Hyakunin Isshu No. 5: In the Mountain’s Heart

By: Sarumaru no Dayuu (active ~ 708 – 715) 猿丸大夫

In the mountain’s heart 奥山に
Through crimson leaves 红葉ふみわけ
A trampling deer lets out a cry 鳴く鹿の
A voice that is heard 声きく時ぞ
In Autumn sadness 秋は悲しき

Compared to the preceding poets in this anthology, Sarumaru is relatively unknown. The only things really known about him is that he lived no later than 800AD, and that his time active as a Second Assistant Minister was from approximately 708 – 715. Apparently, he was also a member of the Thirty Six Poetic Sages (according to Wikipedia). However, there’s so little known about him, that some scholars suggest that this Sarumaru never really existed, and was instead an alias for Prince Yamashiro no Oe (also according to Wikipedia).

Deer in autumnal forest | Pinterest

In any case, this tanka that Sarumaru has created is a classic example of Autumn poem (秋歌). Although there are, once again, no notes on this tanka, it is clear that both crimson leaves – presumably maple – and deer are symbolically synonymous with Autumn in Japanese culture. And with the deer’s cry ringing through the sadness and emotion that the poet can feel, you can almost feel the sadness for the passing of Summer and warmer, brighter times and the loneliness that the port anticipates with the onset of harsh Winter.

What’s interesting though, is that the last tanka expressed the awe-inspiring beauty of cold clean Winter, while the beauty of Autumn is described here with a little melancholy. Even though both poets were inspired by different emotions as they absorbed scenic nature surrounding them, already it is clear that nature and scenery and the environment and things are important to Japanese culture. And now that I’m soon going to be in Japan, it’ll be amazing to see how it translates from these ancient tanka to modern Japan.

Hyakunin Isshu No. 4: White Cloth on Fuji’s Peak

By: Yamabe no Akahito (700 – 736) 山部赤人

At Tago Bay, 田子の浦に
I’m hit by the sight of うちいでて見れば
White cloth 白妙の
On Fuji’s peak 富士の高嶺に
And falling snow 雪はふりつつ

東海道江尻田子の浦略図 | 葛飾北斎

Surprisingly, there are no translation notes provided with this tanka. The only information that I have is that the poet, Yamabe Akahito, was a contemporary for the poet for No. 3, and that he, like Kakinomoto, was regarded as one of the greatest of the early poets and subsequently deified as a god of Poetry. Looking up Tago Bay, according to the interwebs, Tago is a seaside town/village/place that is known for its amazing views of Mt. Fuji. Tago is also one of the locations in the super famous Mt. Fuji/boat/wave art series (No. 36 in a series of 36 paintings), so it is most probably a place that Yamabe would have strolled along before being struck by inspiration to write this tanka.

In a way, it’s kind of refreshing to read a tanka that wasn’t inspired from some sort of intense emotion (I’m only on No. 4; by the time I get to No. 100 I’ll be all drained out of emotions haha). It really shows how the Japanese people appreciated and enjoyed nature and the environment around them, I think, and how the beauty of the environment could connect so strongly to their spiritual selves or souls. I know Western poets get inspired by the beauty of the environment too, but I’ve found that they don’t capture the simplistic depths of nature and its reflection on the human spirit quite as well as Eastern poets. This tanka, in any case, paints such a reverential scene of falling snow, and it could mean something deeper, with the cleanliness of snow and the passage of winter, or it could just be a poet enjoying the scenery as he walks along the shores of Tago Bay.

Morning Light on the Shores of Lake Yamanaka | T. Enami

On the Road to Japan, Pt. I

Apparently, I’m to live by myself.

I’m to live by myself, in a 16 square metre room, with my own bathroom, my own fridge, my own landline, but to cook, or to watch T.V., I will need to socialise with other people on my floor because that’s communal. (I really hope my eventual floormates know how to clean after themselves, because I really don’t want to cook in a dirty kitchen… and I hate cooking already dirty dishes aren’t going to help increase my motivation at all.)

Despite knowing where I’m living, and knowing how much rent I’m paying, I’m yet to know when I get there. Of course, I know that the time frame for my departure to the Land of the Rising Sun is sometime in late March or super early April, but the exact date? I’ll find out early-mid March. Which gives me maybe two weeks between knowing when I leave, and actually leaving.

Only two weeks? Some people, like my mama, might think, outraged. Only two weeks to prepare for a year away??! Two weeks to apply for things and get everything ready??!!? That’s not even enough time to prepare for a one-day party, let alone a year!!!!!111!!one!

I used to think that too. But now that I’m in this position, just waiting for things to happen… I think… not knowing is okay. I feel like knowing the exact dates for when I leave will make it seem final. I’ll have to finally finish cleaning my room. I’ll have to make sure I finish all my snacks in my room. I’ll have to start saying ‘See you in a year!’ to people I don’t see for years anyway. But, at the moment, without an actual date, my imminent departure is just floating around in the air, as an eventual someday-it-will-happen rather than a final goodbye-dear-friends-miss-me-a-bit-see-you-in-a-year.

But since I can’t really just sit here and do nothing for the weeks leading up to it until I find out when I leave and start swearing at how much I need to do and how much I haven’t done… what can I actually do?

For one thing, I’ve started studying. Just so I can say more than just すみません (excuse me) and 日本語を分かりません (I don’t understand Japanese) to people. I’ve exchanged some $$ for ¥¥. And I’ll go and open a magical no-transaction-fee, usable-in-fifty-million-countries bank account, just so I can avoid opening up a Japanese bank account and trying to understand what the heck they’re saying about terms and conditions when I don’t even really understand half of what the terms and conditions are when I open an account in Australia. Where they speak English.

In any case, things are happening, and time is passing, and eventually I’ll know the date for flying to Japan and I’ll start panicking at how little I’ve actually cleaned my room, but for now, I’ll just slowly work my way through the days and enjoy all the little moments that life has to offer.

Like 20 degree weather in the middle of an Australian summer.

Hyakunin Isshu No. 3: If I’m to sleep alone

By: Kakinomoto no Hitomaro (662 – 710) 柿本人麻呂

On a mountain slope あしびきの
The copper pheasant’s tail 山鳥の尾の
Just flows and flows – しだり尾の
So long, like this night ながながし夜を
If I’m to sleep alone ひとりかも寝む

Legend has it that poet gained his name because he was found at the foot of a kaki, or persimmon, tree as an infant and subsequently adopted. As an attendant of Emperor Monmu, the grandson of Empress Jitou (the poet of No. 2), Kakinomoto no Hitomaro had plenty of opportunity to demonstrate his poetic prowess. He definitely showed off his skills, because he became known as one of the great poets of early Japan, and after his death was deified as a god of Poetry, complete with temples dedicated to his name.

In this tanka, the translation notes merely say that the night will seem to be as long as the tail of the copper pheasant if he cannot be with his lover tonight. However, the fourth line can be interpreted as also ‘To drift, like my life’ instead of ‘So long, like this night’. If you add that interpretation into the poem, then instead of just being just a pining lover in the night, the poet could be instead yearning for a companionship in his life of solitude.

Copper pheasant | Internet Bird Collection

Even though both interpretations are about longing for a lover in a relationship, I personally like the second interpretation about drifting in life. Because it’s true. If a person lacks companionship, whether it be a lover, or a partner, or a friend, or family, then regardless of how introverted a person may be, life will seem long and dreary. Without anyone to share with, or any person to rely on, nights would seem long, and life would drift like and flow just like the tail of a copper pheasant, in solitude as it follows unquestioningly the pheasant, without its own purpose, without its own meaning.

Hyakunin Isshu No. 2: Spring has past

By: Empress Jitou (645 – 702) 持統天皇

Spring has past 春過ぎて
And summer begun; 夏来にけらし
The strange, shining 白妙の
Robes of royals dry – 衣ほすてふ
At Kagu, perfumed mountain of the sky 天の香具山

In Japanese history, there were only ever eight empresses, and Empress Jitou was the third. When I say empress though, they were only ever regents, people in power until a suitable emperor was chosen, or grown-up, because Imperial Japan follows male succession. Following that vein, Kagu Mountain is the mountain of a stone door behind which resides the Sun goddess, whom, in Japanese religion, bore the first Japanese emperor. Which means that all Japanese royalty are descended from gods, supposedly.

In the poem, my translation notes says that the speaker merely realises that spring has passed before they knew it with the mention of drying summer robes, and Mount Kagu is there to give the poem imperial symbolism, and as a hint that the poem is about succession.

I agree about the succession, and the fact that it is written by one of rare female empresses means, to me at least, that the poem is about what the Empress Jitou feels about passing on her rule. The passing of Spring – the promise of new beginnings and refreshing – and the beginning of Summer – strong with the pulse and energy of life – means that she is either realising that she was only there like Spring to pave the way for the ‘true’ emperor, the Summer, or that her reign has already entered its peak and she will soon have to abdicate her rule to the following emperor.

KisaragiChiyo | DeviantArt

In any case, I feel that, despite the brightness and vivaciousness of Summer, Empress Jitou is feeling nostalgic for the power that she only temporarily has, and that looking onto the bright summer robes drying in the sun has woken her to the inevitability of the passing of time. However, it also gives off a sense of purpose and of hope, that she is here to prepare the way, and that her work during her rule will be fundamental in maintaining a strong Japan and will stay as a guide for her successor.

And who hasn’t felt like this before? Feeling the inevitability of moving on… losing the powers of being in the highest grade as you graduate from primary school, losing a sense of innocence and being a child as you graduate from high school, losing a sense of freedom as you graduate from whatever and enter the work force… we may not ever lose the powers to rule a country, but every time we move on from one stage of life into the next, the same sense of helpless nostalgia for lost times and the hope that we have for the future is and will, I believe, remain the same.

Hyakunin Isshu No. 1: Harvest-time in the field

By: Emperor Tenji (626 – 671) 天智天皇

Harvest-time in the field 秋の田の
A hut that’s coarsely-thatched かりほの庵の
An autumn refuge – 苫をあらみ
My sleeves わが衣では
Are wet with dew 露にぬれつつ

Supposedly, the emperor was inspired to write this poem when he was scaring birds away while harvesters were gathering crop in the fields. However, sudden rain forced to him to take shelter in a thatched hut that offered zero protection from the rain anyway, and so he and his sleeves became wet.

According to my translation, the vignette is of a hard working harvester wiping away his sweat with his sleeves as he takes a rest in a hut. Or that the speaker is separated away from his love as he sits alone in a hut, wiping away his tears with his sleeves.

Since the Japanese are all for meaning upon meaning, layer upon layer, I personally like the idea of the forlorn lover in a hut.

And since Autumn is a symbol of loneliness, of drifting away from the warm brightness of Summer, and harvesting is usually a solo activity, who knows? The Emperor could have been travelling on the road, passing by fields full of lone harvesters and something unexpected forced him to take shelter in a road side hut, delaying his return to the side of his beloved person.

HoshiKouken | Youtube

Recommended: Hyakunin Isshu 百人一首

I recently impulse bought a book of Japanese poetry called the Hyakunin Isshu (百人一首). An anthology of one hundred, five-line waka (和歌), or now more commonly called tanka (短歌), structured with lines measuring 5-7-5-7-7 syllables, and compiled by Fujiwara no Teika in around 1237 A.D., each is written by a different Japanese poet from the 7th to the 13th century.

Time to start reading!

Why did I decide to buy this anthology randomly? Because I had just caught up to Chihayafuru, a manga on competitve karuta which features the tanka in the Hyakunin Isshu prominently. And being a fangirl, I decided to buy the book so I could understand all the layers of meaning in each tanka. Such is the life of a fangirl.

At least I’m being educated whilst spending my time in imaginary worlds.

And since reading poetry needs reflection, and reflection comes easiest when writing down thoughts, I thought I would share my reflections. After all, this blog is a Diary of sorts.

But for sure, these poems I would recommend/10. Even just hearing the descriptions as I watch the anime or read the manga was enough to kindle my interest in Japanese poetry. They are so layered, so full of meaning and double meaning, so subtle and yet so passionate underneath all the refinement. There are online translations of them everywhere, and if you have time, read a few~! I just like having a book in my hands.

Once I run out of these one hundred poems… I’ll see what I move on to. Until then… stay with me.