Tag: Japanese Poetry

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.

Five Color Hyakunin Isshu Update

Hello,

If you are learning to play karuta there are plenty of resources in Japanese language, but outside of that, there’s almost nothing. This is understandable since karuta has only very recently become known outside of Japan, but it still challenging for foreign players to develop good foundations. So, although I am a casual novice myself, I try to share what I find.

One training method used in Japan, especially for children learning to play in school, is the Five Color (go-shiki, 五色) Hyakunin Isshu method. This is a way of color-coding the 100 poems of the Hyakunin Isshu into five groups of 20, based on relative difficulty to learn. I have posted about it before but didn’t have a set to try out and demonstrate.

Since I was in Japan earlier this year with the family (visiting in-laws), I decided to get a boxed set for myself. They are hard to obtain outside of Japan, and I had to order directly from the Oishi Tengudo. My package soon arrived at my in-laws house,1 and later I brought them home and opened up the box.

The set is very nicely put together. It comes in separate boxes for the reading cards, yomifuda, and corresponding the cards you take, torifuda.

Torifuda cards on the left, and yomifuda cards on the right.

Because the Five Color Hyakunin Isshu is mostly geared for children (and not nerdy middle-aged foreigners 😅), the illustrations have a cute, cartooinish quality, and the hiragana script uses a very readable font. Notice that the card borders have colors too: yellow and red in the pictures above.

Something that surprised me was that the back of the torifuda cards, which are usually not seen during play, also show the first half of the Hyakunin Isshu poems, with the kimari-ji emphasized. This saves new players the hassle of having to go and look up what the kimari-ji are.

Poem 15 shown in yellow on the left, and poem 65 in red on the right.

Also, if you get a set like this, and you use a Karuta reader app to read only that color. Many reader apps have readings sets specifically for the Five Color Hyakunin Isshu, however, the Oishi Tengudo set divides its cards differently, and so the sets in karuta apps are not the same. You have to make your own custom sets like I did here.

So, does it work as a training method? Is it worth foreign players going to the effort to getting one of these sets?

I haven’t had a chance to field-test yet, especially with new karuta players, so I don’t know. Some foreign players online have derided the five-color method, and instead advocated other learning methods (more on those in later posts), but unfortunately I don’t have enough data to say which works. Since I have already self-learned karuta (more or less), I can’t really use myself as a test.

That said, the resources above are really nice, and since they’re geared for children, they provide a nice, gentle introduction to playing karuta. You do need to read hiragana script, but if you’re intending to play karuta, you need to know hiragana anyway. It is also one way to start with learning a smaller subnet of the 100 poems, with increasing difficulty as you move between colors.

I am eager to try this out the next time I meet with the local karuta club.

1 I also ordered a yomite card set for reading purposes. I’ve written about that in a previous post.

Kurumazaki Shrine

During our recent trip to Japan, we visited the city of Kyoto. I talked about this here, but I also wanted to share another site in Kyoto that relates to one of the poets of the Hyakunin Isshu : Kuramazaki Shrine. You can find their official website here, but there is no English and the site is a bit hard to navigate. The shrine itself has a very interesting layout:

The photo above is the main promenade leading to the inner sanctum (toward the back). Apparently, it’s tradition in Japanese culture to walk along the edge of the walkway, not right in the middle, so bear that in mind when visiting a shrine like this.

This Shinto shrine is notable for its many visits by celebrities who leave autographed red plaques.

Shinto shrines often serve particular need in society: love, business success, health, etc. In the case of Kurumazaki Shrine, the focus is on show-business, acting, theater, etc.

Why does this matter?

It turns out that Sei Shonagon, author of the Pillow Book and poem 62 (よを) in the Hyakunin Isshu is enshrined here. Not only that, but you can purchase a special omamori charm with her image on it. I learned about this place on social media after seeing the actress First Summer Uika, who played Sei Shonagon in the historical drama, visit the shrine.

Because this site contains many sub-shrines and side passages, it took a bit of effort to find Sei Shonagon’s shrine. It is halfway down the promenade, on the left, and looks like so:

I paid my respects to this esteemed author, and the family and I continued to explore. I found First Summer Uika’s plaque near the inner sanctum:

Incidentally, my wife is a fan of the JPop group Snow Man, and you can see one of their markers just to the left. We both got something out of this trip. 😛

As I alluded to earlier, the shrine complex is deceptively long, with many nooks and hidden shrines and side paths. The site map gives some sense of this. For reference, the Sei Shonagon shrine is number 20 on the map, and you can see there are many other sites here too. I didn’t photograph every shrine here, and most are probably obscure to readers (and obscure to myself). The common theme was both fortune, and also show business. They were some pretty neat shrines though, such as this one showing various theater masks:

At last we came to the gift shop, and I got a Sei Shonagon charm (omamori):

Later, when I got back home and realized that the charm was intended for ladies,1 I was rather embarrassed, yet I didn’t want it to go to waste, so I gave it to my daughter whose preparing for college this year. It seemed fitting, and I am happy to report that she got a good score in her SAT exam the following month, so perhaps the charm worked?

Anyhow, Kurumazaki Shrine is not something tourists usually visit because it’s a little removed from the nearby touristy area of Arashiyama, and like many Shinto shrines, it’s very Japan-centric, but it’s a cool slice-of-life of Japanese popular culture, both past and present.

As for me, I was happy to pay my respects to such a wonderful poet and author directly, someone’s whose creativity and work indirectly helped make this blog what it is today.

P.S. Later that day, I stumbled upon the place where the Hyakunin Isshu was compiled, so I managed to visit two sites in one day. Not too shabby.

1 It’s clearly written on the signs, I just failed to pay attention. I was maybe a bit star-struck perhaps. 😅

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.

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.

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.

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.

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