Sleeping Mountains

(Section 99 of The Tales of Ise, curtesy of the Kyoto University Library)

I find the handwriting in old Japanese manuscripts fascinating. When I took lessons in brush calligraphy, I could not get the balance of the kanji right, much less progress to the even more difficult kana letters that constitute this text. Perhaps if I had had a few more years’ patience, I might have some day been able to approximate this style.

Now, my challenge studying noh at the university is to simply read the script. This may be simpler than writing it myself, but I still struggle with the task. I can hardly believe I picked out the beginning characters of the poem I was looking for in an online document that was 211 pages long.

The reason for this search was an intriguing poem, the first line of which I stumbled upon while reading Nijo Yoshimoto’s text on renga (linked verse) today. The whole poem by an unidentified woman in The Tales of Ise fascinates me even more.

しるしらぬ何かあやなくわきていはむ思ひのみこそしるべなりけれ

Shiru shiranu nani ka ayanaku wakite ihamu omohi no mi koso shirube narikere

Nothing to indicate you know or don’t know, but a sudden flame exciting your thoughts will show you the way

Read the rest of this entry »

もろともにかげをならぶる人もあれや月のもりくるささのいおに

Moro tomo ni kage wo naraburu hito mo areya tsuki no morikuru sasa no io ni

For a friend, if only there were someone who would line up their shadow next to mine in this grass hut that the moon has filled with light.

(My translation)

Read the rest of this entry »

I recently came across this poem in the Kokin Wakashu, a collection of poetry from the turn of the 10th century.  It was written by Ki no Tsurayuki, whom I’ve mentioned in a previous post about empathy.

世の中はかくこそ有りけれ吹く風の　目に見ぬ人もこひしかりけり

yo no naka wa kaku koso arikere fuku kaze no
me ni minu hito mo koishikarikeri

in this world some things are lacking and yet present like the blowing wind    yearning for an invisible person

(Please forgive the roughness of my translation.  In the Japanese, the wind is not personified by yearning.  The use of the auxiliary verb -keri in this poem indicates exclamatory recognition or discovery.)

This poem caught my attention for the depth of possible interpretations.  At first, since it is classified with the love (or romantic) poems in the Kokin Wakashu, it is easy to imagine the poet sending this in a message to his distant lover, who is waiting for him in the capital, while he is tending to an official post in the distant provinces.  Or perhaps it is for someone he is not able or allowed to see for one reason or another.

The fascinating question is, therefore, why can’t the poet see the object of his love?  Although it may very possibly be because of spacial distance, differences in class, or court politics, it might very well be that this “invisible person” is very literally not visible – not to anyone, anywhere.

And yet, despite being invisible, this person is present to the poet.  One interpretation would then be, the “invisible person” is someone who has passed away.  Only memories of this person remain.  The memories exist, while the person remains invisible.

Another interpretation might be that the “invisible person” is someone who never existed.  Perhaps it is a person only present in the poet’s mind.  The poet wishes the “invisible person,” perhaps a person who fully understands him, were alive nearby, but also expresses that such a person has no actual physical presence.  Like the wind.