Poem 45 of the Ise Stories is an unusual anecdote, and includes some great poetry about summer. According to the story, there was a young woman who was hopelessly in love with someone (probably the protagonist of the Ise Stories, it is unclear), but she endured this unrequited love alone. In time, she fell very ill, and confessed to her parents her love for the young man. The parents called the young man over, but by the time he arrived, she had already passed away.
That evening, during the hot days of summer, the young man watched fireflies rise from the grasses, and recited these poems:
I admit the idea that a young maiden pining for someone so much that she falls ill and dies feels more like a trope than reality (“girl, he’s just not that into you”). But, it should be noted that this was an era in Japan when death was seen as ritual pollution, so it’s noteworthy that he came nonetheless.
But also, there is another connection here: the summer tradition of Obon. Obon in Japan, roughly around July to August, is similar to the Mexican tradition of the Day of the Dead, and has Buddhist origins. Hence, the first poem and its symbolism of fireflies, can also be seen as the souls of the recent dead flitting in the summer night.
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?
For the end of the year, I wanted to share a poem compsed by Otomo no Yakamochi, the compiler of the Manyoshu:
Original Manyogana
Modern Japanese
Romanization
Rough Translation
新
新しき
Aratashiki
Just as the
年乃始乃
年の初めの
Toshi no hajime no
new-fallen snow
波都波流能
初春の
Hatsu haru no
of this New Year’s day
家布敷流由伎能
今日降る雪の
Kyo furu yuki no
piles up, so too do
伊夜之家餘其騰
いやしけ吉事
Iyashike yogoto
auspicious tidings.
Poem 4516, chapter 20, rough translation by me.
The headline of the poem explains that that particular New Year’s day experienced record snowfall, and so Yakamochi recited this poem for the occasion.
Also, a note on translation: the poem as written in Japanese doesn’t say “new year”, but actually says “first spring”. This is because in the traditional Chinese calendar (which Japan used for many centuries) the New Year began early Spring, not mid-winter as we do in the West (i.e. January 1st). This is true even now in Chinese culture: Lunar New Year usually begins in late January or February depending on lunar cycles. Thus, many traditional phrases related to New Year in Japan literally say “Spring”, for example shinshun (新春, “new spring”) or geishun (迎春, “welcoming spring / new year”). This poem is no exception.
So with that, I wish you all a wonderful 2026, and a happy, joyous new year. May your good fortune pile up like snow!
P.S. According to Japanese tradition, if you dream about Mount Fuji, an eagle, or eggplant during the first sleep after New Year, you will have an extra good year.
Recently, I finally finished my book on the Manyoshu. I can’t read Japanese fast, so it took me a year to finish, but it was satisfying to finish an adult-level book in another language, even if I relied heavily on dictionaries. I learned a lot! I hope you enjoyed some of the related posts here too.
Anyhow, the end of the book explored some miscellaneous poems, and this one really stood out to me for its Buddhist theme, and the unusual format. This is poem 3852:
Original Manyogana
Modern Japanese
Romanization
Rough Translation
鯨魚取
鯨魚取り
Isanatori
While fishing, I wonder
海哉死為流
海や死にする
Umi ya shinisuru
if the seas will die,
山哉死為流
山や死にする
Yama ya shinisuru
and the mountains die
死許曽
死ぬれこそ
Shinure koso
They will surely die
海者潮干而
海は潮干て
Umi wa shiohite
for the tides recede,
山者枯為礼
山は枯れすれ
Yama wa karesure
and the mountains wither.
This poem is a rare example of a Japanese sedōka-style ( 旋頭歌 ) poem, which has 5-7-7-5-7-7 syllables. Compare this to the later waka style poem of the Hyakunin Isshu (and the vast majority of the poems in this blog) which are 5-7-5-7-7, and haiku which are 5-7-5. Sedoka poems are an early stage of Japanese poetry that wasn’t used much beyond that as Waka (then later Haiku) became more popular.
Still, this poem is quite interesting. In fact, it was used in a famous Japanese pop song a few generations ago.
Nonetheless, the Buddhist themes of impermanence are hard to miss here, even with my amateur translating skills. The poet asks if even the seas and mountains will wither and die, and indeed, since the tides come in and out, and the mountains dry up (during the summer?), this can only mean “yes”, they won’t last forever.
Similarly, there is another Buddhist poem in the Manyoshu worth looking at:
The two oceans maybe an allusion that mirrors Shandao’s Parable of the Two Rivers (in my other blog), or the general Japanese-Buddhist concept of Ohigan. We also see the theme of mountains drying up, and seas receding again.
But if you thought this was vague, poem 3850 is even more straightforward in its meaning:
This poem alludes to another place, which again can mean the world of peace or enlightenment, or allude to the notion of a Buddha’s Pure Land. It doesn’t specify which Buddha (Amida, Shakyamuni, etc), but I am inclined toward this latter interpretation. I suppose it doesn’t really matter. The sentiment is the same: this world is impermanent and troublesome, and the author longs for something better, but is unsure of the path to follow.
I think we can all empathize with this at some point in our lives…
Poetry in Japan covers the subject of romance a lot. Like, A LOT. But while I was reading the Ise Stories recently, I stumbled upon this commentary by Dr Joshua Mostow that made me curious:
Modern commentators have felt the need to explain the erotic tone of this poem sent by one man to another. For Takeoka, such phraseology is no more than an affectation (kyoshoku) derived ultimately from Chinese poetry. Tsukahara Tetsuo and, following him, Paul Schalow, see this episode as one of five (16, 38, 46, 82, and 83) that portray deep, perhaps even homosexual, relationships between men.
page 107
This comment is in reference to poem 46 in the Ise Stories:
The story behind this poem is that our anonymous gentleman protagonist had a good friend, but they were later separated when the friend went to another province. The friend sent a letter saying that “it’s been too long”, and worried our protagonist had forgotten him. The man sent back the above poem as a reply.
Another example is poem 38, where our protagonist visits the residence of one Ki no Aritsune who was out and took too long to come home, leaving the protagonist waiting. Our protagonist sends this poem.
This brings up a subject that we don’t normally cover here on the blog, and one that admittedly I am not an expert on: is this poem, and others like it in the Ise Stories, simple affection (a.k.a. a “bromance”), or did these two men also have a romantic relationship?
The love poetry that we normally cover is heterosexual. The nobility of the Heian-Period court were constantly sleeping around, as marriages were primarily political. Attitudes about marriage were influenced by Confucian thought, so establishing a family and raising the next generation were filial duties one should fulfill. So, heterosexual relationships were expected. And yet, perhaps men also had romantic (or quasi-romantic) relationships with close male friends too.
It’s somewhat difficult to grasp this, because the way Japanese aristocracy at the time viewed romance and marriage differs from 21st century Western attitudes. So, interpreting such poems isn’t always easy, as Mostow alludes to. Different scholars will have different interpretations.
I should also add that this kind bromance/homoerotic poetry isn’t limited to the Ise Stories. Dr Mostow cites poems in the official Imperial Anthology, the Kokinshu, as well. This is one example, poem 978:
Original Japanese
Romanization
Translation
君が思ひ
Kimi ga omoi
If your thoughts of me
雪とつもらば
Yuki to tsumoraba
“gather thick as snow” I should
たのまれず
Tanomarezu
not rely on them
春よりのちは
Haru yori nochi wa
for once spring has come I know
あらしとおもへば
Araji to omoeba
the drifts will vanish from sight.
Translation by Laurel Rasplica Rodd and Mary Catherine Henkenius from Kokinshū: A Collection of Poems Ancient and Modern
This poem was composed by Ōshikōchi no Mitsune (poem 29 in the Hyakunin Isshu, こころあ) in response to a friend, Muneoka no Ōyori who had arrived at the capital and saw snow falling.
Again, it’s hard to be sure exactly how Mitsune and Oyori relate to one another, and if this is indeed romantic or just affectionate, but it’s a fascinating look at cultural norms at the time among the aristocrats of Japan.
P.S. It’s even harder to know what the attitudes of commoners, since we have so little historical information. The aristocrats of the Court may have had more liberal attitudes about love than commoners, or maybe commoners imitated the trends of the aristocracy. It’s hard to be certain.
Interesting historical fact that I learned recently.
A long, long time ago in this blog, I wrote about the Six Immortals of Poetry: a list of eminent poets devised by Ki no Tsurayiki (poem 35 in the Hyakunin Isshu, ひさ). This list was in the preface to the Kokinshu imperial anthology, wherein he raised up these six poets, as prime examples of poetry at the time ….. then promptly tore them down for one reason for another.
However, my book about the Manyoshu explains that in the same preface, Tsurayuki elevates two other poets as being above reproach:
Kakinomoto Hitomaro (poem 3 in the Hyakunin Isshu, あし) and
Together they were revered as Yamakaki no Mon (山柿の門) meaning the “Gate of Yama(be) and Kaki(nomoto)”. In modern terms, we can call them the Super Poetry Brothers…
I used to watch this show as a kid, every day after school. 😆
But I digress.
Kakinomoto and Yamabe were not exactly contemporaries. They were about a generation apart, and their poetry had different styles, but together they were seen as the epitome of poetic skill. So much so, that even Ki no Tsurayuki could find no fault in them.
Let’s look at each one.
Kakinomoto Hitomaro focused on expressing inner feelings. His poem in the Hyakunin Isshu shows his worry about sleeping alone one night, while this poem shows his passion for the one he loves. Or this one from the Manyoshu (poem 48):
Original Manyogana
Modern Japanese
Romanization
Rough Translation
東
東の
Himugashi no
To the east I
野炎
野にかぎろひの
No ni kagirohi no
see the rising sun
立所見而
立つ見えて
Tatsumiete
over the fields,
反見為者
かへり見すれば
Kaeri misureba
but if I look back [west]
月西渡
月かたぶきぬ
Tsuki katabukinu
I see the moon setting.
Translation by me, apologies for any mistakes or nuance problems.
This poem has a hidden meaning, and was both a memorial to one Prince Kusakabe who was the only child of Empress Jito (poem 2 in the Hyakunin Isshu, はるす), and praise of Prince Kusakabe’s son, who later was crowned Emperor Monmu. Thus, the poem expresses both sadness at the passing one of beloved figure, and hopes for a bright future for his son.
Meanwhile, Yamabe Akahito was more focused on the beauty of nature. His poem in the Hyakunin Isshu about the snow on Mount Fuji is a good example. He wrote many poems on various subjects, but often did so through simile with nature. Or this one from the Manyoshu (poem 1424):
Original Manyogana
Modern Japanese
Romanization
Rough Translation
春野尓
春の野に
Haru no no ni
I went to go
須美礼採尓等
すみれ摘みにと
Sumire tsumi ni to
pick some violets for
来師吾曽
来し我そ
Koshiware so
you in a spring field,
野乎奈都可之美
野を懐かしみ
No wo natsukashimi
but it was so charming
一夜宿二来
一夜寝にける
Hitoyo nenikeru
I slept there all night.
Here, Yamabe is talking about a wonderful, charming violet field and how it made him so sleepy and relaxed that he slept all night there. There’s less of the heavy, emotional pull of Hitomaro, but it paints a really lovely scene that’s timeless.
That’s a very brief look at the Super Poetry Brothers!
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:
Lately, I’ve been having some fun conversations with coworkers introducing them to the Hyakunin Isshu, and while describing the poems, I realized that learning the kimari-ji of each poem is a handy way to keep track of which poem is which. When I first learned the Hyakunin Isshu way back in the early days of this blog, I tried to learn the poems by number. They are listed in numerical order in many publications, so this made sense.
However, many publications in Japan also list the poems by their kimari-ji too.
But if you’re not playing karuta (casual or competitive) why bother? Think Michael Jackson.
The album cover for Michael’s Jacksons Thriller, courtesy of Wikipedia.
Michael Jackson’s songs are tremendously famous. As soon as I say out loud, “Eddie are you OK?”, or “Billie Jean”, anyone listening beyond a certain age range will know how to finish the next lyric. It’s not necessary to know the whole song, simply knowing a key lyric triggers the rest of the song, or at least recognition of the song.
Think of kimari-ji the same way. Since the Hyakunin Isshu was meant to be a compilation of the very 100 best waka poems in Japanese antiquity (as chosen by Fujiwara no Teika), you can think of them as a “Best of Michael Jackson” album collection.
Thus, rather than remembering poem 29 it may be easier to remember it as the ko-ko-ro-a poem since the first line starts with that verse (kokoro até ni), and that’s enough to distinguish itself from other poems.
This fun website will let you pick a Hyakunin Isshu poem at random, and that will be your fortune for the day. After your poem is selected it is shown in the upper right corner:
On the left hand side is your “lucky color” for the day, and in middle is a fortune for you. You can see the matching karuta card on the bottom. The site is entirely in Japanese, so you will have to use an online translator. It reminds me of those page-a-day calendars I used to buy for work.
In any case, this is a terrific site and worth visiting. Enjoy!
This was a particularly nice poem that I found in the Manyoshu heralding early Spring.
Original Manyogana
Japanese
Romanization
Rough Translation
石激
石走る
Iwa bashiru
Are not
垂見之上乃
垂水の上の
Tarumi no ue no
the bracken buds
左和良妣乃
さわらびの
Sawarabi no
sprouting next to a
毛要出春尓
萌え出づる春に
Moe-izuru haru ni
waterfall
成来鴨
なりにけるかも
Narinikeru kamo
the first sign of Spring?
This poem was composed by Shiki no Miko or Prince Shiki (志貴皇子, ? – 716), who was the seventh son of Emperor Tenji (poem 1 in the Hyakunin Isshu). Unlike his siblings who were embroiled in the political strife of the times, Prince Shiki retreated and focused on poetry instead. His talents with poetry earned him a place in the Manyoshu, and Japanese poetic history.
Ironically, despite staying out of succession struggles, Prince Shiki’s own son, Prince Shirakabe later ascended the throne as Emperor Kōnin despite not being the dominant line, and all subsequent emperors in Japan are descended from him. So, in the end, Prince Shiki won afterall.
The poem itself evokes a truly wonderful image of a tiny sprout peeking through the rocks by a riverbank, heralding the first signs of spring.
Note that in the traditional Japanese calendar, based off the Chinese model, Spring started much later than the modern meteorological Spring, namely at the start of the second lunar month. Hence, the holiday of Setsubun relates to the start of Spring, and helps conclude the Lunar New Year. Plum blossoms are also frequently associated with this time of year since they bloom earlier than cherry blossoms, and were highly prized by poets of Manyoshu, as we can see in this poem (also posted here):
The Hyakunin Isshu 
