Category: Japan

Why Learn the Kimari-ji

Lately, I’ve been having some fun conversations with coworkers introducing them to the Hyakunin Isshu, and while describing the poems, I realized that learning the kimari-ji of each poem is a handy way to keep track of which poem is which. When I first learned the Hyakunin Isshu way back in the early days of this blog, I tried to learn the poems by number. They are listed in numerical order in many publications, so this made sense.

However, many publications in Japan also list the poems by their kimari-ji too.

But if you’re not playing karuta (casual or competitive) why bother? Think Michael Jackson.

The album cover for Michael’s Jacksons Thriller, courtesy of Wikipedia.

Michael Jackson’s songs are tremendously famous. As soon as I say out loud, “Eddie are you OK?”, or “Billie Jean”, anyone listening beyond a certain age range will know how to finish the next lyric. It’s not necessary to know the whole song, simply knowing a key lyric triggers the rest of the song, or at least recognition of the song.

Think of kimari-ji the same way. Since the Hyakunin Isshu was meant to be a compilation of the very 100 best waka poems in Japanese antiquity (as chosen by Fujiwara no Teika), you can think of them as a “Best of Michael Jackson” album collection.

Thus, rather than remembering poem 29 it may be easier to remember it as the ko-ko-ro-a poem since the first line starts with that verse (kokoro até ni), and that’s enough to distinguish itself from other poems.

Hyakunin Isshu-A-Day

A Japanese friend who is also a fan of the Hyakunin Isshu shared this website with me:

https://fromnkichi.github.io/fortune-of-100nin-isshu/

This fun website will let you pick a Hyakunin Isshu poem at random, and that will be your fortune for the day. After your poem is selected it is shown in the upper right corner:

On the left hand side is your “lucky color” for the day, and in middle is a fortune for you. You can see the matching karuta card on the bottom. The site is entirely in Japanese, so you will have to use an online translator. It reminds me of those page-a-day calendars I used to buy for work.

In any case, this is a terrific site and worth visiting. Enjoy!

Spring is Coming: Manyoshu Poem 1418

This was a particularly nice poem that I found in the Manyoshu heralding early Spring.

Original
Manyogana		JapaneseRomanizationRough
Translation
石激石いわ走るIwa bashiruAre not
垂見之上乃垂水たるみの上のTarumi no ue nothe bracken buds
左和良妣乃 さわらびのSawarabi nosprouting next to a
毛要出春尓 萌え出いづる春にMoe-izuru haru niwaterfall
成来鴨なりにけるかもNarinikeru kamothe first sign of Spring?

This poem was composed by Shiki no Miko or Prince Shiki (志貴皇子, ? – 716), who was the seventh son of Emperor Tenji (poem 1 in the Hyakunin Isshu). Unlike his siblings who were embroiled in the political strife of the times, Prince Shiki retreated and focused on poetry instead. His talents with poetry earned him a place in the Manyoshu, and Japanese poetic history.

Ironically, despite staying out of succession struggles, Prince Shiki’s own son, Prince Shirakabe later ascended the throne as Emperor Kōnin despite not being the dominant line, and all subsequent emperors in Japan are descended from him. So, in the end, Prince Shiki won afterall.

The poem itself evokes a truly wonderful image of a tiny sprout peeking through the rocks by a riverbank, heralding the first signs of spring.

Note that in the traditional Japanese calendar, based off the Chinese model, Spring started much later than the modern meteorological Spring, namely at the start of the second lunar month. Hence, the holiday of Setsubun relates to the start of Spring, and helps conclude the Lunar New Year. Plum blossoms are also frequently associated with this time of year since they bloom earlier than cherry blossoms, and were highly prized by poets of Manyoshu, as we can see in this poem (also posted here):

Original ManyoganaModern JapaneseRomanizationMy Rough Translation
和何則能尓　　我が園にWaga sono niPerhaps
宇米能波奈知流梅の花散るUme no hana chiruthe plum blossoms will
比佐可多能ひさかたのHisakata noscatter in my garden
阿米欲里由吉能天より雪のAma yori yuki nolike gleaming snow
那何久流加母流れ来るかもNagarekuru kamofrom the heavens

So, a happy spring to you all!

Nonomiya Shrine, Charms and Thank You

Happy Holidays, Dear Readers!

As I noted in my other blog, I am taking time off the rest of the year to rest, and catch up on nerd projects.

One last post before end of the year: I forgot to share this previously, but during the trip to Japan this summer, and on the same day we both visited the shrine to Sei Shonagon, and the site where the Hyakunin Isshu was compiled, I made one more stop: Nonomiya Shrine. The official website is here (English).

Nonomiya Shrine (nonomiya-jinja, 野宮神社) is a Shinto shrine that has been around since antiquity in west Kyoto within the bamboo forests. You can see it here on Google Maps:

While it is not related to the Hyakunin Isshu, it is related to Lady Murasaki (poem 57, め), whom I wrote about here. You see, one of the most iconic chapters of the Tales of Genji, Lady Murasaki’s famous novel, the “Heartvine” (Aoi, 葵) takes place at Nonomiya Shrine. Here, Genji the protagonist meets Lady Aoi his future wife. So, Nonomiya Shrine is associated with romance and falling in love, or meeting one’s soulmate, and since it was already a fixture in Kyoto culture at the time, Lady Murasaki used it as the backdrop for this romantic encounter.

Even now, many people (both Japanese and tourists) come here to pray for love, and many of the omamori charms are focused on romance too. It’s nestled within the famous bamboo forests in the area:

I stumbled upon it by accident after leaving the aforementioned site where the Hyakunin Isshu site was compiled. My family was waiting for me, it was late in the day, and it was very hot and humid, so I didn’t stay very long, but I wanted to at least grab a few photos, and get an omamori charm.1

Anyhow, that’s it for the blog for 2024.

I wanted to end this post by saying thank you to readers. The blog has been been around since 2011 (with some major gaps in content), and with plenty of twists and turns, but I am happy to see that people are still actively reading it, and discovering the Hyakunin Isshu, Heian-period culture, and Japanese poetry overall.

See you all next year!

P.S. Not far away was an exhibit for the historical drama about Lady Murasaki as well.

1 Most of the charms are for en-musubi (縁結び), meaning finding a partner in life, but since I am already happily married, I looked for something general. I picked up a omamori for kai-un (開運), meaning “good luck”, but it showed the famous scene from the Tales of Genji where Genji and Lady Aoi meet at Nonomiya Shrine. I wish I remembered to take a photo sooner, but I already gave it to someone, and have no photos to show. 🤦🏼‍♂️

You can see it on the website here, the charm on the upper-right corner.

The Final Days and Legacy of Lady Murasaki

At last, the historical drama about Lady Murasaki has come to an end this week, and sadly I watched the last episode. The drama was slower than other past Taiga Drama on NHK, but it was a lovely tribute to an amazing woman. Lady Murasaki, author of the Tales of Genji, her eponymous diary, and a famous poem in the Hyakunin Isshu left a lasting mark on Japanese culture and world literature.

The final title card for the Japanese historical drama “Hikaru Kimi E”.
The concluding title card for the historical drama: hikaru kimi é (光る君へ, “to you, my radiant one”).

Details of Lady Murasaki’s final years are pretty sketchy, but it seems that she eventually retired from service in Fujiwara no Michinaga’s household, and gradually took up travel. She was born in the year 973, but some scholars believe she may have passed away in 1014 at the age of 41. Others believe she may have lived to the year 1025 (age 52). For the premodern era, this is a pretty typical lifespan for many people, including nobility. Still, as someone who’s older than her, it’s hard to imagine her dying so young.1

Her grave is located in Kita-ku ward of Kyoto:

With her passing, a couple attempts were made to preserve and edit her magnum opus. Fujiwara no Teika (poem 97, こぬ) who compiled the Hyakunin Isshu itself undertook one of these efforts, creating the Aobyōshibon (青表紙本) edition. At this time in Japan, manuscripts had to be hand-copied, and so across several centuries, limited efforts were made to hand-copy works from Lady Murasaki’s time, which helped preserve them across the medieval period, but were inaccessible to general audiences.

A woodblock print of Lady Murasaki from 1889 made by Yoshitoshi, Public domain, via Wikimedia Commons

By the Edo Period, 17th century, block printing and a flourishing of “book culture” greatly expanded the audience of the Tales of Genji, and Lady Murasaki enjoyed a surge in popularity, rescued from obscurity, and even today is high revered. Lady Murasaki is to Japanese culture what Shakespeare is to the English-speaking world. The historical drama that concluded is arguably an extension of this revival.

Finally, I wanted to explore the relationship between Lady Murasaki and her patron, Fujiwara no Michinaga. In the historical drama, they shared a relationship since childhood (historically improbable), and even had a love child together even though they never married. Political marriages were common among the nobilty at the time, as was infidelity, and so Fujiwara no Michinaga having an official marriage yet carrying a number of romantic trysts would not be surprising. The Hyakunin Isshu poetry is rife with such romances.

And the real, historical relationship between Lady Murasaki and Michinaga is unclear. It’s widely believed that the main character of the Tales of Genji was patterned from Michinaga. Her diary also shows her flirting with Michinaga somewhat. And yet, it’s also implied that she fended off his romantic advances too. The fact that she worked under him, the most powerful political figure in Japan at the time, made their relationship even more complicated. If her daughter, Daini no Sanmi (poem 58 of the Hyakunin Isshu, ありま) was indeed Michinaga’s, as the drama depicts, it may help explain how she was brought into the court inner circle too, alongside her mother. And yet, evidence one way or another is pretty limited, so one can only speculate.

Lady Murasaki herself was woman perpetually out of place in the courtly life of the late Heian Period. Her diary shows her frequently introverted, melancholy, out of place, and exhausted by the back-biting of other women, or the rowdiness of drunk men. Her father had lamented that in spite of her literary talents, her being born a woman in that era meant her talents would go to waste. Such was the period of the time.

One can easily imagine a brilliant woman like Lady Murasaki in modern times sitting in cafe, writing a romance novel, feeling alone, yet observing the world around her in a way that is beautiful and poetic, pouring her heart into her work. What Lady Murasaki conveyed through her writing was something can we can appreciate even today, eleven centuries later.

Out of all the literature of the time, nothing quite epitomizes the sentiments and milieu of the Heian Period, an era now lost to time, yet strangely familiar, quite like Lady Murasaki did.

P.S. The drama definitely took some historical liberties for the sake of drama, but I have to admit that it did a nice job of showing Lady Murasaki as a complex person, and all the different challenges she had to deal with. The last several episodes were really touching and brought tied up things nicely. I might try to purchase the drama next year if I can, but it’s quite expensive ($300-$500 USD), so time will tell.

1 As someone who also spent some time in the ER earlier this year with emergency surgery, I can imagine that I too would have likely died in my 40’s without modern medical care. Modern people often forget how brutal and short life was for the average person before medical science, and how many people never lived past 50, or did so with crippling conditions.

A Look at Heian Period Japanese Language

Language is not static. Any language that is spoken and used changes and evolves over time. The English language started as a dialect of German, but through a series of invasions, and innovations has a lot of elements that look French, with layers of classical Latin and Greek. The Greek language has been in continual use since the days of the ancient Mycenaeans to modern Greek people today, and ancient words can be found in use, yet at the same time modern Greek is smoother, more streamlined than its ancient Bronze-Age speakers. The ancient Chinese spoke in the Bronze Age doesn’t sound like modern Chinese, and yet the echos are still there both in the writing system, and how words a pronounced across various regional dialects.

Japanese has been in continual usage for 2,000 years and it is possible to look at old poetry, such as the Hyakunin Isshu, and with a bit of effort still make sense of it as a modern, native speaker, or even as a language student. It also helps to explain why poems of the Hyakunin Isshu have such odd spellings compared to modern, standard Japanese.

And yet, Japanese has changed over time. Words and grammar have evolved, and so the poetry of the Hyakunin Isshu, as well as other writings of the time, look and sound in a certain way that might surprise modern people. This post is a brief exploration of the kind of Japanese used during the Heian Period (8th to 12th centuries) of Japanese history when most of the Hyakunin Isshu was composed. This period of Japanese is called “Early Middle Japanese” by English-speaking scholars, and chūko-nihongo in Japanese (中古日本語, lit. “middle-old Japanese”).

To give a quick demonstration, take a look at the video below, starting around 00:47. This is the first lines of the text, the Pillow Book, which we also talked about here.

A few things will jump out right away even to casual Japanese students.

First, all the “ha” syllables, namely ha (は), hi (ひ), hu (ふ), he (へ), and ho (ほ) are all pronounced with a “f” sound: fa, fi, fu, fe, fo. Even the subject-marking particle “wa” (also written as は) was pronounced as “fa” back then. Similarly, the “ta” syllables: ta (た), chi (ち), tsu (つ), te (て), and to (と) were all consistently pronounced as “t”: ta, ti, tu, te, to. In modern Japanese, people say omoitsutsu (思いつつ) to mean “even as I think about this…”, but back then the same word was pronounced omoitutu.

Finally there were more “wa” syllables back then, compared to now, and like the “ta” syllables, they were more consistently pronounced: wa (わ), wi (ゐ), we (ゑ), wo (を). In modern, Japanese, only “wa” is still pronounced with a “w” sound, and wi and we are no longer used, or pronounced simply as as equivalent “i” and “e”. Similarly, if you watch historical dramas, the old way of politely using the “negative”-form of a verb has shortened from nu (ぬ) to simply n (ん) : mairimasenu (“I will not come”) to mairimasen in modern-humble Japanese.

Languages tend to contract and streamline over time.

Using Greek language as a similar example, pronunciation of words in Homer’s Iliad sounds longer and clunkier than similar words in Koine Greek of the New Testament, and even more streamlined now in Modern Greek. Sanskrit in India was spoken 4,000 years ago, and lives on in many northern Indian languages such as Hindi, Marathi, Magadhi and so on, and each one looks like a smoother, simpler version of the old Sanskrit language. Japanese pronunciation of words has similarly contracted into shorter, smoother, more efficient forms.

What about grammar? That’s an interesting question. In some ways, the grammar of Japanese hasn’t changed all that much in the eons. Japanese verbs are inflected (like Latin, Greek and Sanskrit) and different endings convey different meanings. Many verb endings in Japanese, which you can see in Hyakunin Isshu poetry, no longer exist, or are replaced with other endings. Let’s look at a concrete example.

Poem 73 (たか) is a nice example of things that changed, and things that have remained the same.

JapaneseRomanizationTranslation
高砂のTakasago noAbove the lower slopes
尾おのへえの桜Onoe no sakuraof the high mountains,
the cherries
咲きにけりSaki ni kerihave blossomed!
とやまのかすみToyama no kasumiO, mist of the near mountains,
立たずもあらなむんTatazu mo arananhow I wish you would not rise!
Translation by Dr Joshua Mostow

Some words like sakura (cherry blossoms) and kasumi (mists) haven’t changed at all. The possessive particle no meaning “of, or belonging to” hasn’t changed either in terms of usage.1

On other other hand, we see some grammar not found in modern Japanese. For example, in old Japanese, especially poetry a verb-stem ending with ni keri meant that something has been done (from past to present). Modern Japanese uses verb endings like te kita, te itta, and so on to convey similar context.

Another example is –zu mo aranan, which I wasn’t able to find online, but based on verb tatsu (to rise, to stand), obviously means implies a negative connotation (i.e. not do something). In modern Japanese you can say something similar: tatazu ni (without standing…), so again you can see the continuity.

Something you often see, but not shown in this poem is adjective endings. Modern Japanese adjectives often end with an i sound, for example “cold” is samui, “fast” is hayai, and so on. But in old Japanese the i was often a ki: samuki, hayaki, and so on. I noticed both in the Hyakunin Isshu, but also in Japanese RPG games when they take place in old “fantasy times”, because it helps convey a sense of ages past.

Finally, some words just change meaning over time. I was surprised to learn that the word for “shadow” kagé used to mean “light”, as in tsuki-kagé (moonlight). So, even if the word stays the same, the nuance does evolve over time.

Finding information on Early Middle Japanese in English is pretty difficult, and often requires an academic background. Since I am just an amateur hobbyist, this is only a brief overview. There is a lot more to cover, but hopefully gives you a brief sense of how things have changed over time. Japanese is a language that shows a nice continuum over its long history, and it’s fascinating to see howd the same language looked and sounded so far back.

1 I think I read somewhere that in really, really old Japanese the “no” possessive particle used to be “na”. I don’t know if that relates somehow to the “na-adjectives” in Japanese language, but I do wonder.

The Dark Side of Heian Period Japan

The Hyakunin Isshu and its poets, the aristocracy of the Heian Period, represent a golden age of Japanese history, and a level of cultural refinement that was often imitated, but never surpassed in later generations. I have been celebrating that culture on this blog all the way back since 2011 (!), and it has always been a personal fascination of mine.

And yet, amidst all this culture and elegance there was very much a dark side to this culture too. This is encapsulated in works at the time, such as the melancholy and weariness of backbiting in the diary of Lady Murasaki, the isolation and frustration at her husband’s rampant infidelity in the Gossamer Years, among other sources. Further, the historical drama about Lady Murasaki highlights a particularly dark episode involving the succession to the Imperial Throne around the years 1000-1010.

The top positions at the Imperial Court were the Udaijin (右大臣, “Minister of the Right”) and Sadaijin (左大臣, “Minister of the Left”). The minister of the Left was higher rank than the minister of the Right. If you look at the authors of the Hyakunin Isshu, you’ll notice a few held such positions over the years: poems 14, 25, 81, and 93.

If you look at the list of poems, you’ll notice quite a few are composed by members of the elite Fujiwara clan (roughly 25-30%). In the 7th century or so, the Fujiwara had been instrumental in protecting the Imperial throne from a usurper, and handsomely rewarded for it. By the year 1000, the Fujiwara clan had grown so large and prosperous that it developed into multiple sub-clans, branches and rival groups.

I mention this because the episode I relate here relates to two powerful branches of the Fujiwara clan in their struggle for power. There’s an excellent article in Japanese about it, which I encourage you check out because it also includes scenes from the drama.

It all begins with one Fujiwara no Kaneie, husband of “Michitsuna no Haha” (poem 53) and the “villain” of the Gossamer Years. Kaneie was particularly ambitious, served under three emperors, and had three sons, who each held ministerial positions. The eldest son was Fujiawara no Michitaka whose wife was “Gidō Sanshi no Haha” (poem 54). He served as the regent for the young Emperor Ichijo, and later, Ichijo married his daughter, Teishi.

The third son of Kaneie was Fujiwara no Michinaga. Remember this name.

After Kaneie’s first son, Michitaka, died his son (Teishi’s brother) named Fujiwara no Korechika, took over that branch of the family. Korechika contended with his uncle, Michinaga, from the get-go, but Korechika made a fatal error. In a strange tale, Korechika believed that retired Emperor Kazan had been sleeping with Korechika’s own mistress. During one of Kazan’s nighttime travels, Korechika in a jealous fit shot an arrow at him and hit the retired Emperor’s sleeve. Michinaga capitalized on this incident to get his nephew Korechika banished from the capitol. This is probably something “Gidō Sanshi no Haha” would have never imagined happened to her son.

Korechika’s sister, Empress Teishi (also daughter of “Gidō Sanshi no Haha”), was now in a vulnerable position without her family to protect her. So, Michinaga pushed forward his own daughter, Shoshi, as a second wife for Emperor Ichijo. Later, the isolated and vulnerable Emperess Teishi died in childbirth. Teishi’s son, the Imperial prince Atsuyasu, appears later. The end result was that Ichijo’s remaining wife Shoshi (daughter of Michinaga) was the reigning empress now, and Michinaga used his influence to gain the title of Minister of the Left. The diary of Lady Murasaki covers this period when Shoshi gave birth to Emperor Ichijo’s second son, Atsuhira.

Let’s pause for a moment. Emperor Ichijo had married two women who were from rival factions of the Fujiwara clan: the exiled Korechika’s sister, and Minister of the Left Michinaga’s daughter, and each bore him a son.

Meanwhile, Korechika was later pardoned and made a junior minister in the Court. And yet Korechika was very bitter toward Michinaga, and his mental health took a downward spiral. He hired a Buddhist priest to help craft a series of curses against Michinaga. Eventually, this was discovered, and Korechika’s career was over and retired until his death in 1010.

Things took an unexpected turn when Ichijo retired early during the same year due to poor health, and his cousin ascended the throne as Emperor Sanjo (poem 68). Sanjo only reigned for a few years before a combination of ill-health and Michinaga’s machinations as the minister pushed him to abdicate too. This is why his poem in the Hyakunin Isshu is so melancholy: Sanjo finally ascended the throne, but ill health and Michinaga’s power-plays ended his reign soon after it began.

Emperor Sanjo’s retirement left Ichijo’s two sons as the next successor: one by Korechika’s sister (Teishi), and the other by Michinaga’s daughter (Shoshi). Which imperial prince do you think Michinaga, the Minister of the Left, wanted to ascend the throne? Michinaga obviously wanted his grandson to be next emperor, so Michinaga could assume the position of regent (Sessho).

Due to age, Atsuyasu, son of the first empress Teishi, should have been Emperor (Atsuhira was too young), but he was bypassed entirely and faded out of history. The child Atsuhira, grandson of Michinaga, ascended the throne as Emperor Go-Ichijo (“The latter Ichijo”).

Korechika’s own son, Michimasa (poem 63), was totally shut out of the Imperial Court as well, and mostly lived a reckless life, trolling Michinaga’s administration, and being just plain obnoxious. His life took a downward spiral much like his father had done, and that branch of the Fujiwara’s male line died out. Michimasa’s fate is particularly dark and tragic.

This multi-generational struggle between two branches of the Fujiwara clan to control the Imperial throne through marriage resulted in Michinaga being the most powerful man in Japan at the time. It also adversely affected many lives of poets in the Hyakunin Isshu. We saw the examples of Michimasa, son of Korechika, and Emperor Sanjo above.

In the case of Sei Shonagon (poem 62), who served Empress Teishi and was loyal to the losing faction, she faded away in retirement. Her Pillow Book is a last swan-song of the time spent serving Empress Teishi, and conveys a very rosy look. It’s not hard to see it was also a subtle middle-finger to Michinaga’s faction.

Many of the ladies in waiting to Michinaga’s daughter, Shoshi, were also poets of the Hyakunin Isshu:

  • Lady Izumi (poem 56),
  • Lady Murasaki (poem 57), author of the Tales of Genji
  • Akazome Emon (poem 59), her sister had an affair with Michinaga’s older brother Michitaka much to the chagrin of “Gidō Sanshi no Haha” (poem 54)
  • Ko-Shikibu no Naishi (poem 60), Lady Izumi’s daughter
  • Lady Ise (poem 61)

By association with Empress Shoshi, not Empress Teishi, they all benefitted and their daughters and family members rose to positions in the Court over time. Lady Murasaki’s daughter, Daini no Sanmi (poem 58), eventually became a wet nurse for future Emperor Reizei and attained the third rank in the Court which was quite high.

Additionally, men like Fujiwara no Kintō (poem 55) benefitted from the association with Michinaga as well.

In the end, there were obvious winners and losers in this struggle. It was not all poetry parties, moon-viewing, and romantic dalliances; people’s lives profited or were destroyed due to hair-splitting power struggles that took generations to complete.

As alluded in Lady Murasaki’s diary, the whole thing was golden sham.

The Hyakunin Isshu in the Edo Period

Since I began, this blog has focused on a period of Japanese history which I like to call “Classical Japan”, or “Japanese Antiquity”.1 That’s just a convenient name I call it.

But most researchers and historians tend to divide Japan’s history into “periods” (jidai, 時代) based on where the capitol was at the time. So, precisely speaking, this blog and the Hyakunin Isshu cover a 500-period of history overlapping the Asuka (6th – 8th c.), Nara (8th c.) and Heian Periods (8th – 12th c.), while dipping our toes just a bit into the the early Kamakura Period (12th – 14th c.) for certain poems (poems 93, 99 and 100 for example). For the sake of the Manyoshu we also ventured even further back to somewhat murkier periods of time since some of the very early poets of the Hyakunin Isshu (poems 1, 2, 3 and 4 for example) were also contributors.

But the blog has never really explored anything beyond the early 13th century because that’s when things effectively end. The Hyakunin Isshu was compiled, the aristocracy of the Heian Period were totally sidelined by the new samurai class, and Japan continued on in a new trajectory. The aristocracy still lived until the modern era, and Imperial poetry anthologies were issued from time to time, but the quality and popularity gradually petered out. As poem 100 above alludes to, this era embodied by the Hyakunin Isshu was effectively over.

For the purposes of this blog, why pay attention to anything that comes after?

Well, I attended Professor Mostow’s recent lecture at the University of Washington, and I learned that history of the Hyakunin Isshu kept going. In fact, it was all the rage in the much later Edo Period (17th – 19th c.).

Japan by the Edo Period was pretty different than the earlier Heian Period. By this point, Japan had been effectively ruled by one military government or another for centuries, while the capitol had shifted from Kyoto in central Japan, to a fortified castle town in eastern Japan called Edo (江戸). Edo started as a fishing town, but soon grew into a metropolis thanks to good urban planning and government policies that forced rival warlords to stay there every other year. Edo, later the modern capitol of Tokyo, was one of the largest cities in the world at one point.

After a century of constant warfare throughout Japan, the Edo Period brought unprecedented stability and cultural flourishing. Its isolation from European explorers and rival Asian powers meant that people turned inward and rediscovered Japanese culture that had been forgotten in ages past due to war and instability.

One aspect of this flourishing was the invention of block printing which suddenly allowed the masses to enjoy reading in a way that earlier generations had not. Books became far more affordable, and more available, and suddenly a variety of books about the Hyakunin Isshu were published. There were books about the Hyakunin Isshu as far back as the 15th century, namely the Ōei-shō (応永抄) composed in 1406, but mass-printing made books much more accessible and allowed for a greater variety.

Professor Mostow has collected and aggregated many examples on his website here. Take a look if you can, there are some neat scans of really old documents from the era.

One common usage of the Hyakunin Isshu at the time, according to Professor Mostow, was in the instruction of girls. Books about young women’s education were a popular subject, and such books would work lessons in along with poems of the Hyakunin Isshu. For example, Professor Mostow posted scans from a book called the Hyakunin Isshu Jokun Shō (“A Selection of the Hyakunin Isshu for Women’s Instruction” ?), published in 1849. Another example can be found here.

Men were often taught things like Confucian values and such. And yet, even the boys learned about the Hyakunin Isshu from their mothers who had been raised on it. Also, books that were published for men about the Hyakunin Isshu often did so under the theme of Kokugaku (“national learning”).

A block print of the Masanobu Kabuki theater, 1743. Hokusai, Masanobu, Kiyonobu, XVII-XIX century, Public domain, via Wikimedia Commons

The high point of Edo Period culture, and something that influences Tokyo even today was the Genroku Period (1688 – 1704). Many things people imagine of pre-modern Tokyo, such as Kabuki theater and Ukiyo-e prints, have their origin in this brief period. The Hyakunin Isshu was used in some Ukiyo-e block prints too. Since many of these images were racy or scandalous, publishers would work in poetry of the Hyakunin Isshu to either obfuscate the content from Edo government censors, or to lend a more “classy” air to the image. I found some examples here.

Even the famous artist Hokusai of “Great Wave” fame made block prints that would feature poems of the Hyakunin Isshu. We have a calendar at home and I was surprised to see this Hokusai block print with poem 50 (きみがためお) composed in cursive:

Our wall calendar featuring art by Hokusai. Turns out this page was from the Uba ga Etoki.
In blue, reads Hyakunin Isshu Uba Ga Toki, and in the yellow box poem 50 of the Hyakunin Isshu.

It turns out this is part of a series by Hokusai called the Uba ga Etoki (姥がゑとき), or more formally the 百人一首姥がゑとき2 , which means something like the “The Illustrated Hyakunin Isshu As Told By a Nurse(maid?)”. You can see more examples of this work here.

Anyhow, it’s fascinating that as literacy among the populace improved during the Edo Period, and access to information via books and printing increased, popular interpretations and illustrations of the Hyakunin Isshu took on a new life. The Hyakunin Isshu was, by that point, already 600 years old, and yet it enjoyed a revival that we benefit from today in the form of anime, karuta, and so on.3

Special thanks to Professor Mostow for his lecture and website! Also, check out Professor Mostow’s new book!4

1 I suppose my reason for doing this is that the end of the Heian Period and the subsequent change in Japan was somewhat similar to the fall of the Western Roman Empire in Europe, and how later generations of feudal lords kept up some of the trappings of the Romans, and yet it was still a different society altogether. But in the end, this is just one history nerd’s interpretation.

2 In modern Japanese 百人一首うばが絵解. See this post for more explanation.

3 Although social media and Internet reveal a pretty ugly side to humanity, it does also lead a similar explosion in cultural and accessibility. Two sides of the same coin, I suppose.

4 This is my associates link on Amazon. I get a small amount of credit for any purchases made through here. Feel free to purchase directly from University of Hawaii press instead though.

How To Recite the Hyakunin Isshu Like a Pro

If you’re here reading the blog, chances are you like the poetry of the Hyakunin Isshu. Who doesn’t? Maybe you like it so much, you’ve tried to memorize your favorite poems too (I do). But what’s better than memorizing your favorite poems? Reciting them!

When I first learned to play karuta, I realized that poems of the Hyakunin Isshu are recited in a specific style in Japanese. This is necessary for the players to hear clearly, but also reflects a traditional singing method for reciting waka poetry.1 Even on kids shows about Japanese language, when waka or haiku are recited, they’re recited in the same way. Of course, this is not required, but it is cool to learn, and doesn’t take that much effort.

First, let’s look at this Youtube playlist of Hyakunin Isshu poems.2 In particular, let’s look at poem 2:

Poem 2, はるす

All waka poems, including the Hyakunin Isshu have five verses, and are usually written top to bottom, right to left. The poems are further divided by the first three “upper verses” (kami no ku, 上の句) and last two “lower verses” (shimo no ku, 下の句) for structured, reciting, and for games.

It really helps if you can read hiragana script, but even if not, listen to the intonation of the poem, and the way some syllables are drawn out longer (expressed above as vertical “|” lines). That’s how you recite waka poetry.

The syllables that are drawn out are not always in the same place, by the way. Poem 24 of the Hyakunin Isshu does not always match poem 2 especially the fourth verse (fourth column from the right):

Poem 24, この

Or take a look at poem 11 which has a slightly unusual format. This makes the pacing different, and affects where syllables are drawn out:

Poem 11, わたのはらや

Poem 11 is a particularly tricky poem to recite, in my opinion, but also fun because the first two lines sound really neat.

Reciting isn’t just for showing off by the way.

In my book on the Manyoshu, it talks about how many poems come alive when they are recited. This was true during Japanese antiquity, and centuries later when the Hyakunin Isshu was compiled too. There are sounds and expressions that have a nice ring to them and it’s not always apparent if you are just reading the poem in your mind. For example poem 3 of the Hyakunin Isshu uses a lot of “no” (の) sounds that come alive when recited aloud:

Poem 3, あし

Another example is poem 58 which simply has a nice ring to it:

Poem 58, ありま

Anyhow, unless you’re training to be a professional yomité reader in karuta, it’s not necessary to master reciting all 100 poems, or to even sound this nice. However, if you have a handful of poems you like, learning to master the recitation is a great way to bring poems to life. You can use the excellent Youtube list above, or if you are a tactile person (like me), you might consider getting a set of yomite cards like the ones sold by Oishi Tengu-do, direct link here. I purchased mine in Japan this year and enjoy flipping through them and practicing poems I like.

In truth, I am a TERRIBLE singer. I am truly tone-deaf. But, with a bit of practice you get used to the rhythm of a poem and can recite it without much effort. Some poems are easier than others (poem 11 is tough), but with a bit of practice and familiarity anyone can learn to recite their favorite poem.

1 Roughly 99% of the poems I’ve posted in this blog for the past 13 years are all waka poems. These poems almost always have a pattern of 5-7-5-7-7 syllables, as opposed to later haiku poetry that only have 5-7-5 syllables.

2 If you want to search other Youtube examples, search for 百人一首　読み上げ (reading Hyakunin Isshu aloud).

A Look at Casual Karuta

In the past year, I’ve spent a fair amount of time talking about what’s called competitive karuta (kyōgi karuta, 競技カルタ in Japanese) after my first encounters, and subsequent efforts to learn to play the game. The truth is is in that in recent months, for various reasons, I’ve really started to wind down my involvement in the competitive karuta scene. I do enjoy playing karuta games, but frankly just not a very competitive person at heart, and the thought of investing what little time I have to increasingly small, incremental gains in an obscure sport doesn’t really appeal to me. I learned how to play the game, and consider myself decent at it, but the poetic side of the Hyakunin Isshu is still what appeals to me most.

Further, I realized through talking with Japanese people that a lot of people play casual karuta games, not competitive. This mundane side of karuta gaming is not featured in animé such as Chihayafuru. However it is a common past-time for people who enjoy karuta and the Hyakunin Isshu poems,1 but don’t necessarily want to invest countless hours in practice, drills, and so on. So, I wanted to explore the casual side of karuta gaming, and help casual players find ways to enjoy the game without the intense stress of competition.2

Japanese “Karuta”, especially karuta games based on the Hyakunin Isshu, come in many forms. There is a spectrum of very easy games on one end, and competitive karuta on the other. If you think of it like a video game with difficult settings, then games like bozu-mekuri are easy mode. You don’t have to know anything about the cards, it is visual only, and the rules are simple. On the other hand, competitive karuta is hard mode: you are playing against some very good players, the margin of error is very small (in higher ranks), and every bit counts including hand-techniques, card position, mental training, and so on. It’s a tough struggle, with lots of exciting moments, but sometimes also crushing defeats.

So between “easy mode” of bozu-mekuri, and “hard mode” of competitive karuta, isn’t there anything in between? Turns out, yes.

I found good examples of casual karuta games through my Hyakunin Isshu Daijiten book, mentioned here, as well as subsequent information online. Let’s look at the games of chirashi-tori and genpei gassen.

Chirashi-Tori

The game of chirashi-tori (散らし取り), meaning “scatter and take”, can be thought of as a lightweight version of competitive karuta. You don’t have to know the kimariji, but it helps, nor do you have to think about card position. In the same way, penalties don’t exist. You do need to know how to read the hiragana script though, even if slowly.

The game basically works like so:

  1. Take all 100 torifuda cards (the ones that are not illustrated) and spread them around face up. Players sit around the pile, spread out evenly.
  2. Similar to competitive karuta, someone else (not a player) reads a random yomifuda card (the illustrated ones). It’s customary to read the last two verses twice.
    • You can also use one of several nice karuta reader apps on your mobile phone too.
  3. As the poem is being read, whoever finds it’ll the corresponding card touches it, or takes it. If they are correct, they remove the card from the field and keep it in a stack next to them, face down.
  4. The reader then draws another card and a new round begins until there are no more cards on the field.
  5. Whoever took the most cards by the end of the game wins. 🏆

In terms of difficulty, this is the next step up from bozu-mekuri in that you do have to be able to read hiragana, but it’s a nice first step to getting familiar with the poems with little or no training. Even though knowing the kimariji is not required, knowing some can help you recognize some cards on the field quicker.

Genpei Gassen

The name of this game comes from the climatic war in 12th-century Japanese history: the Genpei War, pitting the Genji (“Gen”) clan versus the Heike (“pei”) clan. Unlike Chirashi-tori where each person plays separately, in Genpei Gassen people divide into even teams. Ostensibly one side plays the Heike clan, and the other the Genji clan.

There are a few other differences to Chirashi-tori:

  1. The two teams sit facing one another, with teammates sitting side by side. Ideally, 5 or 7 people will play. The odd-man-out is the reader (see below).
  2. The 100 torifuda cards (non-illustrated ones) are evenly divided into two groups of 50. Half the cards go to one side (i.e. facing them), and the other 50 go to the other team. Arrange the cards into three rows, roughly equal.
  3. To play the game, a separate person reads a random yomifuda card (the illustrated ones), one at a time. It’s customary to read the last two verses twice.
    • You can also use one of several nice karuta reader apps on your mobile phone too.
  4. As the poem is being read, players from both sides try to find the corresponding card somewhere on the field. If someone finds the poem, they may touch it, or take it. If they are correct, they remove the card from the field and keep it in a stack, face down.
  5. The first team to get to zero cards on their side wins. 🏆
  6. Similar to competitive karuta, if you take a card from the opponent’s side, you send over a card from your side. This way, their number stays the same, but since you correctly took a card, your side reduces by one.

This games has the advantage of being a gentler version of competitive karuta, but still keeping the look and feel of it. As with Chirashi-tori, you will need to be able to read hiragana script, and knowing the kimariji, even some of them, gives you an advantage, but these are things you’d learn anyway from repeated play. Also, having a team develops some fun and interesting strategies.

Five Color Hyakunin Isshu

Finally, if you still want the look and feel of competitive Karuta, but an easier version, you can look at Five Color Hyakunin Isshu. This way you can play a much smaller set of cards and warm up to the full competitive version. The catch is that it requires a custom set, or you will have to make your own by customizing a standard set.

Non-Hyakunin Isshu Karuta

If, like me, you somehow get a hold of a karuta set not featuring the Hyakunin Isshu poems (there are a surprising number in Japan), the games above will still work. Many karuta sets, regardless of theme, use the same basic format: two sets of cards for reading and taking. They are all meant to be read by someone, with other players finding the correct, corresponding card.

Conclusion

The game of Karuta at heart is just that : a game. It’s a great way to savor the poetry of the Hyakunin Isshu in a fun interactive way, and the more I explore it the more I realize that there are games to suit every player. If you purchase a set, you can try any number of games with friends or even by yourself. The most important thing is HAVE FUN! If poem 96 teaches us anything, it’s that life is short.

P.S. Speaking from experience, playing

1 Fun story, in summer of 2024, I was in Japan again briefly to visit my wife’s family, and found the famous Okuno Karuta store in Tokyo. I didn’t post about it as there wasn’t much to say (I didn’t find what I was looking for, tbh). I did see a tour group of elderly Japanese people come into the store in a single mass, and many of them bought karuta goods in one form or another before leaving again. So, it’s definitely a pasttime, but not quite the way I expected when I first learned about the game.

2 I don’t mean this lightly either. Some people definitely revel in competition, but I find such situations always make me intensely nervous, and uncomfortable, even when I win. Used to feel this way about Magic the Gathering competitions too. I thought maybe it was just me until I spoke to someone Japanese who also felt that way when playing competitive karuta. They just wanted to play casual games. That’s when I started to realize that there were different games for different crowds, but all of them celebrate the Hyakunin Isshu poetry in some way.

Similarly, some people want to play Pokemon TCG or Magic the Gathering at home with friends, rather than big competitions. Other people live for the thrill of competition. There’s enough room in the game for both types of players. I personally prefer Hyakunin Isshu karuta myself.