Footnotes
1 Under certain conditions of intimacy, both prefix and title are dropped. They are dropped also by the superior in addressing an inferior;—for example, a lady would not address her maid as "O-Yoné San," but merely as "Yoné"
1 This suffix must not be confused with the suffix "ë," signifying "branch," which is also attached to many popular names. Without seeing the Chinese character, you cannot decide whether the name Tamaë, for example, means "Jewel-branch" or "Jewel Inlet."
1 "Ayamé Sama," however, is rather familiar; and this form cannot be used by a stranger in verbal address, though a letter may be directed with the name so written. As a rule, the ko is the more respectful form.
Old Japanese Songs
Old Japanese Songs
THIS New Year's morning I find upon my table two most welcome gifts from a young poet of my literary class. One is a roll of cloth for a new kimono,—cloth such as my Western reader never saw. The brown warp is cotton thread; but the woof is soft white paper string, irregularly speckled with black. When closely examined, the black specklings prove to be Chinese and Japanese characters;—for the paper woof is made out of manuscript,—manuscript of poems,—which has been deftly twisted into fine cord, with the written surface outwards. The general effect of the white, black, and brown in the texture is a warm mouse-grey. In many Izumo homes a similar kind of cloth is manufactured for family use; but this piece was woven especially for me by the mother of my pupil. It will make a most comfortable winter-robe; and when wearing it, I shall be literally clothed with poetry,—even as a divinity might be clothed with the sun.
The other gift is poetry also, but poetry in the original state: a wonderful manuscript collection of Japanese songs gathered from unfamiliar sources, and particularly interesting from the fact that nearly all of them are furnished with refrains. There are hundreds of compositions, old and new,—including several extraordinary ballads, many dancing-songs, and a surprising variety of love-songs. Neither in sentiment nor in construction do any of these resemble the Japanese poetry of which I have already, in previous books, offered specimens in translation. The forms are, in most cases, curiously irregular; but their irregularity is not without a strange charm of its own.
I am going to offer examples of these compositions,—partly because of their unfamiliar emotional quality, and partly because I think that something can be learned from their strange art of construction. The older songs—selected from the antique drama—seem to me particularly worthy of notice. The thought or feeling and its utterance are supremely simple; yet by primitive devices of reiteration and of pause, very remarkable results have been obtained. What strikes me especially noteworthy in the following specimen is the way that the phrase, begun with the third line of the first stanza, and interrupted by a kind of burthen, is repeated and finished in the next stanza. Perhaps the suspension will recall to Western readers the effect of some English ballads with double refrains, or of such quaint forms of French song as the famous—
Au jardin de mon père—
Vole, mon cœur, vole!
Il y a un pommier doux,
Tout doux!
But in the Japanese song the reiteration of the broken phrase produces a slow dreamy effect as unlike the effect of the French composition as the movements of a Japanese dance are unlike those of any Western round:—
KANO YUKU WA
(Probably from the eleventh century)
Kano yuku wa,
Kari ka?—kugui ka?
Kari naraba,—
(Ref.) Haréya tōtō!
Haréya tōtō!
Kari nara
Nanori zo sémashi;—
Nao kugui nari-ya!—
(Ref.) Tōtō!
That which yonder flies,—
Wild goose is it?—swan is it?
Wild goose if it be,—
Haréya tōtō!
Haréya tōtō!
Wild goose if it be,
Its name I soon shall say:
Wild swan if it be,—better still!
Tōtō!
There are many old lyrics in the above form. Here is another song, of different construction, also from the old drama: there is no refrain, but there is the same peculiar suspension of phrase; and the effect of the quadruple repetition is emotionally impressive:—
Isora ga saki ni
Tai tsuru ama mo,
Tai tsuru ama mo,—
Wagimoko ga tame to,
Tai tsuru ama mo,
Tai tsuru ama mo!
Off the Cape of Isora,
Even the fisherman catching tai,1
Even the fisherman catching tai,—
[Works] for the sake of the woman beloved,—
Even the fisherman catching tai,
Even the fisherman catching tai!
But a still more remarkable effect is obtained in the following ancient song by the extraordinary reiteration of an uncompleted phrase, and by a double suspension. I can imagine nothing more purely natural: indeed the realism of these simple utterances has almost the quality of pathos:—
AGÉMAKI
(Old lyrical drama—date uncertain)
Agémaki1 wo
Waséda ni yarité ya!
So omou to,
So omou to,
So omou to,
So omou to,
So omou to,—
So omou to,
Nani-mo sezushité,—
Harubi sura,
Harubi sura,
Harubi sura,
Harubi sura,
Harubi sura!
My darling boy!—
Oh! they have sent him to the ricefields!
When I think about him,—
When I think,
When I think,
When I think,
When I think,—
When I think about him!
I—doing nothing at all,
Even on this spring-day,
Even this spring-day,
Even this spring-day,
Even this spring-day,
Even on this spring-day!—
Other forms of repetition and of refrain are furnished in the two following lyrics:—
BINDATARA
(Supposed to have been composed as early as the twelfth century)
Bindatara wo
Ayugaséba koso,
Ayugaséba koso,
Aikyō zuitaré!
Yarèko tōtō,
Yarèko tōtō!
With loosened hair,—
Only because of having tossed it,
Only because of having shaken it,—
Oh, sweet she is!
Yaréko tōtō!
Yaréko tōtō!
SAMA WA TENNIN
(Probably from the sixteenth century)
Sama wa tennin!
Soré-soré,
Tontorori!
Otomé no sugata
Kumo no kayoiji
Chirato mita!
Tontorori!
Otomé no sugata
Kumo no kayoiji
Chirato mita!
Tontorori!
My beloved an. angel is!1
Soré-soré!
Tontorori!
The maiden's form,
In the passing of clouds,
In a glimpse I saw!
Tontorori!
The maiden's form,
In the passage of clouds,
In a glimpse I saw!
Tontorori!
My next selection is from a love-song of uncertain date, belonging to the Kamakura period (1186-1332). This fragment is chiefly remarkable for its Buddhist allusions, and for its very regular form of stanza:—
Makoto yara,
Kashima no minato ni
Miroku no mifuné ga
Tsuité gozarimōsu.
Yono!
Sā iyoë, iyoë!
Sā iyoë, iyoë!
Hobashira wa,
Kogané no hobashira;
Ho niwa Hokkékyō no
Go no man-makimono.
Sā iyoë, iyoë!
Sā iyoë, iyoë!
. . . . . . . .
I know not if 't is true
That to the port of Kashima
The august ship of Miroku1 has come!
Yono!
Sā iyoë, iyoë!
Sā iyoë, iyoë!
As for the mast,
It is a mast of gold;—
The sail is the fifth august roll
Of the Hokkékyō!1
Sā iyoë, iyoë!
Sā iyoë, iyoë
. . . . . . . .
Otherwise interesting, with its queer refrain, is another song called "Agemaki,"—belonging to one of the curious class of lyrical dramas known as Saibara. This may be found fault with as somewhat "free"; but I cannot think it more open to objection than some of our much-admired Elizabethan songs which were probably produced at about the same time:—
AGÉMAKI
(Probably from the sixteenth century)
Agémaki ya!
Tonton!
Hiro bakari ya—
Tonton!
Sakarité netarédomo,
Marobi-ainikéri,—
Tonton!
Kayori-ainikéri,
Tonton!
Oh! my darling boy!
Tonton!
Though a fathom1 apart,
Tonton!
Sleeping separated,
By rolling we came together!
Tonton!
By slow approaches we came together,
Tonton!
My next group of selections consists of "local songs"—by which term the collector means songs peculiar to particular districts or provinces. They are old—though less old than the compositions previously cited;—and their interest is chiefly emotional. But several, it will be observed, have curious refrains. Songs of this sort are sung especially at the village-dances—Bon-odori and Hōnen-odori:—
LOVE-SONG
(Province of Echigo)
Hana ka?—chōchō ka?
Chōchō ka?—hana ka?
Don-don!
Kité wa chira-chira mayowaséru,
Kité wa chira-chira mayowaséru!
Taichokané!
Sōkané don-don!
Flower is it?—butterfly is it?
Butterfly or flower?
Don-don!
When you come thus flickering, I am deluded!—
When you come thus twinkling, I am bewitched!
Taichokané!
Sōkané don-don!
LOVE-SONG
(Province of Kii,—village of Ogawa)
Koë wa surédomo
Sugata wa miénu—
Fuka-no no kirigirisu!
Though I hear the voice [of the beloved], the form I cannot see—a kirigirisu1 in the high grass.
LOVE-SONG
(Province of Mutsu,—district of Sugaru)
Washi no kokoro to
Oki kuru funé wa,
Raku ni misétémo,
Ku ga taënu.
My heart and a ship in the offing—either seems to move with ease; yet in both there is trouble enough.
LOVE-SONG
(Province of Suwō,—village of Iséki)
Namida koboshité
Shinku wo kataru,
Kawairashi-sa ga
Mashimasuru!
As she tells me all the pain of her toil, shedding tears,—ever her sweetness seems to increase.
LOVE-SONG
(Province of Suruga, village of Gotemba)
Hana ya, yoku kiké!
Shō aru naraba,
Hito ga fusagu ni
Nazé hiraku?
O flower, hear me well if thou hast a soul! When any one sorrows as I am sorrowing, why dost thou bloom?
OLD TŌKYŌ SONG
Iya-na o-kata no
Shinsetsu yori ka
Suita o-kata no
Muri ga yoi.
Better than the kindness of the disliked is the violence of the beloved.
LOVE-SONG
(Province of Iwami)
Kawairashi-sa ya!
Hotaru no mushi wa
Shinobu nawaté ni
Hi wo tomosu.
Ah, the darling! . . . Ever as I steal along the ricefield-path [to meet my lover], the firefly kindles a light to show me the way.
COMIC SONG
(Province of Shinano)
Ano yama kagé dé
Hikaru wa nanja?—
Tsuki ka, hoshi ka, hotaru no mushi ka?
Tsuki démo naiga;
Hoshi démo naiga;—
Shūto no o-uba no mé ga hikaru,—
(Chorus) Mé ga hikaru!
In the shadow of the mountain
What is it that shines so?
Moon is it, or star?—or is it the firefly-insect?
Neither is it moon,
Nor yet star;—
It is the old woman's Eye;—it is the Eye of my
mother-in-law that shines,—
(Chorus) It is her Eye that shines!
KAËRI-ODORI1
(Province of Sanuki)
Oh! the cruelty, the cruelty of my mother-in-law!—
(Chorus) Oh I the cruelty!
Even tells me to paint a picture on running water!
If ever I paint a picture on running water,
You will count the stars in the night-sky!
Count the stars in the night-sky!
—Come! let us dance the Dance of the Honor-able Garden!—
Chan-chan!
Cha-cha!
Yoitomosé,
Yoitomosè!
Who cuts the bamboo at the back of the house?—
(Chorus) Who cuts the bamboo?—
My sweet lord's own bamboo, the first he planted,—
The first he planted?
—Come! let us dance the Dance of the Honorable Garden!—
Chan-chan!
Cha-cha!
Yoitomosé,
Yoitomosé!
Oh! the cruelty, the cruelty of my mother-in-law!—
Oh! the cruelty!
Tells me to cut and make a hakama1 out of rock!
If ever I cut and sew a hakama of rock,
Then you will learn to twist the fine sand into thread,—
Twist it into thread.
—Come! let us dance the Dance of the Honorable Garden!—
Chan-chan!
Cha-cha!
Yoitomosé,
Yoitomosé!
Chan-chan-chan!
OTERA-ODORI (TEMPLE-DANCE)
(Province of Iga, village called Uenomachi)
Visiting the honorable temple, when I see the august gate,
The august gate I find to be of silver, the panels of gold.
Noble indeed is the gate of the honorable temple,—
The honorable temple!
Visiting the honorable temple, when I see the garden,
I see young pinetrees flourishing in the four directions:
On the first little branch of one the shijūgara1 has made her nest,—
Has made her nest.
Visiting the honorable temple, when I see the water-tank,
I see little flowers of many colors set all about it,
Each one having a different color of its own,—
A different color.
Visiting the honorable temple, when I see the parlor-room,
I find many kinds of little birds gathered all together,
Each one singing a different song of its own,—
A different song.
Visiting the honorable temple, when I see the guest-room,
There I see the priest, with a lamp beside him,
Reading behind a folding-screen—oh, how admirable it is!—
How admirable it is!
Many kinds of popular songs—and especially the class of songs sung at country-dances—are composed after a mnemonic plan. The stanzas are usually ten in number; and the first syllable of each
should correspond in sound to the first syllable of the numeral placed before the verse. Sometimes Chinese numerals are used; sometimes Japanese. But the rule is not always perfectly observed. In the following example it will be observed that the correspondence of the first two syllables in the first verse with the first two syllables of the Japanese word for one (hitotsu) is a correspondence of meaning only;—ichi being the Chinese numeral:—
SONG OF FISHERMEN
(Province of Shimosa,—town of Chōshi)1
Hitotsutosé,—
Ichiban buné é tsumi-kondé,
Kawaguchi oshikomu ō-yagoë.
Kono tai-ryō-buné!
Futatsutosé,—
Futaba no oki kara Togawa madé
Tsuzuité oshikomu ō-yagoë.
Kono tai-ryō-buné!
Mitsutosé,—
Mina ichidō-ni manéki wo agé,
Kayowasé-buné no nigiyakasa
Kono tai-ryō-buné!
Yotsutosé,—
Yoru-hiru taitémo taki-amaru,
San-bai itchō no ō-iwashi!
Kono tai-ryō-buné!
Itsutsutosé,—
Itsu kité mitémo hoshika-ba ni
Akima sukima wa sarani nai.
Kono tai-ryō-buné!
Mutsutoyé,—
Mutsu kara mutsu madé kasu-wari ga
Ō-wari ko-wari dé té ni owaré.
Kono tai-ryō-buné!
Nanatsutosé,—
Natakaki Tonégawa ichi-men ni
Kasu-ya abura wo tsumi-okuru
Kono tai-ryō-buné!
Yatsutosé,—
Yatébuné no okiai wakashu ga,
Ban-shuku soroété miya-mairi.
Kono tai-ryō-buné!
Kokonotsutosé,—
Kono ura mamoru kawa-guchi no
Myōjin riyaku wo arawasuru.
Kono tai-ryo-buné!
Firstly (or "Number One"),—
The first ship, filled up with fish, squeezes her way through the river-mouth, with a great shouting.1
O this ship of great fishing!2
Secondly,—
From the offing of Futaba even to the Togawa,3 the ships, fast following, press in, with a great shouting.
O this ship of great fishing!
Thirdly,—
When, all together, we hoist our signal-flags, see how fast the cargo-boats come hurrying!
O this ship of great fishing!
Fourthly,—
Night and day though the boiling be, there is still too much to boil—oh, the heaps of iwashi from the three ships together!
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