Tag: Isolation

Solitude: Poem Number 70

My favorite poem related to fall in the Hyakunin Isshu is this one:

JapaneseRomanizationTranslation
さびしさにSabishisa niWhen, from loneliness
宿を立ちいでてYado wo tachi ideteI stand up and leave my hut
ながむればNagamurebaand look distractedly about:
いづずこも同じIzuko mo onajieverywhere it is the same
秋の夕ゆうぐれAki no yugureevening in Autumn.
Translation by Dr Joshua Mostow

The author of this poem is a monk named Ryōzen Hōshi (良暹法師, dates unknown) or “Dharma Master Ryōzen”, who supposedly composed it while doing austerities in a remote hut outside the capitol. Unfortunately, we have little about Ryōzen Hōshi’s personal history, even in my new book. He had some infamy over a poem he composed during a poetry contest, by inadvertently copying one in the Kokin Wakashu, causing him to be a laughing stock. However, other scant records show he was still respected by the nobility overall.

The notion of “Autumn sunset” appears a lot in Japanese poetry, but apparently its meaning differs depending on the time and place. Ryōzen Hoshi gives a more melancholy, almost Buddhist, tone implying that the world around him is declining into winter and possibly, metaphorically declining in a general Buddhist sense. However, Sei Shonagon (poem 62) also wrote about Autumn Sunset in her Pillow Book, but used it to describe crows and wild-geese flying

An Autumn sunset means a lot of different things to a lot of different people, but it still is significant one way or another. For me, I tend to like Ryōzen’s imagery the best, and it’s the one I imagine whenever I read this poem.

A Deer’s Cry in Autumn: Poem Number 5

This is a very iconic poem about Autumn from the Hyakunin Isshu:

JapaneseRomanizationTranslation
奥山にOkuyama niWhen I hear the voice
もみぢじふみわけMomiji fumiwakeof the stag crying for his mate
鳴く鹿のNaku shika nostepping through the fallen leaves
声こえ聞く時ぞKoe kiku toki zodeep in the mountains—
this is the time
秋は悲しきAki wa kanashikithat autumn is saddest.
Translation by Dr Joshua Mostow

The poem was composed by one mysterious figure named Sarumaru Dayū (猿丸大夫, dates unknown), whom we know nothing about.

My new book offers a couple theories as to Sarumaru’s identity. One theory is that he could be the son of Emperor Tenmu (mentioned here among others places) named Prince Yuge (弓削皇子, Yuge no Miko). Another theory suggests that he could be the infamous Buddhist monk Dokyo, Japan’s version of Rasputin, who served Empress Shotoku. However, these theories are, as of writing, entirely speculative. We simply don’t have enough information.

Whoever Sarumaru was though, he nonetheless earned a place among the Thirty-Six Immortals of Poetry.

Even in the Kokinshū where this poem is first found, it is listed as anonymous, according to Professor Mostow, but seems to have been composed for a poetry contest in 893 hosted by Prince Koresada. Mostow further explains that this poem is surprisingly tricky to interpret: who is walking through the leaves, the deer or the author?

Speaking of deer, deer have been an integral part of Japanese poetry since early times. This and poem 83 show how the deer’s cry is a popular poetic symbol of sadness or melancholy.