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Kokinshu #303
Monday, 17 September 2012 07:27 Written while crossing Shiga Mountain.
In the mountain stream,
this fishing weir that the wind
has put together
is autumn leaves that cannot
flow past, even on the current.
yamakawa ni
kaze no kaketaru
shigarami wa
nagare mo aenu
momiji narikeri
In the mountain stream,
this fishing weir that the wind
has put together
is autumn leaves that cannot
flow past, even on the current.
—31 January 2010, rev. 29 August 2011
Original by Harumichi no Tsuraki, an obscure minor courtier (d. 920) with three poems in the Kokinshu. ¶ Previously posted as Hyakunin Isshu #32, in a version that managed to mangle the grammar even more than I usually did at that time. Note that shigarami ("weir") contains the name of Shiga Mountain, northeast of Kyoto, and the "is" is inflected to indicate a personal realization. What the leaves cannot do is another of those omitted-but-understood verbs. This is particularly praised for its personification of the wind.yamakawa ni
kaze no kaketaru
shigarami wa
nagare mo aenu
momiji narikeri