Tag: Winter

The Four Seasons Through The Eyes of a Twelfth Century Author

Ever since I picked up this book which explores the Pillow Book of Sei Shonagon (poem 62 of the Hyakunin Isshu, よを), it’s been fun to learn many of the hidden meanings and cultural allusions of this famous literary work.

It’s also fun to see how the Pillow Book is viewed by Japanese students in Japan. I talked with my wife and her friends about it, and they confirmed that kids in Japan study the Pillow Book in school, but like all students everywhere, they tend to forget most of it.1 My book jokes that most students in Japan only remember the very first line: haru wa akebono.

I bring this up because with the recent changing of the weather, I’ve been thinking a lot about seasons, especially after writing this post. So, I went back and looked at the first chapter of the Pillow Book.

The opening section begins with Sei Shonagon’s analysis of the four seasons, and what’s great about each one. This website posts the original text in Japanese (tl;dr it’s fairly different than modern Japanese) and even has a nice recording. It’s worth a listen, even if archaic Japanese is not your hobby.

Separately, if you want to hear how it was pronounced at the time you can see this video (00:47 onward):

Anyhow, let’s look at how Sei Shonagon describes each of the four seasons, starting with Spring…

Spring

Photo by Antony Trivet on Pexels.com

As alluded to earlier, Sei Shonagon opens her book with the following passage about Spring:

春はるは、あけぼの。やうやうしろくなりゆく山やまぎは、すこし明あかりて、紫むらさきだちたる雲くもの、細ほそくたなびきたる。

Haru wa akebono. Yoyoshiroku nariyuku yamagi wa, sukoshi akarite, murasaki dachitaru kumo no hosoku tanabikitaru.

“In spring, the dawn — when the slowing paling mountain rim is tinged with red, and wisps of faintly crimson purple cloud float in the sky.”

Translation by Dr. Meredith McKinney

Summer

Fireflies in the woods near Nuremberg, Germany, 30-second exposure. Photo by Quit007, CC BY-SA 3.0, via Wikimedia Commons

and of Summer:

夏なつは、夜よる。月つきのころはさらなり。闇やみもなほ、蛍ほたるの多おほく飛とびちがひたる。また、ただ一ひとつ二ふたつなど、ほのかにうち光ひかりて行いくも、をかし。雨あめなど降ふるも、をかし。

Natsu wa yoru. Tsuki no koro wa sarinari. Yami mo nao, hotaru no ooku tobichigaitaru. Mata, tada hitsotsu futatsu nado, honoka ni uchi hikarite iku mo, okashi. Ame nado furu mo, okashi.

“In summer, the night — moonlight nights, of course, but also as the dark of the moon, it’s beautiful when fireflies are dancing everywhere in a mazy flight. And it’s delightful too to see just one or two fly through the darkness, glowing softly. Rain falling on a summer night is also lovely.”

Translation by Dr. Meredith McKinney

Autumn

Photo by NO NAME on Pexels.com

Of Autumn, she writes:

秋あきは、夕ゆふ暮ぐれ。夕ゆふ日ひのさして、山やまの端はいと近ちかうなりたるに、烏からすの寝ねどころへ行いくとて、三みつ四よつ、二ふたつ三みつなど、飛とびいそぐさへあはれなり。まいて、雁かりなどのつらねたるが、いと小ちひさく見みゆるは、いとをかし。日ひ入いりはてて、風かぜの音おと、虫むしの音ねなど、はた、言いふべきにあらず。

Aki wa yuugure. Yuuhi no sashite, yama no hai to chikau nari taru ni, karasu no nedokoro e ikutote, mitsu, yotsu, futatsu mitsu nado, tobiisogu sae awarenari. Maite, kari nado no tsuranetaru ga, ito chiisaku miyuru wa, itokashi. Hiirihatete, kaze no oto, mushi no ne nado, hata, iiubeki ni arazu.

“In autumn, the evening — the blazing sun has sunk very close to the mountain rim, and now even the crows, in threes and fours or twos and threes, hurrying to their roost, are a moving sight. Still more enchanting is the sight of a string of wild geese in the distant sky, very tiny. And oh how inexpressible, when the sun has sunk, to hear in the growing darkness the wind, and the song of autumn insects.”

Translation by Dr. Meredith McKinney

Winter

Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com

and finally Winter:

冬ふゆは、つとめて。雪ゆきの降ふりたるは、言いふべきにもあらず。霜しものいと白しろきも。またさらでも、いと寒さむきに、火ひなど急いそぎおこして、炭すみ持てわたるも、いとつきづきし。昼ひるになりて、ぬるくゆるびもていけば、火桶ひをけの火ひも、白しろき灰はひがちになりて、わろし。

Fuyu wa tsutomete. Yuki no furitaru wa, iubeki ni mo arazu. Shimo no ito shiroki mo. Mata sara demo, itso samuki ni, hi nado isogi okoshite, sumi motewataru mo, ito tsukizuki shi. Hiru ni narite, nurukuyurubi moteikeba, hioke no hi mo, shiroki hai ga chininarite, waroshi.

“In winter, the early morning — if snow is falling, of course, it’s unutterably delightful, but it’s perfect too if there’s a pure white frost, or even just when it’s very cold, and they hasten to build up the fires in the braziers and carry fresh charcoal. But it’s unpleasant, as the day draws on and the air grows warmer, how the brazier fire dies down to white ash.”

Translation by Dr. Meredith McKinney

As someone who likes to “nerd out” about such things, I try to shorten this to the following for easier memorization:

  • Spring: haru wa akebono (spring daybreak)
  • Summer: natsu wa yoru (summer nights)
  • Fall: aki wa yuugure (fall sunsets)
  • Winter: huyu wa tsutomete (early winter morning)

… and now you too know some authentic Japanese literature from the Heian Period.

1 Despite being a nerd now, I was actually a pretty lazy student in school. I was assigned to read various English classics like Ivanhoe, Treasure Island, etc, but usually didn’t read them, and faked my way through exams and such. My grades were mostly C’s and even some D’s. In high school, I finally took an interest in reading after picking up J.R.R. Tolkein’s Fellowship of the Ring, and have loved reading since. Looking back, I suppose a chaotic home life, and also just lack of structure and inspiration were to blame.

Spring or Fall: Which is Better?

As fall is approaching, I wanted to share an interesting anecdote provided by my book on the Manyoshu. It seems that throughout Japanese antiquity, poets frequently debated which is better: spring or fall.

The first example comes from Princess Nukata in the 7th century, whom we discussed here and here, she wrote a lengthy poem (a chōka poem, not the usual tanka poem) in the Manyoshu (poem 16). She discusses the pros and cons of spring and of fall:

Original Manyogana1JapaneseRomanizationRough Translation2
冬木成 春去來者 冬ごもり 春さり來れば Fuyu gomori haru sari kurebaWhen winter passes and spring comes
不喧有之 鳥毛来鳴奴鳴かざりし鳥も來鳴きぬNakazarishi tori mo nakinuBirds that didn’t sing before, now come and sing
不開有之 花毛佐家礼抒 山乎茂咲かざりし 花も咲けれど 山を茂みSakazarishi hana mo sakeredo yama wo shigemiFlowers that didn’t bloom before now bloom, but because the mountains grass is so thick
入而毛不取 草深 執手母不見入りても取らず 草深み 取り手も見ずIrite mo torazu kusabukami torite me mizuOne cannot go and pick flowers, let alone see them.
秋山乃 木葉乎見而者 秋山の 木の葉を見ては Aki yama no ko no ba wo mite waWhen you look at the leaves in the mountains during fall,
黄葉乎婆 取而曾思努布黄葉をば 取りてそしのふMomiji wo ba torite soshi no fucollecting the yellow leaves is especially prized.
青乎者 置而曾歎久青きをば 置きてそ歎くAoki wo ba okite so nagekuLeaving the green leaves as they are is regrettable.
曾許之恨之 秋山吾者そこし恨めし 秋山われはSokoshi urameshi akiyama ware waIn spite of that, autumn in the mountains is spectacular…
a – I am heavily indebted to this site for both the original text. Translation is based in part on that site, but also my Manyoshu book, but probably lots of mistakes. Translating a five-line poem in archaic Japanese is hard enough… 😅

Speaking of the Manyoshu, its compiler Otomo no Yakamochi (poem 6 of the Hyakunin Isshu, かさ) left us some very nice poetry about spring:

Original Manyogana1JapaneseRomanizationRough Translation2
春苑春の苑Haru no sonoBeneath
紅尓保布紅にほふKurenai ni hofuthe shining crimson
桃花桃の花Momo no hanaorchard of
下照道尓下照る道にShita deru michi nipeach blossoms
出立オ嬬出で立つ少女Idetatsu otomea young maiden lingers.
Poem 4139, book 19

and about fall:

Original Manyogana1JapaneseRomanizationRough Translation2
秋去者秋さらばAki sarabaWhen fall comes
見乍思跡見つつ思へえとMitsutsu shinoe tothink fondly of those
妹之殖之妹が植ゑえしImo ga ue shipink blossoms
屋前乃石竹やどのなでしこYado no nadeshikoof days gone by
開家流香聞咲きにけるかもSaki ni keru kamoand remember me.
Poem 464, book 3

Otomo no Yakamochi wrote both of these poems about his beloved wife, but the second was composed shortly after her parting. The word nadeshiko has special meaning in Japan and has a very feminine, demure3 meaning.

Returning to the debate between spring and fall, Ki no Tsurayuki (poem 35 of the Hyakunin Isshu, ひとは) took up the same topic centuries later. This is poem 509 from an imperial anthology, the Shuishu :

JapaneseRomanizationRough Translation2
春秋にHaru aki niSpring or Fall?
おもひいみたれてOmoi mitareteMy thoughts are a mess,
わきかねつWaki kanetsuand I cannot decide.
時につけつつToki ni tsuketsutsuThe more time passes,
うつるこころはわUtsuru kokoro wathe more my heart shifts back and forth.
1 This is a rough translation, all mistakes are my own.

The debate was even cited in the famous 12th century novel Tales of Genji written by Lady Murasaki (poem 57 of the Hyakunin Isshu, め):

春秋の争ひに、昔より秋に心寄する人は数まさりけるを、名立たる春の御前の花園に心寄せし人びと、また引きかへし移ろふけしき、世のありさまに似たり。

“Since antiquity, in the debate about spring versus fall, many people lean toward fall, and yet some very noteworthy people who view the Imperial gardens in spring may yet change their mind, as is the way of the world.”

Princess Nukata all the way back in the Manyoshu seemed to imply that autumn was preferable, and it seems that most of the aristocracy shared this view. In fact if we divide up the poems of the Hyakunin Isshu by season, there are more fall poems than spring:

Spring Poems, first verse listedFall Poems, first verse listed
Hana no iro (poem 9)
Kimi ga tame haru (poem 15)
Hito wa isa (poem 35)
Inishie no (poem 61)
Morotomo ni (poem 66)
Haru no yo no (poem 67)
Takasago no (poem 73)
Hana sasou (poem 96)		Aki no ta no (poem 1)
Ashibiki no (poem 3)
Okuyama ni (poem 5)
Waga io wa (poem 8)
Chihayaburu (poem 17)
Ima kon to (poem 21)
Fuku kara ni (poem 22)
Tsuki mireba (poem 23)
Kono tabi wa (poem 24)
Ogurayama (poem 26)
Kokoroate ni (poem 29)
Yamagawa ni (poem 32)
Shiratsuyu wo (poem 37)
Yaemugura (poem 47)
Arashi fuku (poem 69)
Sabishisa ni (poem 70)
Yū sareba (poem 71)
Akikaze ni (poem 79)
Yo no naka yo (poem 83)
Nageke tote (poem 86)
Murasame no (poem 87)
Kirigirisu (poem 91)
Miyoshino no (poem 94)
Note: summer only has 4 poems, winter has 9 (same as spring).

But what do you think? Are you Team Spring, or Team Fall?

Edit: added Hyakunin Isshu poetry chart.

1 If you’re wondering why I post Manyogana for some poems, but not others, it depends on the era. The Manyoshu is the oldest anthology by far, and at that time, there was a brief writing system that took Chinese characters, but used them in a phonetic way for Japanese language (a.k.a. Manyogana). By the time of Ki no Tsurayuki and Lady Murasaki, centuries later, this had been replaced with hiragana script. This blog strives to both be accurate and accessible, so I try to balance both needs.

2 These are all rough translations on my part, and likely have mistakes. Any such mistakes are entirely my own.

3 Not to be confused with the “very demure, very mindful” meme. 😛

The Birds of the Hyakunin Isshu

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:

Photo by Alpsdake, CC BY-SA 3.0, via Wikimedia Commons

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”):

JapaneseRomanizationTranslation
雪の内にYuki no uchi niSpring has come amidst
春はきにけりHaru wa kinikerithe icy lingering snows
うぐひすのUguisu noof winter
こほおれる涙Kōreru namidasurely now the frozen of the
今やとくらむんIma ya toku ranmountain thrush will melt away
Translation by Laurel Rasplica Rodd and Mary Catherine Henkenius from Kokinshu: A Collection of Poems Ancient and Modern

and this one, poem 10, by one Fujiwara no Kotonao:

JapaneseRomanizationTranslation
はるやときHana ya tokiHas spring come early—
花やおそきとHana ya osoki toor are the plum blossoms late—
ききわかむんKiki wakanI would like to know
鶯だにもUguisu dani mobut not even the song of the
なかずもあるかなNakazu mo aru kanamountain thrush trills the answer
Translation by Laurel Rasplica Rodd and Mary Catherine Henkenius from Kokinshu: A Collection of Poems Ancient and Modern

and finally this one by Mibu no Tadaminé whom we know from poem 30 in the Hyakunin Isshu (ありあ):

JapaneseRomanizationTranslation
春来ぬとHaru kinu toAlready they say
人はいへえどもHIto wa iedomoSpring is here but as for me
うぐひすのUguisu nowhile yet there is no
なかぬかぎりはNakanu kagiri wasong from the mountain thrush
あらじとぞ思ふうAraji to zo omouI cannot believe spring has come
Translation by Laurel Rasplica Rodd and Mary Catherine Henkenius from Kokinshu: A Collection of Poems Ancient and Modern

Summer

In summer, the most iconic bird is the hototogisu, the Lesser Cuckoo.

Photo by christoph_moning, CC BY 4.0, via Wikimedia Commons

And it’s call sounds like so:

We’ve seen the Lesser Cuckoo in poem 81 (ほ) of the Hyakunin Isshu by Gotokudaiji no Sadaijin.

It is also found in Imperial anthologies such as the Kokin Wakashu by an anonymous source:

JapaneseRomanizationTranslation
郭公ほととぎすHototogisuWhen nightingales sing
鳴くや五月のNaku ya satsuki noin the sweet purple iris
あやめ草Ayamegusaof the Fifth Month
あやめも知らぬAyame mo shiranuI am unmindful of the warp on
恋もするかなKoi mo suru kanawhich we weave love’s pattern
Translation by Laurel Rasplica Rodd and Mary Catherine Henkenius from Kokinshu: A Collection of Poems Ancient and Modern

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, the Hyakunin Isshu Daijiten lists a few birds that were revered in poetry. For example, migratory birds, such as the Wild Goose (kari):

Photo by Piotr Kuczynski, CC BY-SA 3.0, via Wikimedia Commons

Or birds with autumnal colors such as the Quail (uzura):

Photo by Duncan Wright, CC BY-SA 3.0, via Wikimedia Commons

Or the swift Shrike (mozu):

Photo by Antonios Tsaknakis, CC BY-SA 4.0, via Wikimedia Commons

I had some trouble finding poems for the fall birds listed in either the Hyakunin Isshu or the Kokin Wakashu anthology, 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:

JapaneseRomanizationTranslation
野とならばNo to narabaIf all becomes dense fields
うづらとなきてUzura to nakiteI will pass my years
年はへむんToshi wa hencrying like a quail—
かりにだにやはわKari ni dani ya wafor surely you will come
君がこざらむんKimi wa kozaranif only for a few days’ hunt.
Translation by Laurel Rasplica Rodd and Mary Catherine Henkenius from Kokinshu: A Collection of Poems Ancient and Modern

Winter

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:

Photo by J.M.Garg, CC BY 3.0, via Wikimedia Commons

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”:

JapaneseRomanizationTranslation
名にしおはばNa ni shi owabaOh capital bird
いざ言問はむIza koto towanif you are true to your name
都鳥Miyako-doriyou will know
わが思ふ人はわWaga omou hito watell me if the one whom I love is
ありやなしやとAri ya nashi ya tostill in this world of partings
Translation by Laurel Rasplica Rodd and Mary Catherine Henkenius from Kokinshu: A Collection of Poems Ancient and Modern

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.

And finally there is the Mallard (kamo):

Photo by Chuck Homler d/b/a FocusOnwWildlife, CC BY-SA 4.0, via Wikimedia Commons

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:

JapaneseRomanizationTranslation
葦鴨のAshigamo noNo more than do
騒ぐ入江のSawagu irie noWhite waves dancing across the
白浪のShiranami noinlet, where reed ducks
知らずや人をShirazu ya hito wocry out noisily, no more
かく恋ひむんとはわKaku koin to wadoes my love know my yearning.
Translation by Laurel Rasplica Rodd and Mary Catherine Henkenius from Kokinshu: A Collection of Poems Ancient and Modern

Other Birds

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.

The Magpie Bridge, illustration by ScribblingGeek, CC BY-SA 4.0, via Wikimedia Commons

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.

The Plovers’ Cry: Poem Number 78

As the weather gets colder, I’ve been saving this one for a time like this:

JapaneseRomanizationTranslation
淡路あわじ島Awaji shimaThe crying voices
かよふう千鳥のKayou chidori noof the plovers who visit
鳴く声こえにNaku koe nifrom Awaji Island—
いく夜ねざめぬIkuyo nezamenuhow many nights have
they awakened him,
須磨の関守Suma no sekimorithe barrier-keepers of Suma?
Translation by Dr Joshua Mostow

The author of the poem, Minamoto no Kanemasa (源兼昌, dates unknown) was a frequent participant in poetry contests of the day, but overall very little is known about him, and it doesn’t appear he had any poetry collections of his own.

The first time I read this poem, in Japanese, I misunderstood the phrase chidori (千鳥) to literally mean 1,000 birds (in other words, a lot of birds). But in fact, chidori refers specifically to plover birds. The featured photo above shows a Western Snowy Plover bird on Morro Strand State Beach, Morro Bay, CA, “Mike” Michael L. Baird, CC BY 2.0, via Wikimedia Commons.

In Japanese poetry plover represented winter, and for other seasons, other birds typically were frequently used:

The location, Awaji Island, is a well known part of Japan’s inland sea, and is culturally significant since antiquity. Though at this time in history, it felt a bit remote from the capitol.

Professor Mostow notes that this poem uses some strange grammar though. For example nezamenu would normally mean to not wake up, but in this context means “have they awakened” instead. Also, he notes that this poem apparently alludes to the Tales of Genji, specifically the “Suma” chapter, when the prince Genji was in exile.

All told, this poem paints a sad, somber picture that fits well with wintry days.

Backfired: Poem Number 74

Even the Hyakunin Isshu has its comedic moments:

JapaneseRomanizationTranslation
うかりけるUkarikeru“Make that heartless
人をはつせのHito wo hatsuse nowoman, O mountain storm
山おろしよYama oroshiyoof Hatsuse Temple—
はげしかれとはHageshikareto wacrueller still!”—this is not
祈らぬものをInoranu mono wowhat I prayed for, and yet…
Translation by Dr Joshua Mostow

The author is Minamoto no Toshiyori Ason (源俊頼朝臣, 1055 – 1129), “Sir Minamoto no Toshiyori”, who is the son of Tsunenobu (poem 71) and father of Shun’e (poem 85) and was also a leading poet of his era, along with Mototoshi (poem 75). Toshiyori’s talents were not limited to poetry. According to my new book, he excelled at playing an instrument called the hichiriki, enough that he was invited to serve in the Imperial court under Emperor Horikawa. We went on to serve three Emperors in this capacity, and helped compile the unusually eclectic Imperial Anthology the Kinyō Wakashū, as well as many poems of his own in various anthologies.

The poem above was actually composed during a poetry contest held at the residence of Fujiwara no Toshitada, grandfather of Fujiwara no Teika (poem 97) who compiled the Hyakunin Isshu. The topic of the contest was “unfulfilled love so strong that one even prays to the gods”. The poem expresses frustration after having prayed to be able to meet a certain woman, and somehow she became even more resistant. As Professor Mostow explains, Teika valued this poem very highly because of its depth of feeling, excellent word choices, and clever story-telling (see below).

The name “Hatsuse Temple” is another name for a famous Buddhist temple in Nara, Japan called Hasedera. Hasedera is very well-known in Japan, and apparently was a frequent pilgrimage site for lovers and those with romantic interests. If you ever do happen to be in Japan, especially in the Nara area, I’d highly recommend visiting Hasedera temple.

This poem is listed as a “winter” poem, but I was really confused why this is since the topic sounds more like unrequited love. I checked my source, which explains that Toshiyori went up to Hatsuse Temple to pray, and then came back down (yama-oroshi, 山おろし) in the third verse. This symbolism of coming back down the mountain is evidentially considered a powerful symbol of winter. Perhaps this relates to New Year’s prayers and such. This third verse is also a neat dividing technique between the first half, praying at the temple, and the second half, the girl he was fond of despising him even more.

A Foggy Winter’s Morn: Poem Number 64

This is a great poem for the deep of winter:

JapaneseRomanizationTranslation
朝ぼらけAsaborakéAs the winter dawn
宇治じの川がわぎりUji no kawagiribreaks, the Uji River mist
たえだえにTaedae nithings in patches and
あらはわれわたるArawaré watarurevealed, here and there, are
せぜの網代木Seze no ajirogiall the shallows’ fishing stakes.
Translation by Dr Joshua Mostow

The author of this poem known by the lofty title of Gonchūnagon Sadayori (権中納言定頼, 995 – 1045), or “Supernumerary Middle Counselor Sadayori”, was also known as Fujiwara no Sadayori, son of the eminent poet and critic of the era, Fujiwara no Kintō (poem 55).

Sadayori was also a respectable poet in his own right. According to my new book, when father and son took part in the Imperial precession by Emperor Ichijo to the Ōi River (大堰川, ōi-gawa), part of the modern Katsura River, he was tasked with composing a poem for the occasion and came up with this:

JapaneseRomanizationRough Translation
水もなくMizu mo nakuHow can one possibly
見えこそわたれMiekoso watarelook out over
大堰川Ōi-gawathe Oi River,
岸の紅葉はKishi no momiji wawhen the fall leaves
雨と降れどもAme to furedomorain down on the shore?
Translation by myself

It was a clever way to point out the beauty of fall, and both Kintō and the Emperor were impressed. Later, Sadayori was supposedly flummoxed by Lady Izumi’s daughter, Koshikibu no Naishi in a famous poetry contest (namely poem 60).

In any case, back to the Hyakunin Isshu poem. The phrase asaboraké is apparently short for asa ga oboroge ni aketekuru koro (朝がおぼろげに明けてくる頃) meaning “that time at dawn when things are hazy”, particularly in autumn or winter. It is also used in poem 31, and a challenge for karuta players as a result.

Sadayori’s usage of the Uji River (宇治川, uji-gawa), now known as the Yodo River (淀川, yodo-gawa), may not seem like much to modern audiences, but it carries much meaning in Japanese antiquity. The Uji River was frequently cited Japanese poetry, and runs through the Osaka metropolitan area. It is mentioned in the earliest Japanese poem anthology, such as the Manyoshu, and others. It was a pivotal place at the end of the Tales of Genji, written by Lady Murasaki (poem 57), when the heroine Ukifuné attempts to take her own life, but is rescued from the river and takes tonsure as a Buddhist nun instead. The Uji River was often deeply associated with turbulent relationships between men and women. In a more practical sense, it was also a place where the nobility of Kyoto often had second villas, and was a popular meeting place.

I actually had to look up what “fishing stakes” are. The term, ajirogi (網代木), refers to stakes in the water, like a fence or weir. Fish swim into these places and they were easier to catch with nets because they had fewer places to escape. You can see an illustration here. Side note: the Salish people here in the Pacific Northwest had a particularly ingenious system of fishing stakes as well.

Professor Mostow notes that the combination of the Uji River and the fishing stakes was a very famous image in ancient Japanese poetry, and this coupled with the image of a cold winter’s dawn make this a powerful poem. Unlike other poems in the Hyakunin Isshu which might be hypothetical, exaggerated or talk about something abstract such as love, Mostow points out that this poem likely was written exactly as Sadayori saw it. I can only wonder what it was like watching the fishermen go to work early that icy morning.

P.S. The featured photo is the Kennebunk River during fog, photo by David Lounsbury, CC BY-SA 2.0, via Wikimedia Commons

The Cold Morning: Poem Number 52

For our final poem for Valentine’s Day, I thought this was another good choice:

JapaneseRomanizationTranslation
明けぬればAkenurebaBecause it has dawned,
暮るるものとはKururu mono to wait will become night again—
知りながらShiri nagarathis I know, and yet,
なほおうらめしきNao urameshikiah, how hateful it is—
あさぼらけかなAsaborake kanathe first cold light of morning!
Translation by Dr Joshua Mostow

The author of the poem, Fujiwara no Michinobu Ason (藤原道信朝臣, 972-994), was the adopted son of the powerful Fujiwara no Kane’ie, husband of the mother of Michitsuna (poem 53) and subject of the Gossamer Years. His birth mother was the daughter of Fujiwara no Koretada (poem 45). Michinobu for his part, benefitted from his adoptive father’s influence, and rose to the Court rank of 4th-upper, and a position as part of the Imperial Guard (sakon no chūjō, 左近中将).

However, Michinobu seemed more interested in Waka poetry than in politics. He was close with Fujiwara no Sanekata (poem 51) and Fujiwara no Kinto (poem 55), and would often gather with them for poetry sessions. Further, Michinobu had a secret relationship with one of the court ladies under Emperor Kazan, named Enshi Jo-ō (婉子女王), but eventually he lost her to a political marriage with the powerful Fujiwara no Sanesuke. Sadly, Michinobu later died from due smallpox, which took his life at the age of 23.

This is another classic “Morning After” poem, which we’ve featured here, here and here.

Lord Michinobu dreads the rising sun because it means he has to sneak back to his own residence, away from his lover. Judging by his reaction, it must have been a night well-spent together. 😏

Happy Valentine’s Day!

Snowfall: Poem Number 31

Similar to the previous poem, this one deals with the moon, but I think this poem epitomizes the winter season:

JapaneseRomanizationTranslation
朝ぼらけAsaborakéSo that I thought it
有明の月とAriake no tsuki tothe light of the lingering moon
みるまでにMiru made niat dawn—
吉野の里にYoshino no sato nithe white snow that has fallen
ふれる白雪Fureru shirayukion the village of Yoshino
Translation by Dr Joshua Mostow

The author, Sakanoue no Korenori (坂上是則, dates unknown), is one of the Thirty-Six Immortals of Poetry, but otherwise nothing much is known about him.

This poem, as Professor Mostow explains, is similar to poem 29, and is part of a theme on “elegant confusion” which is a hallmark of Chinese poetry. Early poetry in Japan was still greatly indebted to Chinese poetry and many of the imagery, and idioms used in the Hyakunin Isshu anthology are not exception.

I happen to like this poem also because it has a lot of obscure, but cool Japanese poetic terms. We’ve seen ariaké discussed in poem 30. However, this poem also uses the term asaboraké (朝ぼらけ) which as we say in poem 64 means that period of time in the dawn, in either winter or autumn, when things are hazy. It’s a kind of slow, late dawn that you only find in that time of year. Compare with akatsuki (暁), which Professor Mostow explains can mean “dawn” any time of the year. Since asaboraké is used in two poems in the Hyakunin Isshu, it makes the kimari-ji for each poem particularly tricky.

The village of Yoshino that this poem refers to, is none other than the iconic village of Yoshino in Nara Prefecture.

The Wonders of Mount Fuji: Poem Number 4

This was something I read recently that I felt like posting:

JapaneseRomanizationTranslation
田子の浦にTago no ura niAs I set out on
うち出でて見ればUchi idete mirebathe beach of Tago, and look,
白たへえのShirotae noI see the snow
constantly falling
富士の高嶺にFuji no takane nion the high peak of Fuji,
雪は降りつつYuki wa furitsutsuwhite as mulberry cloth.
Translation by Dr Joshua Mostow

This poem was composed by Yamabe no Akahito (山部赤人, dates unknown ) who according to Mostow was a contemporary of Hitomaro (poem 3). He is also one of the Thirty Six Immortals of Poetry and was a leading poet during the reign of Emperor Shomu and contributed to the Manyoshu. He is revered alongside his contemporary, Kakinomoto no Hitomaro (poem 3) as a “saint of poetry”. Compared to Kakinomoto no Hitomaro, Yamabe is known for a poetry style focused on the beauty of nature such as this poem, rather than clever verse.

Yamabe, for his part, served as a court poet under the pious Emperor Shomu. Unfortunately there is no information about his life before he served in the Court. My new book points out that since he was never mentioned in the historical document the Shoku Nihongi, Yamabe was probably a low-ranking bureaucrat.

Mostow carefully explains that this poem, like many of the earlier poems in the Hyakunin Isshu were written in an old Japanese-Chinese hybrid script called manyōgana and was thus open to many interpretations. In fact, the poem has evolved over time and the version in the Hyakunin Isshu is only one such version. The version above, compiled by Fujiwara no Teika (poem 97), was in an imperial anthology called the Shin-Kokin Wakashu. But the original version, poem 318 in the Manyoshu, read like so:

JapaneseRomanizationRough Translation1
田子の浦ゆTago no ura yuAs I passed
うち出でて見ればUchi idete mirebathe bay of Tago, and looked,
ま白にそMashiro ni soI saw the white snow
富士の高嶺にFuji no takane nifalling on the high peak
雪は降りけるYuki wa furitsukeruof Mount Fuji.
1 apologies in advance for any mistakes or for quality of translation

In this version, it sounds like Akahito is describing something more in the past, and the poem doesn’t use a pillow word (see below) to describe the snow. It uses the more mundane description of “very white”, not “white as mulberry cloth”.

The aforementioned vagaries of Manyogana script also matter because there’s much debate about where Akahito actually was when composing this poem. The location of Tago no Ura is now Suruga Bay in Shizuoka Prefecture, but originally may have meant some place much closer to Mount Fuji, under it’s “shadow”, so to speak.

One other interesting note for readers of this blog is the middle line, shirotae no, which as you may recall from poem 2 is one of those special “pillow words” used in Japanese poetry. It is a very idiomatic term which conveys something that is gleaming white, or as Professor Mostow translates, white as mulberry cloth. At some point in history, the third verse changed from a more mundane description of snow to a much more impactful description.

P.S. Featured photo is Mount Fuji as seen from Suruga Bay, photo by Shinichi Morita, CC BY-SA 2.0, via Wikimedia Commons

Heavenly Maidens: Poem Number 12

Speaking of moments that we don’t want to end, I thought this poem was an interesting read, and is also one of the more famous ones:

JapaneseRomanizationTranslation
あまつ風Ama tsu kazeO heavenly breeze,
雲のかよひい路じKumo no kayoijiblow so as to block
吹きとぢじよFuki toji yotheir path back through
the clouds!
をおとめの姿Otome no sugataFor I would, if but for a moment,
しばしとどめむんShibashi todomendetain these maidens’ forms.
Translation by Dr Joshua Mostow

This poem was composed by Sōjō Henjō, (僧正遍昭, 816 – 890), “Bishop Henjo”, who served in the Heian Court until the death of Emperor Nimmyo. It was then that he took tonsure as a Buddhist priest. He is one of the original Six Immortals of Poetry as well as the Thirty-Six Immortals.

The poem was composed during the time that Henjo was in the service of the Emperor (and not yet a priest). The occasion for this was the famous Gosechi Dance or gosechi no mai (五節の舞), more formally known as the toyono akari no sechi-é (豊明の節会), a dance that took place in the Imperial Court during the middle of the eleventh month of the old Japanese calendar (roughly December in modern times) to celebrate the harvest.

During the final months of the year, the Imperial Court held several important events to celebrate the yearly harvest, starting with the niiname no matsuri (新嘗祭) when the Emperor would offer part of the harvest to the gods.1 The following day, the Court would celebrate the Gosechi dance at the Shishinden Palace, and the Emperor would partake of the new harvested rice. According to Richard Bowring, the Gosechi festivities last up to four days.

The Gosechi dance involved 4 “heavenly” maidens called otomé (をとめ) from high-ranking noble families, and is mentioned by several authors from the era, including Sei Shonagon (poem 62) in the Pillow Book:

[87] At the time of the Gosechi Festival somehow everything in the palace, even the people you see every day, becomes simply delightful. There’s the unusual sight of the bits of coloured fabric that the groundswomen wear in their ceremonial hair combs, rather like abstinence tags. When they seat themselves along the arched bridgeway from the Senyōden, the dapple-dye pattern on the ribbons that bind up their hair stands out beautifully, and the whole effect is somehow quite marvelous. It’s perfectly understandable that the serving women and those who attend the dancers should find it all a splendid honour.

trans. Meredith McKinney

And from the eponymous diary of Lady Murasaki (poem 57):

The Gosechi dancers arrived on the twentieth….I knew full well how hard the young dancers had prepared this year in comparison to normal years when things were worse it must have been for them this year, I thought; I was both apprehensive and eager to see them. As they fully stepped forward together I was, for some reason, overcome with emotion and felt dreadfully sorry for them….And with all those young nobles around and the girls not allowed so much as a fan to hide behind in broad daylight, I felt somehow concerned for them, convinced that, although they may have been able to deal with the situation both in terms of rank and intelligence, they must surely have found the pressures of constant rivalry daunting; silly of me, perhaps. (pg. 39-40)

trans. Richard Bowring

Further, even artwork depicts the Gosechi as shown by the featured photo, painted by Hokusai.

Even now, the Gosechi dance is still performed for the Emperor, at least for special occasions:

Dancers of the Gosechi dance performed in 1928, for the ascension of the Showa Emperor. See page for author, Public domain, via Wikimedia Commons

But I digress, Henjo was so mesmerized by their dance, he compared them with heavenly maidens, and hoped that the breeze would keep them on the earth a bit longer. As Professor Mostow notes, the Gosechi dance had a legendary origin involving Emperor Temmu who beheld heavenly maidens in the sky one night, so Bishop Henjo isn’t just making this up.

However, his playful simile has lasted through the ages.

1 This is still observed today in the form of Labor Day in Japan.