by Donald Keene
Ware wo kourashi Seems to be in love with me:
Omokage ni miyu I saw her in a vision!
When the woman saw him saddle his horse and prepare to leave, she rushed off in such great confusion that she was not even aware how the thorny shrubs and plants scratched her. She returned home, lay down on her sleeping mat, and waited for him. While the Captain stood outside secretly watching her, as she had done at his house, she recited:
Samushiro ni Shall I have to sleep
Koromo katashiki All alone again tonight
Koyoi mo ya On my narrow mat
Koishiki hito ni Unable to meet again
Awade wa ga nemu The man for whom I long?
It is a general rule in this world that men love some women but not others. Narihira did not make such distinctions.
(LXIII)
. .
In former times there was a nobleman named Narihira. He was once sent by the Emperor as Imperial envoy to the Great Shrine of Ise.
On this occasion the Imperial Princess who was serving as Vestal Virgin to the Shrine received from her mother in the capital the following message: "You are to treat the present envoy with greater consideration than is usual." Since this was her mother's command, the Princess went to great pains: in the morning she herself directed the preparations for the ceremonial falconry, and in the evening, when Narihira returned, she lodged him in her own palace. She treated him with the utmost solicitude.
On the evening of the second day Narihira suggested that they meet in greater intimacy than they had previously done. The Princess was not displeased with the idea, but as there were many people about, it was impossible for the moment. In his capacity of Imperial envoy, however, Narihira had been lodged in the Princess's own wing of the palace and, it being near to her own chamber, she came secredy to his quarters at midnight, after all were asleep.
Narihira likewise had been unable to sleep and, reclining in bed, had been gazing out the window. Just when the moon became subdued with clouds, the Princess appeared to him, with a litde child in attendance on her. Narihira was filled with joy. He led the Princess to his bed, and she remained there with him until the third hour of the morning. Before they had time enough to reveal their feelings to each other, however, she was obliged to return to her own chamber.
Filled with melancholy, Narihira was unable to sleep. He longed to see her, but since it would be too apparent if he sent his own messenger, he could do nothing but await some word from her. A little after daybreak a messenger finally came from her. There was no letter, only the verse:
Kitni ya kpshi I know not whether
Ware ya yukikemu It was I who journeyed there
Omohoezu Or you who came to me:
Yume ka utsutsu ka Was it dream or reality?
Nete ka samete ka Was I sleeping or awake?
Narihira was greatly moved, and wept. He wrote in answer:
Kakikurasu Last night I too
Kokoro no yami ni Wandered lost in the darkness
Madoiniki Of a disturbed heart;
Yttme utsutsu to wa Whether dream or reality
Koyoi sadame yo Tonight let us decide!
After he sent this verse to her, he had to set forth on his official duties for the day. Yet even while he traveled through the moors, he could think of nothing but her, and he longed for the night to come swifdy, that they might meet again. Unfortunately, the governor of the province, who was also the guardian of the Vestal, learning that the Imperial envoy had arrived, insisted that the night be spent in festive celebration of his visit. Narihira, thus bound by enforced hospitality, could find no way to meet the Princess. Since he had the following morning to depart for Owari, unknown to anyone he shed bitter tears, but could in no wise meet her.
As dawn approached, a servant from the Princess's apartment brought a cup of parting. In it was written:
Kachibito no Shallow the inlet
W atar e do nurenu If the traveler wading
Eni shi areba Is not even wetted3
The poem was not completed.
Narihira took the wine cup in his hands, and with charcoal from a pinewood torch he added the last lines to the verse:
Mata Ausaka no I shall cross again to you
Seki wa koenamu Over Meeting Barrier.
When day dawned he set out for the Province of Owari.
(LXIX)
In former times when Narihira, having fallen ill, felt that he was going to die, he wrote this poem:
Tsui ni yuku That it is a road
Michi to wa kanete Which some day we all travel
Kikishikado I had heard before,
Kinō kyō to wa Yet I never expected
Omowazarishi wo To take it so soon myself.
(CXXV)
TRANSLATED BY RICHARD LANE (I, LXV, LXIl)
AND F. VOS (IV, LXIII, CXXV)
Footnotes
1 Became of bit youth he was permitted to frequent the ladies' palace.
2 Warekara is at once the name of an insect that lives in seaweed and a word meaning "of itself" or "of its own will."
3 A pun here between "inlet" and "connection" (eni). The reply has the usual play on the name Ausaka (Osaka), the name of a mountain and barrier east of Kyoto in which it imbedded the word au, "to meet."
KOKINSHO
The "Kokinshū," or "Collection of Ancient and Modern Poems," was the first of the anthologies of Japanese poetry compiled by Imperial order. It was completed in 905, and contains 1,111 poems, almost all of them waka. The preface to the work by Ki no Tsura-yuki (died 946) indicates the tone of the poetry included; and he lists some of the circumstances under which the "Kokinshū" poets expressed themselves: "when they looked at the scattered blossoms of a spring morning; when they listened of an autumn evening to the falling of the leaves; when they sighed over the snow and waves reflected with each passing year by their looking glasses; when they were startled into thoughts on the brevity of life by seeing the dew on the grass or the foam on the water; when, yesterday all proud and splendid, they have fallen from fortune into loneliness; or when, having been dearly loved, are neglected" These subjects were all capable of inspiring beautiful poetry, but the gentle melancholy they imply imposed severe limitations on the range of expression, certainly when compared with the "Man'yōshū. The "Kokinshū," however, was the model of waka composition for a thousand years (particularly until the eighteenth century) and as such is of the greatest importance. One curious feature is that many of the best poems are anonymous.
Tagitsu se no They say there is
Naka ni mo yodo wa A still pool even in the middle of
Ari chō wo The rushing whirlpool—
Nado waga koi no Why is there none in the whirlpool
Fuchise to mo naki of my love?
Anonymous
. .
Haru taieba Like the ice which melts
Kiyuru kōri no When spring begins
Notori naku Not leaving a trace behind,
Kimi ga kokoro mo May your heart melt toward mei
Ware ni tokenamu
Anonymous
. .
Oiraku no If only, when one heard
Komu to shiriseba That Old Age was coming
Kado sashite One could bolt the door
Nashi to kotaete Answer "not at home"
Awazaramashi wo And refuse to meet him!
Anonymous
. .
Yo no naka wa Can this world
Mukashi yori ya wa From of old
Ukarikemu Always have been so sad,
Waga mi hitotsu no Or did it become so for the sake
Tame ni nareru ka Of me alone?
Anonymous
. .
Waga koi wa My love
Yukue mo shirazu Knows no destination
Hate mo nashi And has no goal;
Au wo kagiri to I think only
Ornati bakari zo Of meeting as its limit.
Ōshikōchi no Mitsune (859-907)
. .
<
br /> Iro miede A thing which fades
Utsurou mono wa With no outward sign—
Yo no naka no Is the flower
Hito no kokora no Of the heart of man
Hana ni zo arikeru In this world!
Ono no Komachi (Ninth Century)1
TRANSLATED BY ARTHUR WALEY
. .
Ariane no Since I left her,
Tsurenaku mieshi Frigid as the setting moon,
Wakare yori There is nothing I loathe
Akatsuki bakari As much as the light
Uki mono wa nashi Of dawn on the clouds.
Mibu no Tadamine (Ninth Century)
TRANSLATED BY KENNETH REXROTH
. .
Hito ni awamu This night of no moon
Tsuki no naki yo wa There is no way to meet him.
Omoiokite I rise in longing—
Mune hashiri hi ni My breast pounds, a leaping flame,
Kokoro yabeori My heart is consumed in fire.
Ono no Komachi
. .
Omoitsutsu Thinking about him
Nureba ya hito no I slept, only to have him
Mietsuramu Appear before me—
Yurne to shiriseba Had I known it was a dream,
Samezaramashi wo I should never have wakened.
Ono no Komachi
. .
Wabinureba So lonely am I
Mi wo uhjgusa no My body is a floating weed
Ne wo taete Severed at the roots.
Sasou mizu araba Were there water to entice me,
Inamu to zo omou I would follow it, I think.
Ono no Komachi
. .
Yume ni da mo Not even in dreams
Miyu to wa mieji Can I meet him any more—
Asa na asa na My glass each morning
Wa ga omokage ni Reveals a face so wasted
Hazuru mi nareba I turn away in shame.
Ise2
. .
Fuyugare no If I consider
Nobe to waga mi wo My body like the fields
Omoiseba Withered by winter,
Moede mo haru wo Can I hope, though I am burnt,
Matashimono wo That spring will come again?3
Ise
. .
Wa ga yado wa The weeds grow so thick
Michi mo naki made You cannot even see the path
Arenikeri That leads to my house:
Tsurenaki hito wo It happened while I waited
Matsu to seshi ma ni For someone who would not come.
Sōjō Henjō (815-890)
. .
Hisakata no This perfectly still
Hikari nodokeki Spring day bathed in the soft light
Haru no hi ni From the spread-out sky,
Shizu kpkpro naku Why do the cherry blossoms
Hana no chiruramu4 So restlessly scatter down?
Ki no Tomonori
. .
Ōzora wa Are the vast heavens
Koishiki hito no Some keepsake of her I love?
Katami ka wa No, that is absurd.
Mono omou goto ni What then makes me stare skyward
Nagameraruramu Whenever I think of her?
Saldai no Hitozane (died 931)
. .
Tane shi areba Because there was a seed
Iwa ni mo matsu wa A pine has grown even here
Hainikeri On these barren rocks:
Koi wo shi koiba If we really love our love
Awarazarame ya wa What can keep us from meeting?
Anonymous
. .
Kome ya to Although I am sure
Omou mono bara That he will not be coming,
Higurashi no In the evening light
Naku yūgure wa When the locusts shrilly call
Tachimataretsutsu I go to the door and wait.
Anonymous
. .
Yūgure wa At the sunset hour
Kumo no hatate ni The clouds are ranged like banners
Mono zo omou And I think of things:
Amatsu sora naru That is what it means to love
Hito wo kou to te One who lives beyond my world.5
Anonymous
. .
Hana no iro wa The flowers withered,
Utsurinikeri na Their color faded away,
Itazura ni While meaninglessly
Wa ga mi yo ni furu I spent my days in the world
Nagame seshi ma ni And the long rains were falling.
Ono no Komachi
TRANSLATED BY DONALD KEENE
Footnotes
1 A famous poetess and subject of the Nō play "Sotoba Komachi" which appears on page 364.
2 Poetess and consort of the Emperor Uda.
3 The fields were burnt before the new crop was planted.
4 Note how the use of words beginning in h intensifics the meaning of the poem.
5 Meaning either a person in a distant place beyond the clouds, or someone in a hopelessly superior social position.
THE TOSA DIARY
[Tosa Nikki] by Ki no Tsurayuki
The "Tosa Diary," describing the return to Kyoto of a governor of Tosa Province, was probably written in the year 936, from notes taken on the voyage. Although the fiction is maintained throughout that the diary is being written by one of the ladies in the party, it is reasonably certain that the author is the governor himself, the celebrated poet Ki no Tsurayuki.
Tosa Province is the ancient name for the present Kōchi Prefecture, in the south of Shikoku Island.
Diaries are things written by men, I am told. Nevertheless I am writing one, to see what a woman can do.
Twenty-first day, twelfth moon (the year does not matter): Late at night we made our departure from the house. But I must set things down in a little more detail. A certain gentleman, after four or five years in the province, had finished his term of office as governor, and now, with all the usual round of business concluded and papers of release duly received, he set out from the official residence and moved to a place near the point of embarkation. Before he went, however, various people, acquaintances and strangers alike, came to take their leave. The farewells were particularly distressing for those who had been closely associated with him over these years. There was an endless coming and going all day long, and the commotion lasted well into the night.
Twenty-second day: We offered up prayers for a calm and peaceful voyage—"all the way to Izumi Province." Fujiwara no Tokizane arranged a farewell celebration "for the road" (not very appropriate for a ship, perhaps) at which every one, from master to servant, became disgustingly drunk.
Twenty-third day: A man called Yagi no Yasunori is here. He appears to have not the remotest connection with the provincial government service, but he nevertheless arranged a farewell celebration for us on a magnificent scale. Perhaps the fault lies in the governor himself, but the general attitude of the people of Tosa is that an ex-governor no longer concerns them and is not worth the trouble of a visit. Still, there are some of the kinder sort who have not allowed this to deter them from paying their respects. In their case it cannot be said that they come in the hope of future advantages, or for the sake of prestige.
Twenty-fourth day: The provincial overseer of religion arrived to give us a farewell party. Every one, high and low, old and young, was fuddled with drink. Even people who have never learned to write the figure one were merrily dancing figures of eight.
Twenty-fifth day: A messenger arrived from the official residence, it seems, with an invitation for the ex-governor. The ex-governor accepted. The various entertainments lasted all day and night, and well into the next morning.
Twenty-sixth day: Today they were still at the new governor's residence, feasting and making merry. Even the servants have received presents, I am told. Chinese verses were declaimed, and the new governor, his guest, and others joined in an exchange of extempore Japanese poems. I cannot write Chinese verse in this diary, but one of the Japanese poems, composed by the new governor, went like this:
For your sake I left Kyoto, and journeyed here to meet you—
I journeyed in vain if I came but to lose you.
Before taking his leave the former governor replied:
Over the white-crested waves I came, and following came another.
Where I return, he shall return—and who is that other but you?
There were more poems, by others, but apparently none of them was particularly well constructed. After exchanging a few more words the former governor and the present governor descended together into the garden. Present and former masters of the house grasped hands, wished each other good fortune—in accents un-steadied by wine—and went their respective ways.
Twenty-seventh day: Our boats left Otsu, rowing a course for Urado. As they cast off, I thought sadly of my master's young daughter—born in Kyoto, and suddenly taken from us in this remote province. While recording, in these last days, the busy preparations for our departure, I have said nothing on this matter; but now that we are at last under way on the return voyage to Kyoto, my only sensations are of grief and longing for a young girl who is not coming with us. There are others, too, who could not bear the sadness of it. Some one wrote this poem:
Kyoto bound, our thoughts are heavy yet
With grief for one who never shall return.
Later another poem was composed:
Forgetful, "Wherever is that child?" I cry
—And, oh, the sadness of the truth!
Meanwhile we reached a place called Kako Point, where we were overtaken by the brothers of the new governor and other friends, who brought us presents of sake and food. The whole company disembarked onto the beach, and we talked to each other of the sorrows of parting. Of all the people at the governor's residence, these who have now come are said to have shown themselves the most kind and considerate on that occasion. . . . While we were exchanging poems the chief pilot—a man of no sensibility—having taken his fill of sake and thinking it high time to be off, announced: "The tide is full. There should be a wind soon"; and we made ready to re-embark. . . . This evening we anchored at Urado, where we were later overtaken by Fujiwara no Tokizane, Tachibana no Suehira, and others.
Proceeding eastward from Urado along the Pacific coast of Shikoku, they reach a harbor called Ōminato the following night. Here they are detained for nine days, waiting for clear weather. After a disappointing New Year's Day, which only serves to increase their general yearning for Kyoto, they occupy themselves in receiving visitors and composing poems.