Poet Ariwara no Narihira, who wrote poem 17 (ちは) in the Hyakunin Isshu, and quite possibly the best poem on cherry blossoms ever, is also the model for the protagonist of the Ise Stories. In it, he delivers yet another banger of a cherry blossom poem. This is episode 29 of the Ise Stories:
Back then, when called to attend the cherry-blossom jubilee held at the reside of the Heir Apparent‘s mother [he recited the following]:
This is a really good cherry blossom poem, but Professors Mostow and Tyler explain that there is more to the story too. The heir apparent, later the ill-fated Emperor Yozei (poem 13, つく) in the Hyakunin Isshu, had a mother named Fujiwara no Takaiko. And within the Ise Stories, episode 6, there is a famous anecdote where:
Back then there was this man. Year after year he courted a lady he was unlikely ever to win, until at last he managed to abduct her under cover of darkness.
Translation by Mostow and Tyler
Later, the pair take cover in a storehouse during a bad rainstorm, but while he stood guard outside, a demon came and swallowed her, losing her forever. The episode then explains that the demon was in fact Takaiko’s brothers who brought her back to the capitol. Thus, it’s strongly implied in the story that Narihira and Takaiko briefly eloped before she was found by her family and brought home.
The poem above was composed after Takaiko was already wed to Emperor Seiwa and had given birth to a son, Yozei. It’s not hard to imagine that Narihira maybe still had feelings for Takaiko, though modern scholarship seems to reject this, and suggest it is simply polite felicitations.
Was this a hidden love poem, or a really colorful description of cherry blossoms? Who knows?
The compiler of the Manyoshu poetry anthology, Ōtomo no Yakamochi (大伴家持, 718 – 785), who also composed poem 6(かさ) in the Hyakunin Isshu, had a girlfriend named Kasa no Iratsumé (笠女郎, sometimes called “Lady Kasa” in English ) who was very devoted to him. She was second only to Yakamochi’s stepmother1 in her poetic contributions to the Manyoshu, and wrote many lovely poems to Yakamochi, including this one:
Rough translation by me, apologies for any mistakes
This is a nice, touching poem about someone who misses her far away lover. Not unusual in the Manyoshu, because even a journey to a neighboring province was a lengthy affair, let alone a remote one.
So, why do I highlight this poem when Kasa no Iratsume contributed many others?
In the late 19th and early 20th centuries was a Japanese author named Mori Ōgai (森 鷗外, 1862 – 1922), who during Japan’s rapid modernization period, spent some time in Germany learning Western medicine. Ogai was also an excellent writer, and wrote several stories, including a famous short story Maihime (舞姫, “The Dancing Girl”) about a young German woman who fell in love with a Japanese man studying there. After the man returns to Japan, the German woman (now pregnant) pines for him, and eventually meets a tragic end even as he prepares to return to Japan. The story is, according to Ogai, not autobiographical, but taken from anecdotes of other Japanese students studying abroad.
What’s interesting is that Ogai was definitely fascinated by Iratsume’s poem and even borrowed the obscure term 面影 (omokagé) in the title of the work Omokagé (於母影): a collection of Western poems translated into Japanese by Ogai and other members of the Shinseisha Society (新声社) in 1889. The related story of a young woman pining for the one she loves in a remote place is not hard to miss either in Dancing Girl, so perhaps that was a source of inspiration.
Nonetheless, it’s amazing how one writer or poet can inspire another 1,000+ years later.
… then again, I suppose that’s how this blog got started. 😏
1 Yakamochi’s birth mother died when Yakamochi was very young, and so he was raised by his stepmother, Ōtomo no Saka no Ue no Iratsume (大伴坂上郎女). She herself was on her third marriage after her previous two husbands both died. This underscores how short the average lifespan was in those days, even for the wealthy, as a woman in her 20’s or 30’s might be on her third marriage by then. Something almost unthinkable in the 21st century. Lady Izumi (poem Poem 56 of the Hyakunin Isshu あらざらん) had a similar string of bad luck.
Fall is approaching, and it reminds us of fall leaves, and famous poems of the Hyakunin Isshu such as the chihaya poem (poem 17) among others….
Throughout the blog, I’ve tended to focus on the lady authors and poets because it’s so rare to see women get credit for writing in the pre-modern era. There was an explosion of feminine talent in the Heian Period (8th – 12th century) that was not repeated until modern era in Japan, and it’s been fascinating.
However today, I wanted to highlight one particular text called the Ise Monogatari (伊勢物語). Our illustrious Dr. Joshua Mostow who has contributed much to this blog translates the title as the “Ise Stories” in his translation, but other translations call it the Tales of Ise. You can decide which one you prefer. Since Dr Mostow is a cool guy, and done much for the field, I will use his translated title. For this post, I am using the translation by Dr Mostow and Dr Royall Tyler.
Unfortunately, we still don’t know who the actual author of the Ise Stories was. In fact, Professor Mostow explains that the prevailing theory is that the Tales was composed over decades, in stages, possibly by different authors. Unlike the later Tales of Genji, or the Gossamer Years, or the Pillow Book, which were all clearly composed by one author, the Tales of Ise has a murkier development.
Anyhow, the Ise Stories is not a modern story, with narrative arc, nor does it have an ending. Instead, the Ise Stories are a series of short anecdotes about an anonymous prince who leaves the capitol of Heian (modern day Kyoto), and journeys east to the hinterlands for a time. In fact, you could probably call the Ise Stories the “Anecdotes of Ise With Lots of Poetry Thrown In”. The later work, the Tales of Genji, has a similar format.
The hero of the story, a young, charming prince who travels east with his entourage and has a few love trysts along the way, is a kind of idealized Heian-period aristocrat: a gentleman with an excellent pedigree, and talent for poetry to boot. Each story includes at least one waka poem, the same kind used in the Hyakunin Isshu, often more. Why so much poetry? Many times these were used as a back-and-forth way of greeting someone from afar, or saying “hello” to a promising lady, so a chapter might have multiple poems in the form of dialogue.
For example, section 14 deals with a tryst between our protagonist and a provincial lady in remote Michinoku province (a place also mentioned in poem 14 of the Hyakunin Isshu). She writes to him the following poem:1
Original text
Japanese romanization
Translation
なかなかに
Naka-naka ni
So if, after all,
恋に死なずは
Koi ni shizanu wa
I am not to die of love,
桑子にぞ
Kuhako ni zo
I know just the thing;
なるべかりける
Narubekarikeru
I should have been a silkworm,
玉の緒ばかり
Tama no wo bakari
for that little life’s short span.
Our protagonist was not impressed by her, as her poem “reeked of the country[side]”, but slept with her anyway. Classy guy.
Then, he left before dawn and she lamented:
Original text
Japanese romanization
Translation
夜も明けば
Yo mo akeba
Come dawn’s early light
きつにはめなで
Kitsu ni hamenade
oh yes, in the tank you go,
くたかけの
Kutakake no
you obnoxious bird,
まだきに鳴きて
Madaki ni nakite
to learn to cock-a-doodle
せなをやりつる
Sena wo yaritsuru
my darling away too soon.
The protagonist then remarked he was going to the capitol, but left behind a “charming” poem:
Original text
Japanese romanization
Translation
栗原の
Kurihara no
If the Aneha
あねはの松の
Aneha no matsu no
Pine here at Kurihara
人ならば
Hito naraba
only were human
都のつとに
Miyako no tsuto ni
“Come along with me,” I’d say,
いざといはましを
Iza to iwamashi wo
“you’re my gift to the City.”
According to the Ise Stories, she was much impressed and thought he was in love with her, but the commentaries suggest he was being condescending by implying that “if only she were worthy of Courtly life at the capitol”. Damn.
But what’s the source for all this poetry and narrative?
The origins of the Ise Stories is somewhat of a mystery, but there is strong evidence that the central character was heavily based upon a real aristocrat named Ariwara no Narihira (825 – 880), the same man who composed the aforementioned poem 17 (ちはやふる), and also composed what’s considered the greatest poem about cherry blossoms ever composed. Some of his poems in the old Kokin Wakashu imperial anthology were re-used in the Ise Stories as well.
In addition to his poetic genius, the real life Narihira was a playboy and had many relationships, even by the standards of Heian-period aristocracy. Sometimes this got him into trouble. The Ise Stories begins with an explanation that the anonymous prince left the capitol after having an affair with Emperor Seiwa’s consort. Coincidence? I think not. 🤔
Nonetheless, the Ise Stories is a whimsical and irreverent look at Heian Period culture and how the aristocracy interacted with people in the provinces, even when it was somewhat condescending. Court culture was unlike anything else in Japan at the time, and this reveals some interesting things that are not always conveyed in other works of the time.
1 Mostow and Tyler explain that the young woman’s poem was a re-working of an older poem from the Manyoshu, poem 3086:
As I noted in my other blog, I am taking time off the rest of the year to rest, and catch up on nerd projects.
One last post before end of the year: I forgot to share this previously, but during the trip to Japan this summer, and on the same day we both visited the shrine to Sei Shonagon, and the site where the Hyakunin Isshu was compiled, I made one more stop: Nonomiya Shrine. The official website is here (English).
Nonomiya Shrine (nonomiya-jinja, 野宮神社) is a Shinto shrine that has been around since antiquity in west Kyoto within the bamboo forests. You can see it here on Google Maps:
While it is not related to the Hyakunin Isshu, it is related to Lady Murasaki (poem 57, め), whom I wrote about here. You see, one of the most iconic chapters of the Tales of Genji, Lady Murasaki’s famous novel, the “Heartvine” (Aoi, 葵) takes place at Nonomiya Shrine. Here, Genji the protagonist meets Lady Aoi his future wife. So, Nonomiya Shrine is associated with romance and falling in love, or meeting one’s soulmate, and since it was already a fixture in Kyoto culture at the time, Lady Murasaki used it as the backdrop for this romantic encounter.
Even now, many people (both Japanese and tourists) come here to pray for love, and many of the omamori charms are focused on romance too. It’s nestled within the famous bamboo forests in the area:
I stumbled upon it by accident after leaving the aforementioned site where the Hyakunin Isshu site was compiled. My family was waiting for me, it was late in the day, and it was very hot and humid, so I didn’t stay very long, but I wanted to at least grab a few photos, and get an omamori charm.1
Anyhow, that’s it for the blog for 2024.
I wanted to end this post by saying thank you to readers. The blog has been been around since 2011 (with some major gaps in content), and with plenty of twists and turns, but I am happy to see that people are still actively reading it, and discovering the Hyakunin Isshu, Heian-period culture, and Japanese poetry overall.
See you all next year!
P.S. Not far away was an exhibit for the historical drama about Lady Murasaki as well.
1 Most of the charms are for en-musubi (縁結び), meaning finding a partner in life, but since I am already happily married, I looked for something general. I picked up a omamori for kai-un (開運), meaning “good luck”, but it showed the famous scene from the Tales of Genji where Genji and Lady Aoi meet at Nonomiya Shrine. I wish I remembered to take a photo sooner, but I already gave it to someone, and have no photos to show. 🤦🏼♂️
You can see it on the website here, the charm on the upper-right corner.
At last, the historical drama about Lady Murasaki has come to an end this week, and sadly I watched the last episode. The drama was slower than other past Taiga Drama on NHK, but it was a lovely tribute to an amazing woman. Lady Murasaki, author of the Tales of Genji, her eponymous diary, and a famous poem in the Hyakunin Isshu left a lasting mark on Japanese culture and world literature.
The concluding title card for the historical drama: hikaru kimi é (光る君へ, “to you, my radiant one”).
Details of Lady Murasaki’s final years are pretty sketchy, but it seems that she eventually retired from service in Fujiwara no Michinaga’s household, and gradually took up travel. She was born in the year 973, but some scholars believe she may have passed away in 1014 at the age of 41. Others believe she may have lived to the year 1025 (age 52). For the premodern era, this is a pretty typical lifespan for many people, including nobility. Still, as someone who’s older than her, it’s hard to imagine her dying so young.1
With her passing, a couple attempts were made to preserve and edit her magnum opus. Fujiwara no Teika (poem 97, こぬ) who compiled the Hyakunin Isshu itself undertook one of these efforts, creating the Aobyōshibon (青表紙本) edition. At this time in Japan, manuscripts had to be hand-copied, and so across several centuries, limited efforts were made to hand-copy works from Lady Murasaki’s time, which helped preserve them across the medieval period, but were inaccessible to general audiences.
A woodblock print of Lady Murasaki from 1889 made by Yoshitoshi, Public domain, via Wikimedia Commons
By the Edo Period, 17th century, block printing and a flourishing of “book culture” greatly expanded the audience of the Tales of Genji, and Lady Murasaki enjoyed a surge in popularity, rescued from obscurity, and even today is high revered. Lady Murasaki is to Japanese culture what Shakespeare is to the English-speaking world. The historical drama that concluded is arguably an extension of this revival.
Finally, I wanted to explore the relationship between Lady Murasaki and her patron, Fujiwara no Michinaga. In the historical drama, they shared a relationship since childhood (historically improbable), and even had a love child together even though they never married. Political marriages were common among the nobilty at the time, as was infidelity, and so Fujiwara no Michinaga having an official marriage yet carrying a number of romantic trysts would not be surprising. The Hyakunin Isshu poetry is rife with such romances.
And the real, historical relationship between Lady Murasaki and Michinaga is unclear. It’s widely believed that the main character of the Tales of Genji was patterned from Michinaga. Her diary also shows her flirting with Michinaga somewhat. And yet, it’s also implied that she fended off his romantic advances too. The fact that she worked under him, the most powerful political figure in Japan at the time, made their relationship even more complicated. If her daughter, Daini no Sanmi (poem 58 of the Hyakunin Isshu, ありま) was indeed Michinaga’s, as the drama depicts, it may help explain how she was brought into the court inner circle too, alongside her mother. And yet, evidence one way or another is pretty limited, so one can only speculate.
Lady Murasaki herself was woman perpetually out of place in the courtly life of the late Heian Period. Her diary shows her frequently introverted, melancholy, out of place, and exhausted by the back-biting of other women, or the rowdiness of drunk men. Her father had lamented that in spite of her literary talents, her being born a woman in that era meant her talents would go to waste. Such was the period of the time.
One can easily imagine a brilliant woman like Lady Murasaki in modern times sitting in cafe, writing a romance novel, feeling alone, yet observing the world around her in a way that is beautiful and poetic, pouring her heart into her work. What Lady Murasaki conveyed through her writing was something can we can appreciate even today, eleven centuries later.
Out of all the literature of the time, nothing quite epitomizes the sentiments and milieu of the Heian Period, an era now lost to time, yet strangely familiar, quite like Lady Murasaki did.
P.S. The drama definitely took some historical liberties for the sake of drama, but I have to admit that it did a nice job of showing Lady Murasaki as a complex person, and all the different challenges she had to deal with. The last several episodes were really touching and brought tied up things nicely. I might try to purchase the drama next year if I can, but it’s quite expensive ($300-$500 USD), so time will tell.
1 As someone who also spent some time in the ER earlier this year with emergency surgery, I can imagine that I too would have likely died in my 40’s without modern medical care. Modern people often forget how brutal and short life was for the average person before medical science, and how many people never lived past 50, or did so with crippling conditions.
Back to our regularly scheduled program, I wanted to share a neat little poem, composed by none other than Princess Nukata using the theme of Autumn and of a night tryst:
Original Manyogana
Modern Japanese
Romanization
Rough Translation
君待跡
君待つと
Kimi matsu to
As I wait for you
吾戀居者
我が恋ひをれば
A ga koi oreba
in anticipation
我屋戸乃
我が宿戸の
A ga yado no
the blinds
簾令動
簾動かし
Sudare ugokashi
of my window flutter
秋之風吹
秋の風吹く
Aki no kaze fuku
but it is only the autumn breeze…
Princess Nukata needs little introduction in the blog. She was the loveinterest of two powerful men, issued a call to war, and made quite a contribution to the Manyoshu anthology which the Hyakunin Isshu and other later anthologies are all based upon. My book about the Manyoshu, in talking about spring versus fall, listed this poem as an early, early example in Japanese poetry of using autumn to symbolize other things. In this case, a romantic meeting at night, and a woman who eagerly awaits her lover. The blinds alluded to here are sudaré blinds used in Japanese culture since antiquity and even to this day.
Illustrated scroll of the Tales of Genji, chapter 34, 17th century. Courtesy of Wikimedia Commons.
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.
The Hyakunin Isshu 
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