Lady Murasaki, one of the most famous women of Heian-period Japan, and the first novelist in Japan, wrote many wonderful romantic scenes through the Tales of Genji, yet her real life marriage was anything but.
The latest episode historical drama on NHK about the life and times of Lady Murasaki (poem 57, め) covers her marriage to her second-cousin Fujiwara no Nobutaka (藤原宣孝, ? – 1001), who was around 20 years her senior. Yes, this was not that unusual for the time, but still gross.
Sadly, the marriage quickly turned sour. Nobutaka slept around a lot, and had other hidden wives and children. Lady Murasaki did not take this lying down and the two of them fought frequently. Nobutaka for his part, enjoyed bragging about his trophy wife.
In the poems preserved in Lady Murasaki’s own private collection is this poem addressed to her husband:
Japanese
Romanization
Rough Translation1
言ひ絶えば
Ii taeba
If you saw you’re going to
さこそは絶えめ
Sa koso wa taeme
stop writing me, then fine!
なにかその
Nanika sono
You can’t even
みはらの池を
Miwara no ike wo
stand by the bank
つつみしもせむ
Tsutsumi shimo sen
of Miwara pond properly.
1 Apologies for any mistakes, or for the roughness of this translation
The backstory of this poem is that Nobutaka had taken one of Lady’s Murasaki’s private letters addressed to him, and shown off that letter to friends (apparently bragging about how smart his young bride was). She was justifiably angry and told him to knock it off. Nobutaka was angry with her and threatened to stop writing. Her reply above, was a clever way of saying “fine, don’t bother writing me”. The allusion to Miwara pond was a pair of puns:
Miwana pond (mihara) is also a pun for anger.
The word tsutsumi is also pun for a bank (as in riverbank), and self-restraint.
Contrary to Lady Murasaki’s reply, Nobutaka was so impressed by the reply that he ended up bragging about it to his friends anyway. 🤦🏼♂️
Another letter is as follows:
Japanese
Romanization
Rough Translation2
忘るるは
Wasururu wa
Forgetting others is
うき世のつねと
Uki yo no tsune to
a part of this ephemeral world,
思ふにも
Omou ni mo
Even so,
身をやるかたの
Mi wo yarukata no
being forgotten myself,
なきぞわびぬる
Naki zo wabinuru
I cannot help but cry.
2 Apologies for any mistakes, or for the roughness of this translation
The married nobility of the Heian Period frequently lived in separate estates, and the husband would visit his wife as needed, but not the other way around. It seems by this point, Lady Murasaki was forgotten by her philandering husband, and lamented her unhappy marriage. One can’t help but recall the Gossamer Years generations earlier.
It is sad that such a talented woman was relegated to an unhappy marriage with a faithless, not to mention narcissistic husband, especially in a society where women had little recourse. I also wonder how much this motivated her to write her novel, The Tales of Genji, as a coping mechanism.
P.P.S. For folks who are visiting Kyoto, there are many excellent locations associated with the life of Lady Murasaki and the Tales of Genji. The featured photo above is the “Genji Garden”, part of the Buddhist temple of Rozan-ji, courtesy of PlusMinus, CC BY-SA 3.0, via Wikimedia Commons. This blog includes an excellent photo-tour of Rozan-ji.
Waka poetry, including the Hyakunin Isshu has a lot of conventions and symbols used to express certain seasons or sentiments. This is not so unusual. For example, if someone in the US writes a poem about the smell of cinnamon, it definitely brings to mind late autumn or winter.
One common example in the Hyakunin Isshu of poetic symbolism are birds. Birds have distinctive calls, and different species tend to be prominent at different times of year, among other things. For this post, I included a lot of poetry from the Imperial anthology, the Kokin Wakashu, which is much larger than the 100 poems of the Hyakunin Isshu, and thus easier to find examples.
Spring
The most prominent bird in Spring is the uguisu, the Japanese Bush Warbler, also called the Japanese Mountain Thrush:
The uguisu’s distinctive bird call is very emblematic of the season.
The bird call of the uguisu sounds like ho-ho-ke-kyo, which to Japanese people sounds similar to a famous Buddhist text called the Lotus Sutra (hokekyo in Japanese). I’ve written much about the Lotus Sutra in my other blog, so I do not need to repeat here. Needless to say, when Spring comes, people in Japan inevitably hear this lovely sound, even in urban areas.
Oddly, there are no poems in the Hyakunin Isshu about the uguisu, however, I found many poems in the official anthology, the Kokin Wakashu. Here are a few of my favorites thus far. This first one is poem 4 by Fujiwara no Takako (藤原高子; 842–910) later Nijo-kisaki (二条后, “Nijō Consort”):
Apparently, the bird was highly praised during the aristocratic court culture of the Heian Period, and Sei Shonagon (poem 62) mentions an expedition in her Pillow Book:
[94] …it had been overcast and tending to rain since the first day of the [fifth] month. Some of us were sitting about at a loose end, when I came up with the suggestion that it would be fun to go off on an expedition to hear the hototogisu….
[ later ] … and as for the hototogisu, they were indeed calling back and forth, so loudly in fact that they made almost too much of a din for comfort.
Translation by Dr Meredith McKinney
The anecdote is quite long, but Sei Shonagon and the other ladies-in-waiting do encounter the hototogisu, and meant to write poetry about them, but then through a series of interactions forgot the poetry entirely and came back to the Empress empty handed, followed by various witty comments back and forth.
Autumn
Unlike the Spring, where the call of the bird is highly praised in poetry, in the Autumn, theHyakunin Isshu Daijiten lists a few birds that were revered in poetry. For example, migratory birds, such as the Wild Goose (kari):
I had some trouble finding poems for the fall birds listed in either the Hyakunin Isshu or the Kokin Wakashuanthology, but there seems to be a lot in the later Shin-Kokin Wakashu anthology. I don’t have a reliable translation of the Shin-Kokin Wakashu, so I may update later.
I did find this poem under the section “Miscellany 2” in the Kokin Wakashu, poem 497 by an anonymous poet:
The birds associated with winter, were birds whose cries were melancholy and said. First and foremost is the plover, which we saw in poem 78 (あわじ) of the Hyakunin Isshu:
Or the Black-headed Gull (miyako-dori, meaning “bird of the capital”):
The miyakodori in particular stood out due to its unusual name. The Hyakunin Isshu Daijiten lists a poem from the official Kokin Wakashu anthology of note, poem 411 under the section “Travel Poems”:
The headline for this poem explaining the backstory is unusually long, but basically the poet, Ariwara no Narihira (who also wrote poem 17, ちはやふる, in the Hyakunin Isshu) was away in eastern Japan with some companions, and longing for home in the capital, they saw a miyako-dori bird (lit. “capital bird”) and recited this poem.
The Mallard in particular had dual-association with romance and with the melancholy of winter. This poem in the Kokin Wakashu, number 533, by an anonymous author illustrates this:
Certain birds were also used in Japanese poetry for symbolic purposes, but not necessarily for seasonal expression.
We’ve talked about birds associated with seasons thus far, but there’s a couple worth calling out that are an important part of Japanese poetry, but not related to seasons. The first is the Copper Pheasant, called yamadori, which we saw in poem 3 of the Hyakunin Isshu (あしびきの).
In antiquity, it was thought that Copper Pheasants mated for life (true), but slept in separate nests at night. Thus, the poet Kakinomoto no Hitomaro likened himself to a Copper Pheasant sleeping alone at night part from his lover.
And finally we come to the magpie. In poem 6 of the Hyakunin Isshu (かさ), the poet Chūnagon Yakamochi describes frost growing under moonlight on the so-called Magpie Bridge of the Imperial Palace. The magpie (kasasagi) was associated with a Chinese myth that evolved into the Qīxī Festival (七夕), celebrated as Tanabata in Japan.
In this tale, two star-crossed lovers, a celestial princess and a cowherd, were forcibly separated in the heavens by her father the Jade Emperor, but allowed to reunite one night a year. It was said they would reunite by crossing a bridge made of magpie birds who put their outstretched wings together. Thus, the magpie was always associated with this famous tale.
Poetry about war is not something you will ever find in the Hyakunin Isshu, or other Imperial anthologies. So, I was quite surprised to find this poem in the Manyoshu.
Manyogana
Japanese
Romanization
Translation1
熟田津尓
熟田津に
Nikitatsu ni
I was going to wait for
船乗世武登
船乗りせむと
Funanorisen to
the moon to rise before
月待者
月待てば
Tsuki mateba
embarking from Nikita bay,
潮毛可奈比沼
潮もかなひぬ
Shio mo kanainu
but the tide is up:
今者許藝乞菜
今は漕ぎ出でな
Ima wa kogi-idé na
go, row out now!
1 Translation by Kudō Rikio, Ōtani Masao, Satake Akihiro, Yamada Hideo, Yamazaki Yoshiyuki, ed. SNKBT: Man’yōshū, 4 vols. Iwanami, 1999–2003, originally found here.
This poem was recited by none other than Princess Nukata (Nukata no Okimi, 額田王, 7th century), whom we saw in these twopoems. She wasn’t just a woman sought after by two emperors, but also played a small part in the effort to restore the Korean kingdom of Baekje.
A map of Korea in the 4th century showing the three kingdoms. Baekje is at the height of power at this time. Map by Historiographer at English Wikipedia, Public domain, via Wikimedia Commons
For centuries, the Korean Peninsula was divided into three kingdoms: Goguryeo, Silla and Baekje who constantly vied for control. Baekje, called Kudara (百済) in Japanese, was the country most closely allied with Japan in antiquity and helped bring much continental culture to the fledging Japanese court. They had a long-standing alliance.
But in 660, Baekje was crushed by the combined forces of Silla and their ally, Tang-Dynasty China (aka “Great Tang” as they called themselves). The remnants of the Baekje court fled to Japan and sought help to restore their kingdom.
With Japanese and Korean restoration forces mustered at beaches of Nikita (熟田) Bay in modern day Ehime Prefecture, Princess Nukata, writing on behalf of the Baekje sovereign, Prince Buyeo Pung, recited this poem to fire up the troops.
Sadly, the restoration effort gradually failed. The forces landed in former Baekje and made initial gains, but gradually lost steam, and then were crushed in 663 at the Battle of Baekgang. This was also the last time that Japan sent troops to the Korean Peninsula until the 16th century under Toyotomi Hideyoshi’s invasion of Korea.
As I wrote before, the Manyoshu, while technically Japan’s first poetry anthology, is a somewhat different beast than later anthologies and collections. The poetry techniques are less refined, but the Manyoshu is often revered for its more visceral nature, its breadth, and its small peeks into antiquity.
P.S. Korean history is fascinating too, and makes for some pretty nice K-Dramas which you can easily find on streaming media such as Netflix. If you’re not already a K-Drama fan, maybe look up a few and enjoy.
P.P.S. Before I found a proper translation, I was translating the final line as “Let’s row” in the same way that Optimus Prime from the Transformers would say “Roll out!”. Maybe less accurate but it sounds cool, especially coming from Princess Nukata. 😎
A while back I wrote about a famous poem in the Manyoshu anthology by Princess Nukata addressed to her ex-husband Prince Oama (later Emperor Tenmu). It seems that the story of this forbidden encounter in a field of grass did not end there, because Prince Oama replied back…
Before we discuss the poet and the context, I wanted to briefly explain the plant described: murasaki (紫草). I had some trouble finding information on this plant, but it seems to be the species Lithospermum erythrorhizon which in English has a variety of names: purple gromwell, red stoneroot, red gromwell, etc.
Princess Nukata was Prince Oama’s ex-wife, but had remarried his older brother, Emperor Tenji (poem 1 in the Hyakunin Isshu), while the emperor had compelled Prince Oama to marry his own niece (Tenji’s daughter) Princess Unononosasara to strengthen the family line. Relations in the family were complicated. Later after Emperor Tenji died, Prince Oama went to war against Tenji’s son, and overthrew him to become Emperor Tenmu. Game of Thrones, Japanese ediiton.
Yet what makes this exchange of poems surprising is that both Princess Nukata’s poem, and Prince Oama’s were recited not in secret, but at a big public banquet in front of Emperor Tenji.
So, what’s going on here? Are they professing their love in defiance of the Emperor?
Well … no. My book on the Manyoshu strongly suggests that given the circumstances these poems were likely recited in jest. Maybe they did still have lingering feelings for one another, but the poems were not meant to reflect real life; they were meant to paint a beautiful, but surreal scene. The imagery is fantastic, and a testament to their poetic skills, but the scene described likely did not happen. This is not unusual with the poetry we’ve seen thus far on the blog: many poems paint idealistic scenes that might be based on real life, but didn’t necessarily happen.
Then again…. what if they recited their poems in jest in order to hide true feelings after all?
Author’s note: this draft was nearly complete before I had to go to the hospital in February. I decided to post as-is even if it is a bit late.
At a recent meeting of the Seattle Karuta Club, I tried my hand at being the yomité (読み手), the card reader.
The game of Karuta traditionally requires three people to play: two opponents and one person, the yomité, to read the full poem cards, the yomifuda.
Reading the cards is not just a matter of reading aloud, there’s a certain style and method to it. Plus you need to be able to read hiragana smoothly, including the weird spellings. Further you have to be clear enough that players know precisely which card to take.
Usually, Karuta players overseas just use one of several reader apps, but in Japan, Karuta matches usually have a yomité when possible. It’s a handy skill to learn if possible, even if you are musically tone-deaf like me.
This featured photo is me starting the match. I was quite nervous since it was my first time, and have a terrible singing voice. I don’t say that to be modest; I am genuinely a bad singer.
Right away, I found I could read the text easily enough, but I didn’t project my voice, or enunciate the kimari-jiproperly. Halfway through the match I “found my groove” and my reading improved but I still needed practice.
Learning to read Karuta cards does not take long to learn, but learning to read well takes time.
This page in Japanese focuses on learning to read Karuta cards. It even includes a video (Japanese only)
In red, the kimari-ji is shown, and the text of the poem includes rhythm clues (the lines and arrows) where you should elongate the syllable, for example. Each poem has a slightly different rhythm. It’s not the same pattern with every poem. So, you definitely have to practice each poem and how to recite them.
In the end, taking turns as the yomité is a nice way to share responsibility, and even Japanese is not your first language, you can pick it up with a bit of time and effort.
Being able to recite your favorite poem the traditional way is also a neat skill to learn anyway.
In other recent, exciting news, I found this article on the Asahi Shimbun newspaper: the discovery of some of Fujiwara no Teika’s personal notes. This is called the kenchū mikkan (顕注密勘).
Long before Fujiwara no Teika (poem 97) compiled the Hyakunin Isshu, he served as a minister under Emperor Gotoba (poem 99). Among his duties, Teika was commissioned in 1201 to compile a new Imperial poetry anthology, which later became the Shin Kokin Wakashu (新古今和歌集).
Here you can see some of his notes and thought process as he’s compiling the poems together. It’s a fascinating discovery.
You can click here to see more detailed photos of his notes. They are read from right to left, vertically not horizontally.
You can also see another example of his handwriting here, courtesy of Wikipedia, from diary:
Teika himself had a pretty rocky career and after his liege lord was exiled, Teika spent the rest of his days living as a Buddhist monk. Nonetheless, his legacy lives on.
I have been away for a while due to variouslifecircumstances, but I’ve been wanting to share this news with readers.
The Japanese public TV station, NHK, broadcasts a new Taiga Drama (大河ドラマ) every year. These are big productions featuring some aspect of Japanese history, with big name actors and so on. I was very fond of the last one. Usually these cover periods of warfare or conflict, and male historical figures from Japan’s long history, but this year’s drama, titled Hikaru Kimi E (ひかる君へ, “Addressed to You [my dear Radiant One]”), features Lady Murasaki as the main character!
(Image by NHK, all rights reserved)
Lady Murasaki, poem 57 of the Hyakunin Isshu, needs little introduction. She composed the Tales of Genji, as well as her eponymous diary. She was the first female novelist in Japanese history, and has been a subject of interest ever since. The biographical details of her life are somewhat scant, unfortunately, and the drama does embellish quite a bit, including hinting strongly at a romance that probably didn’t happen in real life. My impression is that they are using romantic themes from her novel, the Tales of Genji, as the backdrop for the drama.
Nonetheless, I have been watching this series on Japanese TV1 and I enjoy it. It is somewhat different than past Taiga Drama, since it features a female main character, and this period of history (the late Heian Period), had little warfare, but it does have tons of scandal and intrigue as the Fujiwara clan tighten their grip on the reins of government. This drama is surprisingly risqué in parts, something you usually don’t see in a conservative Japanese drama. However, such scenes remind me more a more subdued Victorian romance than something in modern, American television.
That said, it’s a darn good drama thus far.
The drama frequently shows other people of the Heian period aristrocracy, many of whom were poets of the Hyakunin Isshu. To name a few who have been featured in the drama:
I admit I am particularly fond of the character Sei Shonagon. In historical pop culture, Sei Shonagon and Lady Murasaki are treated as rivals as they were both famous writers of the same generation who belong to rival cliques in the aristocracy, but in reality they probably didn’t interact much. Nonetheless, they frequently talk in the drama, and the actress who plays Sei Shonagon, stage name is “First Summer Uika” (ファーストサマーウイカ), is a talented actress and total babe:
First Summer Uika also recently visited a Shinto shrine devoted to Sei Shonagon in Kyoto called Kurumazaki Jinja (車折神社), which even sells Sei Shonagon charms (omamori):2
Because the drama features so many people related to the Hyakunin Isshu, the drama subtly works in many poems from the anthology. It’s been great to suddenly recognize a poem being recited, even if I am a bit slow to recall. The settings, costumes, and cast are all amazing, and even though the historicity is questionable, it’s been a great watch.
I really hope they eventually make an English subtitle version so people outside Japan can watch. The quality of Taiga Dramas are terrific, and they are well worth watching if you can.
Update: while visitingKyoto in 2024, we found a local NHK display of the drama:
The second photo above is First Summer Uika as Sei Shonagon.
1 Sadly there are not foreign translations, and no subtitles, and it is not always modern Japanese, so I admit I struggle at times to follow the story. At other times, I can follow easily enough.
2 We are going to visit Japan again this year (the last for our teenage daughter), including Kyoto. Visiting this shrine is definitely on the itinerary, even thought it’s pretty small.
As spring approaches, people eagerly anticipate when cherry blossoms (sakura in Japanese, 桜), but as I have learned recently in my book, the Hyakunin Isshu Daijiten, there are many types of sakura, some of them even referenced in the Hyakunin Isshu. Let’s explore a few and learn how to spot one versus another.
If you’re curious about how to even spot a cherry tree, my alma mater has a nice video introduction from the Pandemic era on spotting various trees in your own neighborhood:
A Brief History Lesson of Cherry Blossoms
Cherry blossoms have been a part of Japanese culture for a very long time, but were not always revered as they are now. In antiquity, the plum blossom, imported from China, were more highly revered as one can see in the Manyoshu, but over the centuries the roles reversed. The tradition of outings to view cherry blossoms is credited to Empress Jitō (poem 2). Nowadays, this tradition continues as ohanami (お花見), and can be a fun outing with friends and family or co-workers. In places like Ueno Park in Tokyo, the grounds are crowded with picnic blankets, visitors, and plenty of food and saké to go around.
The most famous, most iconic poem about cherry blossoms was composed by Ariwara no Narihara (who also wrote poem 17):
Japanese
Romanization
Translation
世の中に
Yo no naka ni
If in all the world
絶えて桜の
Taete sakura no
there were of cherry blossoms
なかりせば
Kanariseba
no trace anywhere
春の心は
Haru no kokoro wa
ah, how truly peaceful then
のどけからまし
Nodokekaramashi
spring would be for everyone!
Translation by Dr Josha Mostow and Dr Royall Tyler from the Ise Stories, the poem is also number 53 in the Kokin Wakashū.
Varieties of Cherry Blossoms
Big thanks to this site for providing additional references. I also relied on some details from the Hyakunin Isshu Daijiten book I’ve used for the blog.
Yoshino Cherry
The most common, most well-known type are the Somei Yoshino (ソメイヨシノ) or “Yoshino Cherry” in English:
(Photo by Tak1701d, Public domain, via Wikimedia Commons)
This is a relatively recent variety that was bred for gardening, then gained popularity abroad. It is named after the famous village of Yoshino. For many, this is the classic “cherry blossom” and the one you’re most likely to see outside of Japan.
The term yae (八重) means something like “eight layers” or “eight levels”, which helps describe it’s thicker, multi-layered blossoms. It is also the subject of poem 61.
To be honest, yae-zakura are my personal favorite.
Kanzan Cherry
A popular variety that I only learned about recently is a hybrid variety called the kanzan (カンザン, sometimes archaically spelled Kwanzan). I didn’t find this one online at first, but was able to take a photo during a recent visit to the University of Washington.
This variety was, similar to the Yoshino, a relatively recent variety, and a result of hybrid breeding with Ōshima cherry. What makes this one interesting is the both the rich pink color, and the multiple layers of blossoms (similar to the Kasumi cherry below).
Mountain Cherry
Another example of cherry blossoms, that’s lesser-known in the West are the wild cherry trees, or yama-zakura (ヤマザクラ) also known as the “Mountain Cherry”:
If you compare the Yama-zakura to the classic Yoshino Cherry, you can see the color is a little more faded, kind of whitish in comparison. I think I have also read somewhere that the leaves and blossoms of a mountain cherry sprout at the same time, compared to a Yoshino Cherry where the blossoms comes first.
In antiquity, when the nobility of the capitol would go on a cherry blossom viewing, these are the trees they would most likely go to see. They are the subject of poem 66 as well.
Shidaré-zakura Cherry
Another iconic variety of cherry blossoms are the shidaré-zakura (シダレザクラ), or Hanging Cherry:
You often see these grown in very scenic places, as well as on the grounds of Buddhist temples or Shinto shrines. The way the hanging branches sway in the wind is a sight to behold.
Kasumi-Zakura
One interesting variety that I was unaware of, until researching for this blog was the kasumi-zakura (カスミザクラ):
The word kasumi is a poetic term for haze or mist, especially a spring mist. You can see how the blossoms hang down somewhat, and are particularly large compared to other cherry blossoms varieties. They also seem to have a two-tone quality, where the edges are deeper color than the middle.
Fuyu-Zakura
Another example I wanted to share is an unusual variety that blooms in spring, and in winter, called the fuyu-zakura (フユザクラ):
This cherry variety, also known as a gobazakura (コバザクラ) has white blossoms and blooms both in April, and also in December.
Kanhi-zakura
Taken by me at University of Washington in April 2025
While visiting the University of Washington in 2025, I found another variety I hadn’t noticed before. This variety is listed on UW maps as “Hisakura”, but in digging around in Japanese I found that a more common name is Kanhi-zakura (カンヒザクラ), also called Taiwan-zakura (タイワンザクラ) after the island of Taiwan. The name Hizakura (ヒザクラ) is also used. As the name implies (and according to Wikipedia), this variety is found all over East Asia, including Taiwan, and blooms somewhat early. Based on my visit to the UW I can confirm this as an amateur cherry blossom nerd.
Amanogawa Cherry
Taken by me in my neighborhood, April of 2025
Yet another variety I stumbled upon recently in 2025 is the Amanogawa (アマノガワ, “Milky Way”) variety. You can see an extra layer of petals in this one, similar to the Kanzan variety, but a lighter, softer color. I couldn’t find much detail about this variety but it appears to be a form of sato-zakura plants also known as the Ōshima cherry, similar to the Kansan variety.
Conclusion
There are many more varieties of cherry blossoms than listed here, but many are obscure or only known to botanists and experts. Also, it’s important to point out that Korea also has a venerable cherry blossom tradition, though I confess I don’t have much information.
In any case, when spring comes, see if you can identify the different cherry blossoms you see. You may be pleasant surprised.
This is a great example of a poem that’s very beautiful and sincere, yet also carries a darker history.
Original Manyogana1
Modern Japanese
Romanization
Rough Translation3
秋田之
秋の田の
Aki no ta no
Like the
穂上尒霧相
穂の上に霧らふ
Ho no é ni kirau
morning dew atop
朝霞
朝霞
Asakasumi
rice plant buds,
何時渡邊乃方二
何処辺の方に
Itsue no kata ni
whenever will my
我戀将息
わが恋ひ止まむ
Waga koi yaman
love for you evaporate?
This poem was composed by the wife of Emperor Nintoku, Iwanohimé no Ōkisaki (磐姫皇后) in the 4th century. Emperor Nintoku was a semi-legendary Emperor2 who was known for his sagacity and for his very long reign. They are both interned in famous Kofun mausoleums, Nintoku in Osaka (shown below), and Iwanohime in Nara:
Empress Iwanohime was a very devoted wife, and wrote many other love poems to Nintoku as collected in the Manyoshu. Another example here is here, book 2, poem 85:
Original Manyogana4
Modern Japanese
Romanization
Rough Translation
君之行
君が行き
Kimi ga yuki
Your imperial outing
氣長成奴
日長くなりぬ
Kenagaku narinu
has gone on rather long, hasn’t it?
山多都祢
山尋ね
Yama tazuné
Shall I come out
迎加将行
迎へか行かむ
Mukae ka yukan
to meet you?
待尒可将待
待ちにか待たむ
Machi ni kamatan
Or, shall I wait for your return?
This poem sounds rather playful, and Iwanohime evidentially misses her husband and longs to see him again soon.
However, my book on the Manyoshu explains that the Iwanohime was also very clingy and jealous, since Nintoku had a frequent tendency to sleep around. In one infamous story recorded in the Kojiki, Nintoku slept with his own half-sister, Yata no Himémiko (八田皇女), while Iwanohime was away on family business. When she found out, she was quite furious and returned to her ancestral home, and refused to see him later when he apologized. Later, when Iwanohime passed away, Nintoku married that half-sister.
At first glance, Iwanohime’s poetry to Nintoku feels like a case of love and devotion, but given the stormy relationship they had, my book on the Manyoshu strongly implies that these poems also betray a sense of clingy desperation too.
P.S. Apologies for the terrible pun in the title. 😋
2 As noted in this post, the rulers of old “Yamato” were not actually Emperors are retroactively called emperors in later history since it is a single, continuous lineage with the modern Imperial family.
Now that the year is winding down, I have had time to catch up on some personal projects, and that includes watching the anime Chihayafuru. In season one episode 12, I was surprised to see one of the characters recite a poem, not from the Hyakunin Isshu, but from the Manyoshu, so I wanted to share it here:
Original Manyogana1
Modern Japanese
Romanization
Translation
茜草指
あかねさす
Akanesasu
The crimson sunset
武良前野逝
紫野行き
Murasaki no yuki
sets these forbidden fields
標野行
標野行き
Shime no yuki
aglow.
野守者不見哉
野守は見ずや
Nomori wa mizuya
Wave not,
君之袖布流
君が袖振る
Kimi ga sodé furu
for the guards might find us.
Translation provided by Chihayafuru
This poem was composed by Princess Nukata (額田王, Nukata no Ōkimi), who was the wife of Emperor Tenji (who composed poem 1 in the Hyakunin Isshu). According to Chihayafuru, Princess Nukata had formerly been married to Tenji’s younger brother, Prince Oama (大海人皇子, Ōama no Miko). Although they had separated, Prince Oama snuck into the Emperor’s lands and waved to her. She was worried that they would be seen, hence the poem.
But, here’s where things get interesting: Princess Nukata recited this poem at a banquet attended by her husband, Tenji, and her ex-husband Prince Oama. What’s going on?
My book on the Manyoshu provides further context. Prince Oama and Emperor Tenji had a …. complicated relationship. Tenji was ambitious and wanted to strengthen his own family lineage, so he pressured Prince Oama to marry his daughter Princess Unonosarara better known as Empress Jito (poem 2 of the Hyakunin Isshu). Tenmu was thus forced to marry his own niece. Further, Tenji designated Prince Oama as his heir until much later when he finally gave birth to a son. Later, after Tenji’s passing, the son was made Emperor briefly, but Prince Oama quickly raised an army and marched on the capitol and became the next Emperor, Tenmu.
Nonetheless, this poem is brilliant because of the visual imagery, but also relatable feeling of unresolved feelings towards someone you still care about.
But as we shall see, the story doesn’t end there… stay tuned.
The Hyakunin Isshu 
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