Composed for a picture based on the Song of Everlasting Woe, for the scene where Xuanzong had returned home and the emperor was depicted weeping with insects calling from the withered cogon grass all around him.
ふるさとは浅茅が原と荒れはてて夜すがら虫の音をのみぞ鳴く
| Furusato Fa asadi ga Fara to areFatete yosugara musi no ne nomi zo naku |
My old home With cogon grass is Entirely overgrown; All night the insects Simply let forth their cries… |
Dōmei
道命
Composed on grass.
山高み夕日隠りぬ浅茅原後見むために標結はましを
| yama dakami yupupi kakurinu asadipara noti mimu tame ni sime yupamasi wo |
The mountains’ heights Have hid the setting sun; This field of cogon-grass: To gaze upon once more, I should have bound it round with sacred cords… |
Anonymous
Topic unknown.
思ふよりいかにせよとか秋風になびく浅茅の色ことになる
| omoFu yori ika ni seyo to ka akikaze ni nabiku asadi no iro koto ni naru |
So full are my thoughts What am I to do? With the autumn wind Waves the cogon grass – Colours – and passions – changing… |
Anonymous
戯奴がため我が手もすまに春の野に抜ける茅花そ召して肥えませ
| wake ga tame a ga te mo suma ni paru no no ni tubana so mesite koemase |
Young man For you my hands have been ceaseless In the fields at springtime; Eat these ears of cogon grass And put some weight on! |
Lady Ki
紀郎女
茅花抜く浅茅が原もおいにけり白綿引ける野辺と見るまで
| tubana nuku asadi ga Fara mo oFinikeri sirowata Fikeru nobe to miru made |
Ears thrusting The cogon grass fields Have grown; White cotton drawn Across the plains, it seems. |
Sone no Yoshitada
曾禰好忠
Left (Win).
末までといひしばかりに浅茅原宿も我名も朽や果てなん
| sue made to iishi bakari ni asajibara yado mo wa ga na mo kuchi ya hatenan |
‘Until the very end,’ You simply said, but A field of cogon grass Surrounds my house; my name, too, Will it wither away…? |
A Servant Girl
769
Right.
斧の柄も年経る程は知る物をなど我恋の朽つる世もなき
| ono no e mo toshi heru hodo wa shiru mono o nado wa ga koi no kutsuru yo mo naki |
Even my axe handle, Endures through the passing years, I know it, but Why is it that this love Does not rot from this world? |
Jakuren
770
Neither poem has any errors.
In judgement: ‘My house; my name, too’ (yado mo wa ga na mo) sounds better than ‘Why is it that this love’ (nado wa ga koi). The Left wins.
Left.
蟲の音の弱るもしるく淺茅生に今朝は寒けくはだれ霜降る
| mushi no ne no yowaru mo shiruku asajū ni kesa wa samukeku hadare shimo furu |
The insects’ cries Have plainly weakened; Cogon grass, where On this chilly morning Patchy frost has fallen. |
463
Right.
思ふより又あはれは重ねけり露に霜置く庭の蓬生
| omou yori mata aware wa kasanekeri tsuyu ni shimo oku niwa no yomogyū |
I feel Yet more sadness Laid upon me: Upon the dew has frost fallen In my tangled mugwort garden… |
464
The Right find no fault with the Left’s poem. The Left wonder about the appropriateness of ‘upon the dew has frost fallen’ (tsuyu ni shimo oku).
The Right respond, ‘This refers to when frost falls upon something where dew has already fallen.’ In reply, the Left say, ‘Surely, it is when both of them fall together. We do wonder about frost falling on top of dew.’
Shunzei’s judgement: The Left’s poem has an unclear link between its initial and final sections. On the matter of the Right’s ‘frosty dew’, this has the same sense as in the Right’s poem in the previous round. The dew has frozen into frost, surely? However, as the Left’s poem is not worthy of a victory, the round must tie.
Left (Win).
宇津の山越えし昔の跡古りて蔦の枯れ葉に秋風ぞ吹く
| utsu no yama koeshi mukashi no ato furite tsuta no kareba ni akikaze zo fuku |
Utsu Mountain, Crossed in times of old by Ruins, ageing; on The withered ivy leaves The winds of autumn are a’blowing… |
431
Right.
淺茅たつ庭の色だにあるものを軒端の蔦はうち時雨つゝ
| asaji tatsu niwa no iro dani aru mono o nokiba no tsuta wa uchishiguretsutsu |
The cogon-grass grows In my garden, but the only hint of colour Is in The ivy by my eaves, Wet with constant showers… |
432
As the previous round.
Shunzei’s judgement: Both Left and Right seem superb in form and diction [sugata kotoba wa yoroshiku miehaberu], but the Right’s ‘cogon-grass grows’ (asaji tatsu) is pretentious [yauyaushiku], and I wonder what to make [ikaga to oboehaberu] of the final ‘wet with constant showers’ (uchishiguretsutsu), but the conception [kokoro] of the Left’s ‘Utsu Mountain’, with its ‘ancient ruins’ brought back to memory by ‘on the withered ivy leaves the winds of autumn a’blowing’, is particularly tasteful [en]. Thus, the Left certainly wins.
Left (Win).
夕さればそゝや下葉も安からで露は袂に荻の上風
| yūsareba soso ya shitaba mo yasukarade tsuyu wa tamoto ni ogi no uwakaze |
When the evening comes, Rustling underleaves Are restless; Dewdrops on the sleeves: Wind o’er the silver-grass. |
379
Right.
暮行けば野邊も一つに露滿ちて蟲の音になる庭の淺茅生
| kureyukeba nobe mo hitotsu ni tsuyu michite mushi no ne ni naru niwa no asajū |
When evening falls The plains, too, are completely Dew-drenched; Insects sing from The cogon grasses in my garden. |
380
The Right remark that ‘it is not clear what the “underleaves” (shitaba) belong to until the end of the poem’. The Left have a number of criticisms: ‘In the Right’s poem, it sounds as if the “cogon grass” (asaji) becomes “insects”. In addition, the topic of this poem is not “Garden Huts”. Furthermore, the poem lacks any expression conveying the emotional overtones of the topic – particularly with “the plains, too, are completely” (nobe mo hitotsu ni).’
Shunzei’s judgement: It is standard expression to begin a poem with ‘underleaves’, when concluding with ‘silver-grass’ as in the Left’s case. However, ‘rustling’ (sosoya) seems unnecessary in this poem. It seems a rather forced interpretation to think the cogon grass is turning into insects, seeing as this is not something that happens in nature. That this is a poem more suited to the topic of ‘Garden Huts’, though, is an unavoidable fault. So, while I cannot be satisfied with the inclusion of ‘rustling’, the final section of this poem is fine. It wins.
Left (Win).
小萱原吹來る秋の夕風に心亂れと鶉鳴くなり
| ogayawara fukikuru aki no yūkaze ni kokoro midare to uzura naku nari |
Across the sedge fields Come blowing the autumn Evening winds; My heart’s in disarray, The quails are crying… |
339
Right.
秋風を厭ひやすらん夕間暮淺茅が下に鶉鳴く也
| aki kaze o itoi ya suran yūmagure asaji ga shita ni uzura naku nari |
The autumn wind: Do they dislike it, I wonder? In the dark of evening From beneath the sparse stalks of cogon grass The quails are crying… |
340
The Right feel that, ‘Just having “my heart’s in disarray” (kokoro midare to) is lacking something.” The Left have no particular criticisms of the Right’s poem.
Shunzei responds, ‘The gentlemen of the Right have remarked upon the lack in the Left’s poem, wondering, no doubt, if this should be “feeling my heart’s in disarray” (kokoro midare tote). If one were to say that this is definitely the way the poem should have been composed, it would be something of a loss to the Way of Poetry, I feel. If we permit poets to say they are “moved” (aware nari), why not that their “heart’s in disarray”? The Right’s poem has a superlative final section, but one cannot know whether quails dislike the autumn wind or not. In Springtime, the warblers frolic in the mists; in Autumn, the insects cry from beneath the dewdrops – but each only at their allotted time, and from this one can tell the season. The quails’ cries make one feel the chill of the autumn wind. If one composes that they hid themselves from dislike of it, it restricts the imagination about quails too much. The Left wins.’