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.
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?
You may have noticed the blog looks a bit different now. I have been struggling since the big blog refresh I started in December 2022 to get the appearance just right. Design isn’t my forte (I am a history nerd), so I’ve struggled with finding the right design for this blog. The original blog template on WordPress was so old (this blog was started in 2011) that it was no longer supported by WordPress, so I had to find something else that works. After dabbling with a few designs this past year, I’ve settled on current blog template as of last week and I am pretty happy with it. I hope you all like the new design. I liked it so much I applied the same template to the other blog.
Next news: I will be off to Japan again this summer … though only briefly. The family and I will visit the ancient capitol of Kyoto, just like last year,1 but the visit overall is much more limited and I probably won’t get to see many things related to this blog. I won’t have time to visit Oishi Tengudo again, or Kitano Tenmangu Shrine, but I do however plan to make a stop at Kurumazaki Shrine (mentioned here) to pick up one of those Sei Shonagon (poem 62, yo wo komete) charms. I may try to work in a few other tourist spots related to the Lady Murasaki drama given that it’s popular right now. I also expect to melt under 35C(95F)-degree weather with 75% humidity again like last year.2
I have a few more posts coming up between now and the trip (late July), and I hope you will find them interesting.
Finally, just as a fun bonus, I wanted to share a one-off poem by Lady Izumi (poem 56, arazan) that I recently heard on a different Japanese historical drama. Lady Izumi is one of my personal favorite figures in the Hyakunin Isshu, and this poem was first recorded in an Imperial anthology, the Goshūi Wakashū (後拾遺和歌集), poem 755:
It’s not clear from this poem which lover she is referring to, since she had a number of relationships over the years, nonetheless it is a very sincere, romantic poem and expresses her passionate style nicely.
Happy Summer!
P.S. speaking of history nerd, I’ve debated about making a Japan / history podcast (like many other fine podcasts I follow), but have struggled to find a good theme. I might simply do the “history of the hyakunin isshu” podcast someday. It’s a bit commitment though, so we shall see.
1 While we do visit Japan yearly so my kids can spend the summer with their grandparents and extended family, visits to Kyoto are rare because of cost, time, and so on. Our last visit was almost 15 years ago. It just so happens that we could make two trips in two years. After that, who knows when we will visit next?
2 Without going into too many details, the humidity, heat and fluid loss aggravated an old medical issue I have. A reminder to stay hydrated, and avoid junk food. I like getting older in many ways, except at times like this. 😋
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.
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.
Centuries before the Hyakunin Isshu was compiled and before official Imperial anthologies such as the Kokin Wakashū were promulgated there was the Manyoshu (万葉集) or “collection of ten thousand leaves”.
The Manyoshu is the oldest extant poetry collection, completed in 759 CE for the pious Emperor Shomu, and has much that resembles the Hyakunin Isshu, but also much that differs. I have been reading all about it in a fun book, which is in the same series as this one.
The Manyoshu was purportedly compiled by one Ōtomo no Yakamochi (大伴家持, 718-785), author of poem 6 (かささぎの) in the Hyakunin Isshu, but it’s also likely that he only compiled the collection toward the end, and that others were involved too.
Sadly, English translations are very few in number and usually quite expensive. Translating the Hyakunin Isshu hard enough, and this is even more true with a larger, more obscure volume like the Manyoshu.
Format
The Manyoshu is a collection of poems from a diverse set of sources, including members of the Imperial family and the aristocracy, but also from many provinces across the country and people from many walks of life. In fact, 40% of the poems in the collection are anonymous, with sources unknown. It also includes a few different styles of poetry:
265 chōka (長歌), long poems that have 5-7 syllable format over and over (e.g. 5-7-5-7-5-7…etc), until they end with a 5-7-7 syllable ending. These are often read aloud during public functions. Kakinomoto no Hitomaro (柿本 人麻呂, 653–655, or 707–710?), who wrote poem 3 in the Hyakunin Isshu, was considered the foremost poet of this format, but the longest was composed by one Takechi no Miko (高市皇子) at 149 verses.
4,207 tanka(短歌), short poems as opposed to the long poems above. The “tanka” style poems are usually 5-7-5-7-7 syllables long, and are what we see in later anthologies such as the Hyakunin Isshu. At the time, they were often included as prologues to long poems above. The Hyakunin Isshu is entirely tanka poetry, by the way.
One bussokusekika (a poem in the form 5-7-5-7-7-7; named for the poems inscribed on the Buddha’s footprints at Yakushi-ji temple in Nara),
Four kanshi (漢詩), Chinese-style poems often popular with male aristocrats that contrasted with more Japanese-style poetry.
22 Chinese prose passages.
Additionally, these poems were often grouped by certain subjects:
Sōmonka (相聞歌) – Originally poems to enquire how someone was doing, but gradually involved into couples expressing romantic feelings for one another.
Banka (挽歌) – Funerary poems honoring the deceased.
Zōka (雑歌) – Miscellaneous poems about many topics. Basically everything else that is not included into the other two topics.
Manyogana
One of the interesting aspects of the Manyoshu compared to the later Hyakunin Isshu, and other related anthologies, is the written script used. When people think of karuta or Hyakunin Isshu, they think of the hiragana script, but the hiragana script didn’t exist in the 8th century when texts such as the Manyoshu, the Kojiki or Nihon Shoki were composed. Such texts were composed purely using Chinese characters, but in a phonetic style native to Japanese later called Manyogana. Confusing? Let’s take a look.
The book above explains that in Manyogana, Chinese characters such as 安 and 以 are read phonetically in the Manyoshu as “a” and “i” respectively. Even modern Japanese people can easily intuit this.
Then you get more difficult examples such as 相 (saga) and 鴨 (kamo) in Manyogana. These are more obscure, but still possible for native Japanese speakers to understand them.
Then you get much harder examples such as 慍 (ikari) and 炊 (kashiki).
And finally you get even more difficult examples such as 五十 (also read as “i“) and 可愛 (just “e“). My wife, who has an extensive background in Japanese calligraphy, struggled with these.
In any case, words in the Manyoshu were all spelled out using Chinese characters like this, with no phonetic guide. You just had to know how to read or spell them, and as you can imagine this was a clunky system that only well-educated members of the aristocracy could make sense of. However in spite of its issues, this system of phonetic Chinese characters is how the later hiragana script gradually evolved.
Technique
When we compare the Manyoshu with the Hyakunin Isshu, there are many similarities. Both have tanka poetry (5-7-5-7-7 syllables), and cover a variety of topics. Further, both collections make good use of pillow words. In fact the same pillow words you see in the Hyakunin Isshu, such as hisakata no (poems 33 and 76), also show up centuries earlier in the Manyoshu:
Original Manyogana
Modern Japanese
Romanization
Rough Translation1
和何則能尓
我が園に
Waga sono ni
Perhaps
宇米能波奈知流
梅の花散る
Ume no hana chiru
the plum blossoms will
比佐可多能
ひさかたの
Hisakata no
scatter in my garden
阿米欲里由吉能
天より雪の
Ama yori yuki no
like falling snow
那何久流加母
流れ来るかも
Nagarekuru kamo
from the gleaming heavens
1 Amateur translation, apologies for any mistakes
This poem, incidentally was composed by Yakamochi’s father, Ōtomo no Tabito, when he organized a flower viewing party at his villa (book 5, poem 822).
Another commonality, the book explains, is the use of preface verses or jo-kotoba (序詞) where the first verses are just one long-winded comparison to whatever comes after. Poem 39 in the Hyakunin Isshu is a great example of this since the first 3 verses describe various grasses in order to make a point: that love is hard to hide.
The Manyoshu used this technique as well:
Original Manyogana
Modern Japanese
Romanization
Rough Translation
千鳥鳴
千鳥鳴く
Chidori naku
Just as the plovers’ cries
佐保乃河瀬之
佐保の川瀬の
Sabo no kawase no
along the wavelets
小浪
さざれ波
Sazare nami
of the Sabo river
止時毛無
やむ時もなし
Yamu toki mo nashi
never end,
吾戀者
我が恋ふらくは
A ga ko furaku wa
so too are my feelings of love.
Author: Ōtomo no Saka no Ue no Iratsume (大伴坂上郎女), book 4, poem 526
Historicity
Similar to the Hyakunin Isshu, the Manyoshu covers a fairly broad span of history, but much of it is now pretty obscure to historians. Even so, the poems in the Mayonshu can be grouped somewhat reliably into 4 specific eras:
first half of 5th century to 672 CE, starting with the reign of Emperor Nintoku onward.
672 to 710 CE
710 to 733 CE
733 to 759 CE
These periods mostly coincide with certain authors who contributed poetry, but also appear to have breaks due to historical events such as conflicts, temporary political upheavals, etc.
Differences with the Hyakunin Isshu
Although there are many commonalities between the Hyakunin Isshu and the Manyoshu, there are also differences. The most obvious is that the Manyoshu is a mixed-format collection, so it includes poetry other than Tanka style. Another difference is its broad sources for poetry, not just contributions by the elite aristocracy.
However, the book above notes that on a technical level there are other differences.
For example, the use of “pivot words” frequently used in the Hyakunin Isshu ( poems 16, 20, 27, and 88 for example) is a technique that is almost absent in the Manyoshu. Similarly, puns are also rarely used.
Legacy
As the largest and earliest extant poetry collection, it set the standard for Japanese poetry that people were still studying and emulating centuries later. Poems such as 22, 64, and 88 are all examples that use themes or poetic styles that closely resemble poems in the Manyoshu.
Further, compared to more polished anthologies that came later, the Manyoshu’s bucolic and unvarnished content has often been revered by later generations (including Japanese nationalists and Shinto revivalists in the 19th century) for getting to the “heart of Japanese culture”.
The book has been a great read, with amazing illustrations, and it helps show how the roots of the Hyakunin Isshu, including a few of its early authors, lay centuries earlier in the Manyoshu.
This poem was composed by Supernumerary Middle Counselor Sada’ie (権中納言定家, 1162-1241), better known as Fujiwara no Teika, or alternatively Fujiwara no Sadaie.1 He is considered one of the greatest poets in all of Japanese history. Teika was the compiler of this Hyakunin Isshu anthology and was also one of the major compilers of the officialShin Kokin Wakashū anthology. He was also the tutor for Shokushi Naishinno (poem 89), and it is thought that they had a romantic relationship too, though eventually they would be separated for good. In any case, his talent and his family’s influence were so great that the family virtually monopolized the Court poetry for centuries to come. But we’ll talk more about that shortly.
Fujiwara no Teika composed many of his own poems in his lifetime, and yet in compiling the Hyakunin Isshu, why did he select this particular poem for inclusion?
Like many of the later poems in the anthology (poem 90, 91 and 94), this poem alludes to a much older one. In Teika’s case, his poem alludes all the way back to the original anthology in Japan, the Manyoshu. Unlike later anthologies, the Manyoshu was a loose connection of poems, compiled 400+ years before Teika, and the particular poem he alludes to was written from the perspective of a man whose love was burning for a woman like the boiling of seaweed at Matsuo Bay. As you can see, Teika reversed the perspective to be that of a woman, while still alluding to the original. Additionally, Teika gives his poem a sadder tone than the poem from the Manyoshu, which came to be a hallmark of Teika’s style.
Incidentally, Matsuo Bay (written as Matsuho 松帆 here) is on the very northern tip of the famous Awaji Island in the Inland Sea. It is a scenic part of Awaji Island, and even has its own homepage. Awaji Island is also the scene for poem 78. The technique of extracting salt by boiling seaweed, or moshio (藻塩) is a time-honored tradition in Japan, and the seaweed gives the salt a special flavor. There’s a really good article about it here.
Fujiwara no Teika was a master of expressing yūgen (幽玄) or subtle, profound beauty in his poetry. This kind of subtle beauty centuries later came to influence other arts in time in Japan including Noh theater, tea-ceremony, etc.
But who was Fujiwara no Teika?
Teika, alternatively read as Sada’ie, was born from an illustrious family of poets though a minor branch of the powerful Fujiwara clan. His grandfather was Fujiwara no Toshitada and his father was Shunzei (poem 83). As a youth, Teika was a sickly boy but as the eldest son, he was obligated to carry on the family legacy. Unfortunately due to complex court politics, Teika was overlooked for much of his early life. However after a fortunate turn of events, he was noticed by Emperor Go-Toba (poem 99) who eventually commissioned him to compile two new anthologies, including the Shin Kokin Wakashū.
Over time though, Teika and Emperor Gotoba disagreed over poetry and compiling the anthology, leading to an increasingly distant and cold relationship. Teika found Gotoba overbearing, while Gotoba didn’t care for Teika’s free-wheeling style. At times, Teika and Gotoba openly criticized one another through poetry, or in their diary entries, and Gotoba even banished Teika for a year from the capitol. Teika meanwhile grew closer to Gotoba’s son who later became Emperor Juntoku (poem 100), while Gotoba became increasingly occupied with the martial arts, and with wresting power back from the samurai rulers in Kamakura (cf. poem 93)
Unfortunately for Emperor Gotoba, his meager forces were utterly routed by the Kamakura army in the short-lived Jōkyū War, and Gotoba was sent into exile (since it was sacrilege to kill the Emperor). Teika was not involved in the war, so he remained in Kyoto, and even reached the Imperial post of Middle Counselor. During this time, he also completed another Imperial anthology, the Shin Chokusen Wakashū, which shows more of his down-to-earth later style.
Finally though, his health declined from old age and from the famine at the time, so he retired and took Buddhist tonsure. It was during his final years in a Buddhist monastery that he was invited by his son’s father-in-law, Lord Utsunomiya no Yoritsuna, to his villa at Mount Ogura near Kyoto.
This stone marker at Jojakko-ji Temple in west Kyoto, near Arashiyama, marks where Teika had compiled the Hyakunin Isshu. More on that in this post. Photo taken in August 2024.
Lord Utsunomiya asked Teika to compile 100 poems in his own hand, so that they could be adorned on the silk screens of his villa, and these 100 eventually became the collection that we know today.
After Teika died at the age of 80, he was interred at Shokoku-ji Temple in Kyoto. The featured photo above shows his grave marker (Photo courtesy of Wikimedia Commons.). His grandchildren formed into three rival schools of Waka poetry that dominated the poetry scene for centuries:
Nijō School (nijō-ha 二条派) – the conservative and dominant school at first. Over time, a series of misfortunes eventually caused the school to decline and fade by the medieval period in Japanese history.
Reizei School (reizei-ke 冷泉家) – the more liberal branch, but a few generations later became the dominant branch. By the middle of the Muromachi Period, two branches had formed: the upper Reizei school (kamireizei 上冷泉家) and the lower Reizei school (shimoreizei 下冷泉家), which the upper school prevailing in the long-run. This school still maintains a large compound in Kyoto to this day.
Kyōgoku School (kyōgoku-ha 京極派) – this school died out in only a couple generations.
But more importantly, the legacy of Fujiwara no Teika is in his celebrated poetry anthologies, particularly this one. Even today, many kids in Japan enjoy playinguta-garuta in school competitions, and there are even Japanese anime about the Hyakunin Isshu. All of this is due to Teika’s talent and taste for selecting good poetry.
And now, this anthology is enjoyed by international readers like yourself. This blog was a originally a little experiment of mine, but I have enjoyed your readership, your comments, and of course your support. Thank you everyone from the bottom of my heart.
As this is the 100th and final poem of the Hyakunin Isshu, that is all I have to offer on this blog. I may take it up again sometime in the future and cover other anthologies like the Kokinshu and the Shinkokinshu, but for now, I decided that I prefer to leave it as it is.
1 The Chinese characters (kanji) for his given name (定家) have multiple readings possible, and both are seemingly correct. However, based on a cursory glance in Japanese, it seems that “Teika” is the more common reading.
The author of this poem is Nijōin no Sanuki (二条院讃岐, 1141 – 1217), also known as “Lady Sanuki of Nijōin”. Her real name isn’t known. It is known that she was a daughter of famous warrior/poet Minamoto no Yorimasa and served the retired Emperor Nijō, hence her name nijōin (Imperial House of Nijō). The “Sanuki” part comes from Sanuki Province where her father was once posted on assignment.
Sanuki, like Sokushi, was a leading female poet of her day, and this poem helps illustrate why. As we discussed recently in poem 90, the image of sleeves wet with tears was a popular poetic technique used at the time for unrequited love (again, see poems 42, 65, and 72) but the idea of such sleeves being hidden like a submerged rock offshore was a novel, new way of expressing this.
Indeed, Sanuki became so famous for this verse, she herself was often referred to as oki no ishi no Sanuki (沖の石の讃岐) by later poets and authors. It was pretty rare for a poet to receive such a name for a famous verse they composed but a few other examples exist. Another female poet named kunaikyō (宮内卿) was called wakakusa no kunaikyō (若草の宮内卿) because of a famous verse she wrote regarding young grass (wakakusa, 若草) from the Shin Kokin Wakashū:
Japanese
Romanization
Translation
薄く濃き
Usuku koki
Light and dark:
野辺のみどりの
Nobe no midori no
the green of the field’s
若草の
Wakakusa no
young herbs
あとまで見ゆる
Ato made miyuru
distinct in
雪のむら消え
Yuki no muragie
patches of fading snow.
Translation source unknown
Pretty awesome when you can make a name for yourself that way.
The Hyakunin Isshu 
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