The poet Ise (伊勢, c. 875- c. 938), or “Lady Ise” in English, is another celebrated female poet from antiquity. Her sobriquet comes from her father’s position as governor of the prosperous Ise Province, but she earned a name for herself through her extensive poetry both in her private collection, the Ise Shū, and through Imperial anthologies where her poetry is both frequent and prominent.
As Professor Mostow explains, the poem has two possible interpretations: one where she has been spurned by a cold lover, and the other where she cannot reveal her hidden love.
Naniwa Inlet is the bay of what is now the famous city of Osaka, though back then it was a far smaller city, with many waterways, streams and such. Naniwa (Osaka) is often associated with reeds at the time as other poems of the time show, and is mentioned in two other poems in the Hyakunin Isshu (poem 20 and poem 88).
An illustration from chapter 5 of the Genji Monogatari (Tales of Genji), photo by Tosa Mitsuoki, Public domain, via Wikimedia Commons
March 3rd in Japan is Girls’ Day and to celebrate I’ve decided to devote all of March to poetry from the Hyakunin Isshu from female poets.
Although most of poems in the anthology were written by men, a considerable minority (20% of the poems) are written by women as well. Many of these are found in poems 55-65 but are also scattered before and after. Many of these women represent the first female authors in world history including Lady Murasaki who wrote the Tales of Genji and her eponymous diary, and Sei Shonagon who wrote the Pillow Book. In addition was the diary of Lady Sarashina, the Gossamer Years and the writings of Lady Izumi.
Poetry in the days of the ancient Heian Court was everywhere and women wrote poetry as much as men did if not more. Like men, they participated in Imperial contests as well and made a name for themselves. Not surprisingly, some of these have been preserved in the Hyakunin Isshu, just as they were in official Imperial anthologies, such as the Kokin Wakashū. However, one interesting custom to note is that the women poets never used their own name. Instead they often used sobriquets associated with where their family was affiliated with, or their position in the Court. Lady Izumi’s father was governor of Izumi province for example.
So this month, expect some awesome poetry from the women of the Hyakunin Isshu!
Although I have been posting love poetry from the Hyakunin Isshu all week in celebration of Valentine’s Day, I felt like posting this poem for all those who don’t like Valentine’s Day, or had a lousy time:
The author, Middle Counselor Asatada (中納言朝忠, 910 – 966), also known as Fujiwara no Asatada, was the fifth son of Fujiwara no Sadataka (poem 25) and one of the Thirty-Six Immortals of Poetry. I happen to consider this one of my favorite poems in the entire anthology, so I think it’s a fair ranking. 🙂
According to commentators, this poem was part of the same poetry contest as poems 40 and 41 and implies frustration that a woman has not consented to a visit by her presumed lover. Life would have been easier if they simply hadn’t bothered to try and meet.
However, Mostow also points out that the interpretation by Fujiwara no Teika (poem 97, who compiled the Hyakunin Isshu), was different, and implied that they had met, and she wouldn’t meet him again. It didn’t end well, in other words, and the lover is bitter over it.
P.S. Featured photo is a woodblock print of the Tale of Genji by Toyokuni Utagawa, Utagawa Kunisada, Public domain, via Wikimedia Commons
Fujiwara no Sanekata Ason (藤原実方), the poem’s author, was the grandson of Fujiwara no Tadahira (poem 26). True to his heritage, Sanetaka had an impressive record as a poet as well, and his poetry was frequently included in official anthologies such as the Shūishū among others. He was thought to also be friends with Sei Shonagon (poem 62) and Fujiwara no Michinobu (poem 52).
Sanekata apparently was quite full of himself too, and he later paid for this. According to my new book, Sanekata was a darling in his youth and frequently socialized with Emperors Enyu and Kazan. According to one story, when the Imperial procession went flower-viewing, Sanekata accompanied them, but then a heavy rain started. Everyone started to scatter, but Sanekata supposedly said “if I am going to get wet, might as well do it under the blossoms”, and he thus stood under a flowering tree. One Fujiwara no Yukinari later commented “that’s fine in poetry, but Sanetaka is a fool”. Sanetaka and Yukinari apparently had a prolonged and bitter hatred of one another, and in one incident Sanetaka took Yukinari’s headdress and angrily threw it into the garden. Emperor Ichijo, who caught sight of this, rebuked Sanetaka’s crass behavior, demoted him in rank, and sent him to the remote province of Mutsu as punishment. Yukinari, for his part, was later promoted head of the Imperial Archives.
According to Mostow, this poem was sent to a woman he was first starting to court, so the poem is an introduction of sorts to her, since she probably didn’t know who he was. The poem is as technically strong as it is bold, as Professor Mostow explains in detail. The reference to “Ibuki” is probably to a famous mountain in Japan called Mount Ibuki which has a variety of wildlife, including a kind of grass called sashimogusa or mogusa and is part of the Mugwort family. Mugwort was used in moxibustion, so it was burned, and this poem uses this as a symbol of his burning love.
According to Mostow, there is further word-play in the poem as sashimo can be read as sa shimo meaning “that much”, while the words mogusa and omohi reinforce each other to emphasize the passion of his burning love.
If Sanetaka wanted to introduce himself to a lady, he sure did a fine job of it!
The author of the poem was Sangi Hitoshi (参議等, 880-951, “Counselor Hitoshi”), also known as Minamoto no Hitoshi. According to Mostow, he held many provincial posts, but is lesser known in the poetry world. Apparently the poem was sent to a woman, and is a fine specimen of love poetry.
The poem, when read aloud in Japanese, has a nice sound to it, owing to the way that shinohara and shinobu repeat, but also the poem has a nice contrast to it. According to Professor Mostow, the fourth line reverses the idea of scarcity with talk of being overwhelmed by love creating a kind of balance in the poem.
One final note: the poem alludes to a couple plants of note:
one is chigaya (茅, Cogongrass, imperata cylindrica), which in the poem is called asajiu.
the other is a kind of thin bamboo grass called shinodaké (篠竹, pleioblastus simonii?), more commonly know as medaké in modern Japanese. The featured photo at the top of this post is an example of An example of pleioblastus simoni (photo by I, KENPEI, CC BY-SA 3.0, via Wikimedia Commons)
The scene described in the poem is a mixed field with taller bamboo grass poking out above a field of shorter reed grass.
This poem was composed by Gidō Sanshi no Haha (儀同三司母, ? – 996), or “Kishi” or short. Her personal name was Takashina no Takako, and she was the wife of the powerful regent, Fujiwara no Michitaka. She is listed in the Hyakunin Isshu as “Mother of the Supernumerary Grand Minister” due to the tremendous power wielded by her son, Fujiwara no Korechika for a time, as well as Princess Teishi whom Sei Shonagon (poem 62) served under.
Takako herself was from an elite family, and had considerable talent in Chinese poetry, which allowed her to win competitions over many learned gentleman. No doubt this helped her catch the eye of the ambitious and rising star that was Fujiwara no Michitaka. This poem was, according to Mostow, composed shortly after their wedding, with all the joy and excitement about the future that comes with marriage.
However, as you can see, there is a bitter undertone to this poem. Noblemen at the time often married multiple wives, and such women were often living apart from their husbands. Further, Michitaka was known to carry on many side affairs, including Akazomé Emon’s sister (poem 59).
As we saw with the Gossamer Years, this can lead to many years of isolation and loneliness if the husband neglects her. So, the poem expressed a sense of unease about the future and how long this excitement might last.
Later, when Michitaka later passed away, Takako took tonsure as a Buddhist nun and left behind few other poems.
Speaking as one who’s happily married myself, I can definitely understand her excitement that day, even a thousand years later, but also the joys of staying with it for many years. One wife is enough, and I am glad to have invested the care and devotion to make it work.
The photo above was taken by me of the doll set we keep at home for Girl’s Day, a holiday celebrated in early March. It symbolizes the happy marriage of the Emperor and Empress, and the aspirations of young women everywhere for a happy life with the man of their dreams.
P.S. Featured image is a calendar my son made in Japanese preschool, depicting Girl’s Day.
The author of this poem, Shokushi Naishinnō (式子内親王) was the daughter of Emperor Go-Shirakawa and was high priestess, or saiin (斎院), of the Kamo Shrine near Kyoto (office website, Japanese only). Because the Kamo Shrine was so central to the spiritual protection of the capitol, the high-priestess could only be the daughter of an emperor, and was expected to be a vestal virgin. She would serve as the high-priestess until such time as a new emperor was enthroned.
The daughter of Emperor Go-Shirakawa received a world-class education in poetry from none other than Fujiwara no Shunzei (poem 83), and later by his son, Fujiwara no Teika (poem 97), the compiler of the Hyakunin Isshu. The Hyakunin Isshu Daijiten also alludes to rumors that Teika and Shokushi Naishinnō later had a romantic relationship. Further, researchers have noted that Teika frequently mentions her in his journal.
However, if the two had a romantic relationship, they never married. Shokushi Naishinnō became the high priestess and led a celibate life. According to one story, after Shokushi Naishinnō passed away, it is said that Teika’s strong feelings of longing for her eventually led to the sprouting of teikakazura flowers (Asiatic Jasmine, Trachelospermum asiaticum) around her grave.
Shokushi Naishinnō, in addition to being the high priestess, also left a considerable poetry collection in her own right. This poem belonged to another anthology under the subject of “hidden love”, according to Mostow. This was a popular subject of poetry contests and similar poems can be found in the Hyakunin Isshu as well.
One other note here is the imagery of strings of jewelry symbolizing one’s life, as in the first verse of the poem above. It seems to have been a frequent metaphor and there are example poems dating all the way to the Manyoshu that use similar imagery.
The author, Ōnakatomi no Yoshinobu Ason (大中臣能宣朝臣, 921 – 991), was the grandfather of Ise no Tayū (poem 61) and a prolific poet in his time, and one of the Thirty-Six Immortals of Poetry. According to Mostow, was also one of the “Five Gentlemen of the Pear Chamber” (nashi tsubo no gonin 梨壺の五人), with the Pear Chamber referring to a special room within the Court ladies’ residence of the Imperial Palace, which in turn was named after a special pear tree within the Palace gardens in the Ladies’ Quarter. This implied a very high honor indeed for Yoshinobu who was a member of the Inner Court.
Interestingly, Mostow suggests that the poem was in fact not written by Yoshinobu, owing to the fact that it does not appear in Yoshinobu’s personal collection and is listed as “anonymous” in other collections.
According to Mostow’s book, this poem by Taira no Kanemori (平兼盛, ? – 990) was part of a famous poetry contest in 960, and was pitted against Mibu no Tadami (poem 41). Both were recited under the theme of hidden love. For fans of the anime Chihayafuru, this contest is also mentioned in season one episode 23.
The judges couldn’t decide which poem was the winner, so after consulting with other poetry experts (who also couldn’t decide), they came before Emperor Murakami and sought his opinion about which poem was superior. According to the story, the Emperor hummed to himself the verses from this poem under his breath, tactfully judging Taira no Kanemori’s poem the winner.
My new book points out that what makes this poem highly prized (along with Tadami’s poem) is the excellent use of prose. It isn’t just that the character is hiding love, but that it’s become painfully obvious to everyone around them, and they are compelled to ask. The ni keri in the second verse is an archaic way of expressing regret (poem 41 uses it too), or grumbling so it has a natural sound to it. Mostow’s opinion agrees with the excellent style, mixed with a more natural style at the end. Anyone who’s been secretly in love before can certainly sympathize.
Taira no Kanemori is also one of the Thirty-Six Immortals of Poetry (sanjūrokkasen, 三十六歌仙), and was friends with Egyo Hoshi (poem 47). According to my new book, there is a theory that his daughter is Akazomé Emon (poem 59). He had divorced Emon’s mother, but she was already pregnant. Further, after she remarried and gave birth to Emon, Kanemori petitioned to have parental rights but ultimately failed.
The Taira Clan or Heike (平家), which Kanemori belongs, was not particular powerful at this time, but would later dominate Japanese politics centuries later under Taira no Kiyomori, only to be tragically swept aside in the disastrous Genpei War by their rivals, the Minamoto.
The author of this poem Kakinomoto no Hitomaro (柿本人麻呂, dates unknown), was one of the pre-eminent poets of the Asuka Period in Japan, and contributed to the Manyoshu anthology as well. According to my new book, he served in the courts of emperors Tenmu, Jitō (poem 2), and Monmu as a kind of “court poet” (kyūtei-kajin, 宮廷歌人). During official outings, or former occasions, the court poet was relied upon to compose a fitting poem for the occasion. So revered was Hitomaro at his job that he, alongside his contemporary Yamabe no Akahito (poem 4), were later called kasei (歌聖, “saints of poetry”).
Hitomaro is also possible candidate for authorship of the famous iroha poem: a poem that uses every hiragana letter only once.
While the poem above looks like any other love poem, the composition, imagery, rhythm and such, make this one really stand out. 😁
The yamadori (山鳥) is actually a species of bird called the Copper Pheasant, known for its long tail, and is our featured photo for today (photo by KKPCW, CC BY-SA 4.0, via Wikimedia Commons). There’s a great photo here as well. Traditionally, it was thought that the male and female birds slept separately at night, hence Hitomaro was comparing this to his own feeling of loneliness.
One thing I like about this poem, and why I have a particular interest in it, is the repetitive sounds using の (no) throughout. If you recite the poem out loud, it has a particularly nice rhythm to it, and for me it is thus easy to memorize/recite. Try it out and you’ll see what I mean. The frequent use of の also links various words together in a way that stretches out the verse. Thus, Hitomaro isn’t sleeping alone, it feels like a looooooong night alone.
According to the Hyakunin Isshu Daijiten, there are certain birds in Japanese culture that are frequently used to represent autumn. In addition to the Copper Pheasant, other birds include:
The wild goose (kari, 雁)
The quail (uzura, うずら)
The bull-headed shrike, or Lanius bucephalus (mozu, もず)
The opening verse of this poem is also a nice example of pillow words in the Hyakunin Isshu, originally taken from the Manyoshu.
Finally, one thing to note is that my new book about the Hyakunin Isshu suggests the authorship of this poem is doubtful. In the original Manyoshu anthology, this poem was listed as “author unknown”, poem number 2802, and looked noticeably different:
Original Manyogana
Modern Japanese
Romanization
Rough Translation1
念友
思へども
Omoedomo
Even as I try not to think about it,
念毛金津
思ひもかねつ
Omoi mo kanetsu
I can’t help but think
足桧之
あしひきの
Ashihiki no
how long this night will
山鳥尾之
山鳥の尾の
Yamadori no ō no
be, like the tail of a
永此夜乎
長きこの夜を
Nagaki kono yo wo
copper pheasant.
1 Rough translation by me, apologies for any mistakes.
… but by the time of Fujiwara no Teika (poem 97, こぬ) who compiled the Hyakunin Isshu, it was probably assumed to be Hitomaro. Teika might know something we don’t today though, so it’s quite possibly Hitomaro’s poem, but sadly we’ll never know for sure. But this mystery of how the poem came to be will be covered in a future post someday.
The Hyakunin Isshu 
