story of him tying cord to a pine tree branch. Hitomaro, remembering what happened, composed the following poem (poem 146 in the Manyoshu):

Original Manyogana	Modern Japanese	Romanization	Rough translation
後将見跡	後見むと	Nochi mimu to	That pine branch that
君之結有	君が結べる	Kimi ga musuberu	you were going to visit
磐代乃	磐代の	Iwashiro no	after tying a cord:
子松之宇礼乎	小松がうれを	Komatsu ga ure wo	I wonder if you ever did
又将見香聞	またも見むかも	Mata mo mimu kamo	see it again…

Rough translation by me, apologies for any mistakes or nuance issues

Kakinomoto Hitomaro is reminiscing whether Prince Arima got to see the pine branch again one his way back, before he was executed. It’s a sad poem on the tragically short-lived prince.

But there’s more to the story.

Soga no Akae and his clan, the Soga were frequent troublemakers at this time, and both Empress Saimei and her son Prince Naka-no-ōe executed or assassinated multiple members of the clan at the instigation of the Nakatomi. The Nakatomi were later renamed “Fujiwara”, and if you look at the list of poems in the Hyakunin Isshu, you see a lot Fujiwara poets. There’s a very good reason for this. The final straw for the Soga Clan was in 672 when yet another power struggle put the Soga on the losing side of the war. Akae was among those exiled. The Soga permanently lost power.

And finally: what happened to the powerful and conniving Prince Naka-no-ōe?

He eventually ascended the throne as Emperor Tenji, poem 1 of the Hyakunin Isshu (あきの) and instigator of conflicts of his own.

So, it’s interesting to read his poem in the Hyakunin Isshu and its rosy picture of a fall harvest, knowing that the man had some blood on his hands too…

P.S. featured photo is a 17th century depiction of the power struggle between Empress Saimei and the Soga Clan. Courtesy of Wikipedia.

P.P.S. another post on the dark political history behind some poets of the Hyakunin Isshu.

¹ You can see modern photos of the place here. It is in Wakayama Prefecture.

The Super Poetry Brothers

Interesting historical fact that I learned recently.

A long, long time ago in this blog, I wrote about the Six Immortals of Poetry: a list of eminent poets devised by Ki no Tsurayiki (poem 35 in the Hyakunin Isshu, ひさ). This list was in the preface to the Kokinshu imperial anthology, wherein he raised up these six poets, as prime examples of poetry at the time ….. then promptly tore them down for one reason for another.

However, my book about the Manyoshu explains that in the same preface, Tsurayuki elevates two other poets as being above reproach:

Kakinomoto Hitomaro (poem 3 in the Hyakunin Isshu, あし) and
Yamabe Akahito (poem 4, たご)

Together they were revered as Yamakaki no Mon (山柿の門) meaning the “Gate of Yama(be) and Kaki(nomoto)”. In modern terms, we can call them the Super Poetry Brothers…

I used to watch this show as a kid, every day after school. 😆

But I digress.

Kakinomoto and Yamabe were not exactly contemporaries. They were about a generation apart, and their poetry had different styles, but together they were seen as the epitome of poetic skill. So much so, that even Ki no Tsurayuki could find no fault in them.

Let’s look at each one.

Kakinomoto Hitomaro focused on expressing inner feelings. His poem in the Hyakunin Isshu shows his worry about sleeping alone one night, while this poem shows his passion for the one he loves. Or this one from the Manyoshu (poem 48):

Original Manyogana	Modern Japanese	Romanization	Rough Translation
東	東の	Himugashi no	To the east I
野炎	野にかぎろひの	No ni kagirohi no	see the rising sun
立所見而	立つ見えて	Tatsumiete	over the fields,
反見為者	かへり見すれば	Kaeri misureba	but if I look back [west]
月西渡	月かたぶきぬ	Tsuki katabukinu	I see the moon setting.

Translation by me, apologies for any mistakes or nuance problems.

This poem has a hidden meaning, and was both a memorial to one Prince Kusakabe who was the only child of Empress Jito (poem 2 in the Hyakunin Isshu, はるす), and praise of Prince Kusakabe’s son, who later was crowned Emperor Monmu. Thus, the poem expresses both sadness at the passing one of beloved figure, and hopes for a bright future for his son.

Meanwhile, Yamabe Akahito was more focused on the beauty of nature. His poem in the Hyakunin Isshu about the snow on Mount Fuji is a good example. He wrote many poems on various subjects, but often did so through simile with nature. Or this one from the Manyoshu (poem 1424):

Original Manyogana	Modern Japanese	Romanization	Rough Translation
春野尓	春の野に	Haru no no ni	I went to go
須美礼採尓等	すみれ摘みにと	Sumire tsumi ni to	pick some violets for
来師吾曽	来し我そ	Koshiware so	you in a spring field,
野乎奈都可之美	野を懐かしみ	No wo natsukashimi	but it was so charming
一夜宿二来	一夜寝にける	Hitoyo nenikeru	I slept there all night.

Here, Yamabe is talking about a wonderful, charming violet field and how it made him so sleepy and relaxed that he slept all night there. There’s less of the heavy, emotional pull of Hitomaro, but it paints a really lovely scene that’s timeless.

That’s a very brief look at the Super Poetry Brothers!

Love Across Time and Place

The compiler of the Manyoshu poetry anthology, Ōtomo no Yakamochi (大伴家持, 718 – 785), who also composed poem 6 (かさ) in the Hyakunin Isshu, had a girlfriend named Kasa no Iratsumé (笠女郎, sometimes called “Lady Kasa” in English ) who was very devoted to him. She was second only to Yakamochi’s stepmother¹ in her poetic contributions to the Manyoshu, and wrote many lovely poems to Yakamochi, including this one:

Original Manyogana	Modern Japanese	Romanization	Rough Translation
陸奥之	陸奥の	Michinoku no	I can see your visage
真野乃草原	真野の草原	Mano no kayahara	in the fields of
雖遠	遠けども	Tōkedomo	Mano no Kayahara in Michinoku,
面影為而	面影にして	Omokage ni shite	yet why can I not
所見云物乎	見ゆといふものを	Miyu to iu no wo	see you close?

Rough translation by me, apologies for any mistakes

This is a nice, touching poem about someone who misses her far away lover. Not unusual in the Manyoshu, because even a journey to a neighboring province was a lengthy affair, let alone a remote one.

So, why do I highlight this poem when Kasa no Iratsume contributed many others?

In the late 19th and early 20th centuries was a Japanese author named Mori Ōgai (森鷗外, 1862 – 1922), who during Japan’s rapid modernization period, spent some time in Germany learning Western medicine. Ogai was also an excellent writer, and wrote several stories, including a famous short story Maihime (舞姫, “The Dancing Girl”) about a young German woman who fell in love with a Japanese man studying there. After the man returns to Japan, the German woman (now pregnant) pines for him, and eventually meets a tragic end even as he prepares to return to Japan. The story is, according to Ogai, not autobiographical, but taken from anecdotes of other Japanese students studying abroad.

What’s interesting is that Ogai was definitely fascinated by Iratsume’s poem and even borrowed the obscure term 面影 (omokagé) in the title of the work Omokagé (於母影): a collection of Western poems translated into Japanese by Ogai and other members of the Shinseisha Society (新声社) in 1889. The related story of a young woman pining for the one she loves in a remote place is not hard to miss either in Dancing Girl, so perhaps that was a source of inspiration.

Nonetheless, it’s amazing how one writer or poet can inspire another 1,000+ years later.

… then again, I suppose that’s how this blog got started. 😏

¹ Yakamochi’s birth mother died when Yakamochi was very young, and so he was raised by his stepmother, Ōtomo no Saka no Ue no Iratsume (大伴坂上郎女). She herself was on her third marriage after her previous two husbands both died. This underscores how short the average lifespan was in those days, even for the wealthy, as a woman in her 20’s or 30’s might be on her third marriage by then. Something almost unthinkable in the 21st century. Lady Izumi (poem Poem 56 of the Hyakunin Isshu あらざらん) had a similar string of bad luck.

Shell Matching Game

I learned a neat little cultural facet from watching the historical drama about Lady Murasaki, but also from the anime Onmyoji.¹ Since people in Heian-Period Japan did not have the technology to play Super Smash Brothers Ultimate,² they passed the time in other ways.

One such pasttime, besides poetry contests and court music, was a neat little game originally called Kai-ōi (貝覆い, “Shell hiding”), but came to be more commonly known as Kai-awase (貝合わせ, “Shell matching”). Using shells from the common Meretrix lusoria or “Asiatic hard clam” (hamaguri in Japanese), the insides of the shells were painted so that both halves of the shell had the same picture. Then the shells would be put face down alongside many other similar shells for a matching game. In art, the game seems to be played mostly by women, and in later generations it was used as a wedding gift to upper-class brides.

The designs of shells started out fairly simple in the 11th and 12 centuries (i.e. the late Heian Period which we focus on so much here), but by the Edo Period, the designs were increasingly elaborate, and tended to hark back to the earlier period in history. Here’s a set of shells featuring scenes from Lady Murasaki’s novel The Tales of Genji:

Photo by Sailko, CC BY-SA 4.0, via Wikimedia Commons

This nice blog post below shows kids painting their own shells at the Toy Museum in Hyogo Prefecture:

王朝あそび「貝合わせ」　

The idea of a matching game is easy to find in many cultures, but the idea of painting the inside of shells, featuring scenes from a 12th century novel is awfully clever, and shows how the brilliance of the Heian Period culture still shines through even into modern times.

¹ Onmyoji was pretty good, but I didn’t get very far. To be honest, I don’t watch anime very much. Even Chihayafuru; I only watched the first season.

² Who would be the “main” for each poet in SSBU? My guess is:

Lady Murasaki – Sephiroth (dark and brooding)
Sei Shonagon – Samus
Lady Izumi – Bayonetta or Zero-suit Samus
Fujiwara no Teika – Metaknight (loyal to Gotoba-in)
Ono no Komachi – Peach
Ariwara no Narihira – Marth or Link (dashing guy)
Gotoba-in – King Dedede
Fujiwara no Mototoshi – Bowser (demanding)
Kakinomoto no Hitomaro – Kirby
Kanké – Dr Mario (scholarly guy)

As for me, I usually play “best dad” Chrom or his daughter Lucina. Byleth is fun to play sometimes, but kind of sluggish in the game.

P.S. I think I spent more time making this SSBU list than writing the rest of the post. 🤦🏼‍♂️

Gagaku Music

Courtly life in the Heian Period of Japanese history wasn’t limited to poetry and love trysts. Music was an important part of the culture too, but Japanese music at the time was considerably different than we might expect. This kind of Court music is called gagaku (雅楽).

You can see a good example of Gagaku music here:

It may not seem obvious at first, but this style preserves many cultural aspects of the Heian Period (which the Hyakunin Isshu was a part of too): the costumes, music, songs of the time, and so on. The music takes a bit of getting used to for modern audiences (it is kind of screechy at times), but it was common then for such music to accompany important dances such as the yearly Go-sechi dance (see poem 12 of the Hyakunin Isshu, あまつ). When Lady Murasaki talks about concerts and dances in her diary or Sei Shonagon in her Pillow Book, this kind of music was played.

Gagaku music still lives on in Japan in traditional theater, and some religious services. It also makes a nice cover for Led Zeppelin’s Stairway to Heaven, too:

Enjoy!

Special thanks to Mr Togi for this awesome video. 東儀さん、ありがとうございます！

P.S. Speaking of Stairway…

A Look at the Ise Stories: a Gentleman’s Tales

Hello dear readers,

Fall is approaching, and it reminds us of fall leaves, and famous poems of the Hyakunin Isshu such as the chihaya poem (poem 17) among others….

Throughout the blog, I’ve tended to focus on the lady authors and poets because it’s so rare to see women get credit for writing in the pre-modern era. There was an explosion of feminine talent in the Heian Period (8th – 12th century) that was not repeated until modern era in Japan, and it’s been fascinating.

However today, I wanted to highlight one particular text called the Ise Monogatari (伊勢物語). Our illustrious Dr. Joshua Mostow who has contributed much to this blog translates the title as the “Ise Stories” in his translation, but other translations call it the Tales of Ise. You can decide which one you prefer. Since Dr Mostow is a cool guy, and done much for the field, I will use his translated title. For this post, I am using the translation by Dr Mostow and Dr Royall Tyler.

Unfortunately, we still don’t know who the actual author of the Ise Stories was. In fact, Professor Mostow explains that the prevailing theory is that the Tales was composed over decades, in stages, possibly by different authors. Unlike the later Tales of Genji, or the Gossamer Years, or the Pillow Book, which were all clearly composed by one author, the Tales of Ise has a murkier development.

Anyhow, the Ise Stories is not a modern story, with narrative arc, nor does it have an ending. Instead, the Ise Stories are a series of short anecdotes about an anonymous prince who leaves the capitol of Heian (modern day Kyoto), and journeys east to the hinterlands for a time. In fact, you could probably call the Ise Stories the “Anecdotes of Ise With Lots of Poetry Thrown In”. The later work, the Tales of Genji, has a similar format.

The hero of the story, a young, charming prince who travels east with his entourage and has a few love trysts along the way, is a kind of idealized Heian-period aristocrat: a gentleman with an excellent pedigree, and talent for poetry to boot. Each story includes at least one waka poem, the same kind used in the Hyakunin Isshu, often more. Why so much poetry? Many times these were used as a back-and-forth way of greeting someone from afar, or saying “hello” to a promising lady, so a chapter might have multiple poems in the form of dialogue.

For example, section 14 deals with a tryst between our protagonist and a provincial lady in remote Michinoku province (a place also mentioned in poem 14 of the Hyakunin Isshu). She writes to him the following poem:¹

Original text	Japanese romanization	Translation
なかなかに	Naka-naka ni	So if, after all,
恋に死なずは	Koi ni shizanu wa	I am not to die of love,
桑子にぞ	Kuhako ni zo	I know just the thing;
なるべかりける	Narubekarikeru	I should have been a silkworm,
玉の緒ばかり	Tama no wo bakari	for that little life’s short span.

Our protagonist was not impressed by her, as her poem “reeked of the country[side]”, but slept with her anyway. Classy guy.

Then, he left before dawn and she lamented:

Original text	Japanese romanization	Translation
夜も明けば	Yo mo akeba	Come dawn’s early light
きつにはめなで	Kitsu ni hamenade	oh yes, in the tank you go,
くたかけの	Kutakake no	you obnoxious bird,
まだきに鳴きて	Madaki ni nakite	to learn to cock-a-doodle
せなをやりつる	Sena wo yaritsuru	my darling away too soon.

The protagonist then remarked he was going to the capitol, but left behind a “charming” poem:

Original text	Japanese romanization	Translation
栗原の	Kurihara no	If the Aneha
あねはの松の	Aneha no matsu no	Pine here at Kurihara
人ならば	Hito naraba	only were human
都のつとに	Miyako no tsuto ni	“Come along with me,” I’d say,
いざといはわましを	Iza to iwamashi wo	“you’re my gift to the City.”

According to the Ise Stories, she was much impressed and thought he was in love with her, but the commentaries suggest he was being condescending by implying that “if only she were worthy of Courtly life at the capitol”. Damn.

But what’s the source for all this poetry and narrative?

The origins of the Ise Stories is somewhat of a mystery, but there is strong evidence that the central character was heavily based upon a real aristocrat named Ariwara no Narihira (825 – 880), the same man who composed the aforementioned poem 17 (ちはやふる), and also composed what’s considered the greatest poem about cherry blossoms ever composed. Some of his poems in the old Kokin Wakashu imperial anthology were re-used in the Ise Stories as well.

In addition to his poetic genius, the real life Narihira was a playboy and had many relationships, even by the standards of Heian-period aristocracy. Sometimes this got him into trouble. The Ise Stories begins with an explanation that the anonymous prince left the capitol after having an affair with Emperor Seiwa’s consort. Coincidence? I think not. 🤔

Nonetheless, the Ise Stories is a whimsical and irreverent look at Heian Period culture and how the aristocracy interacted with people in the provinces, even when it was somewhat condescending. Court culture was unlike anything else in Japan at the time, and this reveals some interesting things that are not always conveyed in other works of the time.

¹ Mostow and Tyler explain that the young woman’s poem was a re-working of an older poem from the Manyoshu, poem 3086:

Original Manyogana	Modern Japanese	Japanese romanization	Translation
中々二	なかなかに	Naka naka ni	Not this lukewarm
人跡不在者	人とあらずは	Hito to arazu wa	life that we humans live–
桑子尓毛	桑子にも	Kuhako ni mo	a silkworm
成益物乎	ならましものを	Naramashi mono wo	I would rather be,
玉之緒許	玉の緒ばかり	Tama no wo bakari	however short its life.

	decembernolan on A Look at the Ise Stories: a G…
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