One Hundred Poets, One Poem Each Page 7
Pondering on binaries, as the poet does here, is common enough in ninth-century poetry; poem 2 in the Kokinshū is another example:
Is life real
or but a dream?
I do not know
for one moment it’s here –
but gone the next.
(Yo no naka wa / yume ka utsutsu ka / utsutsu tomo / yume tomo shirazu / arite nakereba)
A more literal translation of wakarete wa in line 3 of poem 10 would read ‘here they part ways’. I have translated the poem using single-word lines to convey some of the energy and sense of movement of the original poem. A more conventional rendering would be:
So this is the place!
Crowds coming, going,
here they part ways,
those known, unknown –
the Gate of Meeting Hill.
Semimaru (fl. early tenth century). Little is known about him. He is said to have lived as a hermit by the Osaka Barrier. A legend grew around him that he was a son of Emperor Daigo (r. 897–930), banished because of his blindness (seen as a retribution for sins in a past life), and he is believed to have been a virtuoso biwa lutenist. Four poems are attributed to him in the imperial waka anthologies; he is also the subject of Zeami’s great Noh play Semimaru.
11
This is another poem on the theme of exile (see also poem 7). Takamura was exiled to the Oki Islands for refusing to join the mission to China in 838 over divergences with the ambassador, Fujiwara no Tsunenaga. He was pardoned in 840, however, and resumed his position at court. According to the headnote (kotobagaki) in the Kokinshū, Takamura wrote the poem before boarding the boat that would take him to the islands and had it sent back to someone in the capital to convey the sadness he felt upon departing.
An alternative way of interpreting the poem is as a love poem addressed to a lady in the capital:
Boats of the fisherman,
tell her, please,
I’m being rowed away to exile
through the myriad islets
to the great ocean beyond.
Here the poet is being ‘rowed away to exile’, as a nobleman would not be expected to row himself. While the word ‘exile’ does not appear in the original, the ‘myriad islets’ would indicate to readers of the time that the poet had been sent away and was heading to one of the islands in the Oki archipelago to which people were exiled (see also commentary to poem 100 and utamakura). In the main translation, the English idiom ‘sailed away’ is used instead to convey the poet’s sense of disappearing for a long time, possibly for ever; in reality, he was of course pardoned and able to return quite soon.
Teika does not seem to have rated this poem particularly highly (of the various poetry selections that he compiled, the only other collection that he included it in was his Hachidaishō (Selection from the First Eight Waka Anthologies; 1215–16); his decision to include it here was probably due to non-literary factors (such as the similarities with Emperor Gotoba’s experience; see commentary to poem 99).
Ono no Takamura (802–52) was a statesman and literary figure from a distinguished family of scholars. He excelled in both Chinese- and Japanese-language genres. Though a collection of his works in Chinese has been lost, some of his poems and prose works still exist, appearing in collections of Chinese texts such as the Keikokushū (Collection to Rule the Realm; 827), the Wakan rōeishū (Collection of Chinese and Japanese Poems to Sing; c.1018?) and Honchō monzui (Literary Selection of Our Realm; mid eleventh century). Six of his waka poems are included in the Kokinshū.
12
According to the headnote (kotobagaki) to the poem as it appears in the Kokinshū (no. 872), this poem was composed ‘on seeing the Gosechi dancers’. The Gosechi dance was performed at court by young maidens of the nobility. In the year that a new emperor ascended the throne it was performed three times: at the Ninamesai Festival, which celebrated the harvest; at the Daijosai Festival, traditionally held during the eleventh month of the lunisolar calendar; and at the Toyoakari no Sechie Festival held the following day.
According to legend, the dance originated in the time of Emperor Tenmu (r. 673–86). The young emperor was playing the koto at the Katte Shrine in Yoshino when heavenly dancers appeared above him in the sky. By likening real-life dancers to their heavenly counterparts, the poet equates the earthly realm of the emperor (Ninmyo in this instance) with the immortal abode of the gods. Vivid descriptions of the Gosechi Festival can be found in The Tale of Genji. The late-medieval commentary on the One Hundred Poets, Oeishō (Commentary Written in the Thirteenth Year of Oei; 1406), says of this poem: ‘Both the wording and the sentiment are without equal. Some say that it is because such poems are rare in Henjo’s oeuvre that this particular one appealed to Teika.’
Archbishop Henjo (816–90), lay name Yoshimine no Munesada, was one of the foremost poets of the ninth century. He served under Emperor Ninmyo (833–50) as Captain of the Imperial Guard and entered religion in 849 after the emperor’s sudden demise. The Tales of Yamato includes stories of his various loves and religious conversion. Henjo left a private collection of poems. In the Kokinshū headnote to the poem here, his work is described as being formally accomplished but lacking in ‘truth’ (makoto). His son Sosei (poem 21) was also a distinguished poet.
13
Poem 13, one of the most beautiful and universal in the collection, appears in the ‘Love’ section of the Gosenshū (no. 777) with the headnote (kotobagaki) ‘Sent to the Princess of the Fishing Pavilion’. The princess was Suishi (or Yasuko; d. 925), a daughter of Emperor Koko (poem 15). Mount Tsukuba, in the then remote province of Hitachi (modern Ibaraki), was the site of ancient agricultural rituals known as utagaki or kagai, which involved sexual intercourse between young men and women of marriageable age. The mountain itself has two summits, the Woman’s Peak and the Man’s Peak, and from ancient times it was associated with love.
Medieval commentators make much of the fact that the poet is an emperor: when an emperor’s mind is filled with longing for love, the entire country rejoices; when it is afflicted by problems, the whole country suffers. Associated with imperial benevolence, as it is here, Mount Tsukuba is a famous site (see utamakura) referred to in a number of headnotes to poems in the Kokinshū.
The first three lines of the poem in the original Japanese, up to and including Minanogawa, form a ‘preface’ (jokotoba) to fuchi (deep pools), thus introducing a geographical setting (River Minano flowing from Mount Tsukuba) that serves as a metaphor for the idea expressed in the second part of the poem (the depth of the poet’s love). Profound love is here compared to the Minano River, which, on falling from Mount Tsukuba, forms deep pools.
Retired Emperor Yozei (868–949; r. 876–84), fifty-seventh emperor and eldest son of Emperor Seiwa (r. 858–76), is remembered more for his extravagance and excess (which included murdering a courtier with his own hands) than for his wisdom as a ruler. In 884, he was eventually forced to abdicate by his uncle, the regent Mototsune, in favour of Emperor Koko. After his retirement he hosted poetry contests and seems to have taken a keen interest in waka, though only this one poem was included in the imperial anthologies. His son Prince Motoyoshi (poem 20) was a famous poet and lover.
14
As is often the case in classical Japanese poetry, nature provides a repertoire of images for expressing deep emotion. Here the tangled fern pattern (shinobu mojizuri) that symbolizes the poet’s inner turmoil was obtained by impressing (zuri; literally ‘rubbing’) a pattern on to fabric using the sap of the hare’s foot fern (shinobu-gusa). The word shinobu (to love secretly) is also the name of an area in north-eastern Japan – a famous poetic location (see utamakura). Michinoku (literally, ‘deep on the road’), the old name for the eastern part of present-day Tohoku, implies a place that is far away and remote. Thus line 3 could also be translated as ‘Shinobu cloth of the far-off north’. Michinoku no / shinobu mojizuri forms a preface (jokotoba) for midare, which means ‘dishevelled’ or ‘confused’ in ref
erence to the poet’s feelings.
Although the original context of the poem is unknown, the poem itself is famous for being quoted in Episode 1 of The Tales of Ise, where it serves as the model for a poem by the hero, Ariwara no Narihira (see also poem 17):
Lavender shoots
on the Plain of Kasuga,
like the riotous patterns
of this purple robe –
what tangled feelings you arouse!
The hero has just caught a glimpse of two beautiful sisters living in straitened circumstances and borrows the imagery of Toru’s poem to express his confused delight at such a sight. His spontaneous composition, based on a famous poem from the past, displays both his talent as a poet and a refinement that made him the ideal lover of the Heian period.
Minamoto no Toru (822–95), the son of Emperor Saga (r. 809–23), was a great aesthete. He was named Kawara Minister of the Left after his residence in the capital to the east of the Sixth Avenue, near the river beach, or kawara. In addition to the Kawara mansion, which is the focal point of Episode 81 in The Tales of Ise, he was also the owner of a villa at Uji (the site upon which the famous Byodoin Temple was built). Among his achievements was the construction of a magnificent garden in which he recreated miniature versions of various famous locations. The author of two poems each in the Kokinshū and Gosenshū, he is also the protagonist of a famous Noh play, Tōru, attributed to Zeami.
15
The theme of this poem is the annual picking of young shoots (wakana-tsumi), which took place every year as part of the celebrations for the Day of the Rat (ne no hi). The date fell early in the first month (New Year in the lunisolar calendar and mid February in the Gregorian calendar). The ‘greens’ referred to in the poem were the so-called ‘seven herbs’ (nanakusa), namely, seri (water dropwort), nazuna (shepherd’s purse), gogyō (cudweed), hakobera (chickweed), hotoke-no-za (nipplewort), suzuna (modern name, kabu; Japanese turnip) and suzushiro (modern name, daikon; radish). Young shoots were thought to symbolize long life and ward off evil, so they were presented as gifts. In the Man’yōshū period, the picking would have been done by a woman and the recipient of the gift would have been a man, but in Heian times men also presented such gifts. Here the author is a man. The Festival of the Seven Herbs (nanakusa no sekku) is still celebrated today on 7 January. Customs include eating rice porridge flavoured with the aforementioned seven plants. Whereas the young shoots symbolize spring, the falling snow means it is still winter, making this a perfect early-spring poem.
Emperor Koko (830–87: r. 884–7), the fifty-eighth emperor, was the third son of Emperor Ninmyo (r. 833–50) and a protégé of regent Fujiwara no Mototsune. He was enthroned at the age of fifty-four in succession to the mentally unstable Yozei (poem 13). In contemporary sources, he is referred to as the Emperor of the Ninna Era. Fourteen poems by him appear in the imperial waka anthologies and he has his own collection, the Ninna gyoshū.
16
This poem displays mastery of the technique of literary punning (kakekotoba), providing one of the very few examples of a pun that works in both Japanese and English. The word matsu shares the same two meanings in Japanese and in English (‘pine tree’ and ‘to pine for someone’) and translators since William N. Porter (1849–1929) have consistently exploited this. Another pun used to great effect is based on the place name Inaba, which also means ‘if I leave’. Mount Inaba (Inaba no yama) also constitutes a famous ‘poem pillow’ (utamakura).
The author of the poem, Yukihira, was appointed Governor of Inaba (present-day Tottori Prefecture) in 855, and may have composed this as a farewell poem for a lover or a friend, though no one knows for certain. It is included in the Kokinshū (no. 365) in the category ‘Parting’.
Ariwara no Yukihira (818–93) was a grandson of Emperor Heizei (r. 806–9) and the eldest brother of Narihira (poem 17). Known as a man of superior taste, he rose fairly high in the court hierarchy, reaching the third rank and the office of Middle Counsellor (chūnagon). The Noh play Matsukaze (Wind in the Pines), one of the most highly regarded in the entire Noh repertoire, tells of the love between Yukihira and two sisters in what was then the remote seaside location of Suma, and of the sisters’ waiting for his return after his departure.
17
Aptly placed after Yukihira’s poem, poem 17 is by his more famous younger brother, Narihira, indicating how, in addition to many pairs of poems by fathers and sons/daughters, the One Hundred Poets also features a pair of siblings, signifying the importance of familial ties in the waka tradition and in Teika’s understanding of it.
The poem can be read in two different ways depending on how the fifth line is interpreted. Teika seems to have read it as mizu kuguru to wa (water streams below [the maple leaves]), whereas the common interpretation in Narihira’s time was in all probability mizu kukuru to wa ([the maple leaves] dye the water). (See also the Introduction, here.) Such differing interpretations were possible because of polysemy, which arose partially from the way in which the ancient kana syllabary was written: there was no vocalization mark, so consonants could be read as either voiced or voiceless. (In this case, the second syllable in kukuru could be read either as ‘ku’ or ‘gu’, giving rise to the two meanings mentioned above: kuguru and kukuru, ‘streams below’ and ‘dye’). In translation, Teika’s version of the poem reads:
Such beauty unheard of,
even in the age of the raging gods –
on the River Tatsuta,
a carpet of autumn reds,
water streaming below.
Tatsuta in the ancient Yamato Province originally had a range of different poetic associations (see also utamakura and poem 69), but from the Heian period onwards it was used almost exclusively in conjunction with maple leaves. The poem is full of the vigour and slightly iconoclastic charm that one finds in much of Narihira’s best verse. The claim that never before has such a spectacle been seen seems to ask the reader to forget the accepted wisdom about the famous location and look at it with fresh eyes.
According to the headnote (kotobagaki) that precedes it in the Kokinshū (no. 294), the poem was composed as a screen poem (byōbu-uta) for the consort of Emperor Seiwa (r. 858–76), Fujiwara no Takaiko (842–910). Such poems were written on paper squares and pasted next to the paintings on folding partition screens. Because they were based on the scene painted on the screen they tend to be strongly visual, and this poem is no exception. (See the Introduction, here, for more on this.)
This particular poem praises the empress’s glory for giving birth to a crown prince, the future Emperor Yozei (poem 13). In Japanese mythology, the gods are the ancestors of the imperial house, so by invoking the age of the gods Narihira is actually paying tribute to the empress. Narihira was part of a circle at Takaiko’s palace that included other notable poets, including Priest Sosei (poem 21). The poem also includes a makura kotoba (pillow word), chihayaburu (raging), which is paired with kami (gods) to convey a sense of their awe-inspiring power and, by extension, the unparalleled beauty of the maples.
Poem 17 appears in The Tales of Ise (Episode 106) but within the context of a prose tale. In this version, the poem is composed by the hero along the banks of the Tatsuta River where he is out rambling with some princes. Such reworking of famous poems was common practice at the time.
Ariwara no Narihira (825–80) was one of the greatest poets of the early Heian period and a legendary lover. The son of Prince Abo, he was the grandson of Emperor Heizei (r. 806–9) on his father’s side and of Kanmu (r. 781–806) on his mother’s. His amorous exploits are recorded (alongside some fictional ones) in the The Tales of Ise, of which he is believed to be the partial author. Eighty-seven of his poems appear in the imperial waka anthologies. He is listed as one of Tsurayuki’s Six Poetic Geniuses and again in Kinto’s Thirty-Six Poetic Geniuses.
18
This wonderfully elliptic poem perfectly embodies the witty, sophisticated compositional style of the Kokinshū period. The word yoru in the Japanese
puns on ‘to approach’ and ‘night’, indicating that the lovers could only meet by night. I have tried to create a similar effect in the translation by using ‘approach’ in contrasting ways: the movement of the waves towards the shore and the refusal of the poet’s lover to come to him. Although composed by a man, the poem is written from the perspective of a woman longing for her lover (see matsu onna). I have left out ‘night’ from the translation because it is obvious from the reference to the ‘path of dreams’.
The first three lines are a preface (jokotoba) that is connected to the rest by the pivot word yoru. The first half of the poem can be read ‘the waves approach the shores of Sumiyoshi Bay even by night’, and the latter part as ‘even by night you refuse to visit me’. Sumiyoshi Bay is also a well-known poetic location (see utamakura).
The path of dreams was the path that lovers travelled by night in their dreams to visit their beloved. In this poem it appears that the lover’s fear of being seen is so great that he does not dare to visit his beloved even in his dreams. The image of the yume no kayoiji (the path of dreams) was often employed in poetry of the Heian period. Its first appearance was as a variation of the word yumeji in two beautiful poems by Ono no Komachi in the Kokinshū (nos. 657 and 658).
The poem was composed at a famous poetry contest at the house of the Kampyo Empress, an important early contest held in 892, possibly to gather poems for what eventually became the Kokinshū.