The Path Across the Shiga Mountains (志賀山越)
まだしらぬ人と友にぞこえにけるしがの山ぢの跡もなけれど
| mada shiranu hito to tomo ni zo koenikeru shiga no yamaji no ato mo nakeredo | With an unknown Companion, together Have I crossed Shiga’s mountain paths Leaving traces none, and yet… |
Akinaka
Left (Win)
誰となく寄せては返る浪枕浮きたる舟の跡もとどめず
| tare to naku yosete wa kaeru namimakura ukitaru fune no ato mo todomezu | To no one Cleaving, they return; Pillowed on the waves The drifting boats’ Wakes fail to linger long… |
A Servant Girl
1151
Right
何方を見ても忍ばむ難波女の浮き寝の跡に消ゆる白浪
| izukata o mitemo shinobamu naniwame no ukine no ato ni kiyuru shiranami | Whither Should I look in longing? With a girl from Naniwa I slept briefly, but her Wake vanishes among the whitecaps… |
Jakuren
1152
Both Left and Right together state: neither poem is bad.
In judgement: both poems seem elegant in configuration and diction, but the Right’s ‘girl from Naniwa’ (naniwame) raises the same issue as ‘diving girl’, only more so – there is not even evidence on this from inclusion in the Collection of Poems to Sing, is there? The Left’s ‘cleaving, they return; pillowed on the waves’ (yosete wa kaeru namimakura) really does seem like a pleasure girl, so I must say it is superior.
Left (Win)
唐国の虎臥す野邊に入るよりもまどふ戀路の末ぞあやうき
| karakuni no tora fusu nobe ni iru yori mo madou koiji no sue zo ayauki |
In far Cathay are Meadows where tigers lie, But rather than entering there, The confusing paths of love Are, at the end, more dangerous… |
Lord Ari’ie
1063
Right
我宿は人もかれ野の淺茅原通ひし駒の跡もとゞめず
| wa ga yado wa hito mo kareno no asajiwara kayoishi koma no ato mo todomezu |
At my home Is only a withered field Of cogon grass; The mount who once did cross it Has left no lingering tracks… |
Ietaka
1064
The Gentlemen of the Right state: how can love be dangerous? The Gentlemen of the Left state: the Right’s poem has no faults to mention.
In judgement: saying that the ‘paths of love are, at the end’ (koiji no sue) dangerous is perfectly commonplace. ‘Is only a withered field of cogon grass’ (hito mo kareno no asajiwara) seems to simply have taken the poem ‘Sedge fields lie / Around the estate of Fushimi, / All long overgrown; / He who passed across them / Has left no tracks at all…’ and swapped in ‘mount who once did cross it’ (kayoishi koma). Changing a man into a mount is discomposing, indeed. Again, the Left should win.
Left.
かくこそは長柄の橋も絶えしかど柱ばかりは名殘やはなき
| kaku koso wa nagara no hashi mo taeshikado hashira bakari wa nagori ya wa naki |
And so it is that The bridge at Nagara Has ceased to be, yet Are there not even pillars In remembrance of what’s gone? |
Lord Ari’ie
1013
Right (Win).
今も猶長柄の橋は作りてんつれなき戀は跡だにもなし
| ima mo nao nagara no hashi wa tsukuriten tsurenaki koi wa ato dani mo nashi |
Even now is The bridge at Nagara Being built? Of this cruel love Not even a trace remains… |
Nobusada
1014
The Right state: it is certainly possible to say that the ‘bridge at Nagara’ has ‘rotted’ (kutsu), but there are, we think, no other examples of it ‘ceasing’ (tayu). The Left state: we wonder about the appropriateness of saying ‘love not a trace’ (koi ni ato nashi).
In judgement: both poems refer to ‘the bridge at Nagara’ and, as has been mentioned by the Gentlemen of the Right in their criticism, the Left uses ‘has ceased to be, yet’ (taeshikado); there are many poems using ‘rotted’, because this is what happens to the pillars of bridges. After this bridge ceased to be, the pillars would still be rotting away. If you have the bridge ‘being built’ (tsukuru nari), why would you not then have it ‘ceasing’? That being said, I am only accustomed to hearing ‘bridge pillars’ (hashibashira), and having only ‘pillars’ (hashira) sounds completely lacking in logic. The Right’s poem uses ‘love not a trace’ (koi ato nashi): it is entirely natural for a variety of different things not to leave a trace. The current criticism must be due to there not being a prior example of this usage, but it is particularly difficult to say this about the initial section of the poem. The Right wins.
Cicadas (蟬)
うつせみのいでがたくても過すかないかでこの世に跡をとどめん
| utsusemi no idegatakute mo sugusu kana ikade kono yo ni ato o todomen | A cicada shell Is hard to reveal, yet Endures; Somehow within this world A trace will remain… |
Toshiyori
When a man who had long visited a woman at the house of the Sugawara Minister, ceased coming for a while, and then came once more.
菅原や伏見の里の荒れしより通ひし人のあともたえにき
| sugaFara ya Fusimi no sato no aresi yori kayoFisi Fito no ato mo taeniki |
Sedge fields lie Around the estate of Fushimi, All long overgrown; He who passed across them Has left no tracks at all… |
Anonymous
Composed at the bridge at Nagara.
橋柱ながらましかば流れての名をこそ聞かめ跡を見ましや
| Fasibasira nagaramasikaba nagarete no na wo koso kikame ato wo mimasi ya |
These bridge pillars Were there not at Nagara, Should the current of the world Bring the name to one’s ears, Would one even see its traces? |
Former Major Councillor Kintō
前大納言公任
Composed to accompany a painting of the few remains of the bridge at Naraga on a folding screen for His Majesty, during the Tenryaku era.
葦間より見ゆる長柄の橋柱昔の跡のしるべなりけり
| asima yori miyuru nagara no Fasibasira mukasi no ato no sirube narikeri |
From between the reeds Can one see at Nagara The bridge pillars: A trace from long ago To guide us now… |
Fujiwara no Kiyotada
藤原清正
Sudarekawa.
跡絶えて訪ふべき人も思ほえずたれかは今朝の雪を分けこん
| ato taete toFubeki Fito mo omoFoezu tare ka Fa kesa no yuki o wakekon |
The tracks have gone, and No one should come to call I think; Who, then, will this morning’s Snow break through? |
Middle Councillor Sadayori.
Left (Win).
訪へかしな庭の白雪跡絶えてあはれも深き冬の朝を
| toekashi na niwa no shirayuki ato taete aware mo fukaki fuyu no ashita o |
I would go a’calling; In my garden the white snowfall Has covered all the tracks; How deep is my sorrow, On this winter morning! |
545
Right.
軒のうち雀の聲は馴るれども人こそ知らぬ今朝の白雪
| noki no uchi ni suzume no koe wa naruredomo hito koso shiranu kesa no shirayuki |
From underneath the eaves To the sparrows’ chirps Have I grown accustomed, yet No one noticed This morning’s fall of snow so white… |
545
The Right state that the Left’s initial line makes their poemsound like a reply. In addition, the final line is ‘overly forceful’ [itau tsuyoku]. The Left merely comment that the Right’s use of ‘sparrow’ (suzume) is ‘inappropriate’.
Shunzei’s judgement: Even though the Left’s poem is not a reply, starting with ‘I would go a’calling’ (toekashi na) is common in the reply style [zōtōtei]. In addition, ‘Winter Mornings’ is not a topic which one needs to approach obliquely. There are only the good and bad points of the poetry. ‘From underneath the eaves to the sparrows’ chirps have I grown accustomed’ (noki no uchi ni suzume no koe wa naruru) is not an expression much used about morning snow. However, the final section of the poem appears fine. ‘Sparrows’ chirps’ (suzume no koe) is, perhaps, somewhat colloquial [zoku no chikaku]. Despite the comment by the gentlemen of the Right that the final section of the Left’s poem is ‘overly forceful’, it is a better ‘Winter Morning’ poem.