夕さらば屋戸開け設けて我れ待たむ夢に相見に來むといふ人を
| yupu saraba yado akëmakete ware matamu i me ni apimi ni komu tö ipu pitö wo |
When the evening comes I’ll leave ajar my door And await One who in dreams Said she would come to me. |
Tag Archives: 大伴家持
MYS IV: 743
我が戀は千引きの石を七ばかり首に掛けむも神のまにまに
| a ga kopï pa tibiki nö ipa wo nana bakari kubi ni kakemu mo kamï nö mani mani |
My love is A rock a thousand men might pull Sevenfold Hung around my neck: That is the gods’ will… |
MYS IV: 742
一重のみ妹が結ふらむ帶をすら三重に結ふべく我が身はなりぬ
| pitö pe nömï imo ga yupuramu obi wo sura mi pe ni yupubëku a ga mï pa narinu |
Only a single strand- Fastened by my love- Belt Three times around would go: That’s what I’ve become. |
MYS IV: 741
Still another fifteen poems sent by Yakamochi, Lord Ōtomo, to the Elder Maiden of Sananoue.
夢の逢ひは苦しかりけりおどろきて掻き探れども手にも觸れねば
| ime nö api pa kurusikarikeri odorokite kakisaguredömo te ni mo fureneba |
Meeting in dreams Is painful indeed. Starting awake And reaching out, The questing hand finds nothing. |
MYS IV: 700
MYS III: 469
MYS III: 468
MYS III: 467
Envoys:
時はしもいつもあらむを心痛くい行く我妹かみどり子を置きて
| töki pa simo itu mo aramu wo kökörö itaku iyuku wagimo ka midöri ko wo okite |
Time There would always be, but My heart’s in pain- Did my darling leave? Abandoning our green child? |
MYS III: 466
Another poem by Yakamochi, with tanka.
我がやどに 花ぞ咲きたる そを見れど 心もゆかず はしきやし 妹がありせば 水鴨なす ふたり竝び居 手折りても 見せましものを うつせみの 借れる身なれば 露霜の 消ぬるがごとく あしひきの 山道をさして 入日なす 隱りにしかば そこ思ふに 胸こそ痛き 言ひもえず 名づけも知らず 跡もなき 世閒にあれば 爲むすべもなし
| wa ga yado ni pana zö sakitaru so wo miredö kökörö mu yukazu pasikiyasi imo ga ariseba mikamo nasu putari narabiwi taworitemo misemasi monö wo utusemi nö kareru mï nareba tuyu simo nö kinuru ga götöku asipiki nö yamadi wo sasite iripi nasu kakuri ni sikaba sökö omopu ni mune kösö itaki ipi mo ezu naduke mo sirazu ato mo naki yo nö naka ni areba semusube mo nasi |
At my home The blossoms have flowered, Yet the sight Does not ease my heart. If my sweet Darling were here, Like mated ducks Paired side-by-side, we’d be; And if I plucked a spray, I would want to show it to her. As a cicada shell Is our fleeting flesh; As dew and frost It disappears; The foot-wearying Mountain paths she trod and, As the setting sun, Vanished. Thinking on it, Hurts my breast; I cannot speak I know not what name to give; Not a trace will be left Of the world of men, so There’s nothing to be done. |