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Written for a friend travelling into the country.

Is it that at parting
I feel the separation
of distance, so that
even while I still see you
I already long for you?

—14 March 2013

Original by Ariwara no Shigeharu. Confession: I don't understand what half the particles are doing, grammatically, in this thing -- but it's time to give up with my best guess and move on. I haven't mentioned that in these headnotes, the verb variously rendered as travel/go is specifically a motion away from the capital, with a strong connotation of going "down" from it -- this is the first one to more directly expose the implied courtly worldview of the one imperial city and everything else. The poem has much the same import as the previous, embodied with less grace than Tsurayuki managed, though there is some nice alliteration going.

wakarete wa
hodo o hedatsu to
omoeba ya
katsu minagara ni
kanete koishiki

---L.

Written at someone's farewell banquet.

As I make my regrets,
already I long for you!
After you've ridden
off into the white clouds risen,
what emotion will I feel?

—8 March 2013

Original by Ki no Tsurayuki. Again, tachi- is "rise" for the clouds and "start" for the person. Though it's possible to read a coherent and competent poem by understanding only one of those senses, given Tsurayuki the double meaning is almost certainly intended. To reproduce at least a little of the soundplay, I've rendered this more freely than usual.

oshimu kara
koishiki mono o
shirakumo no
tachinamu nochi wa
nani kokochi semu

---L.

Written and sent to someone had gone to Koshi.

Even though I hear
there is a Mt. Return there,
if you've departed
amid the rising spring mist,
I must indeed long for you.

—26 February 2013

(Original by Ki no Toshisada.) Koshi is the old name for what's now called the Hokuriku region on the north coast of the main island, covering several provinces corresponding roughly to modern Fukui, Ishikawa, Toyama, and Niigata prefectures. Mt. Return is a literal meaning of Kaeruyama in Fukui -- a place that will show up again because of its name. Pivot-word: tachi- is "rise" for the mist and the "de-" of "depart" (much as in #103, though here the double reading is required to make sense of things). The implication seems to be that mists would somehow delay the recipient's return. It's possible to instead read the mist as a purely decorative stock epithet for tachi-, serving no semantic purpose -- this may be a preferable interpretation, if it comes to that. Or possibly "if you've risen like the spring mist and departed"? Regardless, I'm not exactly impressed by this one.

kaeruyama
ari to wa kikedo
harugasumi
tachiwakarenaba
koishikarebeshi

---L.

Kokinshu #369

Written the night of a farewell party at the house of Prince Sadatoki when Fujiwara no Kiyofu was leaving to become Vice-Governor of Ômi.

Today we part and,
though I think that tomorrow
we'll meet in Ômi,
it must be that night has grown late --
my sleeves are getting dew-soaked.

—26 February 2013

Original by Ki no Toshisada. The start of an arc of more traditional partings between men, most composed for public occasions. That said, neither the occasion nor appointment are otherwise recorded, but it must have been before Toshisada's death in 881. Pivot-word obscured by modern sound changes: au mi is both "one(s) who meet" / Ômi Province (modern Shiga Prefecture) -- at the time, Ômi's ô was pronounced and written as au. The soaking is clearly meant to be from tears.

kyô wakare
asu wa au mi to
omoedomo
yo ya fukenuramu
sode no tsuyukeki

---L.

Written by his mother when Ono no Chifuru left to become Vice-Governor of Michinoku.

You barrier gates,
at least don't stop this heart of
a doting parent
that accompanies her child
as protection from dangers.

—24-25 February 2013

Original author unnamed, and Chifuru and his mother are otherwise unknown. Some medieval traditions held that Chifuru was the son of Ono no Michizane, the founder of the distinctly Japanese styles of calligraphy, but since Michizane was born in 894 and the last datable poem in the Kokinshu is from 915, this is *cough* extremely unlikely. ¶ Again not in the traditional Chinese manner, as it's not written by a male friend, but at least it's for a departing official. Michinoku was the northernmost province of the main island of Honshu, comprising modern Fukushima, Miyagi, Iwate, and Aomori prefectures -- a decidedly frontier post in a region that had come under (read: was conquered by) the still-shaky control of the southern capital only in the early 9th century. Travel permits were required (at least by officials and aristocrats) to pass the barrier gates or check-points between regions. Tarachine no is a stock epithet for a parent of uncertain meaning: although it is now sometimes written with kanji meaning "breasts overflowing with milk," it originally was unisex and probably had a sense closer to "overflowing with affection." Omitted-but-understood: "her child," though it's strongly implied by a form of "accompany" that indicates an action done together. OTOH, "from dangers" is purely interpretive. Lost in translation: the doting parent comes right at the start of the poem.

tarachine no
oya no mamori to
aisouru
kokoro bakari wa
seki na todome so

---L.

(Topic unknown.)

Even parted from him
somewhere beyond the high clouds
without limit,
is it ever possible
for my heart to desert him?

—24 February 2013

(Original author unknown.) Again, this is most easily read as a parting by lovers. "Beyond" is interpretive but makes idiomatic sense. It's also possible to read hito, "person," as a sort of indirect and so polite way of referring to the listener, making this an address to "you" remaining behind (and a response to the previous) instead of asking about a departed "him." The rhetorical question expects, as usual, a negative answer.

kagiri naki
kumoi no yoso ni
wakaru to mo
hito o kokoro ni
okurasamu ya wa

---L.

(Topic unknown.)

How long must I wait
for the one who this morning
starts his journey through
autumn fields of bush-clover
where the digger-wasps drone?

—19 February 2013

Original author unknown. In contrast to the previous, this is most easily read as a parting of lovers. The sugaru is an old name for any of several wasps (used poetically in the Man'yoshu as a comparison for a woman's waist), commonly identified specifically as a digger wasp. Keeping the smooth sweep of a direct lyrical statement (also a Man'yoshu styling) meant almost exactly reversing the order of images.

sugaru naku
aki no hagihara
asa tachite
tabiyuku hito o
itsu to ka matamu

---L.

Topic unknown.

Though I now depart,
should I indeed hear you pine,
waiting like pines that grow
on Inaba's mountain peaks,
I shall return home at once.

—23 November 2009, rev. 17 February 2013.

Original by Ariwara no Yukihira. Previously posted as Hyakunin Isshu #16, but since revised. On to Book VIII, poems of parting. In Chinese tradition, this genre is all about close male friends saying farewell, especially on the occasion of one departing for an official post. The Kokinshu includes those sorts of poems but expand the genre to include lovers parting plus diversify the tone -- and signal this right off the bat. Scholars have long assumed Yukihira wrote this written in 855 when he was appointed governor of Inaba Province (the eastern half of modern Tottori Prefecture), making this traditional in subject, but rather than imitating the often lachrymose productions of Chinese models, he went for playful wit by using two pivot-words: the old standard matsu meaning "pine tree" / "to wait" (here worked in more naturally than, say, #162) and inaba meaning the province / an auxillary verb meaning "if (I) go" (in translation hidden within "depart"). Given the tradition, which Yukihira was quite familiar with as he was better known in his day for his poetry in Chinese, this was more likely a farewell to a friend than a flirtation with a court lady, but it's possible to read it either way. The second pivot is most readily understood as an implicit comparison, but given even pine trees don't actually pine for anyone, I ended up triple-translating it to bring out the pun. In the original, it's "if" rather than "though," but the sense is strongly implied by the construction. (Note, btw, the peak echoes the last poem of the previous book -- more evidence the editors intended us to read the collection as a whole.)

tachiwakare
inaba no yama no
mine ni ôru
matsu to shi kikaba
ima kaerikomu

---L.

Written when visiting at the birth of the Crown Prince.

The sun that comes out
from behind the lofty peak
of Mt. Kasuga
shall never be clouded over --
it will certainly shine on.

—17 February 2013

Original by Fujiwara no Yoruka. After snow comes the sun -- and after Michiko's party, a poem by her sister. Yasuakira, a son of Emperor Daigo (and so Yoruka's great-nephew) and another Fujiwara daughter, was born in 903 and named Crown Prince the following year. The Fujiwara clan shrine was a the foot of Mt. Kasuga, making this more flattering to Yoruka's own family than the imperium.

And that wraps up book VII. Up next: poems of parting, and while these were influenced by Chinese conventions, they're not nearly as formal and were nativized into modes beyond their models.

mine takaki
kasuga no yama ni
izuru hi wa
kumoru toki naku
terasuberanari

---L.

(for the same screen): Winter

When the white snowflakes
continually come down,
they are flowers
scattering in the winds from
beautiful Mt. Yoshino.

—15 February 2013

Original by [Ki no Tsurayuki]. One last poem for the Sadakuni's screen. The attribution is from Tsurayuki's collected poems, where it's stated that his contibution was an imperial commission. (Whether the others were is unclear.) Compare to #9, in which Tsuryuki has edited for reading fail: the same "elegant confusion" of snowflakes for flower petals ~~"elegant confusion" in the other direction, thinking flower petals are snow~~. How this applies to the occasion is more elliptical than for most, but the standard explanation is that the falling snow represents the white hair of age and the flowers apparent youth -- plus, I think, the association of Yoshino to the imperial family adds a bit of power flattery. Lost in my translation: the winds are specifically beneath or down from the mountain.

shirayuki no
furishiku toki wa
miyoshino no
yama shita kaze ni
hana zo chirikeru

---L.

(for the same screen)

Though autumn has come,
not even the colors change
on Evergreen Hill,
and it's the winds that lend it
these bright leaves from someplace else.

—3 February 2013

Original by [Sakanoue no Korenori]. The attribution is from Korenori's collected poems. Evergreen Hill is, as in #251, Tokiwa west of Kyoto, which often appears in birthday poems for its name. I'm not sure but that "the colors don't even change" wouldn't be a better translation were it not for its informal register.

aki kuredo
iro mo kawaranu
tokiwayama
yoso no momiji o
kaze zo kashikeru

---L.

(for the same screen)

Mist must have risen
from the river at Saho
where the plovers cry:
even the colors of leaves
on the mountain trees grow deeper.

—7-10 February 2013

Original by [Mibu no Tadamine]. Attribution from Tadamine's collected poems, plus a variant text (with "change" instead of "grow") also collected in the Shuishu. For Saho, see #265; the river that flows by the hill is noted for its plover, though it's not clear whether the association predates this poem. For why "even," see 256. The poem is appropriate for the occasion because the chi of chidori, "plover," is written with the kanji meaning "one thousand," as in the number of years wished for. Implied verb: the growing is "deeper."

chidori naku
saho no kawagiri
tachinurashi
yama no ko no ha mo
iro masariyuku

---L.

(for the same screen): Autumn

When the autumn winds
are blowing through the pine trees
of Suminoe,
their voices are added to
the white waves of the open sea.

—7 February 2013

Original by [Ôshikôchi no Mitsune]. Mitsune's collected poems provides the attribution, as does the Shuishu, making this one of the rare poems to be picked more than once for an imperial anthology -- which shows how much the poem was valued as a model for the genre. Suminoe is an inlet in modern Osaka near the Sumiyoshi Shrine, which is dedicated to a god of good fortune such as wished upon the guest of honor, and the voices of wind and waves evokes the voices of the banquet guests. Of note: the set phrase oki tsu shiranami, "white waves of the open sea," uses what was an old-fashioned (possibly already archaic?) genitive particle tsu. Omitted-but-understood verb: the "are" of "are added."

suminoe no
matsu o akikaze
fuku kara ni
koe uchisouru
oki tsu shiranami

---L.

(for the same screen): Summer

Even though its voice
is in no way uncommon,
ah, we never do
through all the years get tired
of hearing the cuckoo.

—3 February 2013

Original by [Ki no Tomonori]. Attribution comes from Tomonori's collected poems -- and the combination of highly polished sound and conventional sense is certainly typical for him. (Note, btw, that the celebration gives us the last known date Tomonori was alive: the Second Month of 905.) The congratulatory aspect seems to be the many years, which seems a tenuous allusion to me, but I'm not exactly a fluent native speaker of the cultural traditions. The usual lack of a case marker for the cuckoo makes it possible to read either that it doesn't get tired (of singing) or that the speaker doesn't get tired of it, but the convention of using the POV of someone in the painting suggests understanding the latter. Omitted-but-understood verb: the hearing.

mezurashiki
koe naranaku ni
hototogisu
kokora no toshi o
akazu mo aru kana

---L.

(for the same screen)

So tall the mountains,
these cherry blossoms appear
among the high clouds --
there's been not a single day
my heart doesn't go pluck one.

—30 January 2013

Original by [Ôshikôchi no Mitsune]. Poems #358–363 are not explicitly attributed in my base text, and while normally this would imply they're all Sosei's, we know the actual authors from other sources. In this case, Mitsune's collected poems claims the credit, and the focus on the speaker's response is certainly characteristic of him. The topic is typical for spring -- compare the structurally similar #50 and #87, which both have the same first and third lines as this one (a fact obscured in translation). Also obscured in translation: this is actually one long statement, which I've broken up to more closely preserve the order of images. To dwell "among the clouds" can idiomatically mean to be of high rank, thus making the poem codedly appropriate for the occasion. The phrase can, however, also suggest being out of one's social reach, and given Mitsune had a low enough rank he likely couldn't have attended the celebration for a top minister, the desire to pluck the blossoms can be read as allegorical for his desire to be there, thus reaching the ideal of this sort of screen poem by also elliptically referring to the occasion. That the cherry blossoms could, per the usual grammatical ambiguity, be read as addressee may play into this.

yama takami
kumoi ni miyuru
sakurabana
kokoro no yukite
oranu hi zo naki

---L.

A poem written on a folding screen with pictures of the four seasons when the Principal Handmaiden celebrated the fortieth birthday of Minister of the Right Fujiwara [no Sadakuni].

While I pick young greens
on Kasuga Plain, my heart
is celebrating
your ten-thousand ages --
the gods themselves must know this!

—30 January 2013

(Original by Sosei.) Poems 357–363 are all for the same screen -- this and the next implicitly for the spring panel(s). The Principal Handmaiden was Fujiwara no Michiko, a younger sister of Sadakuni (866–906), who celebrated his 40th birthday in 905 -- other siblings include Yoruka (see #80) and Sadakata (see #231). Sadakuni was, incidentally, another minister involved in the 903 ouster of Sugewara no Michizane (see #272), and his death the year after this celebration was also attributed to Michizane's vengeful spirit. Much of which is irrelevant to the poem, but I still find this stuff interesting. For Kasuga Plain and picking young greens, see #17–18. Given the Fujiwara clan shrine was in Kasuga, it may have been the clan's singular god who's supposed to know this.

kasugano ni
wakana tsumitsutsu
yorozuyo o
iwau kokoro wa
kami zo shiruramu

---L.

Written for Yoshimine no Tsunenari's fortieth birthday celebration on behalf of his daughter.

This long-waiting pine
has celebrated my lord
-- for I too would live
under the shelter of it,
of a crane's thousand years.

—27 January 2013

Original by Sosei. The date of the celebration is unknown but Tsunenari, a middling courtier, died in 875; Sosei was presumably involved as a family member (his lay name was Yoshimine no Harutoshi). The pine seems to have been either a gift or part of the decorations. A couple possible pivot-words here -- one of them particularly interesting, as in my base text matsu is written with the kanji for "pine tree" but a direct object marker forces also understanding it as the verb "wait," clear evidence that pivot-words are not always written phonetically. More debatably, tsuru could be both a perfective conjugation for celebrate and "crane" or simply understood as an associated word giving overtones, and kage could be both the pine tree's "shade" and the millennium's "protection" or simply understood more generally as "shelter". All in all, though, there's rather more word-play than usual for Sosei -- and rather more possible ways to read it. Technically, the waiting is for "ten-thousand ages," but that didn't fit in the line and, again, a near-infinite time is understood. Who would live in the shelter is unstated -- given the headnote, the traditional reading is the putative speaker, but it could also be the recipient.

yorozuyo o
matsu ni zo kimi o
iwaitsuru
chitose no kage ni
sumamu to omoeba

---L.

Written for Fujiwara no Miyoshi's sixtieth birthday celebration.

Though we don't know what
comes after the thousand years
of cranes and turtles,
I would that you entrust yours
to an unsatisfied heart.

Some people also say this poem is by Ariwara no Tokiharu.

—20 January 2013

Original by Ariwara no Shigeharu. Shigeharu (dates unknown) was the second son of Ariwara no Narihira (see #53) and younger brother of Muneyana (see #15). He has 6 poems in the Kokinshu. ¶ Miyoshi is otherwise unknown, as is the Tokiharu of the footnote. Cranes and turtles are, of course, symbols of longevity, and the latter in particular were thought to live a thousand years. Whose heart is unsatisfied by m'lord's lifespan is unclear: while the author's is the easiest to read ("my heart that's not tired of you"), the recipient's and the gods' are other possibilities -- and all three have difficulties interpreting what's up with the entrusting.

tsuru kame mo
chitose no nochi wa
shiranaku ni
akanu kokoro ni
makasehatetemu

kono uta wa, aru hito, ariwara no tokiharu ga to mo iu

(for the same celebration)

The ten-thousand years
I lie down and ponder,
I get up and count --
the gods indeed surely know:
they're destined for my lord.

—20 January 2013

(Original by Sosei.) Sosei ups the stakes -- no more of this mere thousand, or even eight-thousand, stuff. Such a period was generally understood as not even indefinitely long but closer to near-infinite. The first half is built around a neat structural antithesis, and the "my" part of "my lord" is, for once, explicit. Grammatical ambiguity: is the speaker contemplating the 10,000 years or contemplating for 10,000 years? While the former makes more literal sense, the latter also works as hyperbolic flattery. Omitted-but-understood verb: "are."

fushite omoi
okite kazouru
yorozuyo wa
kami zo shiruramu
waga kimi no tame

---L.

(for the same celebration)

Although I don't know
whether or not it existed
in an ancient time,
the custom of a thousand
years shall begin with my lord.

—20 January 2013

Original by Sosei. (Okay, back in the saddle -- even if it isn't the best translation in the world, time to move on.) Omitted word: "living" for those thousand years, which I left understood. Technically, the "whether or not" has mixed tenses, with the positive part conjugated in a past tense and the negative in the present, giving the poem an interesting past/present/future construction; a literally rendering sounds very odd in English, however, and the phrase in any case the idiom was understood as entirely past.

inishie ni
ariki arazu-ba
shiranedomo
chitose no tameshi
kimi ni hajimemu

---L.

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lnhammer

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Warning: contents contain line-breaks.

As language practice, I like to translate poetry. My current project is Chinese, with practice focused on Tang Dynasty poetry. Previously this was classical Japanese, most recently working through the Kokinshu anthology (archived here). Suggestions, corrections, and questions always welcome.

There's also original pomes in the journal archives.

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