[One of] two poems composed by Yamanoue no Okura listing the flowers of the autumn fields.
芽之花 乎花葛花 瞿麦之花 姫部志 又藤袴 朝皃之花
萩の花尾花葛花なでしこの花をみなへしまた藤袴朝顔の花
| pagi no pana wobana kudupana nadesiko no pana wominapesi mata pudibakama asagapo no pana | Bush clover blooms, Silver grass and kudzu, Pinks, Valerian And fujibakama, Morning glory blooms. |
Yamanoue no Okura
山上憶良
瓜食めば 子ども思ほゆ 栗食めば まして偲はゆ いづくより 来りしものぞ まなかひに もとなかかりて 安寐し寝なさぬ
| uri pameba kodomo opoyu kuri pameba masite sinupayu iduku yori kitarisi mono zo manakapi ni moto nakakarite yasuisi nasanu |
When I munch on melon I think on my kids; When I chew on chestnuts I recall them all the more; Where Could they have come from, Meeting my gaze, but Briefly flitting, and Depriving me of easy sleep? |
Yamanoe no Okura
山上憶良
春さればまづ咲くやどの梅の花独り見つつや春日暮らさむ
| paru sareba madu saku yado no ume no pana pitori mitutu ya paru pi kurasamu |
When the spring has come First flowering at my dwelling is The plum blossom; In solitude, will I gaze on it And spend the day in springtime! |
Yamonoue no Okura
山上憶良
Composed when in China.
いざこどもはや日のもとへおほとものみつのはま松まちこひぬらん
| iza kodomo haya hi no moto e ōtomo no mitsu no hamamatsu machi koinuran |
Hey boys! Swiftly to the rising sun And Ōtomo’s Pine-covered beach at Mitsu I would return. |
Yamanoue no Okura (660-ca.733)
山上憶良
A poem, with tanka: The dialogue of the poor and destitute.
風交じり 雨降る夜の 雨交り 雪降る夜は すべもなく 寒くしあれば 堅鹽を とりつづしろひ 糟湯酒 うちすすろひて しはぶかひ 鼻びしびしに しかとあらぬ ひげ掻き撫でて 我れをおきて 人はあらじと 誇ろへど 寒くしあれば 麻衾 引き被り 布肩衣 ありのことごと 着襲へども 寒き夜すらを 我れよりも 貧しき人の 父母は 飢ゑ凍ゆらむ 妻子どもは 乞ふ乞ふ泣くらむ この時は いかにしつつか 汝が世は渡る 天地は 廣しといへど 我がためは 狹くやなりぬる 日月は 明しといへど 我がためは 照りやたまはぬ 人皆か 我のみやしかる わくらばに 人とはあるを 人竝に 我れもなれるを 綿もなき 布肩衣の 海松のごと わわけさがれる かかふのみ 肩にうち掛け 伏廬の 曲廬の内に 直土に 藁解き敷きて 父母は 枕の方に 妻子どもは 足の方に 圍み居て 憂へさまよひ かまどには 火氣吹き立てず 甑には 蜘蛛の巣かきて 飯炊く ことも忘れて ぬえ鳥の のどよひ居るに いとのきて 短き物を 端切ると いへるがごとく しもと取る 里長が聲は 寢屋處まで 來立ち呼ばひぬ かくばかり べなきものか 世閒の道
| kaze madiri amë puru yo nö amë madiri yuki puru yo pa sube mo naku samuku si areba kata sipo wo tori tudusiröpi kasuyuzake utisusuröpite sipabukapi pana bisibisi ni sika tö aranu pigë kaki nadete are wo okite pitö pa aradi tö poköröpedö samuku si areba asabusuma pikikagapuri nunokataginu ari nö kötögötö kisöpedömo samuki yo sura wo ware yori mo madusiki pitö nö titi papa pa uwe koyuramu mekodömo pa kopu kopu nakuramu könö töki pa ika ni situtu ka na ga yö pa wataru amë tuti pa pirosi tö ipedö a ga tame pa saku ya narinuru pitukï pa akasi tö ipedö a ga tame pa teri ya tamapanu pitö mina ka a nömï ya sikaru wakuraba ni pitö tö pa aru wo pitonami ni are mo nareru wo Wata mo naki nunokataginu nö miru nö götö wawakesagareru kakapu nömï kata ni utikake puseipo nö magëipo nö uti ni pitatuti ni wara tokisikite titi papa pa makura nö kata ni mekodömo pa asi nö kata ni kakumiwite urepe samayopi kamado ni pa poke pukitatezu kosiki ni pa kumo nö su kakite ipi kasiku kötö mo wasurete nuedori nö nödöyöpiwiru ni itönökite midikaki monö wo pasi kiru tö iperu ga götöku simotö toru satowosa ga kowe pa neyado made kitati yobapinu kaku bakari benaki monö ka yö nö naka nö miti |
In amongst the wind Rain falls at night, And in amongst the rain Falls snow: With nothing to do For I am cold, A hard cake of salt I take and nibble, With sake lees in hot water To sip upon; Coughing, Nose running constantly; Nothing to speak of, My beard as I stroke it “Apart from me There’s no one!” Say I in my pride, but As I am cold, Hemp blankets I pull up around my head; Sleeveless jackets, All I have, I put on, one on top another; Yet though the night is cold – Even more than I – A poor man, With mother and father Starving and numb, Wife and children Begging weeping; At such a time What is he to do? As he passes through the world. Heaven and earth, Are wide, they say, yet For me Are they not cramped? The sun and moon Shine bright, they say, yet For me Do they shine at all? Are all men Or only me this way? By chance I was born a man and Like other men I am made, but An unpadded Sleeveless jacket Like algae Frayed and drooping In rags alone Hangs from my shoulders, and In this low-roofed hut, This bent and crooked hut, Straight on the ground Straw’s spread; My mother and father Deep inside; My wife and children On the edge Huddle together and Moan sadly; From the stove No smoke rises and In the rice pot A spider’s spun its web; Cooking rice Is something we’ve forgotten; When we’re as ground thrushes Here cheeping, “To make a point of Taking a short measure And making it shorter still,” As they say, With whip in hand, The village headman’s voice To my bed Comes calling; Is this all there is? Is it so hopeless? Our path in the world. |
Yamanoue no Okura
山上憶良