Love.
Left
人知れぬ恋の涙はうぐひすの初声にこそながれいでぬれ
| hito shirenu koi no namida wa uguisu no hatsukoe ni koso nagare’idenure | Unknown to all My tears of love With the warbler’s First cry have Burst into flow! |
3
Right
いかならむときか忘れむ春霞たちゐる空も君ぞこひしき
| ika naramu toki ka wasuremu harugasumi tachi’iru sora mo kimi zo koishiki | What is to become of me? Can I forget the time, when The spring haze Rising into the skies, too, Was dear to me as you? |
4
Round Twenty-Three
Left (Tie)
時鳥山よりをちの里人はまたでや夜半の初音きくらん
| hototogisu yama yori ochi no satobito wa matade ya yowa no hatsune kikuran | O, cuckoo, Far from the mountains, Will villagers Without waiting, at midnight Ever hear your first cry? |
Chikanari
45
Right
うちしめる花橘の五月雨に軒もる夜半のほととぎすかな
| uchishimeru hanatachibana no samidare ni noki moru yowa no hototogisu kana | When utterly drenched is The orange blossom by The summer showers. Dripping from the eaves at midnight is A cuckoo’s call! |
Ie’kiyo
46
The Right’s poem has ‘Dripping from the eaves at midnight is a cuckoo’s call!’—this sounds like it conveys the conception, but yet is stylistically unclear. The Left’s poem takes up the conception of ‘On the leg-wearying / Mountains’ far side / Folk dwell—I wonder / Do they not have to wait for the autumn / Moon to fill their gaze?’,[1] doesn’t it? Neither has any real point worth making, so they tie.
[1] This poem is: Topic unknown. あしびきの山のあなたにすむ人はまたでや秋の月をみるらんashihiki no / yama no anata ni / sumu hito wa / matade ya aki no / tsuki o miruran Former Emperor Sanjō (SKKS IV: 382).
Round Twenty-One
Left (Win)
しがらきの外山の末の郭公たが里ちかき初音なるらん
| shigaraki no toyama no sue no hototogisu ta ga sato chikaki hatsune naruran | In Shigaraki At the foothills’ end A cuckoo By whose estate Might let out his first cry? |
Takasuke
41
Right
橘のにほひを空に尋ねきて山時鳥なかぬ日ぞなき
| tachibana no nioi o sora ni tazunekite yamahototogisu nakanu hi zo naki | Orange blossom’s familiar Scent within the skies I seek out, while The mountain cuckoo Fails to sing on not a single day… |
Shimotsuke
42
The Left poem’s ‘near whose estate does it first call’ does not sound bad. The Right’s poem, too, seems to have no faults to mention, yet the Left still wins by a hair.
