Reading The Tale of Genji (3): The Cicada Shell (Utsusemi)

Utsusemi

Title

"Utsusemi" lietarlly means "the cast-off shell of a cicada," when it hatches. It is also a nickname for the woman who appears in the three chapters of 'Hahakigi' (The Broom Tree), 'Utsusemi,' and 'Sekiya' (The Gatehouse).  She is one of the women Genji gets to know while in his teens, when he is looking for adventures with "women of the middle rank." Her nickname is based on a waka poem Genji sends her with a cicada shell because she fled when Genji was again pursuing her, and left her gown behind. Genji picks it up and then sends her a poem.

Chronology

This chapter continues seamlessly from the previous one.

Waley uses "Utsusemi" as the title; Seidensticker has "The Shell of the Locust" and Washburn "A Molted Cicada Shell", but I prefer Tyler's simple "The Cicada Shell."

Position in the Genji

Chapters 2, 3, 4 and 6 of the Genji have together been called "the Broom Tree Sequence," as these chapters are a sort of parody of the main theme, the discovery of forgotten women of the middle rank ("hidden flowers") by showing how easily things can go wrong.

Synopsis

In what is a rather short chapter, Genji continues pursuing (if not stalking) Utsusemi and makes a third visit to the house where she is staying. Utsusemi's title is "the wife of the Iyo Deputy" - her husband is a provincial official serving in Iyo, present-day Matsuyama (even the hot springs of Dogo are mentioned by Murasaki Shikibu). While on duty, he leaves his wife behind in the capital, as was normal in those days.

Ironically, it is Utsusemi's rejection that makes her an unforgettable figure for Genji. She is modest, somewhat plain and small, but her behavior stands out splendidly and she has good taste. Even when Genji makes an advance to her, she maintains her honor gracefully to the last, though she is afflicted, which again deeply impresses Genji. If she would have surrendered to him when he first tried to sleep with her, he would probably by now have forgotten her - it is her resistance, and pitiable condition, that keep him interested. By the way, it is said that Murasaki Shikibu herself could have served as a model for Utsusemi, because of the resemblance in circumstances and status.

[Genji spies on Utsusemi playing Go with her stepdaughter (from Wikimedia)]

Genji remains so infatuated that he proceeds for a third time to the mansion of the Governor of Kii under cover of the darkness, again claiming a "directional taboo." With the help of Kogimi, Utsusemi's young brother he has taken under his wing, he manages to steal a glance into the room, where Utsusemi is playing a game of Go with her step-daughter, the younger sister of the Governor of Kii, Nokiba no Ogi. Both women are revealingly under-dressed on the warm summer night. This act of spying on women (through a gap in a fence or curtain) by a man is called kaimami and is an often repeated scene in the Genji Monogatari (and just as often depicted in Genji-e).

In fact, Nokiba no Ogi is more attractive and animated than her step-mother, but Utsusemi displays more cultivation and elegance. That night, Genji contrives, with Kogimi's assistance, to secretly creep into the bedchamber of the ladies. But Utsusemi somehow senses his presence, and swiftly flees the room, leaving only a thin robe behind like a cicada discarding its shell (hence the chapter title). In her desire to escape him, Utsusemi also abandons her sleeping step-daughter, who becomes Genji's unwitting prey. He initially mistakes the sleeping Nokiba no Ogi for Utsusemi and embraces her. When he notices his mistake, things have already gone too far - or he is just unwilling to admit defeat -, so he continues making love to her. Nokiba no Ogi does not even imagine she has been the victim of mistaken identity (Genji woos her into believing she is indeed the object of his desire), but is rather miserly treated by Genji afterwards, as he doesn't even send her the usual "morning after" poem, and also never returns to her. Despite her gorgeous looks, she is as it were the negative counterpart to the modest and small Utsusemi, who will continue to fascinate Genji. Nokiba no Ogi has been left behind by Utsusemi like the discarded robe, and lies just as inert and lifeless in Genji's arms as a cicada shell. It is only later, when she has become a memory, that Genji starts harboring fresh feelings of desire and regret for her.

Genji has managed to steal Utsusemi's robe (his only prize) and for many nights takes it with him to bed, fetischistically trying to find her faint scent in the soft textile. He then writes the following poem to Utsusemi:

at the foot of the tree
where the cicada
shed its shell,
my longing still goes to her
who left it behind

[utsusemi no | mi wo kaetekeru | ko no moto ni | nao hitogara no | natsukashiki kana]

Instead of responding with a poem by her own hand, Utsusemi, who is despite everything impressed by Genji's devotion, copies one by the tenth century poet Lady Ise next to Genji's:

dew lying on the wings
of the locust
hiding beneath this tree -
secretly, secretly
my sleeves are wet with my tears

[utsusemi no | ha ni oku tsuyu no | kogakurete | shinobi shinobi ni | nururu sode kana]

[Utsusemi, by Tosa Mitsunobu, Harvard Art Museums]

Genji-e

The voyeuristic Kaimami scene (Genji peeping at Utsusemi and Nokiba no Ogi while they are playing go, with Utsusemi's younger brother Okimi watching the game) is the one most frequently illustrated episode from this chapter (others show Utsusemi in the act of fleeing and leaving her robe behind). In the version by Tosa Mitsunobu above, the frail Utsusemi is sitting with her back turned towards Genji, but the somewhat vulgar and voluptuous Nokiba no Ogi is directly in Genji's sight. In the novel she has her robes hanging open, exposing her chest, but that was apparently too much for Tosa Mitsunobu.

No Plays

Two No plays have been based on the Utsusemi story. In Utsusemi the shite appears in disguise before a priest at Nakagawa, the Inner River Mansion of the Governor of Kii (presumably so called as it stood close to a small river that flowed between the Kamo and Katsura rivers), and site of Utsusemi's encounter with Genji. After telling the story of the place she reveals her true identity as Utsusemi and vanishes. In exchange for prayers on behalf of her soul, she then reappears in the priest's dream that night and performs a graceful No dance. The extended description of Nakagawa at the beginning of the play is based on phrases culled from the Genji Monogatari - in medieval times Genji handbooks were compiled by culling words and phrases from famous scenes as a sort of synopsis. Utsusemi's story also provided various motifs for both waka and renga. 

The other play is called Go and focuses on that game as secretly watched (kaimami) by Genji. A priest visiting Nakagawa recalls a poem about the place, causing a woman to appear and engage him in conversation about it. She offers him lodging for the night and promises to provide a game of Go as entertainment, whereupon she disappears. In the second part of the play, the shite (Utsusemi) and tsure (Nokiba no Ogi) face each other across a Go board at the front of the stage as they imitate a game (a prop is used for the Go board). This is a very dense and elliptical play.
Note that Genji himself does not appears in these No plays.

Article on kaimami: "Stolen Glimpses: Convention and Variations" by Daniel Struve, in Cipango - French Journal of Japanese Studies (2014) at http://journals.openedition.org/cjs/697.

Reading The Tale of Genji

Hyakunin Isshu (One Hundred Poets, One Poem Each): Poem 35 (Ki no Tsurayuki)

 Hyakunin Isshu, Poem 35

Translation and comments by Ad Blankestijn
(version September 2022)


of people, well,
you never know the heart,
yet at the old place
the blossoms as ever
are fragrant in their full splendor

hito wa isa
kokoro mo shirazu
furusato wa
hana zo mukashi no
ka ni nioi keru

人はいさ
心も知らず
ふるさとは
花ぞむかしの
香に匂ひける

Ki no Tsurayuki 紀貫之 (872–945)

[Plum blossoms]

"I don't know whether you feel the same about me as in the past, but the plum blossoms at least are blooming with the same scent as always."

The Kokinshu has the following head note: "One day, after a long absence, the poet stopped again at a house where he had often lodged when he made a pilgrimage to Hasuse. The owner said to him: "As you see, there is a perfectly good place to spend the night here." Tsurayuki broke off a blossoming branch from a plum tree nearby and composed this poem." (The owner's words teased Tsurayuki for the fact that he had not come for such a long time).

Hatsuse lies to the SE of Nara, 75 km from Kyoto (so a very long journey in those days) and was know for Hasedera temple, a Kannon temple which was an important pilgrimage center in Heian times (and in fact still is today).

Notes

• hito: points at the owner of the house (I think the term "inn" which is sometimes used, is too modern), but I have translated it more in general.
  
• isa (usually with shirazu): "saa, do desho ka?" "well..."
• furusato: a nostalgic, beloved place, not necessarily one's hometown
• hana: The poem only speaks about "hana", blossoms, but as "sakura" or cherry blossoms don't have any fragrance, the poet must be speaking about plum blossoms which are famous for their subtle scent. The poet would as was customary attach the paper with his poem it to some object, here a spray of plum blossoms he breaks off the tree.
  
• ka ni noikeru: to be in full bloom with a good scent.
  
  

[Ki no Tsurayuki by Kano Tanyu, 1648]

The poet

Ki no Tsurayuki was one of the greatest of the classical poets, and the first writer of Japanese prose (Tosa Nikki, a fictional travel account). He was the chief compiler of the Kokinshu, in which work he was assisted by the authors of verses Nos. 29, 30 and 33. This anthology was compiled at the order of emperor Daigo and was finished in 905, containing some eleven hundred poems in 20 volumes. Ki no Tsurayuki also wrote the Japanese preface to the anthology, the first critical essay on waka. Tsurayuki dealt with the history of the waka from its mythological origin to the waka of his time. He classified the poems into genres, referred to some important poets and evaluated his predecessors.

Tsurayuki himself was also famous for his waka and his name is also mentioned in the Genji Monogatari as a waka master (in the story Emperor Uda orders him and a number of female poets to write waka on door panels).

After holding several offices in Heiankyo, Tsurayuki was appointed provincial governor of Tosa Province and stayed there from 930 to 935. He was later probably transferred to Suo Province, as a record of a waka party he held in his home in Suo has come down to us.

There is an anthology of Tsurayuki's waka called Tsurayuki-shu. He probably put these together himself. Many of his poems have also been included in other major waka anthologies such as Kokinshu and other imperial collections. In the three oldest of the imperial waka anthologies, he was one of the most popular waka poets.

[Hasedera]

Kokinshu (Kokin Wakashu)

The Kokinshu (古今和歌集, "Collection from Ancient and Modern Times") is the first imperial waka anthology, and consists of 20 scrolls, which contain 1,111 poems. Although its compilation was already underway under Emperor Uda (r 887-897), the Kokinshu was officially commissioned under his son Emperor Daigo (r 897-930) and completed about 905. Although the compilers wrongly believed that the Man'yoshu had also been royally commissioned, the Kokinshu was in fact the first in a series of anthologies of waka poetry compiled by imperial command, the chokusenshu or Nijuichidaishu (Collections of the Twenty-One Eras). Next to being a compiler of such a collection, having one's poems included was the highest poetic honor.

The compilers of the anthology were four court poets, led by Ki no Tsurayuki (872-945) and also including his cousin Ki no Tomonori (who died before its completion), Oshikochi no Mitsune, and Mibu no Tadamine. Tsurayuki wrote the Japanese preface and Ki no Yoshimochi the Sinitic preface. The poems were chosen from 3 groups: (1) anonymous poems from older and more recent times, (2) poems from the period of the "Six Poetic Sages" (Rokkasen, mid-ninth century), and (3) poems by the compilers and their contemporaries. The "Six Poetic Sages," who attained their status by having been discussed in Tsurayuki's foreword, include Bishop Henjo (17 poems), Ariwara no Nakahira (30 poems), Fun'ya no Yasuhide (5 poems), Priest Kisen (1 poem), Ono no Komachi (18 poems) and Otomo no Kuronushi (3 poems). The compilers themselves are represented by 244 poems: Tsurayuki with over 100 (the highest number of any poet).  Another 6 poets, including Lady Ise and Priest Sosei are represented by 10 or more poems each. Over 120 named poets are represented, among whom 30 women. But the anonymous poems, with a number of 450, form the largest group.

The Kokinshu set the tradition of arranging the poems not by author, but by topic, which was followed by the other 20 imperial collections. Topics were seasonal poems (book 1 to 6), love poems (11-15), congratulatory poems, parting, travel, laments and miscellaneous topics. The proportions make clear that seasonal and love poems were considered the essential topical concerns of lyric poetry.

Within a given topic the poems were also arranged in meaningful sequences: the seasonal poems follow the course of a particular season from beginning to end, and in the same way the course of a love affair is followed through time.

Poems included in Hyakunin Isshu: 5, 7, 8, 9, 11, 12, 14, 15, 16, 17, 18, 21, 22, 23, 24, 28, 29, 30, 31, 32, 33, 43, 35, 36 (total 24).

[The earliest extant manuscript of the Kokinshu (early 12th c.),
a national treasure kept at the Tokyo National Museum]

Visiting

Hasedera is a fascinating temple. During the Heian period it was a center of the Kannon cult, like Kiyomizudera in Kyoto and Ishiyamadera in Otsu. The impressive Kannon Hall, built on stilts against the steep cliff, as Kiyomizudera in Kyoto, stands towering on the mountain slope. Inside pilgrims find a most wondrous ten meter tall statue, a standing Thousand-headed Kannon, who carries a flower vase in the left hand, and a monk’s staff and rosary in the right hand. That last feature is characteristic of Jizo statues, and this Kannon is therefore a fusion with that other beloved Bodhisattva, the meek Jizo. The Kannon Hall is reached via a long covered and gently graded staircase, and the temple is especially popular in the spring, when the peonies that line this staircase are in bloom. The temple was in Heian times favored by members of the nobility, such as the authors of the Kagero Nikki and the Sarashina Nikki (these Kannon temples welcomed visits by women, in contrast to other monastic establishments as Koyasan where women were not allowed to enter). Hasedera was consistently popular with visitors, something which was also helped by the fact it was situated on what was then the route from Kyoto to the Ise Shrine.
(15 min walk from Hasedera St on the Kintetsu Osaka line. https://www.hasedera.or.jp/)

[The long covered staircase in Hasedera]

References: Pictures of the Heart, The Hyakunin Isshu in Word and Image by Joshua S. Mostow (University of Hawai'i Press, 1996); Traditional Japanese Poetry, An Anthology, by Steven D. Carter (Stanford University Press, 1991); Hyakunin Isshu by Inoue Muneo, etc. (Shinchosha, 1990); Genshoku Hyakunin Isshu by Suzuki Hideo, etc. (Buneido, 1997); Ogura Hyakunin Isshu at Japanese Text Initiative (University of Virginia Library Etext Center); Hyakunin Isshu wo aruku by Shimaoka Shin (Kofusha Shuppan); Hyakunin Isshu, Ocho waka kara chusei waka e by Inoue Muneo (Chikuma Shoin, 2004); Basho's Haiku (2 vols) by Toshiharu Oseko (Maruzen, 1990); The Ise Stories by Joshua S. Mostow and Royall Tyler (University of Hawai'i Press, 2010); Kokin Wakashu, The First Imperial Anthology of Japanese Poetry by Helen Craig McCullough (Stanford University Press, 1985); Kokinshu, A Collection of Poems Ancient and Modern by Laurel Rasplica Rodd and Mary Catherine Henkenius (University of Tokyo Press, 1984); Kokin Wakashu (Shogakkan, 1994); Shinkokin Wakashu (Shogakkan, 1995); Taketori Monogatari-Ise Monogatari-Yamato Monogatari-Heichu Monogatari (Shogakkan, 1994).

Photos in this post my own work. Painting of Ki no Tsurayuki from Wikipedia

Hyakunin Isshu Index

Haiku Travels (15): Basho and the Sumida River (Tokyo)

 

Haiku Travels

Sumida River (Tokyo)

hototogisu

its cry lies stretched

across the water

hototogisu | koe yokotau ya | mizu no ue

ほととぎす声や横たふ水の上

Basho

[Basho looking out over the Sumida River (statue in the Observation Garden close to the Basho Memorial Hall)]

The Sumida River flows through central Tokyo into Tokyo Bay. It is actually the name for the lower reaches of the Arakawa River which originates in the Kanto mountains. The Sumida flows north to south through Tokyo's "shitamachi" (downtown area) and is connected with a network of canals. Wholesale stores and warehouses are located along the river.

The Sumida runs through Tokyo for about 27 kilometers, and today it passes under 26 bridges spaced at about one bridge per kilometer. In Basho's time there was only one bridge: Ryogoku Bridge, first built in 1659. Its name, "Bridge of the Two Countries" was based on the fact that it formed the border between the provinces Musashi and Shimousa. Just before Basho's death a second bridge was built, in fact closer to his house, the Shin Ohashi (New Great Bridge, 1693, see below). But there were also many ferries and smaller boats helping people to cross the river. It is a good idea to take a cruise on the Sumida River to see these bridges and Tokyo's skyline - the only disappointment, when comparing this cruise to cruises on the Seine or the Thames, is that Tokyo like other Japanese cities stands with its back turned to the river - it lacks the beautiful river front one finds in European cities.

The Sumida River was famous for the cherry trees planted on its banks and also for the large firework display in summer - this was first held in 1732 as a festival for the dead due to a famine. It continues to this day with fireworks launched from barges in the river.

The Sumida River has left its mark in literature as well. The earliest instances are in the Ise Monogatari and Sarashina Nikki, followed by a famous early 15th c. No play by Kanze Motomasa. In this play, a mad-woman travels all the way from Kyoto to the banks of the Sumidagawa in search of her lost child. From what the ferryman tells her, she understands that her child is dead and also that the people gathered before a burial mound on the opposite shore are chanting a Buddhist prayer on behalf of him (he had been kidnapped and later abandoned by slave traders). The woman rushes into the group and, striking a gong, begins to recite the Nenbutsu prayer herself. The ghost of a young boy appears from behind the burial mound but recedes with the light of dawn. Only the grass-covered mound remains.

And then we have of course the beautiful, nostalgic story Nagai Kafu wrote in 1911 (see my post on Modern Japanese Fiction Part 2).

[Sumida River and Shin-Ohashi]

How close to the river Basho lived is reflected in the following haiku:
 

full moon -
thrusting against my gate
tidal crests

meigetsu ya | kado ni sashikuru | shiogashira

名月や門にさしくる潮がしら

Full moon is the time that the tide in Tokyo Bay is highest. As Basho's hut stood on a tip of land near the mouth of the Sumida River, at the point where the Onagi River flowed into it, he was in a good position to observe tidal patterns. Moon viewing was a social activity in traditional Japan, but Basho apparently is alone this night. Suddenly, visitors arrive: the waves pushing against his gate, as if wanting to enter and join the poet in his appreciation of the bright moon.

In another haiku combining the Sumida with moon viewing, he wrote:

upstream
and here downstream
moon viewing buddies

kawakami to | kono kawashimo ya | tsuki no tomo

川上とこの川下や月の友

Standing on the edge of the wide river, Basho's hut must have been a perfect place for moon viewing. The moon viewing person living downstream in the present haiku is Basho himself, but commentators are not in unison about who Basho's moon-loving companion may have been. Or is Basho referring again to the waves of the Sumida?

Now to the haiku cited at the beginning of this post. Elsewhere I have already written about the hototogisu, or lesser cuckoo, which has a gentle call and is one of the best loved Japanese song birds. As this bird arrives around May in Japan, it is considered the harbinger of early summer. From the time of the first poetry collection, the Manyoshu (8th century), this small bird has inspired many poets. In haiku, it figures as a season word for 'early summer.'

Basho describes in this haiku how the call of the hototogisu, even after it has stopped, still reverberates over the river. The middle phrase suggests the spaciousness of the water. The poet was especially interested in such 'lingering sounds,' an effect he tried to match in his own haiku. This was also an important effect in ancient Chinese poetic theory: the subtle aftertaste is more important than the original flavor...

[Sudden Shower over Shin-Ohashi bridge
and Atake, by Hiroshige (1857)]

The Shin-Ohashi Bridge, the second bridge over the Sumida as mentioned above, built close to Basho's hut, was immortalized in a famous ukiyo-e by Hiroshige dating from 1857. Part of his “One Hundred Famous Views of Edo” series, it shows people hurrying across the wooden bridge in a downpour, their faces hidden by umbrellas. The buildings in the background are the boathouses of the shogun. On the river you can also spot a lumber raft - in nearby Fukagawa were extensive lumber yards, so that in case of fire that city could be quickly rebuilt.

Basho wrote several haiku about the New Great Bridge:

first snow -
on the new bridge
almost completed

hatsu yuki ya | kakekakaritaru | hashi no ue

初雪や懸けかかりたる橋の上

In September 1693 construction was started on this New Great Bridge. In fact, it stood almost next to the poet's cottage and he must have had a good view of the construction work. Originally it stood further downstream than the present Shin-Ohashi Bridge, in about the same position as the Basho Museum.

The new bridge, which made trips to Edo so much easier for Basho and his disciples, was finished in December 1693. It was 200 meters in length. The present haiku was written when the bridge was half completed, with the frame already standing. That frame in all its newness was crowned by fresh snow - the first of the season. Hatsu, 'first,' speaks of Basho's joy at the new bridge.

Another haiku, written after completion, expresses Basho's gratefulness, which to me has some Buddhist overtones, as it sounds like gratitude towards Tariki, the Other Power in Jodo Shin Buddhism:

everyone goes out
grateful for the bridge
covered with ripe

mina idete | hashi wo itadaku | shimoji kana

皆出でて橋を戴く霜路哉

Basho Kinenkan (Basho Museum)
10:00-17:00, Closed Mondays, year-end and New Year period. 1-6-3 Tokiwa Koto-ku, Tokyo-to 135. Tel. 03-3631-1448. Access: 5 min. from Kiyosumi-Shirakawa Station on the Oedo line; 7 min. from Morishita Station on the Shinjuku Subway line; 25 min. from Monzen-Nakamachi on the Tozai Subway line; 20 min. from Ryogoku Station on the JR Sobu line. https://www.kcf.or.jp/basho/

Translations and Studies of Basho
Basho's Haiku, 2 vols,  by Toshiharu Oseko (1990 & 1996, Maruzen): Basho and his Interpreters, Selected Hokku with Commentary, by Makoto Ueda (1992, Stanford U.P.); Traces of Dreams, Landscape, Cultural Memory, and the Poetry of Basho, by Haruo Shirane (1998, Stanford U.P.); Basho's Narrow Road, by Hiroaki Sato (1996, Stone Bridge Press); Basho's Journey, The Literary Prose of Matsuo Basho, by David Landis Bamhill (2005, State University of New York); Basho Yamatoji by Daiyasu Takashi considers Basho's travels in the Nara area and the haiku he wrote there (Izumi Shobo, 1994)

[All photos in this post are my own. Ukiyo-e from Wikipedia]

Index Haiku Travels

Sarashina Diary, by Lady Sarashina (book review)

As I Crossed a Bridge of Dreams:
Recollections of a Woman in Eleventh-Century Japan, by Lady Sarashina

translated by Ivan Morris

Sarashina Nikki (Sarashina Diary) is a wonderful book, but the title is a misnomer. It is not a diary, but a personal memoir, and it has nothing to do with Sarashina, a locality in Nagano (one of the poems in the book refers obliquely to Sarashina, but that is all). The translator, Ivan Morris, therefore opted for the the fancy title “As I Crossed a Bridge of Dreams,” which is beautifully poetic and apt, as the author often describes her dreams (and it is a reference to the last chapter of The Tale of Genji, Lady Sarashina's favorite novel), but it is not satisfactory either because it seems to point at a wholly different book. So let’s keep the name Sarashina Nikki, under which it is after all known in Japan, and let’s for convenience sake call the author “Lady Sarashina” as is commonly done.

Yes, this is not only a book without an original title, it is also a book written by a woman with no name. That last defect is normal for the Heian period: women didn’t use their names in public, but were called by the names / titles of their husbands, fathers or other male family members. Our writer was the “Daughter of Sugawara no Takasue,” and she was born more than one thousand years ago, in 1008, and died after 1059. Her father, from the well-known Sugawara family (which by this time had lost its power), was a provincial administrator, so a middle-ranking aristocrat. She lived with her father, taking care of his household, but at age 31 also started to serve as part-time lady-in-waiting to one of the imperial princesses. At age 36 she married, with a husband who was six years her senior, and a provincial administrator like her father. This was a very late marriage, as in Heian times marriages at ages as young as 16 were normal. She had a son and two more children by her husband. When she was 49, her husband returned ill from one of his postings and died (postings to the provinces were often "tanshin funin" in modern business terms, i.e. without the family). She continued to write her memoir for two years more (it is assumed that most of it was written in her later years), and then her voice falls silent – we don’t know if she died herself, or perhaps took refuge in a temple as a nun.

[Statue of Lady Sarashina
in front of Goi Station
(Ichihara, Chiba prefecture)]

The author was one of a group of literary women who flourished in 10th and 11th c. Japanese court society. They were well educated, had leisure and a favorable social position. Murasaki Shikibu, the author of The Tale of Genji, was one of them; others were for example Sei Shonagon (The Pillow Book), Izumi Shikibu, and the author of the Kagero Nikki, again a nameless woman (and the niece of Lady Sarashina).

Our author is intensely personal in describing her feelings, hopes and disappointments, but she tells us very little of the practical facts of life, as was customary at the time. But what she describes, is all very beautiful. What makes her work outstanding are the interesting descriptions of travels and pilgrimages – she was the first author in the genre of travel writing, and a very accomplished one. Her father had been posted as assistant governor to what is now part of Chiba prefecture, and when Lady Sarashina was 12 the family traveled back to the capital Heiankyo (Kyoto), a three month long journey. Her remembrances of this journey open her memoirs, and although terse and sometimes geographically inaccurate (because she wrote so many years after the event), it is unique in Heian literature. She writes about Mt Fuji (then still an active volcano): “There is no mountain like it in the world. It has a most unusual shape and seems to have been painted deep blue; its thick cover of unmelting snow gives the impression that the mountain is wearing a white jacket over a dress of deep violet.”

In her 10s and 20s, Lady Sarashina was addicted to reading tales, Japan’s earliest fiction, and her favorite book was The Tale of Genji. There was of course no publishing industry, books were privately copied and re-copied by hand. After reading the "Wakamurasaki" chapter of the Genji, Lady Sarashina yearns to possess the whole novel, even dedicating a Buddhist statue so that this wish may be fulfilled. Her joy knows no bounds when after returning to Heiankyo, she is presented with a whole copy (“more than 50 chapters”, so the Genji at that time probably had the same length as today’s 54 chapters). She dreams of being a heroine like Yugao or Ukifune, with a smart lover as Genji – it would be enough if he visited only once a year, for the rest she would look forward to his beautiful letters… In this way, the memoirs are impressive records of Lady Sarashina’s travel and of her day-to-day life.

Later she blames herself for her addiction to tales, and for having neglected her spiritual growth. That is later in life, when she has become a sincere Buddhist, making frequent pilgrimages to famous temples as Kiyomizudera, Ishiyamadera and Hasedera. Such pilgrimages were usually long trips of many days; not only the journey itself was long, but the pilgrims would stay for several nights in the temple, sleeping in the hall and hoping for prophetic dreams. Lady Sarashina paid great attention to dreams and describes about a dozen. Her dreams are no fortuitous interludes, but are consciously grasped as having a definite, inevitable meaning.

The Sarashina Nikki is also a memoir of the poems the author wrote. As was usual at that time, she includes a generous amount of her poetry and describes the occasions at which the poems were written. The level of Lady Sarashina’s poems is very high and several became famous and were included in official imperial anthologies.

The most literary episode in the book is her “meeting” with a cultured courtier. Lady Sarashina herself seems to have been rather timorous, introspective and solitary – she never felt at home at court because of her awkwardness. She met the elegant courtier (whose name she never learned) on a dark, rainy, night, when he passed the room where she sat behind screens as usual at the time, They exchanged a few words and the man won her admiration for his lyrical description of the seasons. But nothing came of it – while an Izumi Shikibu might have taken the man as her lover, Lady Sarashina was too shy, and after this one, poetic discussion with him, she only met him once more, briefly. But it is an interesting episode, a whiff of the Genji in the life of one of that novel’s most assiduous readers.

Sarashina Nikki is remarkable for its wistfulness and sensibility. The vulnerable author found happiness neither at court nor in her family, but projected into her writing her dreams and poignant longings. The portrait of a young woman who lived entirely in books is very touching.


Other translations besides the one by Ivan Morris:
Diaries of Court Ladies of Old Japan, by Annie Shepley Omori and Kochi Doi, 1920 -  the oldest English translation, by far not as good as the later ones, but freely available;
The Sarashina Diary: A Woman's Life in Eleventh-Century Japan, by Sonja Arntzen (2014, Columbia U.P.) - contemporary academic translation.

== I bought the Ivan Morris translation many years ago as a Penguin Classic, and am still satisfied with it. It has extensive notes and a good introduction, and reads smoothly. Ivan Morris (1925-1976) studied Japanese language and culture at Harvard University and the School of Oriental and African Studies in London. He wrote widely on modern and ancient Japan (The World of the Shining Prince; The Nobility of Failure) and translated numerous classical and modern literary works. He was a friend of Mishima Yukio. ==

Haiku Travels (14): Basho and Bashoan (Tokyo)

 

Haiku Travels

Tokyo

banana plant in autumn gale

hearing all night

rain leaking into a tub

basho nowaki shite | tarai ni ame wo | kiku yo kana

芭蕉野分して盥に雨を聞く夜かな

Basho

In 1680 haikai master Matsuo Basho (1644-1694) moved from Nihonbashi in the bustling center of Edo to a small country house in Fukagawa, in the countryside on the opposite bank of the river. Here he started new haikai activities. Away from the city with its endless rounds of linked verse (renga) sessions where he acted as referee (and which brought in a reasonable income), now he was free to concentrate on his art and bring it to new heights, in a sort of self-imposed exile. Most famous haiku date from this period.

There has been much speculation about where exactly he would have lived, but the general area was that of the present Basho Museum (Basho Kinenkan), so that is a good place to start out tour. The museum's exhibits include calligraphy of Basho's haiku (amongst others by haiku poet Buson); portraits of the poet; an example of the clothes he may have worn when traveling, as well as an ingenious small writing brush with ink pot for use on the road (yatate).

In the garden stand a few haiku stones as well as a miniature copy of Basho's hut. To remain wholly in style, the museum also has plantains (basho) growing against its walls. These refer to the poetical name that Basho assumed after starting to live here: he named himself Basho after the plantain (sometimes also called banana plant) that disciples had planted in the garden of the cottage.

Basho received this plantain in 1681 and was delighted with the gift. He felt empathy with the plantain because of its small and unobtrusive flowers, exuding a certain loneliness, and the soft leaves that were easily torn in wintry storms. Above all, the tree was of no practical use whatsoever - like the poet himself. Basho perhaps thought of the useless tree in a famous anecdote in the Chinese philosophical work Zhuangzi, a tree which was spared the carpenter's axe, and therefore attained a ripe old age.

At night Basho sat alone in his hut, listening to the storm ripping the plantain leaves (a nowaki is in fact a typhoon). On stormy nights the tree was pitiful indeed, shaken by the inclement climate of the northern land where it did not feel at home. The roof of the hut leaked and Basho had placed a basin under the hole to catch the rain drops. The dripping went on all night and strangely mingled with the rustling leaves outside.

Perhaps noting the affinity between poet and tree, visitors started to call the hut Basho-an, or Plantain Hut. The name then also stuck to the poet himself and he was happy with it. For the rest of his life, he would call himself Basho – in contrast to the many different sobriquets he had used before this – and that is how he is known today.

The plantain apparently survived the poet: it was incorporated into a samurai mansion built on the spot of Basho's hut and lived until the early Meiji-period (1868-1912), when it finally withered and died.

The original hut did not survive – in fact, there were three different Basho huts, because fire once took its toll (in 1682) and in 1689 Basho himself moved out on the faraway journey to northern Japan. The third hut, finally, was built near the former site in 1692. When in 1917, after a tsunami hit a ceramic frog was found here that people believed to have been in Basho's possession (I do not know why, except the fact that he wrote a famous frog haiku! The frog stone can be seen in the museum), it was decided that this must have been the location of Basho's hut. Now a small Inari shrine in the usual vermilion color standing between residences and small warehouses occupies the spot just south of the museum. Opposite is a staircase leading to a rooftop garden where you will find a nice Basho statue. The haiku master sits pensively staring at the river, probably contemplating the enormous changes that have taken place here. 

[Inari shrine on the purported spot of Basho's hut
(near the Basho Museum)]

plantain leaves
to hang on the pillar
moon in my hut

bashoba wo | hashira ni kaken | io no tsuki

芭蕉葉を柱に懸けん庵の月

There were in fact three 'Basho huts': the first was one built in 1680, when Basho moved from Nihonbashi in the center of Edo to Fukagawa in the countryside on the opposite bank of the river. This hut was destroyed by a fire in 1682. The second one was built soon after that, but sold in 1689 when Basho went on his long trip to the North. The third hut, finally, was built near the former site in 1692.

The present haiku dates from that year, when Basho's disciples replanted the old plantain to the new hut. Why does the poet hang a leaf of the plantain on the pillar of his hut? Perhaps because it reminds him of moon viewing sessions in his old hut: he enjoys seeing the moon shine through the soft and fragile leaves of the plantain, the tree that he loved so much and from which he took his poetic name. After the long trip to the North, he finally feels at home again. But is not the comfort of worldly possessions or attachment to physical comfort that makes him feel at home: it is moonlight seen through a basho leaf...

[The Observation Garden with statue of Basho,
close to the Basho Museum]

Basho Kinenkan (Basho Museum). 10:00-17:00, Closed Mondays, year-end and New Year period. 1-6-3 Tokiwa Koto-ku, Tokyo-to 135. Tel. 03-3631-1448. Access: 5 min. from Kiyosumi-Shirakawa Station on the Oedo line; 7 min. from Morishita Station on the Shinjuku Subway line; 25 min. from Monzen-Nakamachi on the Tozai Subway line; 20 min. from Ryogoku Station on the JR Sobu line. https://www.kcf.or.jp/basho/

Translations and Studies of Basho
Basho's Haiku, 2 vols,  by Toshiharu Oseko (1990 & 1996, Maruzen): Basho and his Interpreters, Selected Hokku with Commentary, by Makoto Ueda (1992, Stanford U.P.); Traces of Dreams, Landscape, Cultural Memory, and the Poetry of Basho, by Haruo Shirane (1998, Stanford U.P.); Basho's Narrow Road, by Hiroaki Sato (1996, Stone Bridge Press); Basho's Journey, The Literary Prose of Matsuo Basho, by David Landis Bamhill (2005, State University of New York); Basho Yamatoji by Daiyasu Takashi considers Basho's travels in the Nara area and the haiku he wrote there (Izumi Shobo, 1994)


All photos in this post by Ad Blankestijn.

Index Haiku Travels

Reading The Tale of Genji (2): The Broom Tree (Hahakigi)

Hahakigi

Title

"Hahakigi" means "broom tree," and is indeed a plant from which brooms were made. On top of that, it had the poetic reputation of being visible from afar and disappearing when approached. It is used in that sense in a  poem exchange between Genji and Utsusemi, the woman who had frustrated him by making herself inaccessible.

Waley, Seidensticker and Tyler all translate the chapter title as "The Broom Tree;" only Washburn has "Broom Cypress."

Chronology

Between the first and second chapters the novel skips five years. Genji, after marrying Aoi at age twelve in the previous chapter, is now seventeen and a Captain of the Palace Guards. We are told nothing about the intervening years, except for an allusion in this chapter to an attempted affair with Asagao.

Position in the Genji

At the end of the first chapter, Genji has had the town house that belonged to his mother rebuilt, and this has become his primary residence, although he also continues spending much time in the palace. The house is called the "Second Avenue Residence" as it is located on Nijo Avenue (the east-west streets in Heiankyo were numbered from one to nine).

From now on, until Genji settles down after his return from exile in Suma, we get examples of Genji's love affairs. He knows that he stands in the limelight as the (commoner) son of the Emperor and the "Shining Genji," and tries to preserve outward appearances and hide his "dallying," but that is difficult as the gossipers usually find out his little adventures.

"Hahakigi," together with the next chapters of "Utsusemi" and "Yugao", is called the "Broom Tree Group" of chapters. "Utsusemi" and "Yugao" have been considered as parallel (narabi) chapters of "Hahakigi," as they elaborate on the key theme of "Hahakigi." They are a sort of supplementary chapters that echo and amplify the base chapter. Many scholars also include chapter 6, "Suetsumuhana," in this group, and consider "Yomogiu" (15) and "Sekiya" (16) as two sequels. This group focuses on Genji's private life and his amorous adventures with middle- or lower-rank women, who have no impact on his public life.

[Court ladies in junihitoe dress]

Synopsis

The chapter can be divided into two halves. The first half could have been named "Rainy Night Conversation," for much of it is dedicated to a discussion of the qualities of women by To no Chujo, Genji's friend and brother-in-law, and two other young men in a conversation during a night of summer rains, when the court is in ritual seclusion. The young men chat about women (something of all times), volunteering love anecdotes, and also discuss various "types" of women, while Genji listens intently although pretending to be asleep. This takes place in the Fifth Month (traditional calendar, which is six weeks off - this would have been roughly six weeks later in our calendar), so during the Rainy Season.

One friend gossips about a woman who was very jealous and another one who was promiscuous. Another friend relates an anecdote about a scholar's daughter who was very learned but also unladylike (this may refer slyly to Sei Shonagon, the learned author of the Pillow Book, who was a contemporary of Murasaki Shikibu and belonged to a rival "salon," that of Empress Teishi).

To no Chujo tells about a shy, introverted woman he started courting in secret, without any intention to make the affair official, as he considered their relationship of only a temporary nature. In spite of his rare visits, the woman did not show any jealousy, but behaved like a wife towards him. She was living alone as her parents were already dead. At one time she sent him a poem about a flower, a Pink, implying she has a daughter by him, which makes him go and visit her. That, however, is the last time he sees her because during his next absence she vanishes without a trace. Later he learns that she has been subjected to harassment by his wife’s family – something that as an inexperienced young man he had not noticed at all (“A Decontextual Stylistics Study of the Genji Monogatari, with a focus on the Yugao story,” by Stina Jelbring, Stockholm University, p. 20). This story refers to Yugao, whom Genji will meet in Chapter Four, but as no further details are given, Genji fails to link Yugao with this story or with his friend.

Genji is particularly interested to hear his conversation partners discuss women of the middle ranks of the aristocracy, women who remain hidden but have surprising charms. This in contrast to women of top aristocratic rank, like his wife Aoi, who are haughty and interested in status rather than in love. This interest prefigures the story in which Genji will fall in love with just such unknown, middle-ranking women, as Murasaki and the Akashi Lady - and not to forget Utsusemi in this chapter.

The next day Genji visits his wife - and here an explanation about Heian marriage customs is necessary. Women did not live with their husband, but stayed at home with their father. The husband would regularly visit her there and then spend a few nights. Only when they had children, or after the death of the father, the main wife might set up a house with the husband. This system obviously made polygyny possible for the husbands; on the other hand, it also led to more freedom for the wives (who in addition in the Heian period were allowed to own property, so their position was in fact not as bad as in later times).

After the visit to his wife - who is cold as usual - Genji doesn't return straight home because of a so-called "directional taboo" (kataimi). Based on Chinese Yin-Yang thought, the School of the Five Elements and Daoism, which were very influential in the Heian-period and together known in Japan as "Onmyodo," there were lucky and unlucky directions at particular times of the day or year; some directions were forbidden. This was for example the case when Nakagami, the Lord of the Center, was present in that particular direction. This deity traversed the heavens in a 60-day cycle, and was thought to bring disaster on travelers who trespassed in his domain. So Genji has to move in another direction than his own house, and therefore goes to stay at the Inner River Mansion of the Governor of Kii, a retainer of the Minister of the Left (his father-in-law) and therefore also his own subordinate (he could have stayed longer with Aoi, his wife, but that is apparently not something he likes to do).

There a new "adventure" unfolds, for at the villa is also the Governor's young stepmother, Utsusemi ("Cicada Shell"). But before telling her story, we should first look at the way men and women met each other in Heian-period aristocratic society.

The answer is that they (almost) didn't: women always stayed inside, in their own quarters and they never showed themselves to men (even not to their nearest of kin). When at all meeting with others, they would be hidden by screens and curtains. They would sit in their thick robes in rooms that because of the overhanging eaves were often half dark even in the daytime. They were however never alone (nobody was ever alone in Heian society), but always in the company of many attendants, women who at night would sleep in the same room. Usually, aristocratic women didn't even let their voice be heard by men (!), but spoke via-via, such as through ladies-in-waiting, or by the exchange of letters and poems (this "via-via" is sometimes not made explicit by Murasaki Shikibu, as it was too ordinary to mention, but must often be assumed). When they went out, women would ride in curtained carriages (but would often let their colored sleeves hang out of them) and also wear veils - but such outings happened only seldom, during festivals as the Aoi Festival of the Kamo shrines (the greatest festival in Kyoto at that time) or when they went on a pilgrimage to a temple. For a man to see a woman, or penetrating inside her curtains, was synonymous with having sexual contact.

Utsusemi had once been considered for court service, but the early death of her father (who was of high chunagon rank) prevented this and she became the second wife of the Iyo Deputy, the father of the Governor of Kii. She has brought her twelve-year old brother Kogimi with her (her marriage is still childless). Although she will not become a central character in the story, Utsusemi is memorable as the first woman Genji courts in the novel (he has many other affairs which are not described) and also as the first to resist him.

Genji has come to his retainer's house to avoid a directional taboo, and the women of the Iyo Deputy's household, Utsusemi included, have by coincidence also been forced by ritual purification to temporarily reside in the same place. It is the discussion about women of middle rank of the evening before that now causes Genji to take notice of Utsusemi. He already knows that the Governor's step-mother is young and potentially attractive, and by courting her he will be able to distract himself from his forbidden love (which may have reached the stage of realization already). Utsusemi in fact serves as Genji's first "replacement" of his incestuous desire for Fujitsubo.

That very same night, Genji steals into the women's quarters and pretending to be a lady-in-waiting (Utsusemi is calling for "Chujo," which is not only the sobriquet of her servant but also happens to be Genji's current rank of captain), in the pitch-dark he slips next to Utsusemi under the covers. Once she realizes that a man has suddenly entered her "bed," she is of course terrified and would like to call for help, were it not that she is fully aware of the shame such a discovery would bring her. But she rejects Genji's advances and keeps up a strong defense despite his seductive words. At the end, Genji can only think of taking her away to a more private location (as there must have been numerous ladies-in-waiting in the same room, only separated by curtains or screens). As he carries her out of the room, he encounters the real Chujo who is more than ready to defend her mistress against this unknown intruder until she realizes who he is - Genji's rank and status are simply too high for her to dare raise a commotion - she and Utsusemi would be the ones to suffer.

[Chodai in the Imperial Palace, Kyoto]

By the way, I put "bed" in the above between quotation marks, because there were of course no beds in Heian Japan. The higher ranking persons slept on a chodai, a "curtain-platform", a 9 feet square and 2 feet high platform covered with straw mats and cushions and surrounded by curtains; but any part of the floor in the room or at the ends of corridors could serve as sleeping place. The sleeping person would lie down fully clothed on the straw mat and cover herself with a counterpane or a heavy piece of clothing. Note the total lack of privacy: many people slept in the same room, and - as it was also pitch-dark - it was easy to penetrate into the chodai as we see Genji do.

Once Genji has carried the small and light Utsusemi to another, more private room, he continues to pour out sweet words and promises, yet Utsusemi "resembled the supple bamboo, which does not break." Whether he has his way with heris a matter about which scholars are divided. The text is ambiguous. On the one hand Murasaki uses the above mentioned verb "miru," to see, which has the connotation of carnal knowledge, implying that Genji forces his will on Utsusemi despite her resistance, but on the other hand the next few days he again chases after her, which can mean that he has not yet been able to attain his purpose.        

In fact, Utsusemi does not dislike Genji, but she makes clear to him that a relation with him is odious to her, because she is of a much lower rank than he, so she will just be "used." Although the governorships of Iyo and Kii were among the most prized middle-rank appointments in Murasaki Shikibu's day, for a man of Genji's high rank, the wife of a provincial governor (or his deputy) was no higher in status than his own female attendants (meshiudo), who often were drawn from that class. This social chasm deeply disturbs Utsusemi. It is all about rank in the aristocratic society of the Heian period...

Genji again tries to meet Utsusemi, returning to the house where she is staying (he can do this as the house belongs to his father-in-law's retainer, the Governor of Kii, who would therefore also be his own household retainer), but Utsusemi again resolutely refuses him. She this time manages to take refuge in another wing of the house, where she surrounds herself with her ladies-in-waiting as a line of defense.

In a poetry exchange she now has with Genji, in which the broom tree figures, she again alludes to their difference in status. In legend, the "broom tree" was a tree that looked like an upside-down broom from a distance, but that disappeared when approached. In the poem Genji sends Utsusemi, the broom tree is used as a metaphor for a lady who, though seemingly amenable, mysteriously escapes the man's grasp. For Utsusemi, by contrast, the broom tree which grows in a shabby hut becomes a symbol of her social inferiority.

Genji does not give up and next makes her younger brother his attendant and intermediary, having him many times carry messages to Utsusemi. But she keeps adamantly refusing, making Genji compare her to the strict Kaguyahime, the heroine from the famous Taketori Monogatari (The Bamboo Cutter's Tale). Frustrated, Genji ends up sleeping with the boy, "not finding him a bad substitute for his ungracious sister," as Murasaki Shikibu writes.

Genji has in fact fallen in love with Utsusemi because of her weakness, her helplessness. In pre-modern Japanese literature romantic love is frequently associated with vulnerability, with the impulse to nurture someone who is frail or in distress (see the article by Margaret Childs mentioned below). Women (and also men) often inspired love by first arousing someone's compassion or pity. This can be linked to the contemporary concept of amae (behaving childishly in the hope that others will indulge you) as proposed by the psychologist Doi Takeo in The Anatomy of Dependence. Utsusemi is not consciously "playing the baby," but her frailty has the same effect on Genji. Also remember that Genji felt alienated from his wife, Aoi, because of her haughty and cold nature - the opposite of vulnerability or amae.

[Hahakigi, by Tosa Mitsunobu, Harvard Art Museums]

Genji-e

In pictorial representations of this chapter, "The rainy night discussion" is the most frequently illustrated episode, but anecdotes from that discussion, as well as Genji's parting from Utsusemi at dawn are also depicted. In the above illustration we see Genji with Utsusemi, while his attendants are asleep on the verandah. Note Utsusemi's diminutive figure and the fact that Genji is actually shown touching her.

Suggested readings of other literature besides this chapter in the Genji:
A full translation of The Tale of the Bamboo Cutter can be found in "The Tale of the Bamboo Cutter: A Study in Contextualization" by Maiko R. Behr, University of British Columbia 1998.

Information about the relations between men and women in the Heian period, as well as notes on superstitions and material culture, can be found in The World of the Shining Prince by Ivan Morris.

Reading The Tale of Genji

Hyakunin Isshu (One Hundred Poets, One Poem Each): Poem 34 (Fujiwara no Okikaze)

 Hyakunin Isshu, Poem 34

Translation and comments by Ad Blankestijn
(version September 2022)


whom can I regard
as someone who knows me?
since Takasago's pine trees
are in no way
my friends from the past

tare wo ka mo
shiru hito ni sen
Takasago no
matsu mo mukashi no
tomo nara naku ni

誰をかも
知る人にせむ
高砂の
松もむかしの
友ならなくに

Fujiwara no Okikaze 藤原興風 (dates uncertain)

[Scene from the No play Takasago, by Tsukioka Kogyo]

A poem about getting old and losing all one's friends to death: the loneliness of old age. Even though the pines of Takasago are also long-lived, there is no way they can provide companionship to the poet (Mostow).

Notes

• tare wo ka mo: "ka" indicates question, "mo" is an intensifier. "ittai dare" in modern Japanese.
• shiru hito ni semu: "shiru hito" are people who know oneself well, so "friends."
  
• Takasago no matsu: Takasago in Harima province (now Hyogo prefecture) on the west bank of the Kakogawa river was since the 10th c. famous for its pine trees. Tsurayuki, in the preface to the Kokinshu, mentions the present poem with the words "the poet might think of the pine trees of Takasago and Suminoe (in Osaka, on the other side of the Bay) as having grown up with him (aioi)" i.e. being of the same, very old age.
  
• tomo naranaku ni: "tomo de nai no ni". The negation "-naku" has been added to the assertive "naru." "ni" serves as an exclamation.
  

The No play Takasago

The famous No play Takasago, by Zeami, quotes the present poem, but changes its meaning. Aioi was no longer interpreted in the sense that the poet and the pines had grown up together, but was taken to refer to specific pine trees in Takasago and in Suminoe (Osaka), which were understood to be "paired," as husband and wife. The No play features an auspicious story, involving a loving and long-married couple. And in due time aioi came to mean two tree trunks growing out of a single base, a symbol of marital harmony.

"In the No play the Takasago and Sumiyoshi pine spirits are personified as an elderly peasant couple, wearing humble dress. Although separated by a great distance, the spirit of the pine at Sumiyoshi (Osaka), pays nightly visits to his wife, the Takasago pine spirit, who lives on the coast at Takasago bay. Despite their hair white with age, the couple's bond gives them youthful energy and beauty. Thus the pines and corresponding elderly couple symbolize longevity and conjugal devotion. From the 17c, the Takasago spirit as an old woman holding a broom and Sumiyoshi as an old man with a rake usually standing under an aged pine tree have been painted or represented as figurines and displayed at celebrations of long life and good fortune, such as New Year's or weddings" (from JAANUS).

But the No play about marital harmony is a long cry from the original poem, a lament for old age when one's friends die one after another.

The poet

Fujiwara no Okikaze was an official in the Province of Sagami in the year 911; the date of his death is unknown, but he is mentioned as being alive as late as the year 914. 38 of his poems are included in the anthologies compiled by the imperial order following the Kokinshu.

[Aioi pines in Takasago Shrine, Takasago, Hyogo]

Visiting

Although present-day Takasago, between Kakogawa and Himeji in western Hyogo, is an industrial town with little natural beauty, it is interesting to visit the Takasago shrine for its literary connections.

The mythical Empress Jingu is supposed to have founded several shrines in Hyogo prefecture when she returned from a - just as mythical - military campaign on the Korean peninsula, and Takasago Jinja is one of them. At the shrines foundation, the Aioi pines sprouted - one day, a pine tree with two trunks, one male and one female, grew out of a single root. The shrine was dedicated to the ancient deity Onamuchi (Okuninushi), to whom in 972 Susano-o and his spouse Kushinada-hime were added.

In the grounds of the Takasago Shrine, one still finds the Aioi pines, although they do not strike visitors as of any reputable age - the pines have probably been many times replanted (it seems to be the fifth generation now; the trunk of one of the previous pines is preserved in the shrine.

There is also a No stage from the second half of the 17th c. where regularly open-air No performances by torchlight are held. Besides being popular for the New Year shrine visit, Takasago Jinja attracts large crowds on October 10 and 11, during the Autumn Festival.

    From Sanyo Electric Railway Takasago Station: 15 min walk S, or 5 min by taxi.
    From JR Kakogawa Station: 15 min by taxi.

    See: https://goo.gl/maps/4aQRqew54kvtKX5X9

References: Pictures of the Heart, The Hyakunin Isshu in Word and Image by Joshua S. Mostow (University of Hawai'i Press, 1996); Traditional Japanese Poetry, An Anthology, by Steven D. Carter (Stanford University Press, 1991); Hyakunin Isshu by Inoue Muneo, etc. (Shinchosha, 1990); Genshoku Hyakunin Isshu by Suzuki Hideo, etc. (Buneido, 1997); Ogura Hyakunin Isshu at Japanese Text Initiative (University of Virginia Library Etext Center); Hyakunin Isshu wo aruku by Shimaoka Shin (Kofusha Shuppan); Hyakunin Isshu, Ocho waka kara chusei waka e by Inoue Muneo (Chikuma Shoin, 2004); Basho's Haiku (2 vols) by Toshiharu Oseko (Maruzen, 1990); The Ise Stories by Joshua S. Mostow and Royall Tyler (University of Hawai'i Press, 2010); Kokin Wakashu, The First Imperial Anthology of Japanese Poetry by Helen Craig McCullough (Stanford University Press, 1985); Kokinshu, A Collection of Poems Ancient and Modern by Laurel Rasplica Rodd and Mary Catherine Henkenius (University of Tokyo Press, 1984); Kokin Wakashu (Shogakkan, 1994); Shinkokin Wakashu (Shogakkan, 1995); Taketori Monogatari-Ise Monogatari-Yamato Monogatari-Heichu Monogatari (Shogakkan, 1994).

Photos from Wikipedia.

Hyakunin Isshu Index

 

Hyakunin Isshu (One Hundred Poets, One Poem Each): Poem 33 (Ki no Tomonori)

 Hyakunin Isshu, Poem 33

Translation and comments by Ad Blankestijn
(version September 2022)


in these spring days
with the tranquil light
pervading everywhere -
why should the blossoms scatter
with such restless hearts?

hisakata no
hikari nodokeki
haru no hi ni
shizugokoro naku
hana no chiruran

久方の
光のどけき
春の日に
しづ心なく
花のちるらむ

Ki no Tomonori (died 905 or 907)

One of the most famous poems in the Hyakunin Isshu, "composed on the falling of the cherry blossoms." The poem sets up a contradiction between the peaceful, balmy spring day (representative of the beneficial imperial rule) and the frenzied scattering of the cherry blossoms, as if their hearts are uneasy - or is it not the flowers whose hearts are unquiet, but the hearts of those who watch them fall? I think it is the latter, and those restless thoughts must then be caused by the lonely feelings that fill the spectators after the blossoms are gone.

Notes

• hisakata: a "pillow-word" for heaven, generally used in poetry in conjunction with such words as sun, moon, sky, or, as in this case, hikari, the light (of heaven). "ubiquitous," "omnipresent," "pervasive."
  
• hikari: meant is the light of the sun
  
• nodokeki: nodaka
• shizugokoro naku: (scattering) without a calm heart
• hana no chiruramu: "no" indicates the subject of the sentence. "-ramu" indicates a question, "why should the blossoms scatter?"
  

The poet

Ki no Tomonori (c. 850–c. 905/907) was a court poet and one of the compilers of the Kokinshu, though he died before its completion. Ki no Tsurayuki (poem 35) , his more famous cousin, was the leader of the compilation effort. Ki no Tomonori is the author of several poems in the Kokinshu, and a few of his poems also appear in later official collections.

References: Pictures of the Heart, The Hyakunin Isshu in Word and Image by Joshua S. Mostow (University of Hawai'i Press, 1996); Traditional Japanese Poetry, An Anthology, by Steven D. Carter (Stanford University Press, 1991); Hyakunin Isshu by Inoue Muneo, etc. (Shinchosha, 1990); Genshoku Hyakunin Isshu by Suzuki Hideo, etc. (Buneido, 1997); Ogura Hyakunin Isshu at Japanese Text Initiative (University of Virginia Library Etext Center); Hyakunin Isshu wo aruku by Shimaoka Shin (Kofusha Shuppan); Hyakunin Isshu, Ocho waka kara chusei waka e by Inoue Muneo (Chikuma Shoin, 2004); Basho's Haiku (2 vols) by Toshiharu Oseko (Maruzen, 1990); The Ise Stories by Joshua S. Mostow and Royall Tyler (University of Hawai'i Press, 2010); Kokin Wakashu, The First Imperial Anthology of Japanese Poetry by Helen Craig McCullough (Stanford University Press, 1985); Kokinshu, A Collection of Poems Ancient and Modern by Laurel Rasplica Rodd and Mary Catherine Henkenius (University of Tokyo Press, 1984); Kokin Wakashu (Shogakkan, 1994); Shinkokin Wakashu (Shogakkan, 1995); Taketori Monogatari-Ise Monogatari-Yamato Monogatari-Heichu Monogatari (Shogakkan, 1994).

Photos my own work

Hyakunin Isshu Index

Reading The Tale of Genji (1): The Paulownia Pavilion (Kiritsubo)

Kiritsubo

The title

"Kiri" means "paulownia tree" and "tsubo" is a small garden between the buildings of a palace or temple. So "Kiritsubo" is the name for the Heian Palace pavilion that has a paulownia tree in its garden. It is located in the northeast corner, among all pavilions of the Emperor's women the farthest from the living quarters of the Emperor himself. The Emperor installs Genji's mother here. In later times, Genji's mother was therefore called "Kiritsubo no Koi," the "Intimate of the Kiritsubo," but Murasaki Shikibu doesn't use this designation for her.

"The Paulownia Pavilion" is the translation used by Tyler; Seidensticker has "Paulownia Court," which is just as fitting; Waley leaves the title in Japanese. Only Washburn is a bit cumbersome with his "The Lady of the Paulownia-Courtyard Chambers", although he does bring out the full meaning.

Chronology
This chapter describes the birth of Genji and his life through age 12.

Position in the Genji

Kiritsubo, the first chapter of the Genji, is a sort of introductory chapter, which sets up several important themes for the whole novel. As it is not well connected to the following chapter, Hahakigi, some scholars believe that it was added later, or even that a chapter between Kiritsubo and Hahakigi has been lost. However, it should be noted that the Genji doesn't have the monocentric unity of the plot line of a modern novel. It is built up from parallel segments, or blocks, as the panels of a folding screen. Murasaki Shikibu continually augmented and amplified her narrative in a semi-circular motion, as Haruo Shirane says (The Bridge of Dreams, p. 57). So I see no problem here; on the contrary, Kiritsubo is well connected to the overall theme of the novel, as it introduces Genji's illicit love affair with his stepmother, Fujitsubo.

Setting

Let's first look at the location where this chapter (and much of the Genji) takes place: the Imperial Palace in Kyoto (then called Heiankyo). That is not the present Kyoto Gosho Palace, a location on which the main palace has only stood since the 12th c. (the present buildings date from the mid-19th c.), but the Heian Palace, which stood much further west, centered on what is now Senbon Street, then called Suzaku Avenue. Suzaku Avenue stretched from the famous Rajomon Gate to the north, diving the capital (which was laid out on a Chinese-style checkerboard pattern) equally into a western and an eastern part. The palace occupied the north-central part of the city, from Ichijo Street in the north to Nijo street in the south and from Omiya street in the east to Nishi-Omiya street in the west. The palace and all its halls faced south, as was common in China. The Great Hall of State was located more or less in the center. The location is now indicated by a monument in a small park just north of the crossing between Senbon Street and Marutamachi Street.

[The monument indicating the location of the Heian-period 

Great Hall of State]

The Heian Palace not only contained the living quarters for the imperial family (in the northern part, called dairi), but also all government ministries (in the southern part, called daidairi). A combination of the present Prime Ministers Residence with Kasumigaseki, so to speak. Like Gosho, the still existing old palace in Kyoto, it was secured by a mud-wall, and also by a moat. The central southern gate was called Suzaku Gate after the avenue onto which it opened. Close to this gate stood the Daigokuden or Great Hall of State, where all sorts of official ceremonies were held - the heart of governmental Japan in the Heian-period.

[Shishinden in the Kyoto Gosho palace, which had taken over the public function of the Daigokuden]

But the Genji of course is set in the Emperor's living quarters. These were in the Jijuden (above the Shishinden) or in the Shokyoden; in later times also in the Seiryoden, to the west of these buildings. Behind them in the most northern part of the palace grounds were the pavilions of the imperial consort and concubines. The principal consort lived in the Kokiden (after which she is named in the Genji), close to the Emperor's quarters. The Kiritsubo Pavilion where the low-ranked mother of Genji lived, was in the far upper right corner. The second favorite of the Emperor, Fujitsubo, managed to get a pavilion closer to him, in fact on the west side immediately above the Seiryoden, so even closer by than the Kokiden.

[The living quarters of the imperial family in the Heian palace. This block was surrounded by the administrative part of the palace, that extended to the south.]

The palace compound fell victim to repeated fires. After a big conflagration in 1177, the Daigokuden was not rebuilt. The compound itself was definitively abandoned in the mid-fourteenth century, when a location further east was found – the present Kyoto Gosho. The palace in fact followed the city, of which the center had also moved east.

Synopsis

The story that takes place in this palace, starts with a case of passionate love, of injudicious infatuation which will lead to tragedy. But before telling that tale, we have to make two more points. One is that polygyny (a form of plural marriage in which a man is allowed more than one wife i.e. a narrow form of polygamy) was practiced among the Japanese Heian aristocracy. This was also true for the Emperors, who besides the Empress, had several secondary consorts ("concubines"). This was not only for the practical purpose to produce more offspring, or out of sexual acquisitiveness, but also to make it possible for ranking aristocrats to present a daughter to the Emperor or Heir Apparent and thus share in the imperial prestige.

The second point is that these imperial women were not equal, but like everyone in Heian society had to obey a strict hierarchy. (In fact, your birth decided your life in Heian times.) So below the single Empress (called Chugu) the Emperor would have several Consorts (Nyogo) and, lower still, a certain number of Intimates (Koi). An Empress was usually appointed from among the Consorts, but not all Consorts had a realistic hope of such a success, as it depended on family relations (i.e. a male family member with a powerful position at court). The Intimates could never become Empress, their birth rank was too low and they lacked sufficient political support. That is not to say that these ladies were really very low in status - while the Nyogo had fathers who were of ministerial rank, the fathers of the Koi were only just below that, as counselors or chunagon. But they obviously had much less power at court.

Talking about the power of the families of the imperial women, we also have to mention the fact that during much of the Heian period, the Fujiwara family managed to dominate Japanese politics through the strategy of marrying Fujiwara daughters to emperors. In that way the Fujiwara would gain influence over the next emperor who would, according to the family tradition of that time, be raised in the household of his mother's side and owe loyalty to his maternal family. Moreover, the father of the daughter who became empress, would monopolize the position of regent (sessho or kampaku). He would rule on behalf of the new emperor as long as that person was still a child or very young man – and when the emperor who never had any power himself, became an adult, he would be forced to abdicate and the next child-emperor would be installed under the tutelage of the same or another Fujiwara regent.

[Living quarters in the Kyoto Gosho palace]

Now the Genji starts with the situation that the Emperor can not control his amorous feelings for one of his concubines, the low-ranking Intimate (koi) Lady Kiritsubo, named after the pavilion where she lives, with a paulownia tree (kiri) in the small courtyard garden (tsubo). The fact that her rooms are farthest from the imperial chambers also indicates her low status. But that does not hold the Emperor back, on the contrary: deeply in love, he favors her above all his other wives, including his primary consort, Lady Kokiden, the daughter of the powerful Minister of the Right (she is the main Consort, but there is no official Empress at this time). This provokes the fierce jealousy of the other imperial concubines. Lady Kiritsubo is disadvantaged because of her low rank and lack of parental support (her father is already deceased), so she is constantly harassed by the other women. Her only support is the Emperor's personal devotion, but that is not enough. The humiliations she has to suffer make her waste away and finally trigger her premature death.

But the union between the Emperor and Lady Kiritsubo has by then already born fruit: three years before her death, a son has been born, a most handsome boy: our Genji. After the death of his wife, the Emperor dotes on the boy, who is nicknamed "Hikari," "the Shining." He is so handsome that he hardly seems of this world.

By the way, both such a birth and illness could not take place in the palace. Both birth and illness (or death) were considered as polluting and therefore those who were pregnant or very ill were removed outside, usually to their family's home.

Another interesting cultural element we find here is that, with the low level of medical knowledge, "healers" and priests would come to the house of the sick person and offer prayers or recite sutras to "heal" him or her. Many illnesses were thought to be caused by the influence of a malevolent spirit, so exorcists also often took part.

The story of the love between the Emperor and Kiritsubo has interesting overtones: it alludes to the story of the Chinese Emperor Xuanzong (685-762) of the Tang dynasty, who was in love with the imperial concubine Yang Guifei and in his obsession neglected affairs of state. This fomented a rebellion, which forced the emperor to flee for his life with Yang Guifei. During that flight, the imperial guards forced Xuanzong to put Yang Guifei to death. This tragic story became the object of one of the most popular poems in all Chinese literature: Changhenge or The Song of Unending Sorrow by Bai Juyi, a work that was also well-known in Heian Japan, and certainly to Murasaki Shikibu who had mastered Chinese and even taught the Empress the poetry of Bai Juyi). Although there is no rebellion and Lady Kiritsubo is not put to death, the infatuation of the Japanese emperor for a low-ranking concubine matches that of the Chinese emperor. By the way, the story of Yang Guifei was so popular in Japan that Sennyuji Temple in Kyoto even has a Kannon statue that is said to have been modeled on Yang Guifei ("Yokihi Kannon" - read my post on Sennyuji). In addition, Yang Guifei was the subject of a film by Mizoguchi Kenji in 1955; and the modern Japanese-style painter Uemura Shoen made a famous painting treating this subject.

Yokihi (Yang Guifei) by Uemura Shoen

In the Genji, there are not only allusions to the Yang Guifei tragedy, but courtiers explicitly make the comparison between the Japanese and the Chinese emperor's infatuation, and, after Kiritsubo has died, the emperor himself is found reading The Song of Unending Sorrow.

After the disastrous fate of Genji's mother, for whom the Emperor mourns like the Tang emperor did for Yang Guifei, the Emperor takes measures to protect the son of his beloved Lady Kiritsubo. Although he longs to appoint Genji Heir Apparent over his firstborn, the son of a Fujiwara consort, he knows that the court would never allow this. He therefore decides to remove Genji entirely from the imperial family by giving him a surname (the Japanese Emperors have none) and making him a commoner (tadabito). In that case, he will be able to serve later as senior government official. The Emperor is strengthened in this course by the advice of a Korean fortune-teller, who says that Genji has the appearance of an emperor, will attain a position equivalent to one, but cannot ascend the throne without causing disaster. The Emperor gives the boy the surname "Minamoto," which since the 9th century was the name for offspring from Emperors who were demoted to commoner status. The boy thus becomes a "Genji," that is a bearer of the Minamoto (Gen, another reading of the same character) name (ji). (Genji is often wrongly called "Prince" Genji, for that is exactly what he is not, as he has been removed from the imperial family roster).

This act is irreversible. Thus, Genji cannot ascend the throne in the future and the Emperor names Suzaku, Genji's half-brother and the son of Lady Kokiden (of Fujiwara stock) as Crown Prince. Suzaku is three years older than Genji. To further protect him and also help him along in later life, the Emperor arranges Genji's marriage to Aoi, the daughter of the Minister of the Left (and Genji's first cousin). This will ensure Genji of the powerful political support of his father-in-law, who can act as a counterbalance to the Kokiden faction (backed by the Fujiwara Minister of the Right). This marriage takes place when Genji is twelve (just after his coming of age ceremony) and Lady Aoi sixteen (a normal age for boys and girls to marry in Japan at that time in the aristocratic milieu). Needless to say that this political marriage is not a love relationship - Aoi is a very haughty woman who treats Genji as her little brother - at the time of the marriage he in fact must have looked like that to her! As was common in Heian times, Genji will now start living officially at the residence of his wife's family, although in reality he keeps spending much time in the palace, where he is allowed to continue using the Kiritsubo, his mother's pavilion.

Regarding age in traditional Japan, it is important to note that one's age was counted as "one" at birth and that at each New Year rather than at the individual birthday a year was added. So people are younger than the numbers show: we should at least subtract one year!

The Emperor finally finds consolation with another consort, called Fujitsubo ("Wisteria Pavilion"). She is the fourth daughter of a previous Emperor and thus an imperial princess, and is protected by her high status. She also uncannily resembles Lady Kiritsubo, Genji's dead mother. She enters the Emperor's service when she is sixteen and soon becomes his new favorite. But her resemblance to Genji's mother also attracts Genji's interest in her, an interest that is at first childish, but that later turns erotic (normally Genji would not have been allowed to look at her as women kept to their apartments and did not even show themselves to their nearest of kin, but here the situation is different as the Emperor himself has asked Fujitsubo to be like a mother to Genji; this however stops after Genji's coming of age ceremony at age 12). She becomes Genji's lifelong obsession and their secret, forbidden relation will drive much of the plot in the ensuing chapters. Genji dreams of marrying a woman like her...

Note that the forbidden love between Genji and Fujitsubo is never written up explicitly by Murasaki Shikibu, as that would probably have been too scandalous. But her hints are clear enough for readers to realize that this love must have been consumed also in the physical sense. By the way, during the 1930s and the war years with their emperor cult, even such hints (which could mean that the succession in the imperial house was not "unbroken") were taboo, so the first version of Tanizaki's Junichiro's Genji translation was heavily censored - reason for him to restore those passages in a new version he published just after the war.

By the way, this theme - the father who marries a woman who strongly resembles his deceased wife, the son who shifts the affection for his dead mother to the new one and finally falls in love with her, encouraged by the father - was used by Tanizaki Junichiro in his story The Bridge of Dreams (see my post about this novella). It is clear that Tanizaki's translation work was an inspiration for his creative work.

[Kiritsubo, by Tosa Mitsunobu,
from Harvard Art Museums]

Genji-e

In pictorial representations of this chapter (so-called Genji-e), the following scenes are usually chosen: Lady Kiritsubo sending her final poem to the emperor; the emperor mourning the lady's absence and imminent death (both set in autumn); Genji's interview at age seven with a Korean physiognomist; and his coming of age ceremony (as in the above illustration). The episodes centering around Genji's clandestine love for Fujitsubo are never treated (JAANUS).

Suggested readings of other literature besides this chapter in the Genji:
Tanizaki Junichiro, "The Bridge of Dreams," translated by Howard Hibbett in the collection Seven Japanese Tales (together with six other works by Tanizaki, including "A Portrait of Shunkin"), published in various editions by both Tuttle and Vintage.
Bai Pu, "Rain on the Wutong Tree" translated by by Stephen West and Wilt Idema in Monks, Bandits, Lovers and Immortals, Eleven Early Chinese Plays. Hackett 2010.
Bai Juyi, "The Song of Lasting Pain," translated by Stephen Owen in An Anthology of Chinese Literature (p. 441), Norton 1996.

Reading The Tale of Genji