Ah, The Nostalgia: Poem Number 84

I found this one randomly in the Hyakunin Isshu, and thought it would be interesting to post:

ながらへば Nagaraeba
またこの頃や mata konogoro ya
しのばれむ shinobaren
憂しと見し世ぞ ushi to mishi yo zo
今は恋しき ima wa koi shiki

Which Professor Mostow translates as:

If I live on longer,
shall I again, I wonder,
yearn for these days?
The world that I once saw as
bitter, now, is dear to me!

The author of this poem is Fujiwara no Kiyosuke Ason (1104-1177) who was the second son of Fujiwara no Akisuke (poem 79). He was a very prolific author, and was commissioned to compile a new imperial anthology for Emperor Nijō, but because the emperor passed away before completion, it was not made into an official anthology.

I was struck by this poem, because it shows how people’s memories soften over time. When people go through a difficult time, it seems very bitter and painful, yet many years later, they yearn for the nostalgia. I think it’s something we all do as we get older, and a nice reminder how people 1,000 years ago in Japan really weren’t all that different than people today.

P.S. Speaking of nostalgia (and comic relief).

No Refuge In This World: Poem Number 83

This is a well-known poem in the Hyakunin Isshu, and I felt worth posting here:

世の中よ Yo no naka yo
道こそなけれ michi koso nakere
思ひ入る omoi iru
山のおくにも yama no oku ni mo
鹿ぞ鳴くなる shika zo naku naru

Which Professor Mostow translates as:

Within this world
there is, indeed, no path!
Even deep in this mountains
I have entered, heart set,
I seem to hear the deer cry!

The author, Fujiwara no Toshinari (1114-1204), or “Shunzei”, is the father of Fujiwara no Teika (poem 97) who compiled the Hyakunin Isshu anthology and was the foremost poetry expert of his time. This poem is both moving and technically strong. For example, according to Mostow, the phrase omoi iru is a “pivot word”, meaning that both the words before and after hinge on its double meanings: omoi-iru “to set one’s heart on” and iru “to enter”.

Again, as Mostow explains, the poem generates quite a bit of debate because it’s not clear what concerned him so much. Was it melancholy, a sense of his mortality, or was the state of society at the time (i.e. the decline of the Heian Period)?

Speaking of a deer’s cry, I found this video one of the famous “Nara deer”:

The Nara deer are more domesticated versions of the wild deer in Japan, but it gives you an idea what Shunzei must have heard deep in the woods 900 years ago.

P.S. Photo above was taken of a souvenir we received from a friend in Japan, celebrating the 1300th anniversary of the city of Nara. The little figure on the right is Nara’s mascot, Sento-kun. We’ve been to Nara too a couple of times. Here’s me standing next to one of the Nara deer in 2005.

Content: Poem Number 8

An early poem by an obscure and mysterious figure:

わが庵は Waga io wa
都のたつみ Miyako no tatsumi
しかぞすむ Shika zo sumu
世をうぢ山と Yo wo ujiyama to
人はいふなり hito wa iu nari

Which Professor Mostow translates as:

My hut is to
the capital’s southeast
and thus I live. But
people call it “Uji, hill
of one weary of the world,” I hear.

The poem was composed by a Buddhist monk named Kisen Hōshi (喜撰法師 lit. “Dharma master Kisen”) who lived in the mid-9th century. This is the only poem known to be his, though others may exist. He is considered one of the original Six Immortals of Poetry and is mentioned in the preface of the official anthology, the kokin wakashū.

The location is a place called ujiyama (宇治山), which was associated with sorry or grief, though since then it has been renamed in honor of its resident and is now called kisenzan (喜撰山). Someone did a really nice write-up on their visit to Kisen-zan with photos and a view of what is purported to be Kisen’s original hut. Also, the famous Buddhist temple of Byōdōin also can be found there. It was located south of the capital at the time, Kyoto.

The poem is a tricky one lends itself to two possible interpretations according to Professor Mostow. One interpretation has been that Kisen came there out of grief and weariness of the world, and made it his home. Mostow provides evidence that instead, Kisen lived there contentedly, and only heard from others that it was called brief mountain.

As there is a Buddhist tradition since the time of the Buddha to withdraw from the entanglement of the world, and find peace of mind. This tradition has led to the Buddhist monastic community that exists today in various parts of the world. Kisen is one of many who sought solace in places like Ujiyama. Question is, did he find only sorrow, or did he find contentedness?

Maybe only Kisen will ever know that.

Summer is Back: Poem Number 81

As spring turns into summer, I thought this poem seemed really appropriate and a great topic for discussion:

ほととぎす Hototogisu
鳴きつる方を nakitsuru kata wo
ながむれば nagamureba
ただ有明の tada ariake no
月ぞ残れる tsuki no nokoreru

Which Professor Mostow translates as:

The hototogisu:
when I gaze out towards where
he was singing,
all that remains is the moon,
pale in the morning sky.

This poem was composed by Fujiwara no Sanesada (1139-1191) who was the first cousin of Fujiwara no Teika, who compiled the Hyakunin Isshu anthology and author of poem 97, as well as the nephew of Shunzei (poem 83). He was ranked as the Tokudaiji Minister of the left in the Heian Court, and left behind an extensive poetry collection and his personal diary.

According to Professor Mostow, the poem was composed on the topic of staying up all night, to hear one cry.

The hototogisu (ホトトギス), or “lesser cuckoo”, in Japan is a famous bird known for its early summer call. You can see this video below:

So, as Professor Mostow explains, the author is waiting all night to hear the first call of the hototogisu as the first sign of summer.

One other note is the term 有明 (ariake), which is one of many poetic terms for the moon. Specifically it means the moon that remains in the morning, after daybreak. This normally occurs on the 16th day of the lunar cycle according to the old Japanese calendar.

P.S. Like the title, I’m back too.

Wishing This Moment Wouldn’t End: Poem Number 73

Cherry-blossom season doesn’t last long, so while there’s still time, I wanted to post one last poem on the subject:

高砂の Takasago no
尾の上の桜 Onoe no sakura
咲きにけり Saki ni keri
外山の霞 Toyama no kasumi
たたずもあらなん Tatazu mo aranan

Which Professor Mostow translates as:

Above the lower slopes
of the high mountains, the cherries
have blossomed!
O, mist of the near mountains,
how I wish you would not rise!

The author, Gon-Chūnagon Ōe no Masafusa (権中納言匡房, 1041-1111) was a prolific poet both in Japanese and in Chinese-style, and was a close confidant of Emperor Horikawa after retirement. As Professor Mostow notes, the poem’s meaning is very clear from the headnote, so there’s little if any debate about its meaning (unlike many poems in the Hyakunin Isshu). Masafusa hopes that the mist will not rise and block the view of the blossoms.

This poem brings to mind a time-honored tradition in Japan called hanami (花見) or “cherry-blossom viewing”. This is a tradition you can see alive and well in Japan today, and each year there are plenty of websites and helpful guides for Japanese and foreigners to find a good spot for viewing.

However, during the time of the Heian Court and the poets of the Hyakunin Isshu, it was more of an outing for elite members of the court only. Such excursions, just like now, included lots of music, singing and drinking as well as impromptu poetry. The only difference, really, was that back then it was a very isolated affair between good friends and a private spot, whereas now people really have to fight for a good spot in places like Tokyo or Kyoto, and often times involve one’s boss and associates from work.

Still, while some things have changed, it’s nice to see such a tradition live on for so many generations.

Cherry Blossoms in Unexpected Places: Poem Number 66

Now that Spring is finally here, and cherry blossoms are blooming in Japan, I thought this poem was especially fitting:

もろともに Morotomo ni
哀れと思へ Aware to omoe
山桜 Yama-zakura
花より外に Hana yori hoka ni
知る人もなし Shiru hito mo nashi

Which Professor Mostow translates as:

Let us think of each
other fondly,
O mountain cherries!
For, outside of your blossoms,
there’s no one who knows my feelings.

The poem was composed by Major Archbishop Gyōson (1055-1135), who according to Mostow, was a famed yamabushi or mountain ascetic, and a very prolific author in his day.

As Mostow explains, the poem itself is fairly straightforward, but the poem’s headnote has confused many scholars over time, stating that it was composed “when he saw cherry blossoms unexpectedly at Ōmine.” Was it the time of year, or the location that made it so unexpected? No one really knows for sure.

But, the joy of seeing cherry blossoms at this time of year is hard to deny.

A Lame Excuse: Poem Number 62

As a final poem in March to honor women poets in the Hyakunin Isshu, I wanted to post a humorous, witty poem by Sei Shonagon, author of the Pillow Book:

夜をこめて Yo wo komete
鳥の空音は Tori no sorane wa
はかるとも Hakaru tomo
よにあふさかの Yo ni Osaka no
関はゆるさじ Seki wa yurusaji

Which Professor Mostow translates as:

Although, still wrapped in night,
the cock’s false cry
some may deceive,
never will the Barrier
of Meeting Hill let you pass.

Sei Shonagon, along with Lady Ise and Lady Murasaki, is one of the most famous female authors of her generation and Japanese history as a whole. She’s best known as the author of the Pillow Book, which is a book of observations regarding court life, nature, art, etc. Whereas Lady Ise was a hopeless romantic, and Lady Murasaki was melancholy, Sei Shonagon’s writings show she had a sharp, often haughy wit. She had the misfortune of serving Empress Teishi, who fell out of favor after her father died, and the 2nd wife, Empress Shoshi, gained prominence. Lady Ise and Lady Murasaki served the latter, and by that time Sei Shonagon was a bit of a has-been.

This poem demonstrates Sei Shonagon’s wit at her finest though. According to the back-story, she was visited by one Yukinari, the First Controller, came to visit Sei Shonagon among other things, but left early in the night, because he had to be back to the Palace before the rooster crowed. Then Sei Shonagon receives a letter from him the next day, stating that he would have loved to stay longer, but then uses the famous example of a Chinese legend about the Lord of Meng Chang who supposedly tricked the guards at Han Ku gate to open it by imitating a rooster crow at night so that they would believe it was morning.

However, Sei is not convinced by his eloquent excuse and sends this snarky poem back that basically says that no one at Ōsaka Gate (Meeting Hill) would be fooled by it.

Happy Spring Everyone! Poem Number 61

Sorry for the lengthy hiatus everyone. Been a long couple of weeks, but I am excited to post this poem in honor of women poets this month, and timely because of the coming of spring:

いにしへの Inishie no
奈良の都の Nara no miyako no
八重桜 Yae-zakura
今日九重に Kyo kokonoe ni
匂ひぬるかな nioi nuru kana

Which Professor Mostow translates as:

The eight-petalled cherries
from the Nara capital
of the ancient past
today nine layers thick
have bloomed within your court!

Lady Ise no Tayū, was another lady in waiting for Empress Shoshi, as was Lady Murasaki (poem 57) and Lady Izumi (poem 56), but was the newbie apparently.

According to Lady Ise no Tayū’s own diary, she had to present a poem on the fly to the Bishop from the ancient capital of Nara and its Buddhist institutions, who had brought a lovely eight-petaled cherry blossom as a gift. Empress Shoshi’s father, Fujiwara no Michinaga, had asked Lady Murasaki to do it, but she deferred to Lady Ise no Tayū because she was new.

Thankfully, her poem was a success. As Professor Mostow notes, it does a really nice job balancing the “ancient” with the modern, and the eight petals of the blossom with the metaphorical nine-layers of the Imperial court.

No wonder she made the inner-circle of Empress Shoshi.

Happy Spring everyone!

P.S. Photo was taken by me when I visited Nara in 2010 in the spring.

An Awesome Poetic Comeback: Poem Number 60

This is one of my most favorite poems in the Hyakunin Isshu due to its backstory and its clever delivery and was composed by the daughter of Lady Izumi:

大江山 Oeyama
いく野の道の Ikuno no michi no
とほければ To kereba
まだふみも見ず Mada fumi mo mizu
天の橋立 Ama no Hashidate

Which Professor Mostow translates as:

Ōe Mountain and
the road that goes to Ikumo
are far away, and so
not yet have I trod there, nor letter seen,
from Ama-no-Hashidate

This poem was composed by Ko-Shikibu no Naishi (小式部内侍, d. 1025), daughter of Lady Izumi (poem 56), who was a handmaiden to Empress Shoshi like her mother. Sadly, she died at a young age, leaving her mother behind, and for such a talented poet, she has only a handful of poems in official anthologies.

According to the backstory of this poem, Lady Izumi was away in the province of Tango with her husband, and there was a poetry contest in the capital. Ko-Shikubu was selected as one of the poets, and one day Middle Counselor Sadayori teases her saying (according to Mostow):

What will you do about the poems? Have you sent someone off to Tango [to ask your mother for help]? Hasn’t the messenger come back? My, you must be worried.

To which the young and bold Ko-Shikibu pulled at Sadayori’s sleeve and composed this poetic reply off-the-cuff. While less obvious in English, the poem is a master piece because it recites three places in Tango in geographic order, has two puns (iku in Ikuno also means to go 行く, and fumi means both a letter 文 and to step 踏み) and the bridge mentioned, Ama-no-Hashidate, is associated with “stepping” too.

As the story goes, Sadayori was totally speechless and couldn’t come back with a good reply, so he ran off. Zing!

Stood Up: Poem Number 59

Our next poem in the series devoted to women in March deals with something women of today know all too well:

やすらはで Yasurawade
寝なまし物を Nenamashi mono wo
小夜更けて Sayo fukete
かたぶくまでの Katabuku made no
月を見しかな Tsuki wo mishi kana

Which Professor Mostow translates as:

Though I’d have preferred
to have gone off to bed
without hesitating,
the night deepened and
I watched the moon till it set!

The author, Akazome Emon, was another court lady in waiting for Empress Shoshi, along with Lady Murasaki (poem 57) and Lady Izumi (poem 56). She has an impressive 93 poems in the Shūishū Imperial anthology, and composed at least part of the Eiga Monogatari another classic from the era.

While Lady Murasaki had harsh words for some of her associates, according to Mostow, she describes Akazome as having “great poise” and takes her poetry seriously, without composing verses just for the fun of it. Indeed, Lady Murasaki states she is “most accomplished”.

The poem above itself is a bit of a mystery though. The headnote to the poem is explained as Akazome writing a poem on behalf of her sister who waited all night for her lover, Middle Regent Michitaka, but was stood up. As explained before, women lived sheltered lives in his era, and men rarely could see them except by secret arranged meetings, and yet sometimes the women might wait all night without her lover ever coming. This is a frequent topic in the Hyakunin Isshu anthology as well, both real and fictional.

However, there is some research that suggests that maybe Akazome didn’t author the poem, though it’s unclear who did. Nevertheless, whoever was stood up that night, I hope Michitaka apologised the next day.