Tag: Japanese history

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.

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.

Poets Illustrated: The Thirty Six Immortals Edition

Recently, while watching the historical drama about Lady Murasaki (poem 57, め), I was surprised to learn that there is an hand-made collection of poems by the Thirty Six Immortals of Poetry that has survived the centuries. This collection is called the Sanju-rokunin Kashu (三十六人家集, “Collection of the Thirty Six Immortals of Poetry”):

Collected poems of Minamoto no Kintada (889–948), not in the Hyakunin Isshu. See page for author, Public domain, via Wikimedia Commons

To recap, the Thirty Six Immortals of Poetry was list of esteemed poets in antiquity, coined by the revered poet and critic Fujiawara no Kintō (poem 55 in the Hyakunin Isshu). It was, in Kinto’s mind, the who’s-who of Japanese poetry up to that point in history. Two-thirds of the poets (24 out of 36) also appear Hyakunin Isshu, but otherwise there is no other overlap. Fujiwara no Teika clearly had differing tastes than his earlier kinsmen Kinto.

In any case, this collection was handmade in the early 12th century by ladies of the court for the birthday of Emperor Toba, and each book includes a unique design: a mix of paper collage, marbling and so on.

SYOGEI, Vol.5 No.6, 1935, August, Tokyo, Japan, Public domain, via Wikimedia Commons

The pages above show collected poetry by the Buddhist priest Sosei (poem 21 of the Hyakunin Isshu). You can see the collage here, using torn pieces of paper. Below is a page of poetry by Ōshikōchi no Mitsune (poem 29) shows an example of paper marbling.

MITSUNE-SHU, 1938, TAKEDA BOKUSAIDO, TOKYO, Public domain, via Wikimedia Commons

What makes the collection so amazing is that the pages aren’t just gorgeous, they often allude to some aspect of the poet in question. Some are quite obscure, some are easier for modern people to piece together. This page of poetry by Yamabe no Akahito (poem 4):

See page for author, Public domain, via Wikimedia Commons

The sky-blue color with snowy looking white surfaces evoke the image of Mount Fuji, which Yamabe wrote about in the iconic 4th poem in the Hyakunin Isshu. I am not certain if they are related, but it certainly seems likely.

As for the collection itself, over the century it changed hands a few times before finally being entrusted to the Nishi Honganji Temple in Kyoto, where it remains. Sadly, one volume was dismembered and the individual sheets were sold off to private collectors by a Japanese industrialist in 1929 to raise funds for a local university, but much of the original still remains.

My historical drama does a nice job showing how the ladies in waiting carefully constructed each page, each one a personal work of art, encapsulating a different kind of art. In Japanese literature there has never been anything quite like it since. Truly brilliant stuff.

P.S. apologies for the stupid title of this post. It just popped into my head.

Professor Mostow Upcoming Lecture!

Hello,

I wanted to share an exciting opportunity for readers. The University of Washington, my alma mater, is hosting a lecture in-person and online by none other than Professor Joshua Mostow!

Dr Mostow’s book Pictures of the Heart: The Hyakunin Isshu in Word and Image

Years ago, Dr Mostow graciously allowed me to use his translations of the Hyakunin Isshu for this blog, and readers have hopefully enjoyed his translations over the years. We poet-enthusiasts have all benefitted from Dr Mostow’s hard work and enthusiasm for the field. Let’s show our support, and enjoy a fascinating lecture on the Hyakunin Isshu and how it impacted Japanese history in later times.

You can see lecture details here:

https://asian.washington.edu/washin-kai-presents-lectures-and-events

Registration for the event is here:

https://events.uw.edu/event/JapanStudiesWK24/summary

Due to family scheduling conflicts, I am registered online. Hope you can all make it!

The Iroha Poem

One of the most famous waka poems across Japanese history and even contemporary culture is a poem called the Iroha. The name “iroha” comes from the first three letters of the poem “i”, “ro” and “ha”. What makes this poem famous is that it uses each hiragana syllable exactly once, and still makes an intelligible, not to mention lovely, poem.

Because of this, it was often used in pre-industrial Japan as a way to organize things. Theater rows would be organized by the order in the Iroha letters, and so were firefighter brigades in pre-modern Tokyo (a.k.a. Edo). Even modern karuta sets are organized by iroha order. I don’t mean the Hyakunin Isshu karuta that I often discuss in the blog, but more informal karuta games that kids often play. We have a few sets here at home, given to us by my in-laws for the grandkids. You can see a nice selection of Iroha karuta sets on the Okuno Karuta online store, too.a

Various karuta sets my in-laws in Japan sent us. The top one is my wife’s original Hyakunin Isshu she had from grade-school.

But I digress.

The Iroha poem’s author is unknown (more on that later), but it was originally composed in old Manyogana script, like other poems of the early Manyoshu anthology, then later in hiragana. It includes many old spellings, so it’s a bit hard to render in modern Japanese.

The poem is as follows:

ManyoganaModern JapaneseRomanizationTranslation1
以呂波耳本部止いろはにほへとI ro ha ni ho he toEven the blossoming flowers
千利奴流乎和加ちりぬるをわかchi ri nu ru o wa kawill eventually scatter
餘多連曽津祢那よたれそつねなyo ta re so tsu ne naWho in this world shall
良牟有為能於久らむうゐのおくra mu u i no o kuremain unchanged? Let us today2
耶万計不己衣天やまけふこえてya ma kyo (ke fu) ko e tecross the mountains of impermanence
阿佐伎喩女美之あさきゆめみしa sa ki yu me mi shiand no longer have superficial
恵比毛勢須ゑひもせすe hi mo se sudreams, nor be deluded
1 adapted translation from Wikipedia, plus a few modifications of my own
2 有為 (u i) meaning “viccisitudes of life” or the impermanence of all phenomena

This poem has strong Buddhist allusions to such concepts as samsara (“the aimless wandering lifetime after lifetime”), the delusions that bind us to this existence, awakening to these delusions (e.g. “enlightenment”), and finally nirvana (“unbinding”). The poem itself shows considerable familiarity with earlier Buddhist texts such as the Perfection of Wisdom sutras, including the Heart Sutra, as well.

But I digress. Again. 😅

There are some really interesting aspects of this poem that are worth sharing. First, authorship. Given the strongly Buddhist undertones of the poem, it’s often been attributed to a famous Buddhist monk named Kukai (a.k.a. Kobo Daishi) who was a talented poet and calligrapher. Another theory states that this poem may attributed to none other than the famous court poet Kakinomoto no Hitomaro, who composed poem 3 in the Hyakunin Isshu (あしびきの).

But things get even more interesting.

Scholars have noted that if you take the last syllable of each line (highlighted above for convenience) it spells another sentence: toka (ga) nakute shisu (咎[が]無くて死す) meaning “he/she died without fault or blemish”. Another theory, mentioned in my new book, points out that the 5th column spells out ho(n) wo tsu no ko me (本を津の小女), which could mean “deliver this book to my wife in the town of Tsu”, which if taken together with the 7th column implies that “I will die without blemish, please deliver this poem to my wife”.

So, is the poem a tribute to someone else? Perhaps Kukai or Hitomaro? If so, then who wrote it, and why? Was the poem a coded message to someone who was executed for political reasons? Or was the poem simply an attempt at word-play?

We will never know, but the impact of the Iroha on Japanese poem can still be easily seen today.

a Although things like Chihayafuru and this blog tend to emphasize the competitive karuta of the Hyakunin Isshu, in reality that’s only a small subset of karuta gaming culture. Most of it is much more informal stuff you play at home with family, much like board games in Western culture, and often times doesn’t even relate to the Hyakunin Isshu. Maybe I’ll post about it some time, but thanks to grandparents in Japan, we have 4-5 sets here ranging from such subjects as places in the city of Kamakura, old folks-sayings, Japanese fairy-tales, and just really basic words in Japanese. Most of these list the cards using iroha-order, and are not related to the Hyakunin Isshu. We’ve played them with our kids from time to time, and they’re much easier than competitive karuta, though it’s still assumed you know at least some basic Japanese.

Sucking Up To The New Boss: Manyoshu Poem 235

Although this blog is primarily about the Hyakunin Isshu, I enjoy when things overlap with other Japanese poetry anthologies, and history.

Let’s talk about two of the poets: Empress Jitō (poem 2, はるす) and Kakinomoto no Hitomaro (poem 3, あし). After Empress Jito ascended to the throne, she was visited by Hitomaro, the revered court poet at the time, who composed the following poem:

Original ManyoganaModern JapaneseRomanizationRough Translation1
皇者大君おおきみは Okimi waAs my sovereign
神二四座者神にしませばKami ni shimasebais a living kami,
(see below)
天雲之天雲のAmakumo noshe builds a temporary
雷之上尓雷いかづちの上にIkazuchi no ue niresidence atop
廬為流鴨廬いおりせるかもIoriseru kamoIkazuchi Hill.
1 I didn’t like any of the existing translations, so I tried to translate here. Any mistakes are my own.

At first, this poem seems like a simple case of a courtier sucking up to the new boss, but as we’ll see there’s more to it. This poem is very simple in some respects, and surprisingly difficult in others.

I had to check multiple sources to make sense of it, including my book on the Manyoshu, but the essence of the poem is that Kakinomoto no Hitomaro is describing Empress Jito as a living kami, and that because of her “supernatural abilities”, she can build a residence atop a small hill called Ikazuchi. Ikazuchi Hill, known as Ikazuchi no Oka (雷丘) can be seen in this photo, more information here.

But what the heck is kami? This is surprisingly tough to explain to Western audiences. It is deeply rooted in Shinto religion, and more closely matches something like ancient Greek religion where there were divine spirits both great and small. Small nature spirits would be worshiped as daimon (not to be confused with modern “demon”), and the Olympian gods were venerated too. Even the Olympian gods had “big forms” and small “household forms” worshiped at the hearth. It wasn’t unusual for Zeus, king to the gods, to also be venerated at a home shrine to protect the family assets, or a roadside marker.

In the same way, Shinto has countless kami. It’s not quite right to translate them as “gods” because the meaning is a little different, and “spirits” is not quite right either. But one could include both gods and spirits under the divine label kami. Just like in Greek religion, very talented people could also be venerated as kami after death, such as Hercules. I mention this because Sugawara no Michizane (poem 24 of the Hyakunin Isshu, この) was similarly venerated after death and became something like the Kami (god) of Learning.

This concept of great personages being kami is called arahito-gami (現人神) and that’s basically what Kakinomoto no Hitomaro is describing Empress Jito. Due to the divine ancestry of the Imperial family, this isn’t that surprising, but my book alludes to another reason for this. The turmoil caused by Emperor Tenji (poem 1 of the Hyakunin Isshu, あきの)’s family and his brother Emperor Tenmu’s family for control of the throne meant that Empress Jito (Tenmu’s wife/niece) ascended the throne on shaky ground. Female sovereigns were quite rare in Japanese history, and with the family fighting for control of the throne, Hitomaro was helping her reassert her divine status and legitimacy as the proper ruler of Japan.

The issue of arahito-gami comes up even as recently as 1946, when the reigning Emperor at the time (Emperor Showa, Hirohito), was requested to renounce his divine status after World War II. This declaration used some hair-splitting language about the Emperor’s divinity (or lack thereof), and various interpretations persist today.

…. but that’s something more knowledgeable people could explain better.

As for me, I find it fascinating (and a bit amusing) that these poets I know from the Hyakunin Isshu got embroiled in a succession dispute, but also that Hitomaro helped bolster Empress Jito’s credentials at a time when she was rebuilding the nation again while probably sucking up just a little too.

P.S. the featured photo above is Ikazuchi Hill, photo by Terumasa, CC BY-SA 3.0, via Wikimedia Commons

P.P.S. On a completely unrelated fact, while writing this post I learned that the Chinese characters for 雷丘 also mean “Raichu” as in the Pokemon.

Where It All Began: Mount Ogura

Hello everyone,

I just returned from another trip to Japan,1 and we got to spend a bit of time in Kyoto. By accident, I also found Mount Ogura, and the place where Hyakunin Isshu was compiled! But first, let’s backup and explain a bit of history first.

Kyoto was the capital of Japan from the 8th century to the 19th century, and so many well-to-do families lived here. This aristocracy wrote countless waka poems that were compiled into official poetry anthologies from time to time,2 but the Hyakunin Isshu was not one of them. It was compiled by Fujiwara no Teika (poem 97) as a favor to his in-laws. Teika had been a compiler of one of the major anthologies, the Shin-Kokin-Wakashu, but was now in retirement after his liege lords (poem 100 and poem 99) were exiled in the upheaval of the Jokyu Rebellion. He resided in a small villa on the west side of Kyoto on the hillside of Mount Ogura, and was tasked with selecting the very best 100 waka poems that his in-laws could decorate their home with. Teika’s excellent poetic taste led to the Hyakunin Isshu we celebrate today.

Anyhow, back to present day. I was with the family, and we visited a part of western Kyoto called Arashiyama (嵐山). It’s a very scenic place, with famous bamboo forests, and an iconic bridge named Togetsu-kyō (渡月橋):

Since we visited in the summer, it was extremely hot and muggy, so by lunch time we were exhausted and tired. We went to a local cafe and had lunch. Since we were in Kyoto, I assumed there would be many famous historical places related to the Hyakunin Isshu,3 but I was having trouble finding them on GPS, so I was disappointed.

Then I noticed the following spot on my map app:

小倉百人一首編纂の地 (ogura hyakunin isshu hensan no chi) … the place where the Hyakunin Isshu was compiled…? Wow, that’s only 15 minutes by foot from where I was at!

The family was exhausted and sweaty, and were planning to return to our hotel, so I didn’t want to drag them uphill in the heat. I told them I’d be back, and I took off for the place on the map. It turns out that the properly had been converted to a Buddhist temple named Jojakkō-ji (常寂光寺) in the 17th century (a common practice in Kyoto). You can find the official website here.

This is Mount Ogura today.

I followed the map directions and made it safely to Jojakko-ji Temple:

There is a small entry fee, but once I paid that, I got to the second gate here:

The site of the Ogura Hyakunin Isshu is just down the path to the right, before the gate. I made the mistake of going up the stairs instead:

Jojakko-ji Temple is quite scenic actually:

… but it was very late in the day, my family was waiting back at Arashiyama, and I had to hurry. This was my one shot, probably in my lifetime, to find this place, but the temple maps, nor the website show precisely where it was.

Finally, I found it:

The photos from the prefectural website look a lot better than mine (good lighting helps). But there it was, the actual site where the Ogura Hyakunin Isshu was compiled!

The stone marker is pretty small and somewhat eroded, but there was no mistaking it.

Since I was short on time, I paused and said a quick “thank you” to Fujiwara no Teika and then headed back.

If you are fan of the Hyakunin Isshu, and you are in the Arashiyama area of Kyoto don’t miss this small but significant site.

P.S. while at Jojakko-ji, I met a nice Australian couple who had just finished their visit. They told me that at the top of the temple you can see a really view of Kyoto. I didn’t have the time to see it for myself, but if you go, don’t pass up the chance.

P.P.S. I forgot that, ten years ago, I had made a post about Mount Ogura. You can see the Togetsu-Kyo bridge here too.

1 We return every year when possible to visit my wife’s in-laws, and let the kids spend time with their relatives, learn more Japanese, etc.

2 Many earlier poems were also composed at a time when Japan’s capital moved around (Nara, Fujiwara-kyo, Asuka, etc) before settling down in Kyoto. See the Manyoshu for further details.

3 I did actually find one other place we visited earlier in the day, but more on that in an upcoming post.

Hello from Japan, new items

Hello readers,

I am writing this post while staying with my in-laws house in Japan. We will be doing a bit of traveling later, but are mostly fighting jet lag and record heat + humidity for now.

In the meantime I am excited to share some items I picked up, including these new books:

The first book explores the Pillow Book by Sei Shonagon, the second Lady Murasaki’s diary. These texts are both pivotal to appreciating the life and culture of people back then, the same people who composed the poetry of the Hyakunin Isshu. It’s a window to a world that simply doesn’t exist anymore.

Further, this book series, 眠れないほど面白い (nemurenai hodo omoshiroi, “so interesting you can’t sleep!”) has been a huge boon for the blog. It’s provided a lot of fun, historical information about the Heian Period, the Hyakunin Isshu, the Manyoshu, etc., that is simply not available in English. The Japanese is sometimes difficult to read at my level, but it’s been a labor of love, so I enjoy the challenge and have been learning a lot. So I am excited to delve into these two books as well.

Also, it’s noteworthy that both books above mention the current drama series 「光る君へ」as a tie-in.

Yesterday, on a day trip to Tokyo I visited the Karuta shop Okuno Karuta (奥野かるた店). It was very easy to find from the Jinbocho train station (just head left and walk down a few blocks). The store was larger than the Tengu-do and includes lots of neat card sets not related to Karuta. I was on a budget so I tried not to spend too much. I did pick up a mini Karuta set though:

This set looks just like the first set I got, both Tengu-dō brand, but roughly half the size. It’s not suitable for competitive karuta but it’s cute and fun to own.

Anyhow, the staff at Okuno Karuta were very nice and helpful. While I was perusing, a tour group of elderly Japanese came through for a while, and the staff had to handle the rush of customers, before things quieted down again.

Hopefully I can post more updates soon.

P.S. also picked up an obscure Fire Emblem game too:

Ancient Japanese Dad Joke: Manyoshu Poem Number 27

The poem from the Manyoshu feels like an ancient Japanese dad-joke. Read it out loud and you’ll see what I mean:

ManyoganaModern JapaneseRomanizationRough Translation
淑人乃よき人のYoki hito noMen of old
良跡吉見而よしとよく見てYoshito yoku mitecame to Yoshino
好常言師よしと言ひしYoshito ii shiand declared it a good place,
芳野吉見与吉野よく見よYoshino yoku miyoSo, good sons, go
良人四来三よき人よく見Yoki hito yoku miand take in the view!

The author of the poem is Emperor Tenmu whom we saw here and here. He is the younger brother of Emperor Tenji of Hyakunin Isshu fame (poem 1, あきの), and husband/uncle to Empress Jito (poem 2, はるす).

Yo, yo, yo, this poem has lots of “yo” words.

The poem was, evidentially, a suggestion by Emperor Tenmu to his sons to visit the beautiful village of Yoshino, near the old capital of Nara, famed for its otherworldly beauty in Spring. The featured image shows Yoshino and its famous cherry trees.

It was also an attempt to foster good relations between Tenmu and his sons through a combination of humor and providing some fatherly advice. Given how complicated family relations were at the time (see links above), and since Tenmu had defeated his own nephew in combat to assume the throne, he had reason to worry.

Sadly, it didn’t work.

After Tenmu’s passing, one son, Prince Ōtsu (ōtsu no miko, 大津皇子), started a rebellion and was later given the death penalty at the age of 24. Wikipedia implies that the rebellion may be a false charge though brought by Empress Jito so that her own son could ascend the throne. My book on the Manyoshu delves into this at length and comes to the same conclusion.

Still, you can’t blame Emperor Tenmu for trying to heal family divisions, yo.

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: