Larry's Pretty Good Poetry Journal

Written on seeing snow falling when he was traveling in Yamato Province.

    At the break of day
I almost see it as
    full-moon light at dawn --
the white snow falling over
the village of Yoshino.

—31 January 2010, rev 13 November 2012

Original by Sakanoue no Korenori. Previously posted as Hyakunin Isshu #31. Snow can also be mistaken for other things. This is one of the more lovely examples of an "elegant confusion" of sensory impressions. Omitted-but-understood word: the "light." Lost in translation, because English doesn't have names for moon phases by individual day: the moon being compared to is specifically from a few days after full, when it is still large and bright and about to set at daybreak.


asaborake
ariake no tsuki to
miru made ni
yoshino no sato ni
fureru shirayuki

---L.

Written on falling snow.

    Although it's winter,
with this scattering of flowers
    come down from the sky --
might it be that it's springtime
away beyond the clouds?

—2 October 2012

Original by Kiyowara no Fukayabu. In the spring, falling petals are mistaken for snowflakes (see for example #9) -- in winter, it's the reverse. This poem was collected in multiple Heian-period anthologies and cited in Wakatai jisshu ("Ten Styles of Japanese Poetry," believed to be by Mibu no Tadamine) as a model of using plain expressions with profound emotional overtones.


fuyu nagara
sora yori hana no
chirikuru wa
kumo no anata wa
haru ni ya aruramu

---L.

(from the same contest)

    In the mountain town
where the white snow has fallen
    and piled into drifts,
might even he who lives there
be worn down in dejection?

—2 October 2012

(Original by Mibu no Tadamine.) Another poem on the isolation of winter. On its own, the hito ("person"/"people") living there would be most easily read as plural ("even those who live there"), but in the context of the previous and next poems, the editors probably intend us to understand a single person. Untranslatable wordplay: the snow, the hi="fire" of omo(h)i ("feeling"), and the kiyu="melt" of omoikiyu (literally "feelings vanish," idiomatically "be despondent") are words that associate with each other. The fire part of this somewhat undercuts the poem's tone, giving the impression that Tadamine is being too clever for his own good -- or just didn't notice that possibility.


shirayuki no
furite tsumoreru
yamazato wa
sumu hito sae ya
omoikiyuramu

---L.

A poem from the poetry contest held in the palace of the consort in the Kanpyô era.

    The driven snow that
comes falling close to the shore --
    might I be seeing
the white waves crossing over
Pine Mountain in Sue?

—2 October 2012

Original by Fujiwara no Okikaze. The location of Sue is uncertain, but its Mt. Pine appears in #1093, a folk song from the Michinoku region (roughly corresponding to the entire east coast of northern Honshu) in which a lover protests he will be faithful until waves wash over the mountain, from which the place became a "poem pillow," or location with poetic associations -- one that makes this not a seasonal poem but an accusation pointed at an unfaithful lover. In any case, given Kyoto is nowhere near the coast, it's a purely imagined scene, if a dramatically visual one. "Driven" is interpretive, but implied by the verb and the comparison. Note the implied contrast of white flakes and dark waves/trees.


ura chikaku
furikuru yuki wa
shiranami no
sue no matsuyama
kosu ka to zo miru

---L.

Written in Mt. Shiga pass.

    When the white snow
settles over every place
    without distinction,
I see it, yes, as flowers
blooming also on the crags.

—27 September 2012

Original by Ki no Akimine. For the pass over Shiga, see #115. Grammatical ambiguity: the first two lines could be a separate sentence or part of a continuous statement about the blanketing. The former would make a better poem ("The white snow makes no distinction of place. When it settles over (the world) ... "), but such a preface would be an old-fashioned style in Akimine's time -- and both comparing the snow to flowers (instead using of a stronger direct metaphor) and the fact that seeing flowers requires that the snow not actually be uniform, suggests reading the weaker poem. (This also happens to be the traditional reading.) I still like the image of white patched on dark rocks, though.


shirayuki no
tokoro mo wakazu
furishikeba
iwao ni mo saku
hana to koso mire

---L.

(Topic unknown.)

    At my house the snow
blankets everything -- there is
    not even a track
-- for there isn't anyone
pushing through the drifts to visit.

—28 September & 24 October 2012

(Original author unknown.) More on the loneliness of winter. Compare #287, though here instead of separate statements we get an inverted sentence structure -- and a better excuse for not visiting. "Drifts" is interpretive, implied by the verb for pushing through them.


waga yado wa
yuki furishikite
michi mo nashi
fumiwakete tou
hito shi nakereba

---L.

(Topic unknown.)

    Here in this river,
autumn leaves are floating by --
    deep in the mountains
the water from melting snow
must now be increasing.

—26 September 2012

(Original author unknown.) And autumn leaves continue to echo forward, though possibly here brown ones long on the ground are intended. A "reasoning technique" poem using a pattern we've seen many times before -- and as well, the contrast between disappearance and increase isn't as neatly contrasted as in #319.


kono kawa ni
momijiba nagaru
okuyama no
yukige no mizu zo
ima masarurashi

---L.

(Topic unknown.)

    Would that, from now on,
it fell without ceasing --
    the falling white snow
that weighs down and bends over
the miscanthus by my house.

—24 September 2012

(Original author unknown.) The flakes are falling harder, with a romantic image of snow on pampas grass -- and hints of what would in later times develop into an aesthetic appreciation of loneliness. For miscanthus, see #242. And yes, "fall" is repeated in slightly different inflections in the original. Compare the this initial enthusiasm for the season to the melancholy of later poems about snow.


ima yori wa
tsugite furanamu
waga yado no
susuki oshinami
fureru shirayuki

---L.

Topic unknown.

    Because the shining
of the moon in the wide sky
    was so very clear,
the waters where I had seen
its image are frozen first.

—20 September 2012

Original author unknown. Picking up the freezing first previewed in #277. Semantic ambiguity: kage can, depending on context, mean "shadow," "reflection," or the "light" from a celestial object. That "saw" is inflected as a personal past experience, meaning it's the speaker and not the moon/light doing the seeing, reduces the possibilities but does not entirely resolve matters. I went with the most poetic/romantic option, though this somewhat obscures the argument that cold moonlight is cold. The waters are generally understood to be a pond, and the speaker is probably looking at it again the next morning.


ôzora no
tsuki no hikari shi
kiyokereba
kage mishi mizu zo
mazu kôrikeru

---L.

Topic unknown.

    Tatsuta River
weaves a brocade of bright leaves
    spread over itself
-- using as its warp and weft
the Godless Month's winter rains.

—22 November 2009, rev 1 June, 15-17 September 2012.

Original author unknown. Previously posted in a rather different version when I had just started learning classical Japanese and got a lot wrong, including not only the verbs but just how many grammatical roles are possible for the unmarked river and month -- and more importantly, which are more likely. On to book VI and poems of winter -- which like summer gets a much shorter treatment than spring or autumn, focused on a single overriding image: snow. Not that you can tell from this poem: there's a few introductions to make first. And some old friends by way of continuity -- speaking of whom, "bright leaves" is one of those omitted-but-understood words. For the Godless Month, the first month of winter, see #253, and for the Tatsuta, see #283. Compare also #291.


tatsutagawa
nishiki orikaku
kannazuki
shigure no ame o
tatenuki ni shite

---L.