Interesting historical fact that I learned recently.
A long, long time ago in this blog, I wrote about the Six Immortals of Poetry: a list of eminent poets devised by Ki no Tsurayiki (poem 35 in the Hyakunin Isshu, ひさ). This list was in the preface to the Kokinshu imperial anthology, wherein he raised up these six poets, as prime examples of poetry at the time ….. then promptly tore them down for one reason for another.
However, my book about the Manyoshu explains that in the same preface, Tsurayuki elevates two other poets as being above reproach:
Kakinomoto Hitomaro (poem 3 in the Hyakunin Isshu, あし) and
Together they were revered as Yamakaki no Mon (山柿の門) meaning the “Gate of Yama(be) and Kaki(nomoto)”. In modern terms, we can call them the Super Poetry Brothers…
I used to watch this show as a kid, every day after school. 😆
But I digress.
Kakinomoto and Yamabe were not exactly contemporaries. They were about a generation apart, and their poetry had different styles, but together they were seen as the epitome of poetic skill. So much so, that even Ki no Tsurayuki could find no fault in them.
Let’s look at each one.
Kakinomoto Hitomaro focused on expressing inner feelings. His poem in the Hyakunin Isshu shows his worry about sleeping alone one night, while this poem shows his passion for the one he loves. Or this one from the Manyoshu (poem 48):
Original Manyogana
Modern Japanese
Romanization
Rough Translation
東
東の
Himugashi no
To the east I
野炎
野にかぎろひの
No ni kagirohi no
see the rising sun
立所見而
立つ見えて
Tatsumiete
over the fields,
反見為者
かへり見すれば
Kaeri misureba
but if I look back [west]
月西渡
月かたぶきぬ
Tsuki katabukinu
I see the moon setting.
Translation by me, apologies for any mistakes or nuance problems.
This poem has a hidden meaning, and was both a memorial to one Prince Kusakabe who was the only child of Empress Jito (poem 2 in the Hyakunin Isshu, はるす), and praise of Prince Kusakabe’s son, who later was crowned Emperor Monmu. Thus, the poem expresses both sadness at the passing one of beloved figure, and hopes for a bright future for his son.
Meanwhile, Yamabe Akahito was more focused on the beauty of nature. His poem in the Hyakunin Isshu about the snow on Mount Fuji is a good example. He wrote many poems on various subjects, but often did so through simile with nature. Or this one from the Manyoshu (poem 1424):
Original Manyogana
Modern Japanese
Romanization
Rough Translation
春野尓
春の野に
Haru no no ni
I went to go
須美礼採尓等
すみれ摘みにと
Sumire tsumi ni to
pick some violets for
来師吾曽
来し我そ
Koshiware so
you in a spring field,
野乎奈都可之美
野を懐かしみ
No wo natsukashimi
but it was so charming
一夜宿二来
一夜寝にける
Hitoyo nenikeru
I slept there all night.
Here, Yamabe is talking about a wonderful, charming violet field and how it made him so sleepy and relaxed that he slept all night there. There’s less of the heavy, emotional pull of Hitomaro, but it paints a really lovely scene that’s timeless.
That’s a very brief look at the Super Poetry Brothers!
Courtly life in the Heian Period of Japanese history wasn’t limited to poetry and love trysts. Music was an important part of the culture too, but Japanese music at the time was considerably different than we might expect. This kind of Court music is called gagaku (雅楽).
You can see a good example of Gagaku music here:
It may not seem obvious at first, but this style preserves many cultural aspects of the Heian Period (which the Hyakunin Isshu was a part of too): the costumes, music, songs of the time, and so on. The music takes a bit of getting used to for modern audiences (it is kind of screechy at times), but it was common then for such music to accompany important dances such as the yearly Go-sechi dance (see poem 12 of the Hyakunin Isshu, あまつ). When Lady Murasaki talks about concerts and dances in her diary or Sei Shonagon in her Pillow Book, this kind of music was played.
Gagaku music still lives on in Japan in traditional theater, and some religious services. It also makes a nice cover for Led Zeppelin’s Stairway to Heaven, too:
Enjoy!
Special thanks to Mr Togi for this awesome video. 東儀さん、ありがとうございます!
The Hyakunin Isshu Cracker trilogy continues! Way back in 2011, when I first wrote this blog, I posted about some neat Japanese senbei (deep fried crackers made from rice dough), featuring poems of the Hyakunin Isshu. The pictures were lost however, and so I can’t really show what they looked like.
Then in 2022, I wrote another post about a different set of Hyakunin Isshu crackers we got in Japan. However, I only had a couple examples, not the complete set.
This time, I have the complete set. My father-in-law sometimes receives them as periodic gifts during the summer (a.k.a. Ochūgen, お中元) from business partners and such. The company website for these crackers is here.
There are six varieties in the set, each featuring a poem of the Hyakunin Isshu.
These first two are poems 98 (left, かぜそ) which has a spicy, wasabi (?) flavor, and 36 (right, なつ) which has baked shrimp flavor.
These two are poems 2 (left, はるす) which has leaf-shaped crackers with a salty taste, and 81 (right, ほ) is baked with nori seaweed.
The one on the left is also written with poem 98 (left, かぜそ), but has a light salty cracker flavor. This one is my favorite. The one on the right didn’t have a poem written on the front, but the back was printed with poem 97 (こぬ), and has some lightly flicked baked seaweed on it.
There might be more poems and/or flavors, but this is what I got from the boxed set we brought back to the US. Anyhow, it’s neat to see the poems written in a traditional cursive script (rather than standard printed Japanese), and I wonder if there’s some association between certain poems and certain flavors but I don’t see a connection yet.
As with the handwriting book, it’s interesting to see how the Hyakunin Isshu lives on in Japanese culture in fun, friendly ways like this.
This summer my family went back to Japan to visit relatives while I stayed home, and one of the souvenirs they brought back was this wonderful book (publisher’s link here):
This book was sold at a local Kinokuniya bookstore in Japan, and each page of the book features a poem from the 100 poems of the Hyakunin Isshu, in traditional numerical order. Within that page, you can practice your own handwriting by writing out the poem, first on the right-hand side, and again on the left.
Here’s a close-up of one of the pages, depicting poem 41 (こい), one of two poems from a famous poetry contest (poem 40 is the other). You can see the poem is written out in traditional style: right to left, vertically. There is a special handwriting guide on the left-side of this page with tips to help with certain difficult Chinese characters. You can also trace the poem on the right side of the page to practice your penmanship.
On the following page, there are some historical details about the poem. In this case, it is a lineage chart of the Imperial family at the time, and focuses on the reigning Emperor Murakami who succeeded the throne after the death of Emperor Daigo. On the bottom right is a glossary of terms, since the poem is composed in old Japanese, and thus the spellings and vocabulary are not clear to modern speakers.
This is a pretty neat book, and I am hesitant to practice my handwriting on it, since it is pretty poor. But I love the idea, and it’s a lot of fun to look through. It also seems like a nice relaxing exercise if you go slow, and take in each poem one by one.
If you are ever in Japan, and happen to be browsing a local bookstore, keep an eye out for books like this. The Hyakunin Isshu continues to be a populartopic, and you’ll find many such excellent books and many ways to savor and enjoy this wonderful anthology.
My journey with the game of Karuta began one August day in 2023 with the kind folks at a local karuta club, and right away I loved the game. However, over time, I realized that the competitive style of karuta, like you see in the anime Chihayafuru, was not for me. The constant pressure to grind out game after game to make incremental improvements, especially as a working parent with little time or energy for such endeavors, made me feel increasingly hopeless about making any real gains.1 Finally, with my children getting older, and one of them graduating, I had to take a long break from karuta. It just wasn’t fun anymore.
Recently, I’ve been playing again with a small informal group where we just mess around a bit, and play shorter Karuta games using the casual format. This is how most Japanese people play in Japan, by the way.
Thus, I wanted to share my experiences lately with readers in hopes that they may find ways to keep enjoying karuta, or help introduce it to people outside of Japan who didn’t learn it in grade school.
For starters, I ordered this 5-color Hyakunin Isshu set online from the good people at Oishi Tengudo last year,2 and after using the set a few times, I finally realized this five-color set is different than the more well-known version sold in Japan. It uses different colors, and divides the cards differently. My karuta reader apps were not set to recite poems according to Oishi Tengudo groupings, so I was really confused at first.
Using my favorite karuta reader app, Wasuramoti (Android and iOS), I decided to make custom lists based on the Oishi Tengudo groupings. You can do this too in Wasuramoti by selecting Advanced Config, then Set of Poem:
In the Oishi Tengudo set, the “red” group (also called Group A), is comprised of poems whose kimari-ji (starting syllables) start with む (mu), す (su), め (me), せ (se), う (u), つ (tsu), し (shi), も (mo), ゆ (yu), ち (chi), and ひ (hi). These cards have very few or no tomofuda (cards with similar kimari-ji), so they’re distinct and easy to learn first. I created my custom list with 20 cards, just like my physical set.
I made a similar custom list for Group B (“blue”) as well. This group is a bit harder because it includes cards whose kimari-ji have slightly more tomofuda cards (3-4): い (i), み (mi), た (ta), and こ (ko). So, there’s a bit more effort required to distinguish one card from another. Yet it’s still the second easiest group.
… and so on.
When I practice, I just grab the color I want to play (“red”, or Group A in this case) and scatter then on my desk, casual-style.
Then in the Wasuramoti app, I select the group of poems I want (see above), set the app to display the torifuda, same as cards on my desk, and set the reader to “auto” mode so it doesn’t stop with each poem. I just want to see if I can recognize the poem before too late. I don’t care very much about speed.
It is fun to play this way. I can finish a game pretty quickly (roughly ten minutes) and it is not very exhausting. Since I chose the easiest set of cards first, I remembered many of them pretty quickly despite the long hiatus, which was gratifying.
This format of playing smaller sets of cards, with optional levels of difficulty, and no threat of penalties, seems to be a great way to introduce to new players as well. I was happy to see that a new player, who had experience with Japanese language, quickly pick up the game, took a few cards of her own, and had a great time. If people aren’t having a great time, why play karuta?
Karuta is super fun, and a great game to enjoy throughout one’s life. However, if you are struggling, don’t blame yourself. Instead, find what you enjoy about karuta, pick a more gentle format, and focus on that, not what the A-rank players are doing.
Happy gaming!
1 The final nail in the coffin was when I joined some online communities which I soon realized were very focused on competition, and very little on actually enjoying the culture of the Hyakunin Isshu. It was just another sport, with physical training regimens, and techniques to edge out your opponent. That is not why I created this blog back in 2011, and not why I continue to enjoy the Hyakunin Isshu now. I had left the world of competitive card games behind when I quit playing Magic the Gathering before the Pandemic, and didn’t want to resume.
2 They only ship in Japan as far as I can tell, and with tariffs making things more expensive, it might be hard to get outside of Japan. Thus, I am adding a new index page for five-color Hyakunin Isshu to help readers make their own sets
The Hyakunin Isshu anthology, the subject of this blog, is not known for bawdy subjects as Japanese poetry by that time had become increasingly refined and codified in style. By contrast, the much older Manyoshu included a wider variety of poems and topics. This includes drinking poetry.
In fact, the compiler of the Manyoshu, Ōtomo no Yakamochi (大伴家持, 718 – 785) who also composed poem 6 in the Hyakunin Isshu (かさ), was the son of a famous literati and booze-hound: Ōtomo no Tabito (大伴旅人, 665 – 731). Tabito was a contemporary of Hyakunin Isshu poet Hitomaro (poem 3, あし), though not quite as successful.
Tabito was dispatched by the Imperial bureaucracy at the time to serve a term as governor of Daizafu in western Japan, and while there he formed a poetry circle called the Tsukushi Kadan (筑紫歌壇, “Tsukushi Poetry Circle”), where Tsukushi is the name of an old district in Dazaifu. Of Tabito’s 50+ poems in the Manyoshu, 13 of them were contributed by Tabito, known as the Sake wo Homuru Uta Ju-san-shu (酒を讃むる歌13首) or “The Thirteen Poems Praising Saké [rice wine]”.
Although I joke about Tabito’s possible alcoholism, the poems are not necessarily meant to be taken as literal. My book on the Manyoshu points out that these poems may have intended to imitate a famous 3rd century literati group in China called the Seven Sages of the Bamboo Grove, sometimes known as the Seven Sages of the Western Jin [Dynasty]. In Japanese they are called the chikurin-shichiken (竹林七賢). The enduring image of these seven musicians, poets and scholars is a band of bohemian, drunken geniuses, and Tabito and his poetry circle was likely inspired by them. You can see other examples of artistic inspiration in this post from my other blog. Between this collection of poems, and the Zen artwork in my other blog, I had no idea that the Seven Sages were such a popular topic in art.
But I digress.
There is another side to this poetry as well : evidentially on the move from the capital (Kyoto) to Dazaifu to the west, Tabito’s wife apparently fell ill and died. So, my book alludes to the idea that Ōtomo no Tabito took up drinking not just as a literati trend, but also to deal with the grief of losing his wife. Marriages at this time were often political as various noble families vied for position in the tightly stratified hierarchy in the Imperial Court. However, even political marriages could be happy ones at a personal level, so Tabito may have genuinely been grieving for a wife that he loved, plus the isolation from the capital.
Tabito’s poems, celebrating the virtues of rice wine, are technically very good poems, but also cover a subject that is omitted in later anthologies where style and form were pretty much codified by then. So, by the time the Hyakunin Isshu was compiled, 4 centuries later, no one would write such crass poetry about booze and girls (atleastnotopenly). Further, while the Manyoshu lacks the refinement of the Hyakunin Isshu, it does have a raw, visceral tone that’s often missing in later anthologies, and resonates differently with readers. Personally, I love both anthologies, but for different reasons.
P.S. I’m finally back, and have a few upcoming topics. Please enjoy.
1 This kind of rice wine seems to be a style from China, where the fluid is cloudy rather than clear.
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!
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.
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 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
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.
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.
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.