Written on Water

  Written on Water

  Written on Water

  Five Hundred Poems

  from the Man'yōshū

  translated by Takashi Kojima

  sketches by Midori Toda

  CHARLES E. TUTTLE COMPANY

  Rutland, Vermont & Tokyo, Japan

  Published by the Charles E. Tuttle Company, Inc.

  of Rutland, Vermont & Tokyo, Japan

  with editorial offices at

  Osaki Shinagawa-ku, Tokyo 141-0032.

  Text © 1995 by Makoto Kojima

  Illustrations © 1995 by Midori Toda

  All rights reserved

  LCC Card No. 95-60248

  ISBN 978-1-4629-0113-5

  First edition, 1995

  Printed in Japan

  Contents

  Acknowledgments

  7

  A Note on the Translation

  9

  Introduction

  11

  Part One

  Poetry of Known Authorship

  17

  Members of the Imperial Family

  19

  Ten Poets

  35

  Five Preeminent Poets

  36

  Five Major Poets

  75

  Minor Poets

  88

  Part Two

  Anonymous Poetry

  101

  West Japan

  103

  East Japan

  147

  Part Three

  Poetry of Envoys and Frontier Guards

  167

  Diplomatic Mission to Silla

  169

  Frontier Guards

  171

  Acknowledgments

  The Man'yōshū, which consists of twenty volumes, was compiled during the course of 130 years, and its poetry is not systematically arranged or classified. In order to help the reader understand the Man'yōshū and appreciate its lyricism and literary merits, I have selected five hundred poems from the total of 4, 516 and have divided them into three categories: poetry of known authorship, anonymous poetry, and poetry of envoys and frontier guards.

  Without the kind help of many native English speakers, it would have been impossible to complete this work. Any mistakes are solely my responsibility.

  Thanks are especially due to Mr. Jimmy Snyder, Dr. Piero Policicchio, and Mr. Lindsay O'Neil, who kindly read the greater part of my manuscript and gave me valuable suggestions.

  My gratitude also goes to Mr. James Gardener, Mr. David Spiro, Mr. Gordon Barclay, Mr. William James, Mr. Grant Jennings, Mr. Todd Thacker, and Mr. John Patton.

  Sincere thanks are also due to Mr. Yasui Nagafuji, professor of ancient Japanese literature at Meiji University; Mr. Tatsuyuki Gotō, music critic and former professor of musical theory at Kinjō Music Academy, and his daughter, Ms. Takashima, an expert in traditional Japanese music; Mr. Michitaka Takeuchi, professor of Japanese music at K'unitachi Academy of Music; Mr. Takashi Imai, archaeologist; and Mrs. Takashi Imai, scholar of ancient Japanese literature. I also wish to thank Mr. Donald Iwamura, my son-in-law, and his son, Mr. Ken Iwamura; and Mrs. Lindsay Gene O'Neil, my granddaughter.

  I wish to dedicate this book to Mr. and Mrs. Umenosuke Bessho, who kindly enabled me to go to college, and last but not least to my late dear wife, Yuki Kojima, who enabled me to devote myself to the accomplishment of this work.

  A Note on the Translation

  There is a school of thought that claims poetry cannot be translated. There is no way, states this argument, that the meaning, subtlety, depth, beauty, spirit, and essence of the original language can be transmuted into another language. The only possibility with poetry translation is approximation and compromise, and the result is little more than a wan shadow of the original.

  Should the result emulate the formal conventions of the original language or should it take on the formal conventions of the new language? In other words, should a Japanese poem in translation try to approximate the sense and feeling of the original language or should it be translated into an English poem? To what degree should the translation hold its own as poetry, or should a rendering of meaning be the main aim?

  With something as fluid and alive as language, and with poetry in particular, there is no simple right answer to such questions. Somehow an ideal mode or method of translation must be chosen, but anything attempted can only be partial. Even with poetry as close to contemporary English as that of, say, Rainer Maria Rilke, the translation problems are hardly small, but with a genre of poetry that follows linguistic conventions totally different from any Indo-European language, and one generated in the ancient past by a society that eludes comprehension by the West even today, the problems of translation take on entirely new nuances of the word "difficult."

  Impossible? Probably. But even so, should any attempt to translate such poetry be avoided? That would mean that anyone who does not read Japanese and who is not conversant with eighth-century Japanese aristocratic society would be denied any indication of what the poetry of that period is about. Particularly, if the poetry in question is considered among mankind's great artistic legacies, should there not be some means of conveying, however partial and incomplete, an idea of what the original says?

  Assuming that the answer is yes, assuming that the intrinsic worth of the Man'yōshū makes its translation into English and any other European language an important contribution, how should the translation be done?

  Should a scholar, who is not a poet and, with rare exceptions, does not possess the poet's gift of language, attempt to translate poetry of any kind (in the process adding to mankind s burden of footnotes)? Should a language specialist—a translator—who is not a scholar attempt such translation?

  How knotty the translation of this material is was made clear when a check of other English Man'yōshū translations revealed that other translators' interpretations often were totally different from Mr. Kojima's and from each other's, some poems even being given opposite meanings. This should not be surprising, perhaps, because, as one commentator has pointed out, by the late Heian period, the language in which the Man'yōshū was written had already become partially incomprehensible, and the following 800 years or so have complicated the task of interpreting the original poetry.

  Without pretension and without scholar's pomp and posing, Mr. Kojima selected 500 poems out of the total of about 4, 500 and has given us a charming book. The translator of this little volume undertook a task rather like skiing down Mt. Blanc—there are more reasons for not doing it than for doing it. Ignoring all the obstacles and the arguments for not attempting to translate the poetry of a society that might as well be Martian, he jumped into the task with verve and caring and a lifetime's experience as a translator of Japanese into English. This editor never met the translator, for Mr. Kojima passed away some years before this publication project was initiated. As a result, queries and problems could not be discussed, but had to be handled as English-language problems, and the few translation queries that occurred were given to another linguist to solve. Much gratitude goes to Ruth McCreery for her patient and supportive help on many levels.

  Introduction

  The Man'yōshū is the oldest and yet the freshest and most important collection of Japanese poetry. It surpasses all later poetry collections and, in the quality of pure lyricism, it ranks among the masterpieces of world literature. It comprises, in twenty volumes, 4, 516 poems, most of which were composed over a period of 139 years, ending in the middle of the eighth century—a period that some consider to be the golden age of Japanese poetry.

  The Man'yōshū is a unique anthology, whose poets are people from all walks of life, ranging from members of the imperial family to the humblest level of society. The p
oems cover a wide range of expression and content, from court poets' highly polished expressions of delicate emotions and subtle sentiments, to anonymous poems that read like folk songs. These poems are a natural outpouring of genuine love and intense emotion and often directly reflect life experiences. Poems of later ages, though elegant and beautifully composed, often read like the product of imagined or fanciful experiences. Thus, one may well say that Man'yō poetry is both ancient and yet among the freshest poetry of any time.

  In those days, men and women married for love, and a mother's consent remained important. Over 70 percent of the Man'yōshū's poetry describes aspects of romantic love. Here we find the fire, amazing candor, and eloquent rapture of love known in Western poetry but not found in later Japanese poetry. Most of the poems not concerned with love are expressions of the joys and sorrows of life and of wonder and admiration for the beauty of nature. The poetic expressions of love in all its aspects written in refined yet direct language make delightful reading and have a universal appeal. All these exquisite gems of poetry deeply touch people today, 1, 300 years after their composition.

  The influence of Chinese literature and poetry spurred the progress of Japanese poetry. The native Japanese oral poetry tradition provided fertile ground for the stimulus of continental modes of expression, and by the beginning of the seventh century, the Japanese were writing refined poetry. It was the invention of the crude Japanese syllabary, called the Man'yō-dana, which enabled people to write poetry freely in their mother tongue. During Man'yō times and in the subsequent Heian period (794-1185), composing poetry was one of the indispensable accomplishments of a cultured person, and there were numerous occasions to demonstrate this skill. It was common practice for literate men and women to exchange poems, particularly love poems.

  Another notable feature of the Man'yōshū, compared to later Japanese court poetry, is that, although poets of the time were well acquainted with classical Chinese literature, their use of Chinese words and their references to Chinese literature are few. In those days, Chinese words were used as devices by intellectuals to express abstract idea; few Chinese words had yet found their way into the everyday Japanese vocabulary. Therefore, they were not vehicles for emotional expression. Poets express subtle emotions and delicate shades of meaning most naturally and powerfully in their own, familiar, native language.

  Three Poetical Forms

  The nature of the Japanese language makes it necessary that its poetry employ formal devices other than the meter and rhyme familiar to the West. From a very early time, Japanese poetry utilized forms of rhythm or syllabic stress reminiscent of music.

  By the time the Japanese language had been given a written form, many forms of poetry had been tried, and by Manyō days, the tanka, the 31-syllable poem, had become the most common form. This short poetic form is grouped into five lines of 5-7-5-7-7 syllables.

  In the Man'yōshū three kinds of poetic forms are employed. The vast majority of the poems, about 93 percent, are tanka. Since Man'yō days the tanka has been the most common and orthodox poetic form for intense emotional expression.

  The Man'yōshū contains 262 long poems (chōka). These are formed by the indefinite repetition of 5-7-syllable lines, ending with an additional 7-syllable line. This form declined in use after the eighth century.

  Sixty-one poems are in the form called sedoka ("repetition poem"), which twice repeats triplets of 5-7-7-syllable lines. After the Nara period (710-794) this form was abandoned.

  Except for six long poems, the five hundred poems presented in this book are all tanka.

  Four Periods

  A few poems in the anthology are said to date back to the end of the fourth century, but their authenticity is doubtful. The vast majority of the poems were written during a span of 139 years, which may be divided into four periods.

  The first period covers about forty years from 629, when Emperor Jomei, the father of emperors Tenji and Temmu, ascended the throne, to 672, when the Jinshin Uprising occurred. Most of the Man'yō poems of this period were composed by members of the imperial family, including emperors Tenji and Temmu.

  The second period also covers about forty years, from the Jinshin Uprising of 672 to 710, when the capital was moved to Nara. From the second period on, most of the prominent poets were court poets and officials. The most prominent representative of this period is Kakinomoto-no-Hitomaro, the greatest lyricist in Japanese literature. Among the major poets of the time, Takechi-no-Kurohito and Prince Shiki may be mentioned.

  The third period covers roughly twenty years, from 710, when the city of Nara became the first permanent capital of Japan, to about 730. Modeled after Changan, the great capital of the Tang dynasty, Nara was a magnificent city, built on a grid plan on a north-south axis like its prototype. With a population of about 200, 000, it was the center of national life and culture. This period saw many gifted poets: Yamabe-no-Akahito, Ōtomo-no-Tabito, Yamanoue-no-Okura, Takahashi Mushimaro, Lady Otomo-no-Sakanoue (Ōtomo-no-Tabito's sister), and others.

  The fourth period, which saw the gradual decline of Manyō poetry, covers about thirty years, from 730 to 759, when the last poem was added to the Man'yōshū by Ōtomo-no-Yakamochi. Yakamochi was the leading poet of this period and the most important compiler of the Man'yōshū. During this time, artificial and sentimental poems increased, though there were some passionate love poems written by Lady Kasa and those exchanged between Maiden Sano-no-Chigami and Nakatomi-no-Yakamori.

  Most scholars consider that the compilation of the Man'yōshū was completed toward the end of the Nara period.

  Social Background

  By Man'yō days, matriarchy had ended in Japan, and the ruling class was patriarchal and polygamous, but among the populace, social traditions and customs had not yet been influenced much by those of the continent. It was still customary for daughters to inherit from the mother, and men married into their brides' families. Women had greater authority than men in household affairs and in the arrangement of their daughters' marriages. Since the mother was the paramount domestic authority, a young man wishing to marry a girl had to obtain her mother's approval. Yet there was often an indefinite waiting period before he was adopted into her family as her husband. Under such circumstances, not just lovers, but also newly married couples could meet only briefly and in secret. Most trysts were at night, when the suitor or young husband would visit the girl at a late hour and leave her company at dawn. This fact is considered one of the primary reasons why the Man'yōshū has so many love poems. Particularly numerous are poems about a young man's impatience to meet his lover, poems expressing a girls longing for her young man, and poems about newly married couples who are able to spend only a few brief hours together in the deep of night.

  In Man'yō days men and women had no inhibitions about the open expression of emotion—a very different situation from the later feudal period, when, in public at least, expression of emotion was not condoned. The equal status of men and women provided a favorable milieu for the manifestation of love and genuine emotion. Love marriages were the rule, and even married men and women were not inhibited from exchanging love poems for pleasure.

  On Language and Translation

  The formal conventions of Japanese poetry are very different from those of poetry in European languages, because the Japanese language does not have the same reliance on stress and meter and rhyme as the languages of Europe. Further, the rhythm is also quite different.

  Japanese poetry finds its origins in poetry sung to quadruple-time music, and the tanka retains the traits of an elegant quadruple-time song. The five 5-7-5-7-7-syllable lines are equal in duration both when read and sung. This is the basis of the euphony of Japanese poetry. In the 7-syllable line, one syllable is sustained for two beats. In order to make the 5-syllable line and 7-syllable line equal in length, three syllables in the shorter line must be lengthened. In reading, all five lines are lengthened to the same eight-beat duration. This formality of poetry recitatio
n results in the 5-syllable lines sounding rather drawn out, while the 7-syllable line sounds somewhat breezy. It is this contrast that contributes to the emotionality of sung or recited Japanese poetry.

  A notable feature of pure Japanese language is that all words end in a short unaccented vowel. So rhyme is ineffective and is not used.

  When a quadruple-time song is sung, the primary stress falls on the first note and the secondary stress on the third note. However, in traditional Japanese music, it is generally said that no stress is used except for emphasis. I wished to ascertain whether or not any stress falls on the first and third notes when Japanese poetry is read. I took some Man'yō and other poems read by various specialists to the Technical College of Meiji University. Dr. Kamada Hiroyuki kindly tested them in a speech trainer, an instrument used to measure the intensity of stress. The results of these tests indicated that, although generally unperceived, some primary stress very often falls on the first note and the second stress often falls on the third note. This accounts for the fact that alliteration is occasionally found in Japanese poetry, although no rhyme is used.

  Accordingly, it may not be wrong to say that any meter in Japanese poetry approaches something resembling trochaic meter rather than iambic, although it does not matter much which meter is used in translating Japanese poetry into English.

  Because of its brevity, Japanese poetry is full of suggestion and implication. It is the readers job and pleasure to perceive and appreciate this. In the case of the Man'yōshū, however, too much time and social change and cultural difference separate us from the ambience and intent of the original. Unfortunately, a great deal of unstated and implied content of the original has been totally lost in the chasm of time. In my translation, I have mainly directed my endeavors to the reproduction of the artistic merit of the original poetry, for literal translation often fails to reproduce poetic essence.