One Hundred Poets, One Poem Each Read online

  I am the waves that crash

  upon your impervious rock.

  Though my heart shatters,

  my love rages yet.

  49. Onakatomi no Yoshinobu

  This troubled heart of mine

  is like the watch fire of the guards

  of the palace gate –

  it fades to embers by day,

  but blazes up again each night.

  50. Fujiwara no Yoshitaka

  I thought I would give up my life

  to hold you in my arms,

  but after a night together,

  I find myself wishing

  that I could live for ever.

  51. Fujiwara no Sanekata

  Because my feelings

  are too great to put into words,

  my heart blazes like the moxa

  of Mount Ibuki,

  with a love you cannot know.

  52. Fujiwara no Michinobu

  Though the sun has risen,

  I know I can see you again

  when it sets at dusk.

  Yet even so, how I hate

  this cold light of dawn.

  53. Mother of Michitsuna

  Someone like you

  may never know

  how long a night can be,

  spent pining for a loved one

  till it breaks at dawn.

  54. Mother of Honorary Grand Minister

  You promise you’ll never forget,

  but to the end of time

  is too long to ask.

  So let me die today –

  still loved by you.

  55. Fujiwara no Kinto

  The waterfall

  dried up

  in the distant past

  and makes

  not a sound,

  but its fame

  flows on

  and on –

  and echoes

  still

  today.

  56. Izumi Shikibu

  As I will soon be gone,

  let me take one last memory

  of this world with me –

  may I see you once more,

  may I see you now?

  57. Murasaki Shikibu

  Just like the moon,

  you had come and gone

  before I knew it.

  Were you, too, hiding

  among the midnight clouds?

  58. Daini no Sanmi

  Blown down from Mount Arima

  through Ina’s low bamboo

  the wind whispers,

  ‘I swear of my love –

  how could I forget you?’

  59. Akazome Emon

  I should have gone to sleep

  but, thinking you would come,

  I watched the moon

  throughout the night

  till it sank before the dawn.

  60. Koshikibu no Naishi

  No letter’s come from my mother,

  nor have I sought help with this poem,

  crossing Mount Oe,

  taking the Ikuno Road to her home

  beyond the Bridge to Heaven.

  61. Ise no Taifu

  The eightfold cherry blossoms

  from Nara’s ancient capital

  bloom afresh today

  in the new capital

  of the nine splendid gates.

  62. Sei Shonagon

  Wishing to leave while still night,

  you crow like a cock pretending it is dawn.

  As I will never meet you again,

  may the guards of the Meeting Hill

  for ever block your passage through.

  63. Fujiwara no Michimasa

  Rather than hearing it from others,

  somehow I want to find a way

  to tell you myself,

  just one thing –

  ‘Now I must give you up!’

  64. Fujiwara no Sadayori

  As the dawn mist

  thins in patches

  on the Uji River,

  in the shallows appear

  glistening stakes of fishing nets.

  65. Sagami

  Even my sleeves may rot

  from bitter tears that never dry,

  but worse than that

  is the tainting of my name

  by this bitter love.

  66. Prelate Gyoson

  Mountain Cherry,

  let us console each other.

  Of all those I know

  no one understands me

  the way your blossoms do.

  67. Suo no Naishi

  I would regret losing my good name

  for laying my head upon your arm

  offered as a pillow

  for a moment as fleeting

  as a spring night’s dream.

  68. Retired Emperor Sanjo

  Though against my wishes,

  I must live on in this world of pain.

  But when I look back

  I will surely recall you fondly,

  Dear Moon of this darkest night.

  69. Priest Noin

  Blown by storm winds,

  Mount Mimuro’s

  autumn leaves have become

  the River Tatsuta’s

  richly hued brocade.

  70. Priest Ryozen

  With a lonely heart,

  I step outside my hut

  and look around.

  Everywhere’s the same –

  autumn at dusk.

  71. Minamoto no Tsunenobu

  As evening draws near

  in the field before the gate

  the autumn wind visits,

  rustling through the ears of rice,

  then the eaves of my reed hut.

  72. Lady Kii

  I stay well away

  from the famed Takashi shore,

  where the waves, like you, are treacherous.

  I know if I get too close to either,

  my sleeves will end up wet.

  73. Oe no Masafusa

  How lovely the cherry blossoms

  blooming high

  on the peaks of Takasago.

  May the mists in the foothills

  not rise to block the view.

  74. Minamoto no Toshiyori

  I pleaded with the Goddess of Mercy

  for help with she who was cold to me

  but, like the wild winds of Hatsuse,

  she became fiercer still.

  It is not what I prayed for.

  75. Fujiwara no Mototoshi

  I believed in you with all my heart

  but again this autumn passed,

  filled with sadness. Your promises –

  but vanishing dewdrops

  of the mugwort blessing!

  76. Fujiwara no Tadamichi

  Rowing out on the vast ocean,

  when I look all around

  I cannot tell apart

  white billows in the offing

  from the far-off clouds.

  77. Retired Emperor Sutoku

  Like water rushing down

  the river rapids,

  we may be parted

  by a rock, but in the end

  we will be one again.

  78. Minamoto no Kanemasa

  Barrier Guard of Suma,

  how many nights

  have you been wakened

  by the lamenting plovers

  returning from Awaji?

  79. Fujiwara no Akisuke

  Autumn breezes blow

  long trailing clouds.

  Through a break,

  the moonlight –

  so clear, so bright.

  80. Taikenmon-in no Horikawa

  After you left this morning

  my raven locks were full of tangles,

  and now – not knowing

  if you will always be true –

  my heart is filled with tangles, too.

  81. Fujiwara no Sanesada

  I look out to where

  the little cuckoo called,

  but all that is left to
see

  is the pale moon

  in the sky of dawn.

  82. Priest Doin

  I somehow live on,

  enduring this harsh love,

  yet my tears –

  unable to bear their pain –

  cannot help but flow.

  83. Fujiwara no Shunzei

  There’s no escape in this sad world.

  With a melancholy heart

  I enter deep in the mountains,

  but even here I hear

  the plaintive belling of the stag.

  84. Fujiwara no Kiyosuke

  Since I now recall fondly

  the painful days of the past,

  if I live long, I may look back

  on these harsh days, too,

  and find them sweet and good.

  85. Priest Shun’e

  I spent the night in longing

  but the day would not break

  and even gaps in the shutters

  were too cruel

  to let in a sliver of light.

  86. Priest Saigyo

  It is not you, Dear Moon,

  who bids me grieve

  but when I look at your face

  I am reminded of my love –

  and tears begin to fall.

  87. Priest Jakuren

  The sudden shower

  has not yet dried.

  From the leaves of black pines,

  wisps of fog rise

  in the autumn dusk.

  88. Kokamon-in no Betto

  For the sake of one night

  on Naniwa Bay,

  short as the nodes

  of a root-cut reed,

  must I love you with all my heart?

  89. Princess Shokushi

  Should I live longer

  I could not bear this secret love.

  Jewelled thread of life,

  since you must break –

  let it be now.

  90. Inpumon-in no Taifu

  How I would like to show you –

  the fishermen’s sleeves of Ojima

  are drenched, but even so

  have not lost their colour,

  as mine have, bathed in endless tears.

  91. Fujiwara no Ryokei

  The crickets cry

  on this frosty night

  as I spread my robe for one

  on the cold straw mat

  where I shall sleep alone.

  92. Lady Sanuki

  My tear-soaked sleeves

  are like rocks in the offing.

  Even at low tide

  you never notice them,

  nor can they ever dry.

  93. Minamoto no Sanetomo

  That such moving sights

  would never change –

  fishermen rowing

  their small boats,

  pulling them on to shore.

  94. Fujiwara no Masatsune

  A cold mountain wind blows down

  on the old capital of Yoshino,

  and as the autumn night deepens

  I can hear the chilly pounding

  of cloth being fulled.

  95. Former High Prelate Jien

  Though I am not good enough,

  for the good of the people,

  here in these wooded hills,

  I’ll embrace them in my black robes

  of the Buddha’s Way.

  96. Fujiwara no Kintsune

  As if lured by the storm

  the blossoms are strewn about,

  white upon the garden floor,

  yet all this whiteness is not snow −

  it is me who withers and grows old.

  97. Fujiwara no Teika

  Pining for you,

  who do not come,

  I am like the salt-making fires

  at dusk on the Bay of Waiting –

  burning bitterly in flames of love.

  98. Fujiwara no Ietaka

  A twilight breeze rustles

  through the oak leaves

  of the little Oak Brook,

  but the cleansing rites

  tell us it is still summer.

  99. Retired Emperor Gotoba

  Though it is futile to ponder

  the ways of the world,

  I am lost in desolate musing –

  I have loved some and hated others,

  even hated the ones I love.

  100. Retired Emperor Juntoku

  Memory ferns sprout in the eaves

  of the old forsaken palace.

  But however much I yearn for it,

  I can never bring back

  that glorious reign of old.

  Commentary

  In the main body of the translation, the poems are provided without any contextual information. As the Introduction explains (here), Teika is thought to have first selected the poems for decoration on the walls of the country residence of his son’s father-in-law, Utsunomiya Rensho. An entry in his diary records that he sent a hundred poems to Rensho for his house and these are thought to be more or less the same as the poems that became the One Hundred Poems. At that time Teika excised the headnotes (kotobagaki) that originally accompanied the poems in the sources from which they were taken. In other words, Teika presented the poems context-free with no information except the name of the author. The original headnotes describe the circumstances in which the poems were written or merely give the topic (dai) on which they were composed; some are short but some give long, detailed accounts – sometimes fictional – describing the background of the composition of the poem.

  I have also presented the poems context-free, with no information except the name of the author, so that the reader can encounter them without encumbrances. However, I have included pertinent information from the original headnotes in the Commentary. Although the original headnotes were not always verifiably correct, they do provide interesting details on context that reflect the reception of the poems in the One Hundred Poets up to and after Teika’s time. I hope the annotations that follow, which also include information on the translation techniques employed, short biographies of the poets and other details, will make the reader’s encounter with the text more informed and pleasurable.

  As a general point, it should be noted that while the poems were composed at various stages of their authors’ lives, the poets are all known by their posthumous names, as in the original collection. Thus although poem 100 was written while the emperor was still reigning, he is known by his posthumous name, Retired Emperor Juntoku. And although poem 95 was composed by Jien when still a young man, he is known by the later title of Former High Prelate Jien. When the names of women poets are not known, they are often referred to as the ‘mother’ or ‘daughter’ of someone, such as ‘Mother of Michitsuna’ (poem 53). Even where the name of a woman poet was known, she might be referred to in this way, such as ‘Mother of Honorary Grand Minister’ (poem 54), rather than by her actual name, Takashina no Takako.

  In the Commentary, full names of historical figures follow the Japanese order of family name followed by forename, with just the forename (rather than the surname) being used otherwise, as in ‘[Fujiwara no] Teika’. Words and phrases highlighted in bold constitute a reference to the Glossary, where further information may be found on literary terms and conventions and major works of classical Japanese literature that crop up repeatedly in the annotations that follow. The periods of Japanese history referred to are: Nara (710–94); Heian (794–1185); Kamakura (1185–1333); Edo (1603–1868); and Meiji (1868–1912).

  1

  The collection opens and closes with poems by emperors, reflecting Teika’s emphasis on the connection between the imperial institution and poetry. (See the Introduction, here, for more on this.) The gentle first poem, about the dew moistening the poet’s sleeves in a simple hut, sets the tone for the entire collection. In classical Japanese poetry, wet sleeves are typically associated with tears, usually of despair over an unhappy love relationship. Like the majority of medieval commentators, howev
er, Teika seems to have read the poem as a political allegory in which the wise and caring sovereign, Emperor Tenji, expresses his sympathy for the hardships of his people, symbolized by the ruined state of the hut. This is also the traditional reading of the poem, one that would have resonated most with its original audience, and hence is the version given in the main translation. A stronger, more nuanced reading would be to interpret it as a love poem, in which case it might be rendered:

  In this makeshift hut

  in the autumn field

  gaps in the thatch let dewdrops in,

  but it is not dew alone

  that moistens my sleeves …

  This reading is advocated, among others, by the eminent Man’yōshū scholar Susumu Nakanishi (in Nakanishi Susumu to aruku Hyakunin isshu no Kyoto (Kyoto: Kyoto Shinbun, 2007), pp. 7–11). Emperor Tenji is said to have been involved in a heated love triangle with his brother Prince Oama – the future Emperor Tenmu (r. 673–86) – over the love of Princess Nukata, a famed beauty and poet, but no historical evidence supports this.