The author of the poem, Minamoto no Kanemasa (源兼昌, dates unknown) was a frequent participant in poetry contests of the day, but overall very little is known about him, and it doesn’t appear he had any poetry collections of his own.
The first time I read this poem, in Japanese, I misunderstood the phrase chidori (千鳥) to literally mean 1,000 birds (in other words, a lot of birds). But in fact, chidori refers specifically to plover birds. The featured photo above shows a Western Snowy Plover bird on Morro Strand State Beach, Morro Bay, CA, “Mike” Michael L. Baird, CC BY 2.0, via Wikimedia Commons.
In Japanese poetry plover represented winter, and for other seasons, other birds typically were frequently used:
The location, Awaji Island, is a well known part of Japan’s inland sea, and is culturally significant since antiquity. Though at this time in history, it felt a bit remote from the capitol.
Professor Mostow notes that this poem uses some strange grammar though. For example nezamenu would normally mean to not wake up, but in this context means “have they awakened” instead. Also, he notes that this poem apparently alludes to the Tales of Genji, specifically the “Suma” chapter, when the prince Genji was in exile.
All told, this poem paints a sad, somber picture that fits well with wintry days.
The author of this poem is Taikenmon-in no Horikawa (待賢門院堀川, dates unknown), or “Lady Horikawa of the household of Empress Taiken”. Empress Taiken was the consort to Emperor Toba, and was the mother of Emperor Sutoku (poem 77) who was later exiled.
The use of imagery of “disheveled hair” was a common device often used by women, or writing poetry about women, to express feelings of frustration or anxiety.
Aswe’veseenbefore, morning-after poems were very popular at this time in Japan as many of the aristocracy of the Heian Court would have love trysts between each other. Often the first meeting was the morning important, not surprisingly. It set the tone for the rest of the relationship, so a meeting like this was often celebrated in poetry.
Of course, there was another side to these trysts in the Heian Period too.
P.S. Featured photo is Gypsy in Reflection, by Gustave Courbet, Public domain, via Wikimedia Commons
This poem was composed by the Saigyō Hōshi (西行法師, 1118 – 1190), or “Dharma Master Saigyō” a famous Buddhist monk and poet from the era. Saigyo’s story is interesting in of itself, and I blogged more about it on the other blog, including additional poetry, but let me post a summary here.
However, Norikiyo grew disillusioned with the nasty politics and infighting in the Court, and abruptly decided to throw it all away. He left behind his career, his wife and children, and became a wandering mendicant. He took on the Buddhist name Saigyo (西行) and stayed at the famous mountain-monastery of Koyasan for monastic training. Later, he returned to the capitol to find everything had changed. The Hogen Rebellion had destroyed much of the capitol, Emperor Sutoku was exiled (having lost), and Kiyomori ruled as a warlord. A few years later, Kiyomori and the entire Heike clan were utterly destroyed in the famous Genpei War, which also spelled the end of the historical Heian Period. What might have happened had Norikiyo stayed and followed his career, rather than leave the capitol?
In any case, with the new samurai government at Kamakura (thus, the Kamakura Period of Japanese history), things settled down in Japan and Saigyo traveled around. He devoted his life to writing poetry, lamenting the loss of his former patrons, admiring the beautiful nature in Japan, and about life in general. He finally settled down in the outskirts of Osaka, and passed away at the age of 73. It was said that when he passed away, the cherry blossoms were in full bloom and that he died on the same day that Shakyamuni Buddha died (February 15th according to solar calendar).
He was also friends with Shunzei (poem 83), according to Professor Mostow.
Anyhow, this poem is, according to Professor Mostow, possibly inspired by a poem by famous Chinese poet Bo Juyi centuries earlier, and is supposed the express the feelings of a resentful lover. Is the moon making him/her tearful? Maybe, maybe not, but gazing up at the moon brings them such sadness anyway.
Saigyo’s talent with poetry and his interesting life story have certainly helped him earn a place in the Hyakunin Isshu, but also inspired many later poets such as Basho and others. Basho the Haiku master, in his travels, went to visit places frequented by Saigyo among others.
This poem was composed by Fujiwara no Kiyosuke Ason (藤原清輔朝臣, 1104 – 1177), “Sir Fujiwara no Kiyosuke”, who was the second son of Fujiwara no Akisuke (poem 79). Kiyosuke’s grandfather, Fujiwara no Akisué (藤原顕季) had founded the Rokujo School of poetry, and passed it along to Akisuke. However, there is evidence that Akisuke and his son Kiyosuke got along poorly. Real poorly.
The Rokujo School published an Imperially-sponsored anthology titled the Shikashiyū (詞花集), Kiyosuke was snubbed and not a single poem of his was included. Ouch. Further, in Kiyosuke’s career ambitions, Akisuke went out of his way to hinder his son finding lucrative positions in the Imperial Court. Thus, Kiyosuke never succeeded in the Court bureaucracy.
Ironically, Professor Mostow states that after his father Akisuke died, Kiyosuke inherited his position as head of the Rokujo School anyway. From here, he officiated poetry contests, and the Rokujo School took in success, so much so that it eventually developed a rivalry with Fujiwara no Shunzei (poem 83). Sadly, his efforts to publish another anthology, the Shokushikashu (続詞花集) dried up after Emperor Nijo died.
At heart, this poem is about nostalgia, how bitter things now somehow soften over time. It is thought that Kiyosuke may have recited this poem around the age of 60, and was thus looking back. Given his harsh upbringing, you can probably imagine why. But even the modern reader can think of a bitter time in their life, but when looking back nostalgia makes it seem sweeter than it was at the time. It’s also a reminder that if we are going through a hard time now, it won’t always be that way in the future.
Professor Mostow points out that some commentators think this may have, more concretely, alluded to the decline of the times, and in particular the disastrous Hōgen Rebellion, mentioned also in poem 76 and poem 77, and poem 86. That same rebellion ultimately began the rapid decline of the aristocratic Heian Period, epitomized in poem 100.
But even if that were true, it’s interesting how we tend to look back on this era with a kind of bitter-sweet nostalgia, far removed from the pain and destruction caused at the time.
Edit: Revamped this page in January 2023 with a lot more information, updated Google Maps links and so on.
Edit 2: Revamped again in August 2023 with even more information.
One of the best ways to appreciate and celebrate the Hyakunin Isshu anthology (besides reading and reciting the poetry) is to play the traditional card game called karuta. I’ve written about it here, here and here before, but for a long time I never owned a set. My wife, who is Japanese, owns a set from when she was young, complete with a cassette tape for reciting the poems, but I wanted to own my own set while respecting her property.
It turns out that purchasing a karuta set can be reallyeasy or somewhat hard, depending on whether you are in Japan or overseas. In Japan, they are easy to find in any local bookstore because kids in Japan often grow up learning the anthology and playing games (even if they lose interest later).
The good news is that you can get a set for relatively cheap (shipping might be pricey though) and there are plenty of good choices. A basic set, minus shipping, is about ¥1800 or $15 USD at current rates, while fancier sets get much more expensive.
This guide is to help folks who are interested in owning a karuta set navigate their options. If you are living outside of Japan, feel free to jump down to the “Purchasing Online” section.
In Tokyo
A while back, I found a good article on the Japan Times about a famous karuta store in Tokyo that has been selling karuta cards for 90 years named Okuno Karuta (奥野カルタ). This is the premiere place to go if you are in Tokyo, particularly in the Chiyoda Ward. You can find it here (Google Maps link):
According to their website they are:
3-min walk from Tokyo Metro Jimbocho Station, A4 exit. This is usually done using the Hanzomon train line.
The Jinbocho Station is the nearest one, and speaking from limited experience the Hanzomon Line is pretty easy to find and covers much of Tokyo.
I did contact Okuno Karuta about ordering online, and while they do have an online store, it usually only ships from within Japan. Your best bet is to simply visit the store in person, or plan to purchase online and ship to some place in Japan you can then pickup.
In Kyoto
If you are closer to the western half of Japan, or traveling through the Kyoto Area, there’s many great karuta shops to visit since it is essentially the home of the Hyakunin Isshu anthology.
My personal favorite is Tengudo (大石天狗堂), founded in 1800. This is the company that made the first karuta set that I purchased, and are located in the Fushimi ward of Kyoto (Google Maps link):
According to their website, the easiest ways to get there by train are:
Similar to Okuno Karuta, you can also order online, but it ships only within Japan.
Local Bookstores in Japan
Further, if you are in Japan, but not near Tokyo or Kyoto (as was my case in December 2022), you can also just visit any local bookstore and find karuta sets there. The selection can be more limited than a dedicated store. The first shop I went to had only one set, but Kinokuniya had several to choose from.
This is a nice middle-ground between big online sites like Amazon or Rakuten, and the smaller but hard to access mom-and-pop stores.
However, again, the shipping options will almost always be limited to Japan only.
Purchasing Online
And finally we come to the last, but most likely option: purchasing online.
If you can’t afford to go to Japan, and just want to get a set of Hyakunin Isshu cards for yourself, there are options for purchasing online.
If you only plan to play, and not read the cards, Tengu-do provides a minimal, tournament-standard set of torifuda cards, available on Amazon JP and Amazon US.1 English is available on Amazon JP.
The torifuda set from Tengu-do. It is a basic, no-nonsense set but still very nice.
But if you’re looking for a full set, maybe with a CD other things, Seattle Karuta Club has other helpful recommendations.
In some countries, Kinokuniya Bookstore has international online stores as well (example link for the USA) which can also ship karuta sets. The USA store can ship to Canada, USA and Mexico for example.
Finally, another option is proxy-buying. This is a niche option that lets you buy Japanese goods from smaller shops like Okuno Karuta or Tengudo, while still being accessible overseas. Japan Rabbit (formerly White Rabbit Express) is one such choice, Rakuten Global Express is another. I haven’t personally use either one, however.
If you go the Rakuten route, they usually have some English translations available, but it’s probably simplest to search for 百人一首カルタ to get accurate results, and then go from there.
Good luck and happy card hunting!
1 These Amazon links are “associate” links, so any purchases made through them give me a small amount of credit in the future.
The author of this poem has the rather grandiose name of Hosshōji Nyūdō Saki no Kanpaku Daijōdaijin (法性寺入道前関白太政大臣, 1097 – 1164), which means “Buddhist novice of Hosshoji Temple, and former Chief Adviser to the Emperor, and Chancellor of the Realm”. His personal name was Fujiwara no Tadamichi. Tadamichi was the recipient of Mototoshi’s complaint in poem 75, but my new book implies that Tadamichi was no saint.
The role of chief adviser (kanpaku 関白), was an increasingly common ploy in the 10th and 11th centuries used by members of the Fujiwara clan to control the Emperor. The cycle was to have the reigning emperor marry a daughter of a particular Fujiwara sub-clan. If an imperial heir was born, the head of that sub-clan of the Fujiwara would insinuate themselves as the regent (sesshō, 摂政) for the new child heir, while pushing out the old emperor using one excuse or another to justify their retirement. We see this very clearly in the Diary of Lady Murasaki, but also the struggle that affected Sadayori (poem 64) and Sei Shonagon (poem 62). Emperor Sanjō (poem 69) was one such emperor who was pushed out by his regent so his heir could take over early (with the Regent the power behind the throne).
Further, once the child heir is old enough to take the throne as emperor, the regent could seamlessly transition to chief adviser (kanpaku). With this process, the Fujiwara practically had a lock on the Imperial family, with few emperors able to resist this cycle.
Tadamichi as regent, was thus a literal king-maker, but was embroiled in a nasty succession dispute between the future Emperor Go-Shirakawa and the retired Emperor Sutoku (poem 77). This dispute spiraled out of control, resulting in the disastrous Hōgen Rebellion of 1156. The Rebellion in turn started the rapid decline of the Heian Court aristocracy, and the eventual rise of a series of samurai(not nobility)-led, military regimes until 1868. Saigyō Hōshi (poem 86) was devoted to Emperor Sutoku even after he took tonsure, and lamented the Emperor’s passing as a result of his failed rebellion.
The poem itself uses a lot of vivid imagery and pillow words that we’ve seen in other poems. For example the phrase, hisakata no was also found in poem 33. Other notable phrases:
wata no hara – field of cotton (the sky)
okitsu shiranami – the white waves offshore
It’s an interesting image to imagine: somewhere offshore where the clouds and the white waves blend together in the horizon.
Professor Mostow notes that this poem also has a possible political interpretation by some medieval commentators, because of the allusion “clouds” to “heaven” in the Confucian sense. In such interpretations, it implies that the author is confused by the affairs of the state. However, this interpretation is not shared by other commentators who believe this poem is literal, not allegorical.
The author is Sakyō Dayū Akisuke (左京大夫顕輔, 1090 – 1155), or “Grand Master of the West Akisuke”. His personal was Fujiwara no Akisuké, and he served as the administrator of the western “left” half of the capitol of Kyoto. In those days, the capitol was modeled off of the Chinese capitol of Chang-an of the illustrious Tang Dynasty, and was divided into a “western” and “eastern” half with an administrator for each one.
Additionally, Professor Mostow explains that Akisuke was the father of Kiyosuke (poem 84) with whom he had a poor relationship. Akisuke also inherited the Rokujō School of poetry in opposition to Shunzei (poem 83)’s Miko-Hidariké (御子左家) School. Although Akisuke was the rival of the father of Fujiwara no Teika (poem 97), the compiler of the Hyakunin Isshu, Teika apparently didn’t mind including his poems in the anthology anyway. Being a pre-eminent poet, Emperor Sutoku (poem 77) also commissioned him to compile a new anthology, the Shika Wakashū.
The poem itself is somewhat unusual in the Hyakunin Isshu, because the poem is completely straightforward. The poem literally paints a wonderful image of a hazy autumn moon-lit night, with no additional allusions. When you compare otherpoemsintheHyakunin Isshuabout the moon, usually they have some additional meaning. This poem is unusually genuine and still well-composed.
So, as you enjoy the Harvest Moon this evening, take a moment to enjoy this poem if you can. If you’re in Japan, happy o-Tsukimi!
The author of the poem, Fujiwara no Mototoshi (藤原基俊, 1060 – 1142), was a leading poet of the famous Insei Period of Japanese history, along with his contemporary Toshiyori (poem 74), but according to my new book, was never particularly successful as a bureaucrat.
According to both Professor Mostow and my new book, this poem was written as a complaint to the former Chancellor and Buddhist lay-novice (upasaka) named Tadamichi, the same man who composed poem 76.
Mototoshi’s complaint is that his son, better known as Bishop Kōkaku of Kofukuji Temple, wanted to preside over the annual lecture on the Vimalakirti Sutra, an important Buddhist text. This occasion was known as the yuima-e (維摩会) and was rather prestigious within the bureaucratic monastic system of the time. Being the chosen lecturer would have fast-tracked Mototoshi’s son to other opportunities. In spite of Tadamichi’s promises to help, year after year Mototoshi’s son was passed up, and so Mototoshi sent this poem as a complaint.
The term sasemo is another way of saying sashimo, which in modern Japanese is the yomogi (ヨモギ) plant. In English, this is better known as the Japanese mugwort, pictured above. We saw the use of mugwort as well back in poem 51, though for a very different reason. The featured photo above shows Japanese Mugwort (yomogi, ヨモギ) leaves, photo by Sphl, CC BY-SA 3.0, via Wikimedia Commons.
Sasemo plants inspired an earlier, more Buddhist poem, which Mototoshi alludes to:
This was attributed to Kannon, the Buddhist deity (bodhisattva) of compassion who promised to rescue all beings in the world. This poem was in the Shinkokin wakashū, number 1917.
Thanks to Professor Mostow for the double-translation this week. If you haven’t already, definitely show him some love and check out his excellent translations. 🙂
The poet, Dainagon Tsunenobu (大納言経信, 1016 – 1097) or “Major Counselor Tsunenobu”, also known as Minamoto no Tsunenobu, had a number of poets in his family. He was the father of Toshiyori (poem 74) and grandfather of Shun’e (poem 85), contributed a number of poems to the official anthologies and had a rival or two in his time.
Rice fields in Chiba prefecture, taken while aboard a moving train in 2019 by author
According to Mostow, this poem was composed by Tsunenobu when he was visiting the villa of his friend, Minamoto no Morokata. Unlike other poems of the era which are often composed for poetry contests, apparently he composed this while watching the view from the villa. The villa in question was in a place called Umezu (梅津), on the outskirts of Kyoto the capital. Nowadays, you can find Umezu within the suburbs of Kyoto now, but it’s interesting to imagine an earlier time when it was a country villa surrounded by rice fields, and to imagine a cold autumn wind blowing across them.
This poem catches the spirit of autumn better than many others, I feel. 🙂
The author, Nōin Hōshi (能因法師, 988 – ?) or “Dharma Master Nōin” was originally Tachibana no Nagayasu until the age of 26 when he took tonsure. From there, he traveled the provinces, composing poetry and contributed to various anthologies at the time. Because he was not tied to a politically prominent temple, he had more freedom than other monks in the Capitol to roam the countryside and write in his travels. My new book points out that he was eventually emulated by Saigyō Hōshi (poem 86) generations later.
Professor Mostow notes that this poem is unusual because it’s very straightforward with no hidden wordplay or anything. It’s just a nice, solid poem about Autumn.
As for the geography, Mt. Mimuro (三室山, mimuroyama) is in Nara Prefecture in Ikoma-gun, Ikaruga Village, while the famous Tatsuta-gawa River (竜田川) flows beside it. It was said in the old days that the gods would dwell at the mountain from time to time. In fact, you might recall hearing this river mentioned before all the way back in Poem 17. 😉
Mt Mimuro (Mimuroyama) and the Tatsuta-gawa River, photo by Kansai explorer, CC BY 3.0, via Wikimedia Commons
In those days, travel to places like Mimuro Mountain were generally hard to do for people, even the nobility. A day-hike into the mountains to see such a river was an expensive and exhausting affair as one had to bring their retinue, plan for food and supplies, etc.
So, many poems in the Hyakunin Isshu allowed contemporary people in those days to at least imagine what it would be like to visit even if they couldn’t afford to actually see it in person. Like a poetic “guidebook” in a sense. This is what makes poems like Nōin Hōshi’s so impactful, and why his travel writings were valued so highly: not only could he describe a place he had visited, but do skillfully using poetic verse. It helped to stir the imagination, just as it does for people living outside Japan today. 😏
P.S. For some reason, the last part of the Hyakunin Isshu has a lot of poems about Autumn in particular, so expect to see these soon amidst other things.
The Hyakunin Isshu 
