Category: Love

Bromance Poetry in the Tales of Ise

Poetry in Japan covers the subject of romance a lot. Like, A LOT. But while I was reading the Ise Stories recently, I stumbled upon this commentary by Dr Joshua Mostow that made me curious:

Modern commentators have felt the need to explain the erotic tone of this poem sent by one man to another. For Takeoka, such phraseology is no more than an affectation (kyoshoku) derived ultimately from Chinese poetry. Tsukahara Tetsuo and, following him, Paul Schalow, see this episode as one of five (16, 38, 46, 82, and 83) that portray deep, perhaps even homosexual, relationships between men.

page 107

This comment is in reference to poem 46 in the Ise Stories:

Original JapaneseRomanizationTranslation
目かるともMe karu to moYour being away
思ほえなくにOmooenaku nireally makes no sense to me:
忘らるるWasuraruruno instant goes by
時しなければToki shi nakerebauntouched by your memory—
面影に立つOmokage ni tatsuyour face rises before me.
Translation by Joshua Mostow and Royall Tyler

The story behind this poem is that our anonymous gentleman protagonist had a good friend, but they were later separated when the friend went to another province. The friend sent a letter saying that “it’s been too long”, and worried our protagonist had forgotten him. The man sent back the above poem as a reply.

Another example is poem 38, where our protagonist visits the residence of one Ki no Aritsune who was out and took too long to come home, leaving the protagonist waiting. Our protagonist sends this poem.

Original JapaneseRomanizationTranslation
君によりKimi ni yoriThanks to you, my friend,
思ひならひぬOmoinarahinuI now know what they all mean:
世の中のYo no naka nothis, obviously,
人はこれをやHito wa hore wo yamust be what out in the world
恋といふらむKoi to iuranpeople keep calling “desire”.
Translation by Joshua Mostow and Royall Tyler

This brings up a subject that we don’t normally cover here on the blog, and one that admittedly I am not an expert on: is this poem, and others like it in the Ise Stories, simple affection (a.k.a. a “bromance”), or did these two men also have a romantic relationship?

The love poetry that we normally cover is heterosexual. The nobility of the Heian-Period court were constantly sleeping around, as marriages were primarily political. Attitudes about marriage were influenced by Confucian thought, so establishing a family and raising the next generation were filial duties one should fulfill. So, heterosexual relationships were expected. And yet, perhaps men also had romantic (or quasi-romantic) relationships with close male friends too.

It’s somewhat difficult to grasp this, because the way Japanese aristocracy at the time viewed romance and marriage differs from 21st century Western attitudes. So, interpreting such poems isn’t always easy, as Mostow alludes to. Different scholars will have different interpretations.

I should also add that this kind bromance/homoerotic poetry isn’t limited to the Ise Stories. Dr Mostow cites poems in the official Imperial Anthology, the Kokinshu, as well. This is one example, poem 978:

Original JapaneseRomanizationTranslation
君が思ひKimi ga omoiIf your thoughts of me
雪とつもらばYuki to tsumoraba“gather thick as snow” I should
たのまれずTanomarezunot rely on them
春よりのちはHaru yori nochi wafor once spring has come I know
あらしとおもへばAraji to omoebathe drifts will vanish from sight.
Translation by Laurel Rasplica Rodd and Mary Catherine Henkenius from Kokinshū: A Collection of Poems Ancient and Modern

This poem was composed by Ōshikōchi no Mitsune (poem 29 in the Hyakunin Isshu, こころあ) in response to a friend, Muneoka no Ōyori who had arrived at the capital and saw snow falling.

Again, it’s hard to be sure exactly how Mitsune and Oyori relate to one another, and if this is indeed romantic or just affectionate, but it’s a fascinating look at cultural norms at the time among the aristocrats of Japan.

P.S. It’s even harder to know what the attitudes of commoners, since we have so little historical information. The aristocrats of the Court may have had more liberal attitudes about love than commoners, or maybe commoners imitated the trends of the aristocracy. It’s hard to be certain.

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 textJapanese romanizationTranslation
なかなかにNaka-naka niSo if, after all,
恋に死なずはKoi ni shizanu waI am not to die of love,
桑子にぞKuhako ni zoI know just the thing;
なるべかりけるNarubekarikeruI should have been a silkworm,
玉の緒ばかりTama no wo bakarifor 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 textJapanese romanizationTranslation
夜も明けばYo mo akebaCome dawn’s early light
きつにはめなでKitsu ni hamenadeoh yes, in the tank you go,
くたかけのKutakake noyou obnoxious bird,
まだきに鳴きてMadaki ni nakiteto learn to cock-a-doodle
せなをやりつるSena wo yaritsurumy darling away too soon.

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

Original textJapanese romanizationTranslation
栗原のKurihara noIf the Aneha
あねはの松のAneha no matsu noPine here at Kurihara
人ならばHito narabaonly 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 ManyoganaModern JapaneseJapanese romanizationTranslation
中々二なかなかにNaka naka niNot this lukewarm
人跡不在者人とあらずはHito to arazu walife that we humans live–
桑子尓毛桑子にもKuhako ni moa silkworm
成益物乎ならましものをNaramashi mono woI would rather be,
玉之緒許玉の緒ばかりTama no wo bakarihowever short its life.

Fall Longing: Manyoshu Poem 488

Back to our regularly scheduled program, I wanted to share a neat little poem, composed by none other than Princess Nukata using the theme of Autumn and of a night tryst:

Original ManyoganaModern JapaneseRomanizationRough Translation
君待跡君待つとKimi matsu toAs I wait for you
吾戀居者我あが恋ひいをおればA ga koi orebain anticipation
我屋戸乃我あが宿戸やどのA ga yado nothe blinds
簾令動簾動かしSudare ugokashiof my window flutter
秋之風吹秋の風吹くAki no kaze fukubut it is only the autumn breeze…

Princess Nukata needs little introduction in the blog. She was the love interest of two powerful men, issued a call to war, and made quite a contribution to the Manyoshu anthology which the Hyakunin Isshu and other later anthologies are all based upon. My book about the Manyoshu, in talking about spring versus fall, listed this poem as an early, early example in Japanese poetry of using autumn to symbolize other things. In this case, a romantic meeting at night, and a woman who eagerly awaits her lover. The blinds alluded to here are sudaré blinds used in Japanese culture since antiquity and even to this day.

Illustrated scroll of the Tales of Genji, chapter 34, 17th century. Courtesy of Wikimedia Commons.

Beyond that, it’s just a neat poem.

Happy Autumn everyone! 🍁

P.S. There is still time to register for the Professor Mostow online lecture at the UW on October 23rd!

From Darkness Into Darkness: Lady Izumi’s Final Poem

In a lesser-known Imperial poetry anthology called the Shui Wakashu (拾遺和歌集), poem 1342, is recorded what is believed to be Lady Izumi’s1 final poem:

JapaneseRomanizationTranslation
暗きよりKuraki yoriThe way I must enter
暗き道にぞKuraki michi ni zoleads through darkness to darkness —
入りぬべきIrinu bekiO moon above the mountains’ rim
はるかに照らせHaruka ni teraseplease shine a little further
山の端の月Yama no wa no tsukion my path.
Translation by Jane Hirshfield and Mariko Aratani in “The Ink Dark Moon“

This poem was addressed to a Buddhist monk named “Shoku” and includes several Buddhist allusions. The most important is the phrase “darkness to darkness”, which comes from chapter seven of the Lotus Sutra:

….from darkness they [living beings] enter into darkness,
to the end never hearing the Buddha’s name [hear the Dharma].

translation by Burton Watson2

This refers to the Buddhist notion of Samsara, the near-infinite, aimless wandering that living beings undergo lifetime after lifetime, like a cosmic rat race. Such beings, who have yet to hear the Dharma [the teachings] of the Buddha, will continue to wander lifetime after lifetime without rest.

Thus, Lady Izumi is asking Shoku to help shine a light in the darkness for her, so that she may find the way [follow the Buddhist path].

I had trouble deciding which blog to put this in, since it covers both themes, but I decided to post here since the poem was introduced in the new historical drama about Lady Murasaki, Izumi’s contemporary.

Lady Izumi was, to put it mildly, a complex woman. She had incredible talent, and found herself in one scandal3 after another as powerful men fell at her feet, plus she earned scorn from other women such as Lady Murasaki. And yet, she was also very kind, devout and struggled to balance both the religious and worldly aspects of her life, while raising her orphaned granddaughter.

Hirshfield and Aratani note that if this poem is indeed her last, the final word she ever wrote was tsuki (月), “moon”.

1 poem 56 in the Hyakunin Isshu (あらざらん)

2 alternate translation by Murano reads: …they go from darkness to darkness, and do not hear of the names of the Buddhas.

3 this was a conservative, narrow, aristocratic society where men frequently had affairs, but it was much more scandalous if women did. The idea that women could want, and enjoy sex, was not something people really accepted at the time.

Final Parting

I’ve written before about Empress Teishi, the ill-fated first wife of Emperor Ichijō, and patron of Sei Shonagon who wrote poem 62 of the Hyakunin Isshu (よを). Her family lost a power-struggle to a rival faction of the Fujiwara clan, and under pressure Ichijō took a second wife from the winning faction: Empress Shoshi. Teishi was sidelined, and although she did give birth to an heir, she soon died from illness and presumably humiliation and stress.

While watching the historical drama about Lady Murasaki, it showed Teishi’s untimely death, and revealed that she had left a final deathbed poem to her beloved husband. The poem really exists and is actually recorded in an imperial anthology, the lesser-known Goshūishū (後拾遺), number 536:

JapaneseRomanizationRough Translation
夜もすがらYo mo suguraIf you should remember
契りしことをChigirishi koto wothat vow we made
忘れずはWasurezu wain the deep of night,
恋ひむ涙のKoimu namida nothen I long to see
色ぞゆかしきIro zo yukashikithe color of your tears…

In the drama, Emperor Ichijo and Teishi are portrayed as being sincerely in love, yet ultimately they are a victim of politics and forced apart more and more over time. The vow alluded to here was portrayed in the drama as a promise by Emperor Ichijo to always love Teishi no matter what.

Rokuharamitsu-ji Temple in Kyoto, where Teishi was laid to rest. Photo by 663highland, CC BY-SA 3.0, via Wikimedia Commons

Later, Teishi was buried (not cremated in typical Buddhist fashion) at a temple called Roku-haramitsu-ji, near an area of Kyoto called Toribeno no Misasagi (鳥戸野陵). Legend says that on the night of her funeral it snowed. Emperor Ichijo, who was unable to attend, was said to have stayed up all night mourning for her at the palace. Later he composed a poem for her, preserved in the Eiga Monogatari, which is as follows:

JapaneseRomanizationRough Translation
野辺までにNobe made niMy heart yearns
心ばかりはKokoro bakari wafor you all the way
通へえどもKayoe domoin Toribeno,
わが行幸みゆきともWaga miyuki tomoand yet I worry if
知らずやあるらんShirazuya aruranyou are aware of my coming.

Later, Sei Shonagon who retired from the Court, was said to have taken up residence near Toribeno no Misasagi, particularly near a temple named Sennyu-ji. You can see some photos of these places in the video posted here. It was looking back in her later years that Sei Shonagon wrote the Pillow Book as a subtle memorial to her beloved patron, looking back fondly on happier days together.

Sources used:

Places mentioned:

Lady Murasaki and Marital Strife

Lady Murasaki, one of the most famous women of Heian-period Japan, and the first novelist in Japan, wrote many wonderful romantic scenes through the Tales of Genji, yet her real life marriage was anything but.

The latest episode historical drama on NHK about the life and times of Lady Murasaki (poem 57, め) covers her marriage to her second-cousin Fujiwara no Nobutaka (藤原宣孝, ? – 1001), who was around 20 years her senior. Yes, this was not that unusual for the time, but still gross.

Sadly, the marriage quickly turned sour. Nobutaka slept around a lot, and had other hidden wives and children. Lady Murasaki did not take this lying down and the two of them fought frequently. Nobutaka for his part, enjoyed bragging about his trophy wife.

In the poems preserved in Lady Murasaki’s own private collection is this poem addressed to her husband:

JapaneseRomanizationRough Translation1
言ひ絶えばIi taebaIf you saw you’re going to
さこそは絶えめSa koso wa taemestop writing me, then fine!
なにかそのNanika sonoYou can’t even
みはわらの池をMiwara no ike wostand by the bank
つつみしもせむんTsutsumi shimo senof Miwara pond properly.
1 Apologies for any mistakes, or for the roughness of this translation

The backstory of this poem is that Nobutaka had taken one of Lady’s Murasaki’s private letters addressed to him, and shown off that letter to friends (apparently bragging about how smart his young bride was). She was justifiably angry and told him to knock it off. Nobutaka was angry with her and threatened to stop writing. Her reply above, was a clever way of saying “fine, don’t bother writing me”. The allusion to Miwara pond was a pair of puns:

  • Miwana pond (mihara) is also a pun for anger.
  • The word tsutsumi is also pun for a bank (as in riverbank), and self-restraint.

Contrary to Lady Murasaki’s reply, Nobutaka was so impressed by the reply that he ended up bragging about it to his friends anyway. 🤦🏼‍♂️

Another letter is as follows:

JapaneseRomanizationRough Translation2
忘るるはWasururu waForgetting others is
うき世のつねとUki yo no tsune toa part of this ephemeral world,
思ふにもOmou ni moEven so,
身をやるかたのMi wo yarukata nobeing forgotten myself,
なきぞわびぬるNaki zo wabinuruI cannot help but cry.
2 Apologies for any mistakes, or for the roughness of this translation

The married nobility of the Heian Period frequently lived in separate estates, and the husband would visit his wife as needed, but not the other way around. It seems by this point, Lady Murasaki was forgotten by her philandering husband, and lamented her unhappy marriage. One can’t help but recall the Gossamer Years generations earlier.

It is sad that such a talented woman was relegated to an unhappy marriage with a faithless, not to mention narcissistic husband, especially in a society where women had little recourse. I also wonder how much this motivated her to write her novel, The Tales of Genji, as a coping mechanism.

P.S. Sources used in this post include:

P.P.S. For folks who are visiting Kyoto, there are many excellent locations associated with the life of Lady Murasaki and the Tales of Genji. The featured photo above is the “Genji Garden”, part of the Buddhist temple of Rozan-ji, courtesy of PlusMinus, CC BY-SA 3.0, via Wikimedia Commons. This blog includes an excellent photo-tour of Rozan-ji.

Love Triange, Part Two: Manyoshu Book One, Poem 21

A while back I wrote about a famous poem in the Manyoshu anthology by Princess Nukata addressed to her ex-husband Prince Oama (later Emperor Tenmu). It seems that the story of this forbidden encounter in a field of grass did not end there, because Prince Oama replied back…

ManyoganaJapaneseRomanizationRough Translation1
紫草能 紫草のMurasaki noHow could I possibly
尓保敝類妹乎にほへる妹をNioeru imo obe bitter to one so lovely
尓苦久有者憎くあらばNiku arabaas gromwell grass,
人嬬故尓人妻ゆゑにHitozuma yue niwhen even as someone’s wife
吾戀目八方我恋ひめやもAre koi me ya moI harbor feelings for you?
1 Apologies for any mistakes in this translation. This poem was particularly difficult for me.
Flowers from a Lithospermum erythrorhizon (murasaki) plant. Photo by titanium22 on Flickr, CC BY-SA 2.0, via Wikimedia Commons

Before we discuss the poet and the context, I wanted to briefly explain the plant described: murasaki (紫草). I had some trouble finding information on this plant, but it seems to be the species Lithospermum erythrorhizon which in English has a variety of names: purple gromwell, red stoneroot, red gromwell, etc.

Princess Nukata was Prince Oama’s ex-wife, but had remarried his older brother, Emperor Tenji (poem 1 in the Hyakunin Isshu), while the emperor had compelled Prince Oama to marry his own niece (Tenji’s daughter) Princess Unononosasara to strengthen the family line. Relations in the family were complicated. Later after Emperor Tenji died, Prince Oama went to war against Tenji’s son, and overthrew him to become Emperor Tenmu. Game of Thrones, Japanese ediiton.

Yet what makes this exchange of poems surprising is that both Princess Nukata’s poem, and Prince Oama’s were recited not in secret, but at a big public banquet in front of Emperor Tenji.

So, what’s going on here? Are they professing their love in defiance of the Emperor?

Well … no. My book on the Manyoshu strongly suggests that given the circumstances these poems were likely recited in jest. Maybe they did still have lingering feelings for one another, but the poems were not meant to reflect real life; they were meant to paint a beautiful, but surreal scene. The imagery is fantastic, and a testament to their poetic skills, but the scene described likely did not happen. This is not unusual with the poetry we’ve seen thus far on the blog: many poems paint idealistic scenes that might be based on real life, but didn’t necessarily happen.

Then again…. what if they recited their poems in jest in order to hide true feelings after all?

One can’t help but wonder…. 🤔

Burning with Longing: Poem Number 97

At last, faithful readers, we come to the final poem of the Hyakunin Isshu, composed by the anthology’s compiler himself!

JapaneseRomanizationTranslation
こぬ人をKonu hito woFor the man who doesn’t
come
まつほおの浦のMatsuo no ura noI wait at the Bay of Matsuo—
夕ゆうなぎにYunagi niin the evening calm
やくやもしほおのYaku ya moshio nowhere they boil seaweed
for salt,
身もこがれつつMi mo kogaretsutsuI, too, burn with longing!
Translation by Dr Joshua Mostow

This poem was composed by Supernumerary Middle Counselor Sada’ie (権中納言定家, 1162-1241), better known as Fujiwara no Teika, or alternatively Fujiwara no Sadaie.1 He is considered one of the greatest poets in all of Japanese history. Teika was the compiler of this Hyakunin Isshu anthology and was also one of the major compilers of the official Shin Kokin Wakashū anthology. He was also the tutor for Shokushi Naishinno (poem 89), and it is thought that they had a romantic relationship too, though eventually they would be separated for good. In any case, his talent and his family’s influence were so great that the family virtually monopolized the Court poetry for centuries to come. But we’ll talk more about that shortly.

Fujiwara no Teika composed many of his own poems in his lifetime, and yet in compiling the Hyakunin Isshu, why did he select this particular poem for inclusion?

Like many of the later poems in the anthology (poem 90, 91 and 94), this poem alludes to a much older one. In Teika’s case, his poem alludes all the way back to the original anthology in Japan, the Manyoshu. Unlike later anthologies, the Manyoshu was a loose connection of poems, compiled 400+ years before Teika, and the particular poem he alludes to was written from the perspective of a man whose love was burning for a woman like the boiling of seaweed at Matsuo Bay. As you can see, Teika reversed the perspective to be that of a woman, while still alluding to the original. Additionally, Teika gives his poem a sadder tone than the poem from the Manyoshu, which came to be a hallmark of Teika’s style.

Incidentally, Matsuo Bay (written as Matsuho 松帆 here) is on the very northern tip of the famous Awaji Island in the Inland Sea. It is a scenic part of Awaji Island, and even has its own homepage. Awaji Island is also the scene for poem 78. The technique of extracting salt by boiling seaweed, or moshio (藻塩) is a time-honored tradition in Japan, and the seaweed gives the salt a special flavor. There’s a really good article about it here.

Fujiwara no Teika was a master of expressing yūgen (幽玄) or subtle, profound beauty in his poetry. This kind of subtle beauty centuries later came to influence other arts in time in Japan including Noh theater, tea-ceremony, etc.

But who was Fujiwara no Teika?

Teika, alternatively read as Sada’ie, was born from an illustrious family of poets though a minor branch of the powerful Fujiwara clan. His grandfather was Fujiwara no Toshitada and his father was Shunzei (poem 83). As a youth, Teika was a sickly boy but as the eldest son, he was obligated to carry on the family legacy. Unfortunately due to complex court politics, Teika was overlooked for much of his early life. However after a fortunate turn of events, he was noticed by Emperor Go-Toba (poem 99) who eventually commissioned him to compile two new anthologies, including the Shin Kokin Wakashū.

Over time though, Teika and Emperor Gotoba disagreed over poetry and compiling the anthology, leading to an increasingly distant and cold relationship. Teika found Gotoba overbearing, while Gotoba didn’t care for Teika’s free-wheeling style. At times, Teika and Gotoba openly criticized one another through poetry, or in their diary entries, and Gotoba even banished Teika for a year from the capitol. Teika meanwhile grew closer to Gotoba’s son who later became Emperor Juntoku (poem 100), while Gotoba became increasingly occupied with the martial arts, and with wresting power back from the samurai rulers in Kamakura (cf. poem 93)

Unfortunately for Emperor Gotoba, his meager forces were utterly routed by the Kamakura army in the short-lived Jōkyū War, and Gotoba was sent into exile (since it was sacrilege to kill the Emperor). Teika was not involved in the war, so he remained in Kyoto, and even reached the Imperial post of Middle Counselor. During this time, he also completed another Imperial anthology, the Shin Chokusen Wakashū, which shows more of his down-to-earth later style.

Finally though, his health declined from old age and from the famine at the time, so he retired and took Buddhist tonsure. It was during his final years in a Buddhist monastery that he was invited by his son’s father-in-law, Lord Utsunomiya no Yoritsuna, to his villa at Mount Ogura near Kyoto.

This stone marker at Jojakko-ji Temple in west Kyoto, near Arashiyama, marks where Teika had compiled the Hyakunin Isshu. More on that in this post. Photo taken in August 2024.

Lord Utsunomiya asked Teika to compile 100 poems in his own hand, so that they could be adorned on the silk screens of his villa, and these 100 eventually became the collection that we know today.

After Teika died at the age of 80, he was interred at Shokoku-ji Temple in Kyoto. The featured photo above shows his grave marker (Photo courtesy of Wikimedia Commons.). His grandchildren formed into three rival schools of Waka poetry that dominated the poetry scene for centuries:

  • Nijō School (nijō-ha 二条派) – the conservative and dominant school at first. Over time, a series of misfortunes eventually caused the school to decline and fade by the medieval period in Japanese history.
  • Reizei School (reizei-ke 冷泉家) – the more liberal branch, but a few generations later became the dominant branch. By the middle of the Muromachi Period, two branches had formed: the upper Reizei school (kamireizei 上冷泉家) and the lower Reizei school (shimoreizei 下冷泉家), which the upper school prevailing in the long-run. This school still maintains a large compound in Kyoto to this day.
  • Kyōgoku School (kyōgoku-ha 京極派) – this school died out in only a couple generations.

But more importantly, the legacy of Fujiwara no Teika is in his celebrated poetry anthologies, particularly this one. Even today, many kids in Japan enjoy playing uta-garuta in school competitions, and there are even Japanese anime about the Hyakunin Isshu. All of this is due to Teika’s talent and taste for selecting good poetry.

And now, this anthology is enjoyed by international readers like yourself. This blog was a originally a little experiment of mine, but I have enjoyed your readership, your comments, and of course your support. Thank you everyone from the bottom of my heart.

As this is the 100th and final poem of the Hyakunin Isshu, that is all I have to offer on this blog. I may take it up again sometime in the future and cover other anthologies like the Kokinshu and the Shinkokinshu, but for now, I decided that I prefer to leave it as it is.

All good things must come to an end, after all.

1 The Chinese characters (kanji) for his given name (定家) have multiple readings possible, and both are seemingly correct. However, based on a cursory glance in Japanese, it seems that “Teika” is the more common reading.

Even At Low Tide: Poem 92

Another poem dedicated to those who were lonely for Valentine’s Day recently:

JapaneseRomanizationTranslation
わがそではWaga sodé waMy sleeves are like
潮しお干いに見えぬShioi ni mienuthe rock in the offing that
沖の石のOki no ishi nocan’t be seen even at low tide,
人こそしらねHito koso shiranéunknown to anyone, but
かはくまもなしKawaku mamo nashithere’s not a moment they are dry.
Translation by Dr Joshua Mostow

The author of this poem is Nijōin no Sanuki (二条院讃岐, 1141 – 1217), also known as “Lady Sanuki of Nijōin”. Her real name isn’t known. It is known that she was a daughter of famous warrior/poet Minamoto no Yorimasa and served the retired Emperor Nijō, hence her name nijōin (Imperial House of Nijō). The “Sanuki” part comes from Sanuki Province where her father was once posted on assignment.

Sanuki, like Sokushi, was a leading female poet of her day, and this poem helps illustrate why. As we discussed recently in poem 90, the image of sleeves wet with tears was a popular poetic technique used at the time for unrequited love (again, see poems 42, 65, and 72) but the idea of such sleeves being hidden like a submerged rock offshore was a novel, new way of expressing this.

Indeed, Sanuki became so famous for this verse, she herself was often referred to as oki no ishi no Sanuki (沖の石の讃岐) by later poets and authors. It was pretty rare for a poet to receive such a name for a famous verse they composed but a few other examples exist. Another female poet named kunaikyō (宮内卿) was called wakakusa no kunaikyō (若草の宮内卿) because of a famous verse she wrote regarding young grass (wakakusa, 若草) from the Shin Kokin Wakashū:

JapaneseRomanizationTranslation
薄く濃きUsuku kokiLight and dark:
野辺のみどりのNobe no midori nothe green of the field’s
若草のWakakusa noyoung herbs
あとまで見ゆるAto made miyurudistinct in
雪のむら消えYuki no muragiepatches of fading snow.
Translation source unknown

Pretty awesome when you can make a name for yourself that way.

A Cold Mat: Poem 91

A fitting poem for late fall and those who somehow missed out on Valentine’s Day recently:

JapaneseRomanizationTranslation
きりぎりすKirigirisuWhen the crickets
鳴くや霜夜のNaku ya shimoyo nocry in the frosty night,
さむしろにSa mushiro nion the cold reed-mat,
衣かたしきKoromo katashikispreading out my robe
just for one,
ひとりかも寝むんHitori kamo nenmust I sleep all alone?
Translation by Dr Joshua Mostow

This sad, miserable poem was ironically composed by a famous poet of his era named Gokyōgoku Sesshō Saki no Daijōdaijin (後京極摂政前太政大臣, 1169-1206) or ”The Gokyōboku Regent and Former Chancellor”, also known as Fujiwara no Yoshitsune. He was the grandfather was Jien (poem 95). He was another member of the elite poetry family, the Mikohidari (see Jakuren poem 87) and was very well-represented in the Shin Kokin Wakashū poetry anthology which he was an editor. Elsewhere, as a scion of the Fujiwara family, he served as regent to the young Emperor Tsuchimikado, but unexpectedly died at the age of 36.

Astute readers may have noticed that this poem sounds similar, especially in Japanese, to a very early poem in the anthology by Hitomaro (poem 3). Even the last line is the same.

But part of the poem also seems similar to another poem in the Shin Kokin Wakashū anthology according to Professor Mostow, which relates to cold reed-mats and waiting alone. So, in a sense, this poem blends two famous poems and adds the novelty of crickets (kirigirisu) which symbolize autumn.

But as we’ve seen with poem 90, it was an accepted practice at the time to write poetry which allude to older poems in the poems. Indeed, as the author of the blog, I admit I kind of enjoyed this poem more when I noticed the final line and realized I had heard it before. So, I guess the amusement is not limited to 11th century Japanese aristocrats. 😉

Yoshitsune certainly never had to spend a night in the cold as a member of the elite Fujiwara family, but his ability to weave old poetry verses together and paint such a sad picture help explain why he was such a famous poet.